Pack Princess (Paranormal Shapeshifer BBW Romance): (Devil Riders MC) (2 page)

Shit. She’d walked smack-bang into a damn biker bar. Blinking, she backed up a few steps. A girl like her
so
should not be in a place like this.

She eyed them warily. Bikers, these sort of bikers anyway, were so far removed from her daily existence that they might as well be aliens. She caught sight of herself in a mirror on the wall opposite and forced her spine straight. She was Evva Castillo. She didn’t cower and run, not from anyone. Ever.

Her walk took on a sassy sway as she made her way through the bar, checking out the talent. She’d always dismissed biker’s as hairy, old, and fat. Motorcycles being something men purchased during a mid-life crisis to try and reclaim some of their youth. Only, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on any of the men falling silent as she passed them.

Hunger replaced the surprise in their gazes, but not one of them moved to intercept her. She eyed all the man-candy on display. What was this? Had she walked onto some film-set about sexy-ass bikers? Or perhaps she’d been hit by a truck in that alley, and this was her version of heaven.

“Hey there, Princess. You gone got yourself lost?”

She turned at the voice, almost running smack into the middle of a very broad, very male, very
naked,
chest.

She peeked up, then up some more. The owner of that voice was nice—real soft on the eyes—but not what she was looking for. She hadn’t wanted a man. Not really. She’d wanted a way to get away from the pressures of the pack. “Why? Are you going to give me directions?”

He winged an eyebrow up, the expression as scary as hell, but she held her ground. “Someone needs to, before a pretty princess like you gets hurt. Door’s that way, sweet stuff. I’d use it before someone takes a liking to you.”

She was so out of her depth it wasn't even funny. Should she go? Hell yes. Was she going to? Not in this lifetime. “Thanks, but in case you didn't notice, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“What Cuffs is saying, Darlin’, is that you walk now, or you’ll be walking funny come morning,” a new voice drawled behind her.

She jerked around and had to crane her neck to stare smack into a pair of silver eyes. Holy hotness. Red, flashing, danger lights blinked on and off in her head. She swallowed hard, adopting a bored expression to cover her reaction. “That's got to be the worst pick up line I've ever heard.”

“Princess, that’s not a pick up line. It’s a warning.”

Leaning back against a nearby table, his hands were on either side of his hips, his ankles crossed as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Like the rest of the men in the room, he wore black leathers, but his looked as though he’d been born to wear them. They clung to his legs like a jealous lover, hugging powerful calves and thighs before wrapping around slim hips. She swallowed and yanked her gaze away from his crotch. Unbidden, the line about a gun in his pocket came to mind, and amusement started to twist her lips. Amusement that faded as she dared a glance up at his face again.

Dark angel didn’t cover it. He had a face worthy to grace any of the classical sculptures—masculine and virile. Mercurial, silver eyes filled with enough heat to power a steel mill stared right back at her. Long, black hair framed those perfect features, falling in loose waves around his shoulders that would make any woman green with envy.

Perfect! She held in the urge to squeal. Finally, a man who didn't look like he'd been made from the cute-boy cookie-cutter-mold. Hell, whatever mold they’d used to make him probably broke at birth.

She pursed her lips, adding a little sway in her hips as she put her hands on them. She had more than her share of curves, but she was damn hot. An expensive gym membership hadn’t reduced the body she’d been gifted with at birth, but it had given her figure a little boost and the stamina…she could give any man the ride of his life, and she knew it.

“A warning? Damn, and here I was hoping it was a promise.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, turning as if to leave. “Too bad. I guess I’ll just have to go find some fun elsewhere.”

Fun? She must be losing her mind. Where the hell had that come from? She’d been looking for a place to relax without having to worry about what her family might say. Possibly drink herself into stupidity and forget her upcoming nuptials. Fun hadn’t been in the cards. Until now. She didn’t complete the turn, a hard hand on her arm spinning her around. Off balance, she yelped and grabbed the nearest thing, which turned out to be a pair of hard, muscled upper arms as she was hauled against tall, dark, and sexy’s body.

