by Mina Carter
Wrong, dead wrong. Moments to go and she shook with nerves, panic rising. She looked ridiculous. She’d thought she was clever, avoiding the dress fittings for training. Boring as they’d been, the reason behind them was now crystal clear.
Her dress didn’t fit.
The pink silk was stretched tightly across her bust, so tight she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t take a deep breath, in case the delicate lacings across her back—already stretched to the limit—ripped. The dressmaker was no help. Annoyed at having to work without a dress fitting, she’d ordered Vixen not to breathe. Vixen didn’t know if that was not breathing deeply, or not breathe at all. Not breathing was the best option. The neckline was so low one movement the wrong way and her breasts would spill out over the top.
She cursed under her breath as she looked around the small antechamber. Just off the main hall of the court where the ceremony was to take place, it followed the rest of the building in its style. Heavy wood paneling covered half the walls while ornamental plaster carvings covered the rest. The symbols of ancient kyn families surrounded them as the bride prepared to walk up the aisle. Like a lot of vampire buildings, there wasn’t even a damn window she could wriggle out.
As soon as the idea of escape occurred, she dismissed it. She couldn’t run out on the wedding of the king. It just wasn’t done. She didn’t give a damn about protocol, but if she didn’t show, Marak would track her down and bust her ass for it.
She straightened her back. She was a kyn warrior, and warriors did not run from anything. She didn’t run from anything. Even if her knees shook under her skirt.
“Now… you look amazing.”
As if Vixen’s thoughts had conjured her up, Maria appeared at her elbow like a genie out of a bottle. A genie in a full wedding gown with veil and tiara.
“Me?”
Vixen resisted the urge to tug on the dress again as she turned to face the bride. Yanking it up until it felt more secure reduced the risk of her breasts falling out, but it meant the spilt up her thigh would rise indecently high. Pulling it down to solve that gave her the fall-out problem again. Catch-22.
“I don’t. I look ridiculous.” She gave in to temptation and went through the whole pull up, pull down routine again. “Like a damn gorilla in a dress.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t look like a gorilla at all. You’re stunning.” Maria’s gaze made a quick assessment of Vixen’s dress. Slim-fitting, it molded to every curve she had. A fact she was uncomfortably aware of.
She wore tight clothing on patrol, but that was work gear. Somehow, skin-tight leather pants with a skinny-fit tee didn’t seem quite as bad as her cleavage, or the entire length of her leg on display.
“You can see my underwear,” Vixen muttered, tugging at the dress again, nearer to a panic attack than she’d ever been in her life.
“Don’t be stupid. It’s perfectly decent. You’re just used to hiding yourself away down in the compound… Leave it. You’ll crease the silk.” Maria swatted at Vixen’s hands, her impatience obvious.
Perhaps she could still make a break for it, Vixen pondered as the bride moved off to speak to another bridesmaid. Already, Maria had adopted the role of hostess, a skill she’d need as Marak’s queen. Hope filled Vixen—Maria would understand…
Nope. She steeled herself, forcing her spine to straighten. She was a warrior, not used to being pulled about and tarted up as she had been this morning, by beauticians and hairdressers, but she would do this.
“Feral would still have looked better in this.”
She was careful to keep her muttering under her breath. Kyn hearing was acute. The last thing she needed was everyone to find out she felt like a complete and utter idiot.
“What was that?” Maria appeared at Vixen’s side again, but her attention was diverted as the door opened and a tall figure appeared.
In a heartbeat, Vixen was all attention, her body tensed and readied for an attack. She knew how much some people wanted to make sure this wedding didn’t go through, for Marak not to marry. As she recognized the man who stepped into the room, she relaxed marginally, silent understanding passing between warrior and knight.
“Are you ready, sweetheart? They’re all waiting for you out there… Marak’s like a cat on a hot tin roof.” Garen Ravensford crossed the room to his daughter, and Vixen could see the pride sparkling in his eyes as he took in her appearance. “You look wonderful, honey. Beautiful. Just like your mother did. She would have been so proud of you.”
