Determined Prince (Captured by a Dragon-Shifter) (2 page)

S
moke filled the club
, but Eve Minott ignored it from her place on stage. Slinging her guitar over her back, she grabbed the microphone, closed her eyes to the bright spotlight and sang her heart out. The beat was heavy, pounding, vicious—and she loved it. No whiny, poppy, girly music for her. She played hardcore in-your-face rock.

The club was one of many in a section of the city known as The Flats. The strip of underground bars and restaurants ran along the banks of the Cuyahoga River. At night, lights lit up the area and gleamed off the water, back-dropped by the industrial arches of a bridge.

Cleveland was just another stop on the map for Eve. She wasn’t famous, but she didn’t care. She adored music and was happy doing what she loved. Besides, living the night life meant she didn’t have to get up early in the morning for a boring day job.

The song ended abruptly. The crowd cheered. A man whistled. Eve threw her hands up into the air and grinned, loving the attention. Instantly, the drum beat sounded again, kicking off the next song. She banged her head to the fast tempo as she whipped her guitar around and began playing along. The lights dimmed, not as blinding as before and colors swirled over the sea of heads before her. The smoke cleared and she was glad for it. She was able to make out more of the crowd now.

Her skimpy tank top clung to her sweaty flesh and her tight vinyl pants were hot as hell. Even with the doors open, the hot breeze did little to cool the stage. She felt strands of her long hair tickling her back even though it was pulled up messily on top of her head.

Endless faces moved, bouncing before her as the crowd jumped to the beat, their hands tossed up in tribute of the old classic Eve had reworked. She turned, grinning at her band mates—all women except for Paul on the drums. They teasingly called him their sex kitten. Paul winked, his drumsticks flying through the air like a baton for a moment before he caught them. Eve laughed before turning back to her mic.

Belting out the words, she watched the crowd part before her. The movement caught her eye and it was all she could do not to laugh over her words. Four very large, very odd men stood motionless surrounded by swaying bodies close to the stage.

The first, dressed as a sailor from the fifties in white bell-bottoms and a matching shirt, was grinning like a fool as he watched some nearby women dance—or more accurately, as he watched their breasts jiggle as they danced. He stood next to a black-clad ninja with dark brown hair and sinfully dark eyes. It was impossible to see most of the ninja’s face under the mask.

Next to the ninja was the biggest of the men in a vest minus an undershirt. The expanses of his bulging muscles were easy enough to see from the stage. His tight, hip-hugger pants dipped so low she saw his flat stomach and hip bones in the flashing light. Naughty biker, perhaps?

Last in line was a cowboy. Eve’s voice dipped, ending too fast on a note. She quickly recovered, screaming into the mic. The cowboy flinched at the sound even as the crowd went wild. She guessed he was more of a country fan. Eve again tried not to laugh as she tore her eyes away for a brief moment before looking back.

The sexy cowboy was staring at her intently, his arms folded over his chest, his body unmoving. His bright eyes shone in the dimmed lights, as if they held an inner glow. They were light in color—blue, perhaps green. Rich black hair flowed to his shoulders from beneath his white hat. Long sideburns trailed down his jaw, framing his full, kissable lips. Eve felt a twinge of desire in her stomach, making her nerves all that more alive. She ignored it, tearing her eyes from him.

In truth, all four men were hot male specimens—even if they wore flamboyant costumes in the middle of summer. They only spoke to each other, though women did try to get their attention. However, sailor boy’s head was bobbing along with the dancing breasts.

The song ended, the notes trailing off amongst the cheers. Eve bowed, holding on to her guitar. She flashed an impish smile at the crowd. Sweat made her skin glisten and she was out of breath, but she didn’t care.

A slower melody started signaling their last song of the night. She might not be the king of rock and roll, but she sure as hell was going to sing like she was the queen. The cowboy lowered his arms slowly to his side and tilted his head to stare at her. She found herself staring back, unable to look away, singing directly to him. Emotion always filled her when she sang, and she felt it pour out of her into the mystery man. It was only the cheering of the crowd that made her realize the song was over. She took several deep breaths, smiling as she tore her eyes away from the cowboy.

It had been a stellar performance and she’d sung like it was her last show on Earth. After a few moments, she yelled goodnight and sauntered off the stage. A small room in the back was reserved for the band. Eve dropped off her guitar, knowing she’d probably crash on the old couch for the night. It’s not like she had an apartment to go back to. It was either the old couch or camping in Paul’s van.

“Good set, baby,” Paul said, coming in after her. He tossed his drumsticks next to her case. He’d long since thrown off his T-shirt and stood next to her in a pair of old denim jeans. They were so faded and worn that the legs had holes in them that he’d safety pinned back together.

