Evva’s gasp was echoed by the congregation as all eyes turned to the back of the church. A familiar, broad-shouldered figured filled the doorway. 

Razor.  

Her heart turned over in her chest as she lifted her hand to cover her mouth, in case she cried out for him. This was her wild dream, her hope. That he’d find a way to come and rescue her from the travesty of a loveless marriage. 

As much as she wanted it though, yearned for it and dreamed of it, she knew it could never be. She frowned. This wasn’t quite the way she’d dreamed it. 

Instead of the leathers she’d envisioned him arriving in, he wore a tuxedo, and his hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail.  

“Oh my,” a feminine voice muttered to her left. “He can ride to my rescue any time.” 

Evva fought back the snarl in her throat. Razor wasn’t hers to be jealous over. So why was he here? 

The pastor cleared his throat, looking over his glasses at the intruder. “And your reason would be?” 

Razor swept a glance over the guests, focusing on Chip’s side of the church. “The contract between the Rasmussen and Castillo pack state that the respective first-borns will wed at a mutually agreeable time. However, the groom is not the Rasmussen first-born.” 

Her gaze jerked to her left, to a visibly pale ready-to-pass-out Chip. He wasn't first born? What the hell was going on? 

Her father wasn’t slow on the uptake either. Stepping forward, he glared at Chip and his father. “What the hell is going on, Rasmussen?” He gestured toward Razor. “Who the hell is this?” 

“Let me answer that, since the only time my father is telling the truth is when he’s not speaking.” Razor’s long stride ate up the aisle as he walked toward them. Finally, he was there, just a few steps away, and her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest. 

“I’m Casey Rasmussen, first born of the Rasmussen pack.” He didn’t spare his father or any of his family a single glance as he spoke, but Evva caught Chip’s flinch at the words. “When I disagreed with my father on the direction the pack should take after I left the service, we had a parting of ways.” 

“It doesn’t matter!” Chip and Razor’s father broke in. “Dale is the pack heir. My heir. The marriage will go ahead.” 

“Ah, no.” Evva’s father held up his hand. “The contract clearly states that the union is between the first-born children, nothing was said about heirs.” 

Razor—wait—he'd said his name was Casey. Didn't matter. He'd always be Razor to her. He said he was the Rasmussen first born. That meant... 

“I'm willing to go ahead with the wedding,” she interrupted the arguing, her gaze locked on Razor. “With the Rasmussen first born. And only the first-born, as stated in the contract.” 

“B-but—” Chip’s father tried to break in, but she shot him a hard look.  

“Unless, of course, you wish to be found in default?” she asked, which meant that the other pack would lose a shitload of property and land-rights to the Castillos. 

The shock on the elder Rasmussen’s face was pure gold. Evva stood her ground to glare him down, aware of her father flanking her on one side and Razor on the other. They’d have her back. Supporting her as she made her first stand for her pack, her life, and her own happiness.  

“No...no,” Rasmussen inclined his head, signaling for Chip to back away. Good. He needed to, because she was all sorts of ready to rip his throat out if he dared to argue. 

Her father grabbed her arm, tugging softly to get her attention. 

She glanced at him. The usual self-assured smile he'd given her for the past few days was replaced with dipping brows and eyes filled with doubt. 

“Dad?” She turned to him fully. Worry hit her that this showdown had changed his mind about her marrying a Rasmussen. 

He pulled her a few steps away, his gaze travelling back and forth between her and Razor. 

“Are you sure about this?” Concern deepened the lines on his face. 

“We have a contract,” she answered, not wanting to go into the whole conversation about meeting Razor days back and their night of wild sex. 

“I know, sweetheart, but I don't know this Casey person. I can't guarantee he'll treat you the way Dale would have.” 

She followed her father's gaze to Razor. He stood there. Watching her. Waiting.  

“He won't treat me like Chip would have.” She smiled, heart filling with anticipation. “That's why I want to do this. I want to marry him.” 

“I don't understand,” he said, confused. He stared at her for a moment, but must have seen some of her feelings for Razor in her eyes. Understanding smoothed the concern on his face. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and sighed. “No, I do understand.” 

The fear she'd held on to about marrying the Rasmussen first-born disappeared. Now she wanted to rush over and say the words to make them man and wife. 

A quick glance at her father got her a nod, and she turned, reaching Razor’s side in a matter of steps.  

“Ready to be mine, Princess?” He smiled, that little quirk of his lips that she loved, and held his hand out.  

She grinned, placed her fingers in his, and turned to the pastor. “Marry us. Now.” 

* * *

“Fuck’s sake, Razor...you didn’t tell me you were some big-pack kid.” 

Razor turned to find Cuffs balancing two beers and a bowl of peanuts. Deftly, he recovered the bowl before the contents could end up over one of the other guests. Cuffs could take down anyone in a fight and with a throwing knife, he was beyond beating. But balance when carrying things wasn’t his strong point.  