Vixen turned away with a lump in her throat, uncomfortable at trespassing on a tender moment between father and daughter. Despite having fallen in love with a human, Garen had stood by her and the two half-kyn daughters she’d borne him. It was an old scandal—one of the most eligible lords in the court had married a human for love. It had nearly cost Garen his title. A match between a kyn and a human? Unheard of.
If she had been converted, it would have been a different matter. Occasionally though some humans couldn’t be converted. No one knew why. The scientists thought it might have to do with a strain of paranormal DNA in their genetic makeup, something not human in their family tree, that stopped the conversion. Regardless of the pressure on him, Garen stood by his mortal wife until she died, and Vixen admired him for that.
Her own father had been a different matter. He’d seen the warriors’ marks across the face and body of his newborn daughter and had walked out, leaving Vixen and her mother to fend for themselves.
“Yes, I’m ready… is everyone else? Do y’all have your bouquets?” Maria asked, twisting and turning to check as Garen lifted her veil to draw it down over her face. Vixen lifted her bouquet and waggled it in with the rest, adding her voice to the chorus from the assembled bridesmaids.
The panic left Maria’s face as her father drew her hand onto his arm and led her toward the door. The bridesmaids fell into the order they’d had drilled into them by the wedding coordinator and followed her. Vixen brought up the rear, her hand closing around the handle of her bouquet and the stiletto hidden there. Just in case. Bridesmaid for the day, protector for life.
The moment of truth was upon her. Vixen took a deep breath before stepping through the door. All eyes in the hall swung toward them. Vixen bit the inside of her lip, wishing she was somewhere—anywhere—other than here. If a rogue burst into the hall right now, she’d kiss it, before kicking its ass.
Feral should’ve worn the dress. She fixed her gaze on Maria’s slender figure, concentrated on putting one step in front of the other, and ignored the crowded room around her as she followed the queen-to-be up the aisle.
CHAPTER 2
“O h god. She’s here.”
At the strain of the bridal march, the groom leapt to his feet and scanned the back of the hall for a first glimpse of his bride. Kalen bit back a smile, intensely amused by the bundle of nerves Marak, usually implacable and damn near impossible to rattle, had turned into. By the way the big man acted, it would be easy to mistake him for a green youth on his first date rather than the centuries-old vampire he was.
“Of course she is,” he murmured, unheard by his enraptured friend. “It’s only her wedding day. Where else do you think she’d be?”
Despite the sarcastic tone, Kalen was delighted for his friend. If anyone deserved a bond-mate, it was Marak. As both their monarch and a warrior, he’d walked a delicate tightrope all his life, with little thanks. It was nice to see the fates play nicely for once and reward someone who, in Kalen’s estimation, truly deserved it with true love.
Not that K believed in such a thing, despite seeing evidence of it right in front of him as Maria took her bridegroom’s hands. He didn’t believe in love. Not for himself. Not after Astra. His ex-wife’s betrayal had long ago cured him of hankering after anything but lust.
And he could happily fall in lust regularly, he mused, his gaze wandering over the bridesmaids gathered like a flock of flamingos on the bride’s side of the church. As best man, he w
ould have the pleasure of dancing with them all. They were all lookers, most petite and dark haired. Not kyn, but the Ravensfords had a very dedicated seneschal family. His gaze moved on to the only blonde in the party. Appreciation rolled through him as he studied her curvaceous figure.
Well, he….llo, honey. Where have you been all my life?
If he’d been anywhere else, he’d have wolf whistled, but instead, he contented himself with leaning back in his chair to get a better look. His appreciation of her figure earned him a glare from the dowager who sat behind him, the sour-faced old prune clucking her teeth and pursing her lips in disapproval. He ignored her and continued his assessment of the mystery woman.