“Shit, it’s hot tonight,” said the bassist, Kim. She wore a tight skirt and a blood-red corset. “I need a drink.”

“Mm,” Eve laughed. “Me too.”

“Me three,” Joan, who also played guitar, agreed. She scratched her short red hair, causing it to spike. Kim slung her arm over Joan’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. They shared a loving look.

“Me four,” Eve said. “And five.”

“Come on, baby, let’s get a drink.” Paul grabbed Eve and slung her over his shoulder, her slender frame no match for his bigger strength. Kicking her feet, she squealed with laughter as he carted her into the crowd. Cheers sounded as people saw them.

Paul slapped her ass playfully before setting her down next to the wooden bar. Eve grinned as he yelled at the bartender for a couple of beers and shots of tequila. Since the beginning—which truth be told, was only three months ago—there had never been anything between them, only friendship born of a shared wanderlust. “I think it’s time for a birthday toast, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Damn straight, pussycat,” Eve yelled, raising her voice over the noisy juke box that had taken over their job of inciting the crowd. “Let’s show these savages what rock ’n roll is all about!”

K
yran glanced
around the noisy club. The humans seemed happy to be there, even though the music was loud and angry. Still, there was something very raw and primitive to the beat of it—not to mention the very sexy woman who’d been singing. Though during the last song, the slow one, he’d found he enjoyed the strange melody and softer caress of her voice.

Too bad the singer looked like a bundle of trouble. When she’d belted her first songs with such pent-up anger and aggression, he’d known he’d be better off finding another to take home with him. Moreover, her dark brown hair was growing blue in places. There was no telling how humans had evolved. It was quite possible the blue was a mutational defect. It wasn’t exactly a look suited to a future queen of the Draig—or his heirs for that matter. What if his sons had blue patches on their heads when they shifted?

“Have you decided?” Finn asked, eyeing a group of females.

“Point her out so we can grab her and leave.” Ivar shifted his weight as he looked dispassionately around. “This world is more savage than I feared. I’m not sure it makes much difference if you pick one woman over another.”

“What? We get off Qurilixen and you don’t want to have some fun? Who’s to know if we test the fighting skills of some of these men? Or if we sample the finer wares? Many of these women appear willing.” Rafe laughed. “I say take your time, Kyran. There’s no reason to rush this. Mating is forever, you know.”

“The gods will show me,” Kyran said, certain of that fact. “I’ll feel it.”

“It would be nice if there was something to help you decide,” Finn mused. “Like a rod that heated up when pointed at your mate. Then you could aim it around, find a suitable match and be done with it. I don’t like this random, glance around, pick a pretty
fea
, grab her and hope for the best for the rest of your life. Perhaps we should take several of them and then decide later.”

“Ah, now
that’s
an idea.” Rafe nodded enthusiastically. “Can we please?”

Kyran’s stomach knotted. He’d been thinking pretty much the same thing. Though instead of agreeing, he said, “You must trust in the gods to lead you down the right path. That is why we spent last week at the temple.”

“Mm, I thought that was because of the priestesses.” Rafe grinned, giving a nearby group of ladies an audacious wink.

“Can’t you at least take the gods seriously?” Ivar frowned.

“Why?” Rafe mumbled, his eyes caught by a woman in a short skirt as she walked by. She turned her head and her gaze lingered on Ivar. The man didn’t notice. Rafe sighed, shaking his head. “You take things seriously enough for everyone.”

“What are you guys supposed to be?” A woman with short black hair stopped in front of them, her arms linked with two blonde friends. She had to yell over the music to be heard. The blondes’ giggles were lost in the noise.

“I am Kyran,” he said, bowing his head. His voice was gruffer in speech than the humans’ accents, but there was nothing to be done for it.

“Oh, you’re European!” one of the blondes exclaimed, batting her eyelashes at Ivar.

“No, I am a
draqueen
,” Ivar stated bluntly.

“Drag queens, eh? I should’ve known,” the black-haired woman answered. She frowned as the three of them looked the princes over. “Well now, that’s a real pity, boys. You come find us if you decide to swing both ways.”

The four princes watched the women dance off into the crowd.

“Perhaps, we should tell them we’re European,” Rafe mused. “That is at least the tenth time you scared females off by saying you’re a
draqueen
. Maybe they’re not used to talking to royalty.”

“Good idea,” Kyran said.

“Perhaps we should have brought the scouts with us,” Ivar stated.

“So they could report back to our parents?” Rafe snorted. “I think not.”

