Her Prince (The Wounded Souls Series Book 6)

by Leah Sharelle

  Shiloh, I’m heading off for a while. Will you be okay?

  Darth’s deep voice interrupted my thoughts. I looked over at him and saw a look of deep longing on his face. I knew that look well, and after twelve years, I should. Darth was rattled. Today, he couldn’t do anything but watch, his protective instincts had no power anymore, and that was why he was leaving.

  I heaved a long sigh and nodded. “It’s okay. I’m good,” I answered quietly, though not quietly enough.

  Lacie stopped her gabbing and stared at me. “Huh? Good at what?” she asked, perplexed at my statement.

  I shrugged at her and cocked my head in the direction of where Darth had been standing seconds ago.

  Lacie shuddered and gave me a tight smile. “Oh, you were talking to him,” she said with unnecessary sarcasm.

  I tossed the nail polish bottle in my hand across the bed at Lacie, hitting her on her knee.

  “Hey,” she cried out indignantly, but I wasn’t in the mood. After listening to her drool over Alex for the millionth time—and keeping my opinion of him to myself, I might add—she had pissed me off with her reaction to Darth.

  I got that it was an extraordinary situation, Darth appearing to me and being able to talk to one another and the fact that none of the other kids of the Souls had ever known the big mongrel, but that didn’t give her the right to be such a bitch about it. All the kids had been told the stories of what happened to the club at the hands of Rogue, so they knew the danger that not only I had been in but their parents, too. Lacie and her sister might not have been born because of the crazy man hell-bent on revenge.

  I found it strange that sometimes I couldn’t remember what I had for tea two nights before, but the memories of those days haunted me at night, still. Darth’s presence in my life was like a lifeline from those nightmares, just feeling his weight at the foot of my bed or hearing his deep rumbling humming sounds—his version of a lullaby—helped chased them away. Just being able to look across a room and see him helped me more than I could ever explain.

  And now Lacie, my best friend at the club, couldn’t even pretend to understand. At the very least, she could have kept her scepticism to herself. God knew I was about the idiotic Alex.

  “Yeah, him, and his name is Darth, so please use it. I don’t expect you to understand, Lacie, because sometimes I don’t. That day, he promised me he would never leave me, that he would be with me forever. You weren’t there, so you can’t know what he meant to me or me to him.” I paused as I got up off my bed, hurt flowing over me. “I need him, so try to understand that,” I said firmly as I shoved my feet into my favourite black shitkickers. My gaze automatically went to the shelves over my desk, and a sad smile formed on my lips as I took in the tiny pink boots I wore when I was three sitting on the shelf. They were still shiny apart from little scuffs on the toes, and warm tingles sparked inside me. On the same self were a few of my other favourite things from that great time of my life. A time when my mum had come into my life and when I was happy, before all the danger and before I lost my best friend.

  “I’m going to the workshop,” I said softly, not bothering to look at Lacie because my gaze was on the camo-patterned gun holster next to the pink boots. I reached out and ran my finger over the small accessory, getting comfort from the small touch.

  I love you so much. I wish you were still here with me, I said silently, then felt the familiar tickle of air across my face.

  Love you more, Squirt, and I’m always here for you, baby girl. Vegas sends her love.

  The answer came instantly, one only I could hear.

  I closed the door behind me and made my way down the long corridor that led to the main room. Being sixteen and having a ghost was tough.

  Chapter 1

  Shiloh

  I loved the feeling of the wind swirling around me at one hundred kilometres an hour. There really was no other better feeling—at least, that was my opinion and that of all the Wounded Souls, my father’s motorcycle club. My family.

  Lowering my body further down onto the tank of my Ducati Monster 1200, I opened the throttle and revelled in the power of the V-twin engine and the incredible horsepower it produced. Yeah, yeah, I know, what is the daughter of a founding member of a motorcycle club who all rode Harleys doing on a street bike? I loved my Harley. It had once belonged to Darth, and when I turned seventeen and got my bike license, Dad and the rest of the guys surprised me by gifting the beloved Harley to me.