“If it’s a fun time you’re after, Princess, then consider it a threat, a warning, and a promise all rolled into one.” He smiled, the quirk at the corner of his full lips taking his face from impossibly handsome to panty-wetting-
fuck-me-now
-ness. “I just hope you can keep up.”

Her mind dropped straight to the gutter and made a home there. Keep up? He'd have a hard time getting her off him once she got to touch all those lovely muscles. She was definitely going into no man’s land. She shouldn’t be talking to that dangerous biker much less baiting him, but she couldn’t help herself. He was hot. Oh, so hot, and the way her body reacted to his proximity wasn’t something she was used to. Her temperature had shot out of orbit. Liquid fire melted her to the core.

She wanted him, which was damn inconvenient. It wasn’t like she’d decided to go out searching for a man or a one night stand. But now that he stood there, in all his muscled and tattooed glory, there was no way she’d pass up the chance of a wild and crazy night with a biker. Tomorrow she could go back to reality. Right now, she wanted to forget all about everything but getting her hands on him. The sooner, the better.

“Is this going to be all talk? I'm growing kind of bored.”

***

Bored.

Razor had to blink as his brain processed her reply. Bored? The girl was crazy. She had to be to come in here dressed the way she was. The black dress clinging to her curvy body was obviously expensive, and he recognized the fact that her shoes and bag were designer. A legacy from his
beloved
family. A princess indeed and she’d walked right into the gutter with her nose held high.

“Boring you, am I?” His lips quirked wryly. Good thing she wasn’t a mind-reader. She'd run screaming at some of the darker thoughts swirling around his brain. But that wasn’t his immediate problem.

The interest from the men around them pushed against his skin like the hot wind on the subway. Chatter had died down to a minimum now, and the tension was palpable in the air. His heart sunk. Shit. There was no way she was getting out of here, no matter what she thought about the matter. The Devil Riders were the roughest and most dangerous motorcycle club in the state. Hell, probably the whole damn country…and that reputation hadn’t been built without good cause.

Unlike other MCs, not one of the Devils were human—unless Peach, the half-Fae watching from the back of the bar, counted. Since the guy was homicidal at the best of times, Razor seriously doubted the human race wanted to claim him as their own.

Right now, she’d walked into
Hell and High Water—
the Devil’s bar—which meant she was fair game. He flicked a glance up and confirmed that they were the center of attention. Every man, even the ones with laps occupied by Kes and Fliss, the club whores, had their attention on him and the princess. Fuck, even Scales was watching from the back, the dragon-shifter’s eyes the bright gold of his beast. Adrenalin surged through Razor hard and fast. Even though his patches included one that said ‘President’, if Scales wanted to claim the girl, even Razor was going to be hard-pressed to stop him.

No. Mine. Ours!
His beast roared from within, the creature pacing. The outburst surprised him. Unlike some of the other shifters cast out from their packs on the whim of an alpha, Razor
was
alpha. Through and through. His control of his beast was complete. Mostly. Except for when a soft and curvy princess was wrapped in his arms.

Her hands smoothed over his upper arms, the interest in her eyes flaring into her scent, and he breathed deeply. Shit, under the expensive perfume that crawled up his nose just to piss him off was another scent. One far earthier and primal than the stuff she’d sprayed on herself.

“You’re a shifter?” He growled, just remembering to inject enough human into his voice to avoid a full-on snarl.

Her grip on his arms tightened just enough to show his question surprised her. She really had no clue what she’d walked into. She scanned the room again with renewed interest. Then met his gaze, her eyes bright with her animal’s glow. Despite the danger, she took a step closer. “And if I am?” She lowered her voice and inched even closer. “Are you going to call the dog pound on me?”

“No,” he growled, letting his beast flare in his eyes for a second. “But I might call a fucking vet if you can’t smell the danger you just walked into, Princess.”

She licked her lips and grinned. “Maybe I like danger.” Her perfectly arched brows slowly lifted. “Or maybe the big bad biker is really a little scared.”

That did it. A warning growl rumbled from the back of his throat. Shit, he was losing his grip here and fast. That hadn’t happened since the night he’d left home for the last time. “I don’t think you get it, Darlin’. This isn’t the sort of danger you play with, and then go home to your ivory castle in the Hamptons.”

