Claimed by Werewolf, page 1
Wall Street Journal & USA Today Bestselling Author
Winter Travers
Copyright © 2025 Winter Travers
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Also by Winter Travers
Devil’s Knights MC Series
Loving Lo
Finding Cyn
Gravel’s Road
Battling Troy
Gambler’s Longshot
Keeping Meg
Fighting Demon
Unraveling Fayth
Forever Lo
Devil’s Knights MC 2nd Gen
Passing the Torch
Riding the Line
Royal Mess
Changing Lanes
Bucking Tradition
Reining It In
Fractured Brotherhood
Ride the Wind
Chase the Sunset
Freedom Ride
Skid Row Kings Series
DownShift
PowerShift
BangShift
Fallen Lords MC Series
Nickel
Pipe
Maniac
Wrecker
Boink
Clash
Freak
Slayer
Brinks
Fallen Lords Christmas
A Moo Christmas
Fallen Lords MC 2nd Gen
Fallen Dove
Fallen Star
Kings of Vengeance MC
Drop a Gear and Disappear
Lean Into It
Knees in the Breeze
Midnight Wreckage
Thrill Seeker
Livin’ on the Edge
Blacktop Freedom
Ride or Die
Powerhouse MA Series
Dropkick My Heart
Love on the Mat
Black Belt in Love
Black Belt Knockout
Nitro Crew Series
Burndown
Holeshot
Redlight
Shutdown
Royal Bastards MC: Sacramento, CA
Playboy
Six-Gun
Monk
Rebel
Barracuda
Jet
Jinx
Mace
Urn For Me
VII Knights MC: Golden, CO Chapter
Iced
Iron Fiends MC
My Biker
My Savior
My Romeo
My Hero
My Prince
My Dream
My Knight
My Casanova
My Hotshot
My End
Sweet Love Novellas
Sweet Burn
Five Alarm Donuts: Standalone Novellas
Kissing the Bad Boy
Trapped with the Bad Boy
Daddin’ Ain’t Easy
Silas: A Scrooged Christmas
Wanting More
Mama Didn’t Raise No Fool
Tangle My Tinsel
Mr. Motorcycle
Oral Communications
Coasting In
Holly’s Biker
Hey, Mama
Alice & Meg Adventures
Alice & Meg
Alice & Meg: Girls Trip
Alice & Meg: Summer Vacation
Banachi Family Series
His Reward
His Claim
His Sacrifice
His Forever
Kings of Anarchy MC: Michigan
Property of Anchor
Property of Prime
Property of Push
Saint’s Outlaws MC: Wisconsin
Twister’s Salvation
Swifts’ Game
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Coming Soon
About the Author
1st Chapter of Property of Anchor
1st Chapter of Twister’s Salvation
Chapter One
Demi
The dive bar smelled like stale beer, cheap perfume, and secrets. The kind of place my brother would’ve hated. It was too loud, too dangerous, and too full of men with patches sewn on their backs that screamed don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.
But I had questions.
Six months ago, my brother was murdered. The cops called it “a random act of violence.” Wrong place, wrong time. End of story. Case closed.
They were wrong.
I knew it in my bones, the same way I knew the sun would rise in the morning. Tyler didn’t just stumble into something; he found it, tripped over it, and maybe even tried to stand up against it.
He’d been working nights at a warehouse on the south side. The kind of place that paid in cash and didn’t care who clocked in as long as the crates kept moving. I used to tease him for it, said it sounded sketchy as hell. He’d laughed it off and told me it was just boxes and forklifts. But now I wasn’t so sure.
And whatever it was, it led me here, to the bar where whispers of the Broken Sons MC bled into the smoke-thick air.
I sat at a corner table, nursed a flat Coke, and pretended to scroll on my phone. Every so often, I glanced at the crowd. Men in leather cuts leaned against the pool tables. Women draped themselves over laps like accessories. Conversations slurred with whiskey and laughter.
And then I heard it.
“Wolf’ll handle it. He always does.”
The words came from two bikers hunched near the jukebox with their voices low but not low enough. My pulse spiked.
Wolf.
I’d read the name before in a thread buried deep in an online forum that linked the Broken Sons to Tyler’s last night alive. But reading it in cold text was different than hearing it in this place.
I forced my breathing to slow and leaned back in my chair. Wolf. The name rolled through my head, and every nerve ending buzzed.