  It truly was my most prized possession, and I loved the old-school soft-tail with its black paint all over. It was an accurate representation of Darth—dark and no-nonsense. There were no gadgets and no pretty custom-painted murals. Just a bike with a wicked engine, a hard ride despite its name. The rigid frame was unforgiving on a long ride, and long ago, Darth had changed the suspension on it to be less comfortable and more… arse breaking. The best part of it was the fact it didn’t have a bitch seat. Of course, the big fella had taken Vegas on the back, but he’d had a lick and stick seat for when she went with him. They had both been Harley riders to the core, no creature comforts for that couple.

  Then, one day, I discovered the raw power of the street bike, and I fell madly in love. So, I found a way to earn extra money at the gun shop and range, my third job. Then I asked Creed for help in convincing my parents it was a good idea to ride what was basically a rocket between one’s legs. It took some work on both our parts, but we managed it after four months of hassling and begging. It surprised me not only that it worked but also that my other uncles went to bat for me. Vinnie had really been on my side, putting up some great arguments that Dad couldn’t fault, so I got my Ducati. It wasn’t brand-new when I found it, far from it, actually. The previous owner had come off it in an accident caused by his lack of skills and common road sense. Creed and I had to refurbish all the tin work or, in this case, the plastics. I did all the paintwork myself under the guidance of Creed, and together, we produced a real work of art. His contribution to the custom paint job, a small memorial to his fallen brother and my bodyguard, really blew me away. It was two hands joined—one small female hand, and one large, roughened by time and hard work male hand. Both reflecting the bond between Darth and me, even now, twenty years later.

  I let out a squeal of delight as I flew down the long straight of asphalt. There wasn’t a car to be seen. Just the way I liked it—alone.

  You wanna slow down a bit there, little miss? I don’t think your parents will be too thrilled if they have to scrape you off the road.

  I laughed aloud at the comment—which was delivered in his usual deadpan voice—from my constant companion.

  “Calm down, Darf. You know I have to get home in a hurry,” I said into the confines of my full-face helmet. I had another reason to get back to the compound quickly other than loving the adrenaline rush of speed. Gabe was home on leave from the army. He had surprised the club members when he arrived back with my brother, Bastian, and Cole, Creed and Memphis’s second son in tow with him. Cole, being a few years younger than Bastian and Gabe, had just finished basic training. I hadn’t seen the three hellions for over a year now, and I was anxious to get home and hug them. I especially couldn’t wait to see my brother. He joined the army at eighteen with Gabe, and now they were twenty. They were eager to complete their training so they, too, could fight for our country just like their fathers did. I couldn’t have been prouder of my little brother, as were my parents. Mum was a little more freaked and scared than Dad but no less proud.

  Shiloh Johnston, you throttle back right now. If you don’t, I will tell your dad ’bout you and you know who.

  I spluttered at the threat but eased back on the throttle as told. Bloody blackmail. Who the hell did he think he was? Getting upset was stupid since it wasn’t like Darth could talk to anyone except me, but if Darth could find a way, he bloody well would blab. Big mongrel.

  “Not fair, Darth. You know I can handle this bike,” I muttered, gearing down for the corner th
at would take me to the compound that had housed the members of the Wounded Souls for over twenty-five years.

  Yeah, well, I can’t handle your need for adrenaline rushes, kiddo. Why don’t you ride the old girl more often?

  I didn’t bother answering the question because if Darth wanted to, he would just read my mind, but we had a rule that he wasn’t allowed in there unless I asked him in or if it was just the two of us. We made that particular rule during a very embarrassing event in my seventeenth year—a date with my first boyfriend that had scarred poor Darth and me. A pact was made that it was invitation only if I was with a group of people and most definitely if I was just with one person, mainly the opposite sex. Otherwise, he was in there whether I wanted him there or not, which I did. I rarely went anywhere without him.

