Wolf's Claim: A Wolf Pack Motorcycle Club Book (A Breed MC Book 3)

by Anne Marsh

  “We need to talk.” I pluck her cell phone out of her hand and toss it on the bed. I get she wants the lifeline, but I don’t need the police showing up here unannounced.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She sounds prim as fuck.

  “Uh-huh.” I drop down beside her and she inches backward until she hits the headboard. “You wanna talk about the bike, Two Dog, or our night at the bar two years ago? Lady’s choice. Or are we still pretending we don’t know each other?”

  I can be generous in a good cause. You’d almost think some of that white knight bullshit stuck.

  “I—” She starts talking, and I’m betting she’s headed down Denial Lane (Leah’s stubborn, a quality I ordinarily admire) when there’s a thump from outside. My mate promptly attaches herself to me like a barnacle. Not that I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth, but the fear scent’s back. At least this time, I’m almost certain I’m not the direct cause. I wrap an arm around her and tuck her into my side. Sure as fuck hope it’s not because of me, because I’d never hurt her, not on purpose. Sooner cut off my dick.

  “We got a problem?”

  She sort of hyperventilates into my arm. “Is it back?”

  “Better give me some words to work with, chère.”

  “The wolf-dog-monster.” She babbles the words in a breathy rush as she leans around me, peering at the door. Her cheek brushes my chest and let me tell you, the only monster right now is in my pants. Don’t think that’s what she’s worried about, although maybe she should be. “Do you have a gun? A knife?”

  Fuck me, but she looks hopeful.

  “You need me to kill someone?”

  I totally would for her.

  She nudges me toward the door. “Go make sure it’s gone.”

  “You got something against dogs?”

  She flaps her hands. “Go.”

  I’m not sure if she’s trusting me to take care of her, or if she’s just happy to sacrifice me in a good cause. Still, I get up and make a show of checking for the big scary wolf-dog. Now is not the time to tell her that I’m a shifter—and that the monster in question is already inside the houseboat with her.

  “You gonna answer the original question?” I pop the doors open and stick my head outside. She’s got one of those local freebie newspapers sitting on her deck now, so I’m betting that’s the cause of the latest noise.

  “I’m afraid of dogs.” Shit. She sounds pretty matter-of-fact.

  “Just dogs?” Because that’s going to be a problem for us, seeing as how I shift into a wolf on a regular basis.

  “No.” She holds her hands out in front of her and proceeds to tick off her points, one by one. “I worry about dogs, wolves, coyotes.”

  “Is that so?” I make a show of looking around. Leah’s houseboat is the smallest thing ever. Not much real estate here and I’d both smell and hear any trouble coming. Behind me, she keeps listing four-legged, furry critters off. She even includes fucking dingoes, and it’s not like we live in the Australian outback. Pretty sure the only dingoes here are in the zoo.

  “Puppies? You got a thing about them too?” I ask when I’m done with my reconnaissance of her deck. She needs more space than this. I tug the door closed and return to the bed. She glares at me. Okay. I sit back on my haunches and consider my next move. Puppies are also on her shit list. Maybe she’s just a cat person and this isn’t the start of a bigger problem.

  “Are you feeling better?” I can’t believe the F-word just came out of my mouth, but there you have it.

  “Yeeeah.” She drags the word out, giving me a cautious side eye. “You about to get mad and go all biker on my butt?”

  As if. “We still pretending we don’t know each other?”

  “We don’t know each other.”

  “Uh-huh. Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been inside you.” Christ, it’s kinda cute the way she blushes. Her whole face goes tomato red. “Think that counts for something in the get-to-know-you department, don’t you? So don’t lie to me.”

  “Are you gonna be pissed off about it?”

  “More curious,” I admit, lying down on the bed beside her again, because no way she wants me looming over her. Still, I take a cautious sniff. She smells nervous but not scared anymore.