“Let’s go procure drinks. Do we have that trading paper?” Kyran asked before the brothers could start arguing.

“The transmissions say it is called cabbage or dinero or cash money,” Rafe explained, reaching into his white pants. “Ah, yeah, I… Here it is.”

Kyran swiped it from him and walked toward the bar. He placed his palm flat on the wooden top. A man came up from behind. “What’ll it be?”

“Four firewaters—” Kyran paused, trying to remember the words they’d been told to use, “—ah…amigo.”

“Sorry, buddy, don’t know how to make a firewater amigo,” the man answered.

Kyran glanced around. Seeing a tall glass of pink liquid in front of the woman next to him, he pointed and said, “Give me that.”

“Twenty,” the man said, leaving to pour the drinks. Kyran glanced around and then shrugged. Twenty what?

As he waited, he again scanned the crowd. There were several pretty ladies, but none he wanted to take home to be his bride. Many were too loud, too gaudily dressed, hanging too freely on other men—some of them two or more. One thing was for sure, when he got his bride home, he would not be allowing her to touch other men like this. Such things were not done. Maybe it was time they tried another location. Surely they couldn’t be faulted for not getting it right the first time.

The man came back with the four drinks. Kyran put the colorful trading paper down on the counter. “Many thanks.”

“Twenty,” the man repeated.

“Ah,” Kyran nodded in understanding as he gestured down to the papers.

The man picked it up. “Sorry, buddy, does this look like a bank? I need twenty American.”

“We’re European,” Finn said.

“That’s nice, fellas, but we only accept American money here.”

Kyran took a deep breath. He was about to refuse the drinks when a husky feminine voice stopped him. “Just put this round on my tab, Bill.”

He saw Finn smile. Kyran turned. It was the blue-brown-haired singer.

“And get me another shot of to-kill-ya
,
would ya?” she added.

“One tequila comin’ up,” Bill answered. He didn’t move far as he poured a drink into a tiny glass. Kyran assumed she didn’t drink too much, being as she was so small compared to a man of his size.

The singer winked at him and he found himself staring into her hazel green eyes in surprise. “Howdy, partner. Is that a pistol in your pocket?”

Kyran glanced down, patting his waist. He didn’t have anything. The woman laughed. It was a nice sound, deep and honest.

She pinched the tiny glass and then tossed her head back to drink. Gasping afterward, she slid the glass toward Bill. “Give me another.”

“Anything for you, love.” Bill blew her a kiss.

Kyran stiffened, balling his hands into fists, ready to fight the man for the woman’s attention. Ivar placed a hand on his arm and shook his head once. Kyran forced himself to relax. Nodding, he picked up the drink she’d gotten for him and said, “Many thanks, m’lady.”

The woman gave him a big smile and then turned her attention to the others. Kyran didn’t drink but set the glass back down as he studied her. She had an impish grin that went well with her sparkling dark-lined eyes. If he’d been asked what he was looking for in a mate, she wouldn’t have been his description. Still, there was something inside him—a primal, urgent lust that called out to her. His body tightened, becoming aroused. He was thankful for his tight jeans, as it kept the blood from flowing too readily into his shaft.

The singer took another drink, tilting her head back in the same quick fashion as before. She motioned to the bartender for another. The man was there with the bottle, instantly pouring one. She drank that one as well, gasping for breath afterward. “Whew, that’s what I’m talking about!”

Kyran wondered if maybe it’d be smarter for her to buy a larger glass. Then she wouldn’t have to keep refilling it when she was thirsty. Bill refilled the dainty glass yet again and then left to help other customers. Kyran was glad the man was gone. The woman studied the other princes intently.

“I get ninja boy here and the Navy scene, but—” the woman pointed at Ivar, “—what are you supposed to be?”

“Prince Ivar of the Var.” Ivar bowed his head.

“We’re European,” Finn offered quickly.

“Really.” The woman chuckled, only to wryly add, “I would’ve taken you boys for locals.”

Kyran tensed as her gaze again met his. For some reason, he couldn’t force himself speak. He didn’t know what to say to her.

“Dance with me, cowboy,” the woman said, her tone dipping slightly. His body lurched with excitement. She leaned close and licked her lips. “It’s my birthday and I want to celebrate.”

“You look like an honorable planet. I have a home and a brother,” he said, nervously trying to get out his preplanned speech. “The trees are castles.”

“English isn’t your first language, is it? No worries, I don’t need you for conversation.” Stealing the hat from his head, she sauntered onto the dance floor, joining the crowd. Her slender body swayed to the music as she wound her arms above her head. Kyran tilted his head to the side as he watched her hips. He didn’t follow her, only stared.