Tall and slender, she had to be over six feet, unlike the midget-sized creatures around her. Tall enough he wouldn’t get a crick in his neck when he kissed her. And he would kiss her. There was no way he’d let such a delectable creature slip through his fingers, even if he had to drag her off some place. One glimpse of that figure, the gentle curve of her neck at the nape as she turned away to listen to another bridesmaid’s whisper, was more than enough to make that decision for him. It didn’t matter he hadn’t seen her face yet. If it was as perfect as the rest of her, he would be hard-pressed to stop at just kissing.
The ceremony started and forced him to pay attention. He was on “pain of death” from the happy couple to make sure he didn’t lose the rings or screw up. Marak had a well-earned reputation as a vicious warrior, but Kalen was more scared of what Maria would do if he fucked this up. Disembowelment was probably one of the nicer things she had in mind.
Still curious, he tried to sneak glances at the mystery blonde as the ceremony progressed. All he wanted was a look at her face, perhaps even catch her eye and smile.
His efforts came to nothing. His view was blocked by three other bridesmaids and the tall figure of Garen Ravensford. The three women were oblivious, but Garen had noticed his attention. The small grin that spread across the older knight’s face told Kalen that Garen knew what he was trying to do. Instead of helping him by leaning back in his chair so Kalen could see the object of his affections better, Garen folded his arms and made kiss faces every time Kalen looked over.
Ravensford was a dead man.
Rocking back on his heels, he seethed with frustration. All he could see was the long length of a slender leg. Although it was a nice leg, one that threatened to sidetrack him with all sorts of intriguing thoughts, he wanted to see her face.
Maria and Marak exchanged vows, a curious blend of the kyn and human ceremony all rolled into one, but K wasn’t paying attention. Instead his mind ran over all the families, trying to recall every distant cousin or minor branch of the nobility. How had he missed a woman like that in the court?
The ceremony concluded. The congregation stood as the bride and groom made their way back down the aisle. The wedding party took their prearranged places in line to follow them and his heart leapt with anticipation. She would have to turn and face him now, and with Garen taking his place at the back of the procession, the tall knight couldn’t get in the way and block his view.
A thought struck him suddenly, and he frowned. The only woman he’d ever seen approaching that look was Vixen… his heart stilled in his chest as the bridesmaids moved in a group, arranging themselves in order of height, and he stood right next to his mystery blonde. After talking softly to one of the women next to her, she finally turned and he looked into a familiar pair of green eyes.
It was Vixen.
THE WESTERN TERRACE ballroom had been transformed so magically Vixen’s jaw all but hit the floor when she walked through the doors. The formal room now looked like something right out of a fairy tale. Swags of white and silver chiffon descended from the high ceilings to wind around the imposing columns, and the suits of armor along the walls had been replaced by cascading floral displays that scented the air.
As this was a kyn wedding, there was no wedding lunch. Instead, waiters circulated with trays of champagne for the first toast. They’d soon switch to serving blood, though. It was the way of things, and the court took a while to adapt to change.
A small buffet was tucked away in the corner for the human guests, discreetly out of the way. Some of the older nobles, the ones who had been born kyn, found the sight of people eating distasteful. Vixen took refuge near it. If she’d thought walking into the main hall behind Maria had been bad, with all those eyes boring into her, the reception was a thousand times worse.
At least during the ceremony no one had been talking. To her—or anyone. Here at the reception it was a different matter. Despite the mingling, only her fellow bridesmaids and the other warriors had bothered to say more than two words to her.
The other bridesmaids were all human. Maria’s mother had been from a seneschal family, so they all knew what Vixen was. She was surprised to discover they were overawed, being in the presence of the infamous Vixen. She appeared to have become a girl power icon amongst the seneschal women, and at least two had asked if she’d ever thought of teaching self-defense.
Still absorbing that one, Vixen sipped champagne and studied the wall opposite to avoid “circulating.” She ignored the small group of kyn women nearby. They were all exquisitely dressed in the manner of the wealthy and eyed her with a mixture of pity and amusement. She recognized them, daughters of the wealthy noble houses, and no doubt all madder than wet hens that Marak hadn’t chosen from amongst them for his bride.
