Only Real Men Allowed In Wolf Peak

 

 

Introducing Razor... this pic is similar to his physical appearance sans the beard. 

 Originally posted at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTION.

 

 Mid-November Howls and Yowls, ShapeShifter Lovers. 

So, today I heard it was International Men's Day. Unlike the wimpified, pussified so-called soy-boy males being celebrated... well, oh hell yeah! Only real men are allowed in Wolf Peak Territory. As merely one example of real men, here's the first chapter of a recent WIP, very unedited. Of course, I'd hoped to finish and publish another ShapeShifter Seduction erotic romance, but nope, life isn't cooperating at all.

Wolf Peak Territory, Montana 

The small town of Moonrise Lake, Montana ... home to shapeshifters of all types and stripes... and to supernaturals of every imaginable and unimaginable kind.

Interspecies Pleasure Club, where fantasy and reality meet and mate during the ferocious heat of passion, during erotic pleasures—and during the inferno of love, of lust.  

 

Introducing Razor ~ Zratliff Durston III, the third ~ Freedom Rider ~ Razorback Boar Shapeshifter  

His family are an Arkansas dynastic family who own most of Hot Springs, Arkansas, but behind the scenes. Given they are tougher, they keep the mafia in check. Razor loves his family, but has gone outlaw, or on his own, letting his brothers and sisters take over the operations.


Chinese Year Of The Brown Earth Pig
February 5, 2019~February 24, 2020

Chapter One

"Yeehawwwww!" Razor bellowed against the icy-cold wind. "You'll never catch me, little pig cops!" The strength of his voice matched the thunderous roar of the giant bad-ass Harley he rode. 

Growling above the scream of several sirens behind him, Razor leaned forward, and kicked up his speed. He shot like a bullet onto the twisty highway that would take him most of the way to the Last Bite Lodge. The backwoods biker bar was in shapeshifter country. 

"Gotta love it," Razor grunted to himself. Slowing, then zooming up the highway's steady incline, he taunted the officers trying to chase him down. 

Tech-modified beyond anything James Bondian, the black and chrome chopper eclipsed any capability of local law enforcement. Including the chase drones. And, including if they used satellites to track him. 

"Time to get the squealing, black and white piglets off my ass." With a press of his thumb, both he and the Harley were enveloped inside an invisibility shield.
The plasma-magnetic field also cut off the wind. Warmth surrounded Razor immediately. Not that he cared so much, given his body's metabolism adjusted to frigid temperatures. 

Once the wailing sirens ceased, the patrol cars breaking off the chase, Razor slowed to cruising speed. He scanned his instrument panel, given his enemies were legendary. So far, though, nothing else to battle. 

As Razor negotiated the forest road in the fading light of twilight, he allowed himself to think of her. Khryssa. The woman had Sophia Loren curves, the exotic face of her half elfin heritage, and piles of coppery auburn hair he longed to run his fingers through as he made hedonistic love to her.  

Khryssa also possessed plenty of spirit and spunk. Her firebrand defiance of his mating courtship of her drove Razor lusting wild. 

The big bad truth, the woman just plain made him stud crazy. 

Khryssa kept claiming she wanted nothing to do with him. Yet snort, her female scent beckoned him to like one of those singing Sirens. 

These days the more-than-gorgeous woman plagued him during his mission-ops for Dante, the alpha wolf leader of their enormous shifter community.  
Hell's mud, his body hardened already. His cock was like a damn flagpole. 

Once Razor entered the dome-shaped, electronic web that protected the Last Bite Lodge, he switched off the chopper's invisible-making tech. Even being deep in  winter, several rows of top-dollar and custom-ride motorcycles sat side by side in the parking area, along with various heavy-duty pickups, many expensive four wheelers, and a few snow-worthy cars. 

'Course the winter snows hadn't buried them yet, and Dante made certain the crew kept the logging road clear enough for travel. Well off the beaten track, the structure above ground looked like a typical biker bar, only larger than most. 

As he passed by, Razor saluted the bar. Yeah good-time hell, he was home again. 

Astride his beast Harley, roaming the country from sea to shining sea was his thing. But there was nothing like coming home to Wolf Peak Territory, Montana. Yep, it was like a boar rolling in springtime's green grassy heaven--in clover as the saying went. 

At his slow-rolling approach, the door slid open, and Razor  coasted inside his private garage. The huge, ten foot high boulder had been hollowed out. His bike tools, parts, and equipment were shelved on either side. Neatly, of course. 

Whisper-silent, the door shut, and lighting flooded the compact area. Dismounting, Razor threw his leg over the back of his trusty Hawg Heaven—as he'd affectionately named the bike. He removed his super-spy helmet placing it next to what he called the scanner. Instantly, an array of tiny, variously colored lights flashed on. 

On auto, the scanner would do a complete diagnostic of his helmet and the Harley. In the morning he'd check what needed to be fixed, tuned, or repaired. Likely there would be more spy-gadget upgrades. 

Razor shed his leathers and boots in record time. Given he'd showered not that long ago, he grabbed his dressier jeans, pulling them on.  Next he slung on his *good ole boy* shirt, buttoning it up fast. After  changing his weather-proof socks for a silkier pair, he slid on his fanciest black biker boots. 

  
With a grunt, he appraised his large face in the small mirror. Yeah, some stubble, but some women liked that look. He didn't know if Khryssa did or not. Razor swiped a comb through his shoulder-length hair until the fair-colored, red-tinted strands behaved well enough. 