The jukebox clicked, the men laughed, and my gaze slid toward the bar. That’s when I saw him.
He wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t drinking. Just… watching.
He leaned against the wall like he owned it. Tall, with broad shoulders that stretched the leather of his cut. His hair was long enough to curl around his collar, dark like the shadow stubble along his jaw. His arms were folded, with tattoos inked into skin that looked carved out of something harder than stone.
And his eyes, God, his eyes found mine across the room like they’d been waiting.
Cold. Sharp.
Predator’s eyes.
I looked away too fast and nearly choked on my Coke. Smooth, Demi. Real smooth.
I told myself not to panic. Not to let him see I’d been listening. But when I glanced back up, his mouth curved, not into a smile, not even close. More like a warning. A curl of lips that said he’d caught me and wasn’t the least bit surprised.
The bikers by the jukebox clapped him on the back as if they’d just been talking about him. “Werewolf,” one of them said with a laugh. “Man, you scare the shit out of people just by standing there.”
Werewolf.
The infamous enforcer of the Broken Sons MC.
The one name that kept circling back to me no matter where I dug, and no matter who I questioned.
Tyler’s ghost whispered in my ear. That’s him.
I swallowed hard, shoved my phone into my bag, and stood. My heart pounded so loud it drowned out the Metallica song pouring from the jukebox. I told myself I wasn’t afraid. That was what I came here for.
Answers.
I followed him out when he pushed through the door. He didn’t look back and didn’t hurry. It was almost like he knew.
The night air slapped me in the face, cool and damp, and carried the scent of rain-soaked asphalt. He headed for a blacked-out Harley parked under a streetlight, and I told myself now or never.
“Werewolf!” I called. My voice was sharper than I expected.
He stopped just as he got to his bike. Slowly, he turned his head just enough for me to see the edge of his profile.
“Who the hell are you?” His voice was low and ro ugh. The kind of sound that belonged to a man who smoked danger for breakfast.
I stepped closer and clutched my bag like it might shield me. “My name’s Demi. And you’re going to tell me what you know about Tyler Cross.”
His gaze slid over me, slow and deliberate, like he was cataloging everything about me.
Then he turned fully, and the streetlight caught the scar running along his jaw. His lips pulled into something that might’ve been a grin if grins could bite.
“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripped with menace and something else I couldn’t place, “you don’t want to know the kind of shit you’re asking about.”
Maybe not. But I wasn’t going anywhere until I got my answers.
Chapter Two
Werewolf
People said my name like it carried weight. Like it meant something more than just a word stitched onto a leather cut.
Werewolf.
Most of the time, I let them believe the stories because fear was better than respect. Fear got doors opened quicker. Fear kept knives out of my back when I walked into rooms where I didn’t belong. Fear was survival.
But the woman who’d followed me out of the bar tonight? She wasn’t afraid enough. Not of me, and not of this life.
I leaned against my bike, arms crossed, and watched her fight to keep her chin high. She tried not to look rattled, but I saw the tremor in her fingers and the way her bag strap cut into her white-knuckled grip.
“Tyler Cross,” she said again, like the name was supposed to mean something.
It did.
More than she realized.
But I wasn’t about to tell her that.
“Sweetheart, you need to turn around and walk your sweet butt back to wherever you came from.”
Her shoulders squared. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”
Christ. She had a mouth on her. The kind that would get her killed in places like this.
I pushed off the bike and closed the distance between us. Not much, just enough to let her feel the difference in size and the weight of me blocking out the flickering streetlight. She had to crane her neck to keep eye contact, and damn if she didn’t. Brave. Stupid. Maybe both.
“Then don’t ask questions you’re not ready for the answers to,” I said, low enough that she’d feel the warning more than hear it.
For a second, silence stretched between us except for the distant hum of the highway. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.
Instead, she said, “Six months ago, my brother was murdered. The cops called it random. I don’t believe that. I know he was with someone tied to your club the night it happened. And every lead and whisper I’ve followed since then comes back to one name. Yours.”
She might as well have pressed a knife to my throat because Tyler Cross was a ghost I’d hoped would stay buried.
Tyler hadn’t been some random drunk who picked the wrong fight. He’d seen everything he shouldn’t have. The guns in the back of the van and the wrong men at the wrong time. The order had come down fast: clean it up with no witnesses.