  “It was a temporary thing. Nothing more.” She juts her chin out and inches toward the edge of the bed. I snag her wrist in my hand. Fuck, she feels fragile. Not that that stopped me that night. I just knew, looking at her, that we had something special between us, a connection. Guess for her it was all about the sex, which leaves me torn between admiring her for going after what she wanted and butt-hurt because I was good for a quick fuck but not good enough for keeping.

  “I was a quick hook-up?”

  “You wanted more?” she counters, staring at me.

  She has a point. I’ve never been one for the happily-ever-after shit. I don’t make promises—there’s no chance of them getting broken that way. Still, I like women. I may have been born a few centuries ago, and yeah I was a knight, but I still have a dick and it knows where it likes to be. Good girls have never been my thing. Promises, commitments, marriage, and anything lasting longer than the nighttime hours have also been equally off-limits. I’ve watched enough members of my pack try those kinds of relationships on for size.

  And yet… oui. The answer is I did. I still do. For her, I want to change. My head and my heart want those long-term, forever things. Hell, even my dick is totally on board with finding a way to make this thing between us work permanently as long as it gets me closer to her.

  “You don’t?” It’s always good to be on the same page.

  She huffs. “Hello. You busted up my date this afternoon. I have a boyfriend.”

  “And now you have me.” I close my eyes and let my head fall back on her pillow. Houseboats aren’t my thing, but there’s a real nice motion in the ocean rocking the bed, and it makes a guy think, if you know what I mean. Hell, I could be convinced to buy her a waterbed.

  “I don’t want you.” She tugs at her wrist again, but I’m not in the mood to let go.

  “You can do better that Two Dog.”

  “Better here having the meaning of you?”

  “Oui.” I tug a little harder and she lands next to me on the mattress. “I’m way better for you than that lone wolf.”

  When I risk a sideways glance at her, she’s frowning. “What T.D. and I do is absolutely none of your business.”

  If T.D. is as smart as I think he is (and I’m really not giving that boy too many points in the brain cells department), he’ll never come near Leah again. It’s bad enough that I’ve seen the man’s dick aiming for her pussy—I’m doing my best to get over that shit because, oui, I do know which century we’re living in. Anything and everything that happens between us will be Leah’s choice.

  “I think you should break up with him,” I volunteer because I’m in a helpful mood. “Dump his ass. Kick him to the curb.”

  Frankly, I deserve a gold fucking star for maturity. What do you say after you’ve discovered your mate banging another wolf? My heart pounds harder just thinking about it, and I know that makes me a possessive bastard—which is why I’m keeping those thoughts to myself. So what if she shared herself with T.D.? I can win her over, too.

  I can be the man she needs.

  The man she chooses.

  “T.D. was a one-time thing,” she says. “Consider him dumped. Kicked. A mere flicker in the rearview mirror of life.”

  An hour ago, the man in question was wetting his dick in her pussy, but she seems completely unbothered by his dismissal. Is this how she felt when she left me with my dick hanging out behind that bar two years ago? So long, thanks for the good time, and don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out? That has another growl tangling in my throat.

  Leah

  Blade is… not what I expected.

  He still looks scary as fuck, he’s making these rough sounds that aren’t exactly a round of
“Happy Birthday,” but he’s not yelling, and so far he’s kept his fists to himself. He’s not like my sister’s husband or our dad. For as long as I can remember, those men have been the markers on the ruler I’ve used to judge the guys who pass through my life. Blade, however, is simply not like anyone I’ve ever met. He’s annoying, and he absolutely needs to remove his butt from my bed and hit the road, but he checked my place out for killer dogs (none spotted) and he didn’t give me shit about being scared. And he appears to be that unicorn among men—a guy who is not afraid of talking. Which reminds me—I should call off Harlow.

  I lean over, reaching for my phone, but Blade beats me to it, his fingers curling around mine.

