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

by Anne Marsh

  “You got a dog.” Stupid.

  “Yeah.” She reaches out and takes the puppy from her biker friend. The way their fingers brush, I’m surprised he’s staying in the camper and not inside. The two of them have some serious chemistry. She ignores the biker, though, and just cuddles the furry ball closer to her chest.

  He stares silently at me for a long moment and then he nods. “Hunter. You must be Leah.”

  “Have we met?”

  He shakes his head and then glances between the two of us. “You look alike.”

  “Yeah.” He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t stick out his hand, and I’m grateful. He makes me nervous, not least because Carys has such shit taste in men. I can’t quite make out the patch on his vest, and I have no idea who he rides with, but this can’t be good.

  “Anyhow, I just stopped by to say hi because I was in the neighborhood.”

  Carys bumps my shoulder with hers. “Thanks.”

  The puppy wriggles, trying to launch itself at me. It’s small enough to fit in Hunter’s hand, and Carys laughs as it licks her face enthusiastically. I’d forgotten how much she liked baby animals. Whenever January rolled around, she’d be armed with a fresh calendar of fuzzy cuteness, and she cried whenever those animal shelter ads came on TV. Rick’s dogs weren’t cute, but I’m not sure it’s fair to blame them for that. He treated them as badly as he did Carys, and I can’t pretend to be surprised it all ended the way it did.

  Carys sets the puppy down on the ground and it promptly launches itself at Hunter’s big boot, growling and yapping. He scoops it up, nods at us, and retreats to the far corner of the yard. I’m not sure if he’s trying to give us some space or if I make him nervous, too.

  “You’re finally free of Rick and you’re seeing another biker?” Apparently my sister doesn’t learn from her mistakes. Or maybe Hunter has special, hidden depths and he’s not the fuck up her first husband was. The puppy bounds back and forth. I crouch down and hold out a closed fist for it to sniff. It’s too small to be a threat. Too fragile. Too vulnerable.

  “You never did like dogs,” Carys observes quietly.

  “I had a bad experience.” I shrug.

  “I know.” She crouches down beside me and together we half smother her puppy with pats. “But I think you need to move on from that, to let it go. I’d like that for you and not just because I feel responsible.”

  I shake my head. “Rick did what Rick chose to do. We all made our own choices, and I’ve never blamed you for his.”

  Carys sighs. “I think I needed to hear that, but I also need to say that I’m sorry. Not a day’s gone by when I haven’t regretted the things I didn’t do.”

  Eyes full of guilt look at me. I look at the puppy.

  “It’s okay,” I say and mean it. “Maybe we both need to let it go and do some starting over.”

  “Yeah.” Her gaze shifts to the biker pretending to ignore us.

  “Is he—” I have no idea what to say.

  “He’s my second chance,” she says quietly. “He’s not Rick. About the only thing the two of them have in common is a love of riding and a dick—and Hunter’s is twice as large.”

  I snort before I can stop myself. “And that’s way too much information.”

  My sister grins and nudges me in the ribs. “Doesn’t stop it from being true. It’s early days, but I think he’s one of the good guys. Not all bikers are bad, any more than all dogs are vicious killers.”

  The puppy bounds away to chew on Hunter’s boots. The big guy doesn’t seem to mind. It’s… cute. If he’s Carys’s second chance, maybe she hasn’t chosen so poorly this time.

  “How about you?” She tugs me to my feet. “Have you met anyone?”

  “We didn’t work out,” I tell her. “But he was a biker.”

  And a wolf, but my sister doesn’t need that information. Not now.

  She sighs. “No?”

  “No,” I agree but even I can hear the uncertainty in my voice. I can still see Blade, clear as day. The way the muscles in his broad shoulders flex and pull as he lifts me so effortlessly, moving me where he wants me. The straight, unbending line of his spine and the thick slabs of muscle that form a tempting vee on his abdomen. He’s so hard and strong that there should be no room for soft, and yet there’s a light in his eyes when he looks at me.

  When he speaks French for me.

  I don’t understand a word and yet I could listen all day. All my life.

  Oh my God. I have feelings for him.