  I think you are getting soft, old man. Bet I beat ya at Assassin’s Creed tonight, I said silently as I pulled into the parking lot of the grounds. The spaces were filled up with bikes and cars, some I had not seen before, which meant one thing. A party was happening. I moaned loudly at the thought of the noise that a Souls party brought on. Normally, I would be the first to dance the night away, but work kicked my arse today, and all I wanted to do was to catch up with the home-comers then go to bed and sleep for at least ten hours—hopefully, not alone.

  You know you want to see him. Darth taunted me in his own wicked way.

  Payback is a bitch, Shiloh, I reminded myself. Poke the bear and be prepared to be poked back.

  Exactly.

  Taking off my helmet, I resisted the temptation to flip Darth the middle finger. “Bugger off, Darth,” I mumbled, then walked off towards the main door, trying my best to ignore the deep rumble of laughter. Damn Darf.

  ***

  The thump, thump of the music coming from the sound system vibrated in my chest. It was so loud that I was surprised Booth or my father hadn’t turned it down yet, but then I saw my parents on the dance floor, their bodies pressed close together as they swayed slowly, not at all in time to the loud music. I smiled at the two most important people in my life. Their love was what fairy tales were made of, and I wanted that so badly. Everyone in the club saw me as the biker chick, the grease monkey, the one to get up on a table in a drunken stupor, and they weren’t wrong because I was all those girls. After being raised by bikers and former soldiers, there really hadn’t been any other choice. The men around me made sure I knew how to do anything and everything I needed so I could be independent, not a damsel in distress who needed a man to look after her. I found that hilarious in many ways because all of them ended up finding women who were strong but needed them to lean on to keep that strength. They, in turn, needed their women to breathe and to face each day. I craved that need, that feeling so badly my bones ached with it, but to get it meant me giving up my dream, the dream I’d had since I was a little girl and was so close to attaining.

  “Hey, there, Shy-Shy.” I turned around when the big booming voice that could only belong to my brother yelled out from across the room.

  “Bastian!” I squealed excitedly, then ran over to him and launched myself into his waiting arms. His oomph of surprise had me laughing as I held onto my him with everything I had.

  “Take it easy, sis. I’m delicate,” Bastian joked, which made me laugh harder. Delicate was not a term used to describe my baby brother. All his physical characteristics came from our dad. He was built like a mountain and was always bigger than any kid the same age as him throughout school. But his personality belonged to our mum. Where I was fiery and combustible, he was gentle and forgiving. While I would crack the shits and throw things, Sebastian never got mad and was always ready to settle an argument with words, not his temper, which I really hadn’t seen from him except when he was a baby and wanted to be fed. It was no wonder the boy was built the way he was, and how he never sent our parents broke was beyond me.

  “Baby brother, I am so glad you are here. How long are you home?” I leaned back out of his arms and looked up into a mirror image of our father. My brother was my best friend, besides Darth. He and I spent all our childhood getting into so much trouble, and we had every member of the Wounded Souls on guard anytime we were in the room. When he enlisted into officer training, it felt like I had lost my right hand.

  I snuggled my head back against Bastian’s broad chest, his heartbeat strong, warming me.

  “Not long I’m afraid, Squirt. Now that I have finished my eighteen months of training at RMC Duntroon, Gabe and I got our appointments in the corps, and we leave in eight days.” I listened to the deep timbre of Bastian’s voice as he told me he was leaving me again. Well, that was how I heard it, and while I was sad that he was here for such a short amount of time, I was happy he was living his dream. When we were kids, all Bastian wanted to do was be like our dad, and here he was on the road to doing exactly that.

  “I am so proud of you, Bastian. I just wish you didn’t have to go so far away, that’s all,” I mumbled against his shirt, not willing to let him go just yet.

  “I know, Shiloh, and I miss you, too, sis, but this is something I really want to do, want to be. Following in Dad, Booth, Steel, Mannix, and Creed’s footsteps is important to me, and to Gabe, too. When Cole is finished at RMC, he will be doing the same.”

  I nodded my head in answer. Because Cole was younger than Gabe and Bastian, he went to Duntroon later than they had and still had a year left with his training.