  “You don’t need that.” His fingers kind of rub over mine, warm and rough, and my pussy wakes right up because apparently parts of me think his simple gesture doubles as foreplay. I need to think about something else because there is no way we’re ever getting together again. He’s a biker. He’s violent. He’s here—and I have every intention of moving on just as soon as I can. Still, I can’t help looking down at his fingers joined with mine. He’s got tats on his knuckles. I stare at the black ink as if it’s War and Peace and I need to speed read that sucker.

  I definitely do need my phone. And if he’s got stories written on his skin? They’re in a foreign language and nothing makes sense to me.

  “My friend’s on her way.” I’m not sure if I tell him this so he knows he can’t kill me and dump my body somewhere without someone missing me, or because I’m trying to fill in the silence.

  “And?” His fingers stroke over mine again. Holy. Gods. My head swims with the heat unfurling in my stomach. And lower.

  “She’s gonna keep coming unless I call her off and tell her I’m okay. Am I?”

  “Okay? Oui.” He sounds absolutely certain. Good to know one of us is.

  “You’re not upset because I borrowed your bike?”

  He makes a rough, impatient noise. “You shoulda stayed where I put you.”

  “Because you gave me an order? I don’t think so.” I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him. Barely. I get the definite feeling he’d see that as a challenge—and he’d act. I’d rather not push his buttons.

  “Because it was the safest place,” he says dryly. “Given the massive fight taking place not ten feet away.”

  Okay. I really do have to hand him that one.

  “And that’s the only reason?” So I’m suspicious. Shoot me.

  He gives me a look. “Baby girl, I’ll be giving you orders again. You can count on that. But I won’t mess with you just to mess with you. It’s not a power play—it’s about me keeping you safe.”

  How does he manage to sound so calm and logical? Hell, the man’s practically asleep now. He closes his eyes as he lounges on my bed, dark lashes curled against his sun-bronzed skin. It’s positively unfair how gorgeous he is.

  “Text your friend,” he continues. “She doesn’t need to rush out here, because I’ve got you.”

  “Huh.” Yeah. I don’t sound convinced—or terribly coherent. Again, I blame Blade. There’s something about the man that rattles me. And yet when he picks up my free hand and uncurls my fingers, dropping my phone into my palm, I kinda don’t want him to let go. Stupid.

  I text Harlow quickly, letting her know that my animal control issue has been sorted. She responds quickly with a You still owe me, but the winky face afterward tells me we’re all good. I’m lucky to have a friend like her. I could call her in the middle of the night and tell her that Martians landed in my backyard or that I had a vampire in my bedroom, and she’d be over in a flash to help me fend off the alien invasion or stake my company. I barely know Blade, but I get the feeling he could be a friend like that, and that’s just… weird. A good weird, although it leaves me wondering if there are more guys out there like him and that maybe, if I stuck around for more than one night, I’d know that. Dangerous thinking right there because I have my reasons for the one-night rule, so I shake the thought off.

  “You’re really not mad about the bike?”

  He winks at me. “Did you scratch it?”

  I freeze. Yes, yes I did. Or depending how he defines scratch, I may have gouged, injured or permanently maimed his precious bike baby. Honesty, however, may not be my best policy when I’m lying on a bed with a biker club’s muscle man.

  When I don’t answer, he sighs and closes his eyes again. The man looks so relaxed that I half expect to hear him snore next. “Chère, I saw the damage on my way in.”

  I inch toward the side of the bed. He’s lying down. I’m upright. I ought to be able to make the doors before him, right? “I nicked the gate coming in.”

  He doesn’t move, other than to stretch a hand out on top of the bed, his fingers loose and relaxed. “Uh-huh. Keep going.”

  “You’ll need some paint.” On a scale of one to ten, the property damage hovers around a two.

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t spank your ass?”

  His eyes are still closed (yes, I check) when he says this, but he doesn’t sound pissed. The logical conclusion is that he’s just messing with me—which means I need to give it right back to him. Otherwise, I’ll lose all self-respect.

  “Because I’ll enjoy it?”

  Hah. Mr. Calm and Collected sucks in a breath and sort of tenses up.

  “Not sure that’s a deterrent,” he drawls. “But maybe it would make you admit you remember me.”

