took her bridegroom’s hands, Kalen didn’t believe in love. Not for himself.
He’d been there, done that and she’d been a lying bitch who’d torn his heart out, then danced all over the pieces. Not only that. The child he’d thought was his, the child he’d been so proud of, had turned out to be a cuckoo in the nest. His own daughter…was not his at all. How Astra had managed to keep that one to herself, Kalen couldn’t figure.
It had been her parting shot, thrown over her shoulder as she’d left him, to be with her lover. A lover who wasn’t a warrior, or even a knight. A knight…he could accept. At least until he had the chance to track the bastard down, and run him through with his blades. But a doctor? The guy didn’t even have the decency to be the sort of doctor who got their hands dirty and helped people. Rather, he was a damn limp-wristed excuse for a man, talking about ‘feelings’ all day. A snake in the grass who had Astra convinced Kalen was a dinosaur throwback to the Kyn’s demon past. That he and all his kind had no place in modern Kyn society and should be put down at birth. No. He’d leave love to those gullible enough to believe in it. Nowadays, he stuck strictly to the temporary physical interpretation of the word. AKA—lust.
He could fall in lust on a regular basis he’d decided, his gaze wandering over the bridesmaids. As best man, he would have the pleasure, or duty, if any of them looked like the back end of a bus—of dancing with them all. They were all lookers. Most were petite and dark haired like the bride. No doubt family, there was a marked resemblance to Maria in most of them. The Ravensford family had always been a prolific bunch. His gaze moved onto 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, contented himself with leaning back in his chair to get a better look at her. As it was, his appreciation of her mouth-watering figure earned him a glare from the old 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 foot, unlike the midget-sized creatures around her. Tall enough that he wouldn’t get a crick in his neck when he kissed her. He would kiss her. There was no way she’d slip through his fingers, even if he had to drag her off someplace. One look at 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 that he hadn’t seen her face yet. If it was as perfect as the rest of her, then he would be hard-pressed to stop at just kissing.
The ceremony started and he was forced to pay attention. He was on ‘pain of death’ from both Marak and Maria, to make sure he didn’t lose the rings or screw up in any way, shape, or form. Marak had a well-earned reputation as a vicious warrior, but Kalen was more scared of what Maria would do to him if he mucked this up. He had a feeling disembowelment was 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 the chance to catch her eye and smile. A good one went a long way in this kind of thing. Kalen hadn’t earned his reputation as a Casanova without knowing all the tricks.
His efforts came to nothing, though. His view was blocked by three other bridesmaids and the tall figure of Garen Ravensford. Garen, however, had noticed his attention. The small grin that spread across the older knight’s face told him that Garen knew what he, the warrior, was doing. Instead of helping him, by and leaning back in his chair so Kalen could
He’d been there, done that and she’d been a lying bitch who’d torn his heart out, then danced all over the pieces. Not only that. The child he’d thought was his, the child he’d been so proud of, had turned out to be a cuckoo in the nest. His own daughter…was not his at all. How Astra had managed to keep that one to herself, Kalen couldn’t figure.
It had been her parting shot, thrown over her shoulder as she’d left him, to be with her lover. A lover who wasn’t a warrior, or even a knight. A knight…he could accept. At least until he had the chance to track the bastard down, and run him through with his blades. But a doctor? The guy didn’t even have the decency to be the sort of doctor who got their hands dirty and helped people. Rather, he was a damn limp-wristed excuse for a man, talking about ‘feelings’ all day. A snake in the grass who had Astra convinced Kalen was a dinosaur throwback to the Kyn’s demon past. That he and all his kind had no place in modern Kyn society and should be put down at birth. No. He’d leave love to those gullible enough to believe in it. Nowadays, he stuck strictly to the temporary physical interpretation of the word. AKA—lust.
He could fall in lust on a regular basis he’d decided, his gaze wandering over the bridesmaids. As best man, he would have the pleasure, or duty, if any of them looked like the back end of a bus—of dancing with them all. They were all lookers. Most were petite and dark haired like the bride. No doubt family, there was a marked resemblance to Maria in most of them. The Ravensford family had always been a prolific bunch. His gaze moved onto 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, contented himself with leaning back in his chair to get a better look at her. As it was, his appreciation of her mouth-watering figure earned him a glare from the old 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 foot, unlike the midget-sized creatures around her. Tall enough that he wouldn’t get a crick in his neck when he kissed her. He would kiss her. There was no way she’d slip through his fingers, even if he had to drag her off someplace. One look at 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 that he hadn’t seen her face yet. If it was as perfect as the rest of her, then he would be hard-pressed to stop at just kissing.
The ceremony started and he was forced to pay attention. He was on ‘pain of death’ from both Marak and Maria, to make sure he didn’t lose the rings or screw up in any way, shape, or form. Marak had a well-earned reputation as a vicious warrior, but Kalen was more scared of what Maria would do to him if he mucked this up. He had a feeling disembowelment was 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 the chance to catch her eye and smile. A good one went a long way in this kind of thing. Kalen hadn’t earned his reputation as a Casanova without knowing all the tricks.
His efforts came to nothing, though. His view was blocked by three other bridesmaids and the tall figure of Garen Ravensford. Garen, however, had noticed his attention. The small grin that spread across the older knight’s face told him that Garen knew what he, the warrior, was doing. Instead of helping him, by and leaning back in his chair so Kalen could
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