“Well?” Rafe broke into his daze, thrusting one of the pink drinks at him. “This one seems to like you. Why don’t you go see if you like her?”

“I didn’t detect a man’s mark on her or a finger shackle,” Ivar said. “She doesn’t appear to be taken or owned.”

“She’s pretty, though strange.” Finn patted his brother’s shoulder. “I’m confident the hair can be fixed. It could be worse. I saw a woman whose locks were pink.”

“She did not run when I told her who I was,” Ivar added logically. “It should make for an easy adjustment to our planet.”

The men nodded thoughtfully, each taking a drink of the pink liquor at the same time. Kyran gagged and they each spit the disgusting drink out. A few nearby females screeched in protest as it sprayed by their feet. The women stormed off. The princes quickly set the glasses down.

“Vile,” Rafe exclaimed. “How can humans drink that?”

“I’m not sure…” Kyran began, still unnerved from having the woman stand so close. Her lips had been right within reach and he’d wanted nothing more than to kiss her. Just then, the man who’d been on stage making music with the singer danced to where she was on the floor. As the man swept her off the ground, tossed her over his shoulder and danced her about in circles, she held onto Kyran’s hat.

Kyran’s gut tightened in annoyance. The woman screamed, her laugh ringing over the crowd. Who was this man? Why did she let him grab her?

“You missed your chance,” Ivar stated. “That other male is about to claim her for himself.”

“You think that’s what he is doing?” Finn wondered aloud. “It would make sense. Didn’t some of the elders say human men would ride into the village and cart the woman of his choice off? What did they call them?”

“Raiders,” Rafe answered. “Or Vikings.”

“Perhaps this will be easier than we feared. If women are used to being claimed in such a method, they will offer little protest us stealing them away to our home.” Ivar sighed. “Look, he’s putting her down. He must have changed his mind. Go, quick, and claim that one so we can get back to the portal. There’s really no guarantee how long it will be open. The portal is old. What if it stops working?”

“Do we have to?” Rafe pouted. “But—”

“You will find your mate soon enough, brother. Patience,” Ivar said.

“Who’s talking about a mate?” Rafe grumbled. “I’m talking about carnal
mating
.”

Kyran didn’t bother to interrupt as he strode onto the dance floor. It was decided. He would claim her and be done with it. Besides, there was something about her that stirred his blood. She would make a fine bed partner. Someone with so much energy would be lively between the sheets. A woman would have to be spirited to satisfy her Draig husband’s sensual needs.

As for the hair, if it could not be fixed, he would order her to cover it with a headdress. Many of the alien species they’d come across had such anomalies if not more. Surely he was just being paranoid about the other Draigs accepting her. If she acted like a queen, as he would instruct her to do, there would be no problem.

He let a slow grin spread over his features. The idea of bedding her brought him much pleasure. No more nights alone stroking himself to completion. Kyran relished the idea of a willing woman, but even more so of a wife.

His body hard with arousal, he stepped up to her, standing still as her eyes met his. Her smile faded some and she stopped dancing. The crowd swayed around them, but Kyran didn’t care. All he saw was her.

“I choose you, m’lady,” he stated.

She pursed her lips and rocked lightly on her feet. Her words a little slurred, she asked, “Do ya now, cowboy?”

“I am a cowman.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I am not a boy. I earned my manhood many years ago in battle. I choose you.”

“Is that so, cow
man
?”

“Yes.” The statement was simple, truthful. He had chosen her. This woman was now his bride. His stomach clenched as he waited for her reaction. It wasn’t what he’d expected.

The woman lifted up on her toes and pressed her mouth boldly to his. The contact took him by surprise and he didn’t react quickly enough. A low hum sounded and then she pulled away, dancing once more.

“Don’t you guys usually say ma’am, not m’lady? I think you’re getting your cowman confused with a knight in shining armor.” The woman winked at him and tipped down his hat so it shaded her eyes. It didn’t matter. He saw through the darker shadows over her face. “So which are you? Cowman or knight?”

“Tonight? Both.”

“Hmm, and what makes you think I would choose you?”

He nodded in approval. It was a wise question. He should have to prove himself somewhat. Instead of using his voice, he spoke to her as she had him. He reached for her and then lifted her before him and placed his lips firmly to hers. She gasped but didn’t fight to be let down as he opened his mouth. The sting of liquor met his tongue, and a second later, she had her legs wrapped around him and was kissing him deeply as if she would devour him.

He held her easily. Humans were so frail compared to the heavier weight of dragonshifter women. A little moan escaped her when he devoured her in return. Finally, pushing away, she breathed heavily and whispered, “Well, happy birthday to me.”