I kept my face blank, but inside, gears turned. Tyler had been in the wrong place, at the wrong time, sure, but not random. Not to me. And if this woman had half a clue what she was poking her nose into, she’d be running back to whatever safe little life she’d crawled out of.
Instead, she was standing here with fire in her eyes and demanding I hand her the truth like it was a receipt she could fold up and shove into her purse.
I stepped closer and crowded her space. She took half a step back, but she didn’t run.
“Let me give you a piece of advice, Demi,” I said and tasted her name on my tongue. “Walk away. Forget my name. Forget the Broken Sons. If you keep chasing ghosts, you’re going to end up lying in the ground next to your brother.”
Her jaw clenched. Stubborn as hell. “You think you scare me?”
I almost laughed. Not because she was wrong—I scared plenty of people—but because of the way she said it. Like she hadn’t spent a second wondering if maybe she should be scared.
“You should be scared.” I leaned in until my breath brushed her hairline, until I could see the quick flutter of her pulse at her throat. “You have no idea what kind of monster you’re dealing with.”
She swallowed hard, but her voice didn’t break. “Then maybe you’re exactly who I need.”
That one hit me like a sucker punch.
For a heartbeat, I just stared at her, caught between wanting to shake sense into her and drag her the hell away before anyone else noticed. Her stubborn eyes locked on mine and dared me to deny her. To laugh in her face, and to walk away.
I should’ve done all three.
Instead, I turned, swung a leg over my bike, and fired up the engine. The roar shattered the tension hanging between us, and exhaust smoke curled in the cool night air. “You don’t want me, sweetheart,” I said over the engine’s rumble. “Trust me.”
And then I gunned it, leaving her standing in the street with her bag clutched to her chest.
If Demi wasn’t going to protect herself from me, then I would do it for her.
The clubhouse was twenty minutes down the road, tucked off an old county highway where the trees pressed in tight and the only light came from the neon skull sign that buzzed over the front door.
I parked, killed the engine, and sat for a second with my hands still on the grips. My knuckles itched from holding back. Every instinct in me screamed that Demi Cross was a problem and a wildfire that would burn through the Sons if I didn’t stomp it out now.
And yet I’d walked away.
Inside, the place smelled like smoke and leather and the faint metallic tang of oil that never really washed out of the floorboards. A few of the brothers were crowded around the pool table, arguing over a shot. Music blared from a speaker in the corner, and laughter rolled like thunder.
But the Prez’s office door was cracked open, with light spilling out into the hall.
I knocked once and pushed it open.
Prez looked up from the paperwork spread across his desk. Tank-sized, bald, and scarred from a dozen knife fights. He was the kind of man you didn’t lie to without a damn good reason.
“Wolf,” he said and leaned back in his chair. “You look like you seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost.” I dropped into the chair opposite him. “A girl.”
His brow furrowed. “What girl?”
“Tyler Cross’s sister.”
That got his attention. He set his pen down slowly, and his eyes narrowed. “She sniffing around?”
I nodded once.
“What’d you tell her?”
“Nothing.”
He studied me for a long moment, the way he always did when he was weighing whether to believe me. “Nothing, huh? You didn’t scare her off?”
“She’s stubborn.” I thought of her chin tilted up and the fire in her voice. “Doesn’t scare easy.”
“That makes her dangerous.”
I didn’t disagree.
“Handle it,” Prez said finally. “If she keeps poking her nose where it doesn’t belong, she’ll end up like her brother. We can’t afford cops sniffing around again. You understand me?”
I nodded, but my jaw clenched. Because I understood all too well.
Handle it.
Which meant one of two things: scare her so bad she ran, or make sure she never asked another question again. Dead.
The second option left a sour taste in my mouth.
I left the office with the Prez’s warning echoing in my head. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses hit me again, but none of it sank in.
All I saw was Demi Cross’s face.
The way her voice didn’t waver when she said my name.
The way she looked at me like maybe I was the monster who’d killed her brother or the one who could find the truth for her.
And the sick part?
I didn’t know which one I was, either.
Later that night, I stretched out on my bed in the back of the clubhouse.
Sleep didn’t come easy. It hadn’t for years. Too many ghosts. Too much blood.
But tonight wasn’t about old wars or past sins. Tonight, every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
Demi.
Her stubborn chin. She tried to hide her trembling fingers. The way her eyes caught the light and refused to look away from me.