“Sit down before you end up wearing that,” Razor ordered, putting the peanuts down on a nearby table before liberating the drink from his friend's hand. “And I’m not some big-pack kid. Not anymore.” 

“You sure about that, bro?” Cuffs lifted an eyebrow, glancing around the room.  

The word ‘swanky’ didn’t do the reception justice. The whole place, decorated in creams and golds, screamed money, and not just any money—old family money. Old pack money. And that was even more apparent in the guests. Hell, there were more designer labels in evidence than a London Fashion Show, and the amount of high-class jewelry on display would put any couture jewelers to shame. 

Razor shrugged, wrinkling his nose as the tux shifted over his shoulders. He hadn’t worn a damn penguin suit since he was what...sixteen or something? The rest of the club appeared just as uncomfortable stuffed into their rented tuxes.  

Apart from Scales, who was ripping it up on the dance floor. Literally. His jacket was gone, and he’d just torn the arms off his shirt, throwing them aside to beckon to one of the gaggle of women across the other side of the room. Razor sighed. There was one deposit they weren’t getting back. That wasn’t the worst of it. Scales was as short-sighted as fuck without his prescription shades on, so he’d come onto anything female, no matter if she was married or not.  

“Get someone to go and rein Scales in before he hits on the wrong girl and causes a pack war, will you?” he grumbled, his gaze following the dragon's to the other side of the room.  

The giggling women surrounded a vision in white. His princess. His bride. His wolf stopped pacing within, it’s attention focused on the woman who had stolen their attention that night in the bar and his heart by morning. 

Cuffs snorted in his beer when he spotted Scales, levering himself up. “On it, boss.” 

Razor nodded, sitting there nursing his beer and watching his bride. She seemed happy, her high-pitched laughter as she chatted with her friends reaching him all the way over here. His wolf wuffled happily, the creature’s contentment wrapping itself around Razor’s heart.  

Riding away from her that morning had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d really thought he could do it. Walk away from her like he had every other one-night stand. Somehow though, his princess had gotten herself under his defenses and wound herself around his heart. Somewhere between trying to make her run in the bar and the scorching sex they’d had in the shower that morning, he’d fallen hard and fast. 

Finding out that she was a Castillo, due to be married to his little brother Dale, had been the final piece of the puzzle. In that instant, he knew what he had to do. Go home. He’d left after war had changed him, given him a strength of mind his father couldn’t handle, and no threat, no promise of guilt trip had brought him back to his pack.  

Only Evva and the fact that she was to wed the Rasmussen first-born could do that. 

There had been just one problem; no one had seen fit to invite him to his own damn wedding. So he’d invited himself.  

The sound of a throat clearing beside him made him turn around. His expression set. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. His father 

“What do you want, old man?” he growled, grip tightening around his beer. “And make it snappy, before you piss me off. I’d hate to ruin Evva’s day by getting blood on the wedding decorations.” 

Kurt Rasmussen shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Look, Casey…” 

“It’s Razor now.”  

“Erm...Razor,” Kurt corrected, the scent of desperation rolling from him in waves. “We need to talk. I need to know what your intentions are—” 

Razor’s eyebrow winged up. “Intentions? You mean other than to find my bride and claim her?” 

Kurt shook his head, color rising high above the collar of his monkey suit. His gaze flicked from Razor to something behind him. Turning, Razor spotted his brother Dale, lurking in the wings. As soon as he met Dale’s eyes, the younger wolf looked away. Wouldn’t hold his gaze.  

They were scared. Shit scared because he was back. A slow smile worked its way over Razor’s lips. “You think I want to claim the pack.” 

“A-hh well,” Kurt stuttered, then paused. When he spoke again, his voice held that note of superiority that had always pissed Razor off. “You’ve been gone a long time. Dale’s done so mu—” 

He surged to his feet, dwarfing his father. The older wolf skittered back in alarm, and then stopped as if he remembered that people could see him.  

“Listen, old man. I don’t give a flying rat’s ass what Dale’s done or not done. I don’t want your fucking pack, or anything to do with you or it. But let me tell you something for nothing.” He put his empty beer down on the table and advanced on his father.  

“My wife is the alpha of the Castillo pack, so if I hear anything about dodgy dealings, or you try and fuck her over, you’ll have me to deal with. Do I make myself clear?” 

 

* * *

 

The reception hall was amazing. Straight out of a fairy tale. There were flowers everywhere. No expense had been spared. The moment they’d entered, family members had rushed up to her and crowded around, to the point she’d been separated from Razor. The women in her family had a lot to say about her groom. 

“Oh, my God, Evva!” Lainie gasped. “He’s hot and sorta scary.” 

Evva choked on the champagne she’d been given, the drink cooling some of her heat. “He’s not so bad.” 

“Not so bad?” Lainie’s head cocked to the side, studying Razor and his biker friends. They’d lined the back walls of the church, ready to step up for their president if needed. “Who’s that other guy there?” 