  And then he rolls, pulling me beneath him. His legs press mine down into the mattress, his arms caging my head. He’s built and he’s beautiful in the way a weapon or a blade is, his body made to dish out hurt. All those muscles hold me effortlessly in place, his dark hair tumbling around his face. Ink starts on his throat and then covers his shoulders and arms. There’s nothing safe about this man. He’s a highway without a speed limit, the Autobahn of sex, but God, he’s got gorgeous eyes. They’re a brown so dark that they’re almost black, and I’m staring.

  There’s no way to forget a man like this. Danger.

  “I remember.” Why are my lips so dry? I lick them, and that’s another mistake. Blade’s eyes follow my tongue. I didn’t know a man could look so hungry.

  “Good.” He brushes my hair back from my face with one big tattooed hand.

  Bad. He’s mostly naked, he’s on top of me, and my memory goes into overdrive. My memories of that night are slightly patchy thanks to too many cinnamon tequila shots and not enough food. He’s not a white knight and he’s not the good guy—but he’s definitely the guy who solves problems with his fists, so that also makes him not my kind of guy.

  His dick feels even more impressive than I remember—and my pussy immediately suggests we take the man for a repeat ride. Just to verify his assets are what they seem—kinda like a public service. No. The problem with taking a walk on the wild side is that once you step off the path of goodness, it’s almost impossible to find it again. I’m reformed. I’m totally behaving myself, because it’s time to get my life on track, or I’ll spend the rest of it in a busted-down houseboat in Louisiana, and there’s so much more I want to do and see.

  His dick twitches. He’s got a monster penis. There’s no other possible explanation.

  “I need to make something clear.” Shoot. I sound nervous.

  “I’m listening.” He focuses on my face, and swear to God, he’s intent on me, and that’s sexy and nervous-making at the same time.

  I give a little wiggle, which turns out to be a big mistake, because it leaves me cradling his dick between my legs. “This would be easier if you got off.”

  Shit. Did I really say that? Must have, because his lazy smile gets broader and more knowing, and then he rubs himself slowly down the length of me, and I can hear my synapses shorting out.

  “I don’t need a lover,” I blurt out. “I don’t need sex or a quick hook-up.”

  Granted, T.D. sucks and we barely achieved penetration, let alone an orgasm, so I’m not sure if he ac
tually falls in my “been there, done there” bucket, but the last thing I need is another man in my life.

  “Gotcha.” He threads his fingers through my tangled hair, working his way through the knots to my scalp, and then he rubs. Oh. God. “Tell me what you do need.”

  For you to keep doing that.

  “A life. I want to get out of here, take classes and finish my degree, see the world some. Start my own business, climb Mount Everest, visit every place in that 1001 Places to See Before You Die book.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “More time, more money, more guts.” Instinctively, I shrug, but it turns out it’s really hard to move when you’re pinned beneath a man mountain.

  “No room for T.D. in that list,” he says thoughtfully. “Unless you were planning on tossing him off the mountain top?”

  “I have a rule.” Shoot. I sound breathless.

  “Oui?” Blade rubs his thumb over my lower lip. I have no idea how he makes that one word sound so sexy. “You go right ahead and tell me about this rule before I get myself in trouble.”

  Too late.

  “I never sleep with the same guy more than once.”

  “Got a feeling there’s more to that sentence,” he says slowly. “But okay. So you’ve put T.D. in the banged column and you’re moving on. Good to know.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you again.” I feel the need to make this clear because the way he looks at me… yeah. I’m pretty sure he’s fantasizing about round two.

  His thumb makes another slow pass over my bottom lip. “So you don’t need a lover.”

  “Nope.” I have no idea where this urge to lick his thumb comes from. Or the insane need to bite him. It has nothing to do with the fact that the badass biker pinning me to the bed is hot enough to push all my buttons in the best possible way. I just need to get him off me, appreciate the view a little, and talk him into leaving my houseboat.

  “How about a friend?”