He yanked her closer, rolling his hips to make his point. His leathers weren’t that fitted, but more than tight enough for her to feel the hard bar of his cock pressed up close and personal.

“This is the sort of danger that see’s you flat on your back, a cock impaled so deep inside you you’ll be spitting cum for a week, and a shifters mark on your neck.” He was deliberately crude, hoping to scare her off. He prayed he did because she had to walk out of here. Now. Before she caused a fucking riot.

Her lips formed a perfect O and her eyes widened. A breath later, she inhaled. “Where do I sign up? Or should I speak to one of the other gentlemen here?” She made a move to step away. “I want some fun. You either provide it, or I'll find someone who will.”

Chapter Two

Find. Someone. Who. Will.

“Over my dead body,” he growled, grabbing a handful of the dark curls at the nape of her neck and lowering his lips until they just brushed hers. “You want to play. You got it. But you’re playing with me, no one else. And what I take, I keep. You got me?”

She blinked. A flash of insecurity darted through her eyes so fast if he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would’ve missed it. “You don't know what you're talking about. A night of fun is one thing. No need to involve turning things into some kind of happily
never
after. I'm not after any commitment,” she said in an almost inaudible husky whisper. “I want a good time. So what say you teach me if the
save a bike and ride a biker
thing is worth trying.”

She fit perfectly in his arms, curves pressed up against the hard planes of his body, her breasts mashed against his chest, and damned if he could think of more than parting those luscious thighs and getting himself balls deep inside her. And if she kept talking, that was going to happen on a table in full view of the entire bar.

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know about riding, Princess.” He teased a kiss against her lips, the caress so brief she didn’t register it until he’d lifted his head. She pouted a soft, sexy sound of frustration in the back of her throat. “But don’t knock back the happily never after until you’ve had me. I guarantee you’ll be back for more.”

“Sometimes we don't have that choice.” She glanced away for a second before meeting his stare. Her gaze slipped down to his lips. “I don't need lessons riding, but you might need lessons walking again when all is said and done.” She pushed closer and brushed her mouth over his, catching him off guard by nipping his bottom lip before quickly leaning back. “I don't want promises. I want tonight.” She cleared her throat. “One night.”

Her quick move surprised him, the little nip shooting a line of fire right down to his cock. He growled and tightened his grip in her hair. He nodded. “One night.”
For now.

He eased his fingers open, one by one, his instincts fighting him all the way, and then took her hand and turned, only to find himself eye to eye with Scales. The big dragon blocked the path, eyes maxed out and lust rolling from his skin as he tried to peer around Razor at the woman behind him.

“Seems she walked in of her own volition. Ain’t fair for you to keep the good stuff to yerself,” he grunted. “We takin’ her out back, show her how to please a coupla’ devils?”

Fuck. This was so not what Razor needed.

Scales had been a pain in the ass recently, up in his and Cuff’s—the club VP—face all the time. It was a situation Razor knew he had to deal with, but not one he wanted to have to sort out right now. And certainly not with Scales. No one wanted the dragon riled up and ready to go, not without a target to point him at.

The best form of defense was a good offense.

Dumping the controls between himself and his beast, he called power to flood his body and crowd under his skin. Without checking in the mirror behind the bar, he knew his eyes had changed, bright blue swallowing their normal silver. There were many questions the club had asked about them, and about his past. None of which he was inclined to answer, especially not here and now. Not with a woman from a different world behind him looking for some fun.

A whisper went around the bar as all attention fell on the two men. Razor was an anomaly when it came to shifters and fighting. He never fought with the power of his beast backing him. Ever. The baddest of bad-asses amongst the Devils, he’d never needed to, so the fact he was maxed out now didn’t escape notice.

“Back the fuck off, Scales,” he growled, his voice lower and deeper than human. “This one’s mine, and that’s how it’s stayin’. You got a problem with that?”

Scales blinked, glancing between Razor and the woman peering around his arm. Razor yanked her back behind him, ready to shove her toward Cuffs should Scales lose it. If he did, then the shit was going to hit the fan in a big way, and the club would have to fork out to get the bar refit. Again.