He'd never lacked the company of a woman, whenever he wanted. Many went gaga and gooey-eyed over his large, tall muscular build, superior to most men. But they weren't Khryssa. 

Razor strode through the short hidden tunnel, hungry for a hearty meal and thirsty for a giant mug of lager beer. But mostly he was stud-desperate to find Khryssa. Tonight she'd be at the bar, working her shift. 

After palming the security eye, as it was known, Razor shoved open a large steel door, and moved inside the tunnel-like storage room that was next to the bar's busy kitchen. Sounds familiar to him, the clanging of pots and pans, the endless sizzle of the grill...yeah, home. 

"Razor, good to see you back, big bro." The guard on duty, one of Dante's many  relatives, grabbed Razor's hand briefly pumping it. 

"Darthuz, how's it hanging?" 

"Long and hard. The ladies can't resist." 

Razor shot his huge fist toward the top of Darthuz's head, roughly rubbing the twenty year old's hair. 

"Hey, stop that brutish behavior." Darthuz imitated the wussy voice of those called soy boys in current American slang. He grabbed hold of Razor's forearm, tussling like a wimp. 

"Where's Dante? Tell me and I'll let go." 

"Boss wolf will be here in about an hour. He told me he needs an immediate meeting with you, freedom Hawg rider." 

"Got it. I'll be around, wolf boy." Razor strode past Darthuz. The hearty food aromas caused his stomach to growl. It'd been awhile. 

"Pile the chow up high, Hal," Razor hollered to the night's head cook.  

"Slinging hash is my game my only game." Hal laughed at what he believed to be his cleverness. The diner cook had settled in Wolf Peak several years ago. Being human he'd adapted to the shifter-supernatural community surprisingly well. 'Course, Daisy had a whole lot to do with it. The half-breed Pomeranian dog shapeshifter doted on him. 

A man on a mission of love and lust, Razor shouldered his way through the rowdy patrons in the main bar, only pausing to bump fists, and slap biker friends on the back. 

"Lager?" Charisse, one of the wench servers, yelled over the jukebox's blaring, thumping-metal music. 

"The usual, Charisse. Thanks. Headed back to Pirate's Cove." 

The Last Bite Lodge had many party rooms now, having greatly expanded since Dante first built the original biker bar. That was some nine years ago.
 

Razor caught a whiff of her delicious womanly scent. Khryssa. Bristling with the wild need of his shapeshifter boar side, Razor charged inside the Pirate's Cove. There she was, the woman of his every fantasy. 

He stopped in his tracks, silently snorting, staring like a besotted fool. Because hell-bellowing yeah, he was absolutely besotted. Razor shoved his hands in the pockets of his cowboy denims. 

He couldn't go cave man-boar. Capture her, throw her over his shoulder. Carry her off. That wouldn't win Khryssa's heart. 

Before she became aware of his presence, Razor soundlessly slid into the nearest open booth. He was darn good at it, despite his size. Spycraft did that.

Watching Khryssa like a voyeur, he ogled her beautiful bountiful breasts, on display above the tight black corset. Down, buddy, he told his impatient cock. Gotta woo her first.  

 
Khryssa served up tall tankards of ale to the patrons, a dang throng of them. She wore an adorable wench's outfit that had his tongue almost hanging out, especially whenever the woman bent over showin' her cleavage. 

Hell yeah. Warning! Dangerous Curves Ahead. 

She wasn't top heavy, though. Razor had no humpin', ridin' appetite for those women. No, he wanted his hands surroundin' that small waist of hers. He wanted to plunder her round gorgeous hips, her sexy generous ass with his stroking hands. 

A man could feel her ass. Yeah, fill my hands, babe.  

Khryssa bent over, and Razor had a perfect view of her shapely derriere, as the Frenchies said. And those full luscious thighs of hers... 

"There you are, Razor." Charisse cheerily spoke as she placed his favorite Lager before him. "I should have known." She winked. "Dinner will be here soon, handsome. How was your trip? Everything okay on the freedom circuit?" 

"Gettin' larger everyday. Lots of freedom lovers out there. We're pullin' together more and more. Humans and the rest of us." Razor told her what he could. 

"Good to hear, Razor. I pray everyday." 

"Me too, honey." 

Charisse gave him a sweet smile and departed. 

The Pirate's Cove had become a favorite hangout for many in Wolf Peak Territory. And those outsiders who knew about the deep-woods, party-like-a-pirate tavern. But then, the biker bar itself remained popular as ever with the renegade types, the highway warriors, and those who craved the freedom of riding on the open road. America was grand that way, in Razor's opinion. 

 

He lifted the mug, larger than his ham-sized fist. Downing a big ole swallow, Razor fully tasted the cold brew. Soon enough though, he'd quaffed half the specialty beer.
 

Damn, it had been a long, hard day. And a difficult mission. 

Razor had to grin as he slowly scanned the crammed-in crowd. Outrageous pirate gear, and beyond-flamboyant costumes. There were several colorful parrots, actually shapeshifters—they'd perched themselves atop of many a brawny shoulder. 

A few of the parrots wore a pirate's Tricorne hat. Yep, Piedros had donned his eyepatch, too. Razor grunted a laugh. 

"Boss wolf," he boomed. Dante joined him, a tankard filled to the brim in one hand. 

"Boss Hawg," Dante wolf-affectionately growled. "We got some serious jawin' to do." He gave a nod toward Khryssa. "That is, before you go chasin' after that lovely wench." 

 

Run on the Wild Side of Romance  

Kisses, 

Savanna Kougar