  “I made a mistake,” I tell Carys as she leads me inside.

  She nods her head solemnly. “You’re talking to the queen of mistakes, so I can tell you this. You go back to him and you give him and you that second chance.”

  She glances over her shoulder at the backyard as she says this, and I wonder when, exactly, she met Hunter.

  “You think I should go after him?”

  Carys’s mouth curls up in a soft, secret smile. “You go after him and you make him yours.”

  Blade

  I spend every minute in the gym when I’m not on the road. I sleep there or at the clubhouse because I can’t go back to my place by the water. The bed’s too empty, and while I could fill it up with one of the club bunnies, I don’t want to. I have zero interest in sex, which fails to worry me the way it probably should.

  Instead, I fight.

  My boys must understand what’s up because they take turns getting into the ring with me. Maybe they draw straws or share the love because I do my best to pound the ever-loving shit out of my opponents. Gator keeps the gym’s human members away from me. They’re too fragile to take the punishment I dole out—or to hit me as hard as I need. Mostly, I alternate between fighting Gator and Fang. Jace and Ware get in the ring with me too, and I don’t hold back. I pour out everything I have left. A week after Leah dumps my ass, that’s not much.

  This morning, for instance, Gator actually hesitates, one hand on the ropes as if the fucker might climb back out. Or maybe he’s just worried about that not-so-pretty face of his. Maybe even he’s tired of the constant battle.

  “You sure about this?” he asks. On the other side of the ropes, Fang keeps watch over us.

  I toss him a fighting stick. “Fight me.”

  He humors me by raising his stick. I know he doesn’t really want to train or fight. He doesn’t feel this gut-wrenching need to pound someone or something into the ground. When I hurt bad enough, though, I can stop thinking about Leah being gone. About the fact that she’s not coming back because I fucked our shit up and I’ve burned through my chances.

  Gator starts circling me, stick raised in both hands. “You gonna do this every day?”

  “Fuck yeah,” I tell him. “For the rest of my life. You got something against exercise?”

  He shrugs. “Some of us have better things to do.”

  “Like what?” I swing hard and he blocks me so hard that I feel the echoes of my strike in my fucking teeth. If I dropped my guard, I’d take the next hit to my head. I’d drop and shit would be over for a while. Too bad I’ve never learned to quit.

  He bares his teeth, assessing my weak points. “Riding, banging, smelling the fucking daisies?”

  “You planting flowers now?”

  Gator’s got a private side, but I’m certain my brother is no gardener. Flowers tend to be the shit we trample getting from Point A to Point B in our lives. While he thinks the question over, he feints and then the business end of his staff drills toward my face. Nice.

  He lunges backward as I bring my staff down in a lethal arc. “Just saying that you don’t have to spend every day trying to kill me. You’ve got options. Might want to explore them.”

  “I ride.” One out of three isn’t bad.

  We circle for the next few minutes, hitting and dancing around each other.

  “You think about talking to that girl of yours?” he says, slamming his stick into my side. Fucking hurts.

  I drill him back hard, wheezing s
lightly. “Nothing to talk about.”

  Leah said her piece. I failed to come up with any compelling reasons for her to stick around. I should stop thinking about her. I need to move on, get a life, fuck one of the club girls when and if my dick ever gets hard again. Thing is, I can’t stop and it’s not just the dumbass wolf in me that’s convinced we had our shot at our mate and blew it. Leah is someone special. Can’t blame her for not wanting a piece of me, not when she could do so much better, but it still hurts. Plus, she’s big on running and moving. I may have driven by her place and discovered that she and her boat were gone. Even if I’d wanted to talk to her, her absence made that hard. Some stuff has to be said face-to-face and not by text. And now that there’s been so much time, I don’t know what to say anyhow.

  “Maybe she’s had a chance to cool down,” Gator suggests. “Think shit through.”

  “She’s not a fan of the wolf,” I tell him as my stick makes contact with his shoulder.

  He curses. Think I might have heard a crack. “Kind of a big thing to spring on her.”

  True. And it’s not like Leah’s introduction to the pack was all cute and furry. She saw us with our teeth and our claws out, and violence scares the shit out of her. In retrospect, I should have started with a basket of puppies and worked my way up to the fill-grown monster. Might have stood a chance that way because there’s nothing cute about my wolf.

