Marisa Chenery - Were wolf Claimed

Draven lifted his lupine head and sniffed the air. He couldn’t get enough of it. Compared to downtown Toronto, the scents up north in Muskoka were clean and fresh. Maybe that was why he felt drawn to come to the lake house on Buck Lake more often than not lately. It was good to get away from the smog, to run through the bush as a wolf.

Then there was the whole Rick fiasco. God, Draven couldn’t believe he had called that scumbag a friend. Rick was the lowest of the low, and deserved being kicked out of their pack. The other man’s last words to Draven had been a threat to find him and make him pay for turning Rick in. His ex pack mate knew Draven had a lake house here, but Draven doubted Rick would be so stupid as to follow him. If it came down to a fight, Draven was the stronger of the two. And Rick knew it.

Draven loped through the trees, enjoying the fact there was no one else around for miles. No mortals he’d have to hide from while in this form. He’d made sure when he bought the lakefront property twenty years before that he could purchase the lots on either side of it. He liked his privacy and didn’t want mortal neighbors intruding upon it.

Lowering his nose to the ground he smelled the scent of a rabbit that had recently been in the area. Draven didn’t bother to try to pick up its trail. He wasn’t in the mood to chase one for the fun of it. He’d arrived late that morning and hadn’t been able to ignore the call of the great outdoors. He’d already been out running for a few hours and it was now early afternoon.

He continued on his way, making the wide loop he’d set for himself back toward the house. The sun that managed to shine through the thick foliage high above him was hot. It was a perfect day for a swim. He intended to jump into the lake and do just that very soon.

Reaching the back of the place he considered his second home, Draven reached for the magic deep inside him and shifted to his human form, willing his athletic shorts and muscle shirt on at the same time. He’d go inside, change into his bathing suit and head for his dock.

Draven had only taken a step in the direction of the sliding glass door when he heard a male voice swearing up a storm. Sound traveled better over the water, but with his sensitive werewolf hearing, he knew the man wasn’t far from the waterside of his property. Deciding he’d better investigate, he changed direction and headed toward the front of the house.

He spotted a small boat on the lake about twenty feet away from the end of his dock. A solitary man stood at the back of it, smacking the hell out of the top of the outboard motor.

Draven quickly walked down the well-worn path to the dock. He smiled as the man swore again.

“You goddamn mother fucker, start already.”

“You sound as if you could use a little help,” Draven said loud enough for the man to hear.

The other man’s head whipped around, causing the boat to rock. He used his hand to shade his eyes as he looked at Draven. “Maybe a little. This piece-of-crap motor won’t start. It seemed fine when I left the cottage.”

As if to show the truth of his words, he took hold of the manual pull start and roughly yanked on it. After the third time, the boat rocked so violently the man lost his balance and fell over the side into the water. Draven roughly pulled off his shirt, prepared to dive in after him, but the other man surfaced a few seconds later.

He smacked the water. “Just fucking perfect.” He swam closer to the boat and hauled himself into it.

“Why don’t you use one of the oars to paddle over to my dock,” Draven called. “I’m pretty handy when it comes to motors.”

The man snorted. “I would if I could. Dumb-ass that I am, I didn’t think to look to see if there were any in the boat before I left. And wouldn’t you know it, there aren’t. I’ve drifted, allowing the current to take me wherever it wants for the last twenty minutes.”

“Hold on. I have some rope that should be long enough to reach you.”

Draven took off at a run and went to his boathouse situated close to the dock. Inside, he grabbed the length of coiled rope out of the bottom of his power boat before heading back outside. At the end of the dock, he tied it to one of the attached metal rings.

“Are you ready to catch?” he asked the man.

“Yeah, but I don’t know if you’re going to be able throw it this far.”

Without answering, Draven flung the coil of rope out over the water, putting all of his werewolf strength behind it. It came up a little short, but the other man was able to fish the end out of the lake. Seeing he had a good hold of it, Draven pulled, towing the boat toward the dock. Once it was parallel with it, he held the side of the small water craft while the man used another rope to tie it to the dock.

Draven backed away as his visitor stepped up beside him. The breeze changed direction, blowing in his face. Drawing in a deep breath of the man’s scent, realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He stiffened, fighting not to pounce on him as his mating urge roared to life. His cock instantly became hard. It was all he could do to stop the growl of need that built inside him from pushing past his lips.

Completely unaware of Draven’s state, his would-be mate said, “Thanks, man. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t happened to come along. I’m Wyatt, by the way.” He stuck out his hand.

“Draven,” he said, gritting his teeth against the shot of arousal the simple touch of shaking hands caused.

“Do you think you can fix the motor enough for me to get back to the cottage, Draven?”

“I’ll give it a shot. I just need to get some tools first. You must be new around here. I haven’t seen you before.”

“You could say that. I’ve rented a cottage on the other end of the lake for a couple of weeks. I thought I’d try a little fishing.” Wyatt motioned to the rod and tackle box that sat on the bottom of the boat.

While Wyatt spoke, Draven ran his gaze over him, taking all of him in. His would-be mate was about four inches shorter than him, standing around six feet. His body was muscular, though not as big as Draven. And from the way Wyatt’s wet t-shirt and shorts clung to him, there didn’t appear to be an inch of fat on him anywhere. His short, dark-blond hair just brushed the top of his collar. Wyatt also had rugged good looks.

Wyatt came across as straight, but that didn’t mean he was. And just because he set Draven’s mating urge off, it wasn’t a foregone conclusion that Wyatt was into men. It just meant he was the one for Draven, who happened to be. At fifteen hundred years old, he’d known for a long time that a woman would never be his mate. He’d slept with one once, but had found it totally unsatisfying and unappealing.

Pulling himself back to the present, Draven found Wyatt’s hazel-eyed gaze directed on him. He realized he’d been silent for a bit too long. Draven cleared his throat, trying to pull it together. It was hard to concentrate on anything else with the mating urge riding his ass, making him so horny for the man in front of him he wanted to go down on his knees and suck Wyatt’s cock.

He didn’t. Instead, he said, “The fishing usually isn’t good this time of day. It’s better to go out in the early evening. That’s when they start biting. I think I know which cottage you’re staying at. It’s the only one on the lake that is a rental, as far as I know.”

“I’ll have to try later then,” Wyatt said in return. “If the boat is up and running again, that is.”

“Let me get some tools and see if I can get the motor to start.”