  “Hey, Squirt, got some sugar for me?”

  A smile lit my face at the sound of another familiar voice, then I found myself pulled away from Bastian into another set of strong arms and against a bulky chest.

  Wrapping my arms around Gabe’s waist, I squeezed tightly.

  “Hey, Gabriel. I see where there is one, the other is close by.” I giggled when Gabe tickled my sides. Sebastian and Gabe were just as famous for getting into trouble as I was. We spent many hours in the war room getting reamed by Dad and Booth.

  “What’s with the leathers? Don’t tell me you are still riding that crotch rocket,” Gabe asked with a mock glare. Being an MC, I was definitely pushing the boundaries with my rebellious streak and was well known to go against the grain by refusing to conform to what some considered appropriate behaviour.

  My mind instantly went to the conversation I had with Booth a few weeks ago where he told me he was ready to hand over the reins of the club and his position as president to someone younger. In his opinion, his time at the head of the table was coming to an end, but I didn’t see it that way at all. There was no finer man than my uncle Vinnie to lead the Wounded Souls, other than my dad and Darth. I looked up to Booth with admiration. He was awe-inspiring, a man with integrity, loyalty, and honour, and I loved him fiercely. I loved all the men of the Souls.

  I was about to give Gabe a mouthful when the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and a warm, liquid feeling rushed through my body. I took a deep breath, valiantly trying to calm my reaction to the man who owned me. Turning in Gabe’s tight embrace, my gaze was automatically pulled in the direction of the bar as if it knew where he was without a thought. My whole body was honed and tuned to his presence, no matter what room or how many people were in it. I always knew he was there.

  My gaze connected with the blackest and most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. Eyes that were narrowed and concentrating on Gabe’s arms wrapped around me. Those onyx eyes flared with what could only be described as possession, ownership. I was his, and by God, he was mine. A familiar tingle started in the deepest part of my belly and travelled right to my core.

  As I pulled away from Gabe, I could feel my cheeks heat, not with embarrassment or guilt but with pure unadulterated desire. One look and he had me wanting him, aching to be under him, on top of him, in any way as long as he was deep inside me or just holding me close. My pussy throbbed with that one look, and he knew it.

  I watched captivated as the man I was hopelessly in love with pushed off the bar and strode over to where I was. My eyes dropped f
rom his handsome face and travelled without shame down his huge muscular chest, his thick denim-encased thighs, then back to the impressive bulge behind his zip. He was just as big, if not bigger, than his father with the broadest shoulders, arms that could only be described as massive, and his chest? Holy effing shit, that chest. Naked was the best way to experience and enjoy his chest. And I made sure I got my fill at every opportunity. My tongue ran over my lips, and the heated look from my man as he walked over told me he knew exactly where my mind was headed.

  Nothing and no one else existed when the man coming towards me was in the same room as me. His very presence consumed me, his scent overwhelmed me, and his dominance commanded me. There was no one else for me but my prince. I just had to find a way to have my very sexy and yummy cake and eat it, too.

  I had secrets that were drowning me, and my worst fear was he was going to get tired of waiting for me to put my big girl panties on and reveal the biggest one.

  Him.

  Zander.

  Chapter 2

  Zander

  I knew the second Shiloh walked into the main room without even seeing her.

  It wasn’t her intoxicating scent of strawberries, nor was it her husky, sexy-as-fuck voice. Nope, it was the essence that was Shiloh Johnston, the princess of the Wounded Souls. The woman I was fucking madly and crazily in love with. The woman who was one day soon going to be my wife and, God willing, the mother of my children.

  The woman who another man had his arms around and his lips planted on her forehead. My woman.

  It didn’t matter that the man in question was one of my best friends since birth, nope, not one fucking bit. Gabe knew better than to touch what was mine, even if it was a friendly hello hug because he had been away for months at army training. I didn’t give a frog’s fat arse. I had learnt many things from my old man, the main one being that I was a territorial bastard.