  Fang slaps his palm on the mats. “You got incoming.”

  “Not falling for that trick,” I growl. Fucker loves to see Gator hand me my ass.

  Gator gives me the eye. “You think I want to let you pound me?”

  The smile I flash him is pure mean. “Can’t help it if I’m better than you, can I? Maybe you need his help to even up the odds.”

  Taunting Gator is like squirting lighter fluid onto charcoal. He goes up with a growl, tossing his stick to the side and launching himself at me. Fuck, yeah. Weapons abandoned, we straight up fight. His fist slams into my jaw at the same moment I plant a blow square in his gut. Then it’s on, the two of us cursing and grunting as we roll around the mats, the hits landing fast and heavy.

  We’re halfway to killing each other, trading blows because we’re evenly matched no matter how much shit I give him, when Fang vaults over the ropes, planting his boots beside my head. Fucker’s got the biggest feet ever, and he maintains the rest of him is in proportion. Not as if I’m interested in the size of his dick, but that truth doesn’t stop him from crowing about the motion in the ocean and the size of his wave. I hook an arm around his ankles, intending to drag him down and pound the shit out of him. I’ve got plenty to go around and I haven’t hit him yet today.

  That’s when I notice he’s got his arms full.

  Of my girl.

  The. Fuck?

  Leah rocks a pair of the sexiest knee-high boots I’ve ever seen. The black leather laces up her calves, stopping just north of her knees and well south of her dress. This leaves a whole lot of sweet, creamy skin on display because the rest of her costume doesn’t start until mid-thigh. Flat on my back as I am, I can see straight up her skirt. She’s wearing a pink thong and the whole get up is Halloween store meets porn star pin up. Ordinarily, I’d be all over that shit. I’d be happy to trick or treat the fuck out of a gorgeous lady in the costume.

  But why is she here?

  Gator’s fist slams into my jaw while I’m distracted by this fantasy come to life, my head flies back, and I see stars.

  “Blade?” Leah follows up my name with a whole lot of other words. Pretty sure she’s ripping Gator a new one, which I’d love to witness, but I have to close my eyes because a dozen blurry Leahs swim in front of me and the contents of my stomach threaten to evac to the mat. Not my best impression.

  “Are you okay?” Soft hands pat my shoulder and I grunt. Fucking Gator hit me there too. In fact, my whole body hurts, so it’s still entirely possible that I’m just hallucinating Leah’s presence.

  “Fuck, man,” Gator rumbles from somewhere above me. I think that’s a general commentary on my current state and not an invitation, but I’ll check with him later.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Leah demands. She lifts my head and I groan. Fucking gonna puke on her if I’m not careful. She gently shifts me onto her lap, and since her medieval lady costume doesn’t cover much, my cheek brushes bare thigh.

  “Hi,” I whisper roughly. Might be talking to her pussy or her knee at this point. It’s gonna take me a moment to get my shit together.

  “Why did you hit him?” she demands.

  Gator rumbles something that sounds like fight he asked for it we do this all the time blah blah training blah blah. I can feel Leah bristle.

  “You hurt him,” she bellows. I bite back a grin. Not sure how getting my ass kicked on accident has worked out so well for me, but I’ll take it.

  I crack an eye. “Did they move Halloween to this month? Not that I’m complaining.”

  She looks hot. More than hot. Her sweet, scowly face is focused on me like I’m the second coming of Christ and she’s just been waiting for me to get here. I like that look. I like the concern darkening her pretty eyes too because concern means she… cares? It means she’s no more over me than I am over her.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “You left. Nothing okay about that,” I say.

  Her fingers skim gently over my face and jaw, probing, testing. “Your poor face.”

  “I’ll heal.” It’s one of the advantages of being a werewolf. “Give me an hour and I’ll be fine.”

  She makes some more noises. Kinda like them, I have to admit. She sounds concerned. Like maybe she wants to kiss everything better, or at least as if she doesn’t want to see me knocked flat on my ass, bleeding and hurting. I count that as a definite step forward for our relationship.