Their whispered comments reached her easily. Her knuckles whitened a fraction on the stem of her glass before she relaxed. The last thing she needed was to crush it and spill champagne all over her dress. She ignored the whispers as she had done for years.
“What does she think she looks like?”
“Heels with her height? And her complexion’s far too pale for that color.”
“Not talked to anyone but the cattle. You can tell she has no breeding.”
And, adding insult to injury, they finished with, “Don’t know why they invited her, or the rest of those Neanderthals.”
She knocked back her champagne in one go, not caring if that showcased her lack of breeding. Who cared anyway? All it meant was Mommy and Daddy had been lucky enough to be born with silver spoons in their mouths. She stood in a lithe movement and stalked past the small group of women. Her nerves disappeared as she drew the mask of a warrior over herself. She met their eyes challengingly—the lethal grace of a born predator in every line of her body—and then hid a satisfied smile as they all but fell over themselves to get out of her way.
They might look down on her for what she was, but she’d rather spend her time doing something useful like protecting people by fighting the rogues than living a pampered and useless existence. Wrapped in cotton wool, these women wanted for nothing. The only thing required of them was to look pretty, offer their throats to the guys their daddies picked out for them, and pray like hell they were fertile enough to conceive.
She curled her lip. Although they were born kyn, the descendants of demon warriors transported from their own dimension to this one millennia ago, they’d forgotten the meaning of the word “predator.” Half were probably afraid of their own shadows, and the rest preferred to fight with words. The nobles might consider the warrior caste dinosaurs, but the noble class were slowly killing their race.
“Fucking assholes,” she muttered, glaring at a guy and his wife who walked in front of her, and stalked out onto the terrace to get some air.
STEPPING INTO THE COOL DARKNESS, she closed her eyes in relief and turned her face up to bask in the silvery light of the moon. She took a few deep breaths, and the tension in her muscles started to ease. But within moments her peace was shattered by a voice from the darkness.
“I wondered how long it would take you to come out here.”
She turned, startled. It was a familiar voice. If she was honest with herself, it was one she’d been waiting all night to hear, ever since taking that silent walk down the aisle wit
h a brooding warrior at her side.
Kalen stood beyond the lights of the terrace, his tall, broad-shouldered figure as familiar to her as her own in the mirror. But she’d never seen him like this, a brooding presence in the darkness, with all his attention focused on her. Kalen was all smiles and jokes, banter and innuendo… not dark and sensual focus.
Her heart leapt and did that frantic little dance behind her ribcage as everything female in her screamed for him to notice her. It was an instinctive reaction, one she’d tried for years to smother, but it just wouldn’t go away.
Reality returned as she remembered where they were and how she was dressed. “Yeah, no prizes for that one. Anyone with half a brain can see I don’t fit in with polite society.”
Her reply was without its usual bite. Surrounded by warriors, the meanest sons of bitches out, she was expected to be mean and tough. So she was. She always hid her true self behind sarcasm and bluster so that no one, especially the man in front of her, would suspect her hard outer shell protected a softer and more sensitive center. Normally.
At the moment she couldn’t bring the mask into place, though. She was too far out of her comfort zone, dressed up in unfamiliar finery and feeling as though she’d had the stuffing knocked out of her.
Not meeting his eyes, she walked over to the stone railings that bordered the terrace, next to a set of steps that led down into the gardens. Her hands rested on the cool stone as she took in a breath of night air. The gardens were filled with night blooming flowers, the gentle scent soothing her agitation for a moment. The tranquility only lasted a few seconds as his voice sounded right beside her ear. She jumped as he startled her. Her hearing was excellent, but she still hadn’t heard him move. Crap, she was out of it. The last time anyone had snuck up on her was years ago when she was still coming into her warrior abilities.