Lainie pointed at the one Razor had called Scales at the bar. “I’m not sure, but I think you probably don’t want to get on his bad side.” 

Her cousin continued to watch them with interest. “He doesn’t look very dangerous.” 

“Trust me, honey, he’s—” 

“Was he the one?” Gigi brushed up beside her, interrupting her conversation with Lainie. 

“Yeah,” she grinned, glancing over to her man chatting with his friends. “Not sure how this happened, but I’m not going to fight it.” 

“Hmm. Looked more to me like you were ready to argue if it didn’t happen,” Gigi giggled, her gaze stuck on the men. “So who are those guys surrounding him?” 

“His biker friends,” she answered, waiting for him to turn her way so she could nod toward the door. She wanted to have a few words with him. Wasn’t going to happen as long as he was way over there, and she was way over here. 

“That guy he’s talking to, he’s got that whole rough and rugged sexiness going with a side of wow.” 

She heard the interest clear in Gigi’s voice. She followed Gigi’s gaze. Ah, interesting. Gigi had her sights set on one of the guys from the bar. The guy Evva had first spoken to when she waltzed into the bar the night her life changed. He was eyeing Gigi like she was going to be his next meal. 

“I think his name is Cuffs. He was actually really polite when I showed up at the bar,” she giggled. “Tried to get me out of there before I caused trouble.” 

“Poor guy. Guess he realized within thirty seconds how right he was.” Gigi sipped from her drink, her gaze stuck on the big wolf. 

“I need to talk to him,” Evva grumbled. 

“Cuffs?” Gigi frowned. 

“No. My husband.” Wow. It was so strange to say that. But he was her husband, and she had quite a few questions for him. 

“Oh,” Gigi finally broke off from her visual attachment to Cuffs and glanced at her. “I can help you there. Go stand by the entrance, and I’ll guide him your way.” 

“What are you going to do?” she asked, ready to do what Gigi suggested. 

“Tell him you’re ready to start your wedding night, and if he doesn’t hurry you’ll go on without him.” 

She laughed and tried to appear composed as she half-ran half-strolled to the door. She bit her tongue at every pause to say hello to someone and smile at a new congratulatory remark. 

Her breath tripped in her chest when she watched Gigi say something to Razor, motioning toward the door. He tipped back the champagne, swallowing the entire contents in the flute in a single swig, his gaze locked on her. Then he marched straight for her. People moved out of his way, the look in his eyes that of a predator ready for a chase. She gulped. What the hell had Gigi really said to him? 

He reached her within seconds, the blue ring around his silver eyes again. Heat and darkness swirled in those mercurial depths.  

“So...a little birdie tells me that you’re planning on starting the celebrations without me,” he said, his voice silky smooth and oh, so dangerous.  

“I don't think that would be in my best interest.” She swallowed hard. Damn, he was so sexy in that tux. Maybe she could get him to strip out of it. Slowly. Wait, what the hell was she doing thinking sex? She had questions that needed answers.  

“We need to talk.” She eyed the people over his shoulder. His friends watched them. One had humor written all over his face and dollar bills were being passed back and forth. “Are they betting at our reception?” 

The corner of his lips quirked. “There seems to be quite a book going, yes. Mostly on how long it’ll take us to disappear. Although Scales has an outside bet on me not waiting until we’re out of the door before I strip you naked and make you mine, and Peach over there is betting on you slapping me. In fact, I think he’s offered money to anyone to suggest it to you.” 

Clearly having him for a husband meant she'd never be bored if this was any indication. She shook her head. Men. “I don't think I could smack you for getting me out of here when that's exactly what I'm wanting. Except for the naked part. Let's wait till we're alone for that.”  

She had to tamp down the urge to get closer to him. Ask the questions. Then hot sex.  

“Why didn't you tell me who you were when you brought me home? We discussed my wedding. But you didn't say anything.” 

“I like to hold my cards close to my chest.” He shrugged, the one shouldered movement nonchalant, but the heat in his eyes anything but. “If I’d told you who I was, you’d have realized my family were lying about Dale. Somehow, I doubt you and your father would have gone through with the wedding if you’d known.” 

He grinned, taking a step closer to snag her around the waist and pull her up hard against him. “And I was very invested in this wedding going ahead.” 

She blinked, now very interested in his words. She knew her reasons. Love. She'd fallen for the big sexy as sin biker and didn't want to let him go. Even if it was by signing a contract for marriage. “Why did you want this wedding to happen?” 

He stood for a moment, his expression unreadable. Just as it had been before he’d ridden away from her the other morning. Her heart stuttered, contracting painfully for a second. Perhaps this wasn’t the fairytale she’d hoped it would be. Perhaps he didn’t feel the same way. 

Then he smiled. A full, genuine, drop-dead gorgeous smile that opened up his expression, and she could see all the way down to his soul. “Because I fell in love with the pack princess who walked into my bar.”