  “Explain.” I tug on the hem of her dress. Actually, it’s more like a really great shirt. Not sure how I feel about the eyeful Fang and Gator are getting though. Might need to find a jacket or a blanket to wrap her up in so no one else can see her. I don’t share well. Never have.

  Her lips brush over my forehead. She must find the one spot Gator missed because the touch feels awesome. “You said you were a medieval knight.”

  I nod like an idiot. “Oui.”

  “A fucking stupid one,” Gator mutters. I flash him the bird.

  “So I thought—” Her fingers sort of tighten, the nails drilling into my abused skin.

  “Go easy, okay?” I reach up and gently capture her hands. This time when I open my eyes, the world mostly stays still.

  She kisses where she hurt. “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem.” My fingers curl around hers, tugging her closer. “You do whatever you want to do and I’ll be a happy man, okay?”

  “You mean that?” She sounds wistful. Not sure what’s going through her head, but her fingers smooth back and forth over my skin and I kinda lose myself in that gentle touch for a moment.

  “I’m all yours,” I say with perfect truth.

  “I thought I could be your lady.” The wistfulness in her voice turns to something else. Something hot and fierce. “I thought you could be mine. Isn’t that how it worked? A lady gave a knight her favor and he was hers?”

  She wants a knight?

  Someone snorts, reminding me that we’ve got an audience. I roll, shoving to my feet and holding out my hand. She’s seated cross-legged on the mats, looking more than a little dazed.

  “Come with me?”

  She sets her hand in mind and lets me pull her to her feet. I keep pulling too, until she’s resting against my chest and I have my arms wrapped around her. She smells right, so damned familiar that my heart aches. I’ve missed her. She keeps patting me, though, as if she’s checking for hidden injuries. I don’t think she realizes that the only part of me that hurts now is my heart. She tore that poor fucker in half.

  I look over at Gator and Fang. “Do me a favor and get lost, okay?”

  Thank fuck, t
hey nod and beat feet for the door. Gator knows when not to give me shit. Fang I’m not so certain about. Know one thing, though—I don’t want to have this out with Leah in front of an audience. I lead her to the ropes marking off the edge of the ring. The longer I stand up, the clearer my head gets. I hold the ropes apart so she can slip through, and then I duck and follow her. I’ve got an office and the office has a door.

  I close the door. Lock it. Look at the woman who tore my fucking heart out.

  “You really want to be mine?”

  She nods. Shakes her head. Nods again and holds out… a handkerchief? Somebody’s been surfing the Internet too much. “I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.”

  “You sure?” My voice comes out in a whisper, my greedy mouth already brushing over her forehead, tracing a line down the side of her face. “I’m five hundred years old, give or take a few years. I was born a few miles outside of what’s now Paris. My sire was the werewolf. My mother was the human one. You want to know what it was like fostering out, I’ll tell you. But the short version is I went to court to learn to be a knight and fight like a fucking berserker.”

  “Yes. If you still want me.” Her fingers move over my ass, tucking the handkerchief into my back pocket. Pretty sure she pats my butt cheek when she’s done. She can do whatever she wants with the rest of me too.

  “Always.” I cup her face in my hands. “But I’m not a nice guy. I might not even be the right guy, and you should think about that because you give yourself to me, and I’ll be holding you to that promise. I’m a forever kind of man when I’m with you.”

  She doesn’t pull away, but she does smile. “You’re a knight. Aren’t you supposed to offer me flowers and sing me ballads or something?”

  “What you know about knights comes from books and movies. I’m glad you never saw us in action, never had to deal with that world. We were the warrior class and we fought every fucking day. If we weren’t training, we were jousting or riding out to battle or headed for the Crusades. There were no peaceful moments, no chance to stand down and just breathe. And the women, Christ—you have no idea. The women were one more battle we had to win. When you picked your lady or a lady chose you for her favors, you not only had to win her battles, but you had to lay siege to her honor. She had to yield everything—favors, hand, pussy. If she was a virtuous wife, you went after her anyhow, because then you bested her husband. We were all take and no give. All fight and no rest. With you, it’s different. I’m different.”