Kyn Series (5 page)

Gorillas did not look good in dresses.

Vixen looked down at herself and suppressed a grimace. She never wore makeup and her blonde hair was always caught in a plait at her nape. Not today, oh no…today she had been primed and preened to within an inch of her long life, and then shoehorned into a silk sheath dress. With heels, it proved the fates were bitches of the highest caliber. Granted, she was more Amazonian in build, but next to the other bridesmaids she felt like a lumbering ape.

The dress was pink. Of course it was. It had to be pink, Vixen’s least favorite color. It even had a large bow right on her ass. They might as well have slapped a ‘wide load’ sticker on her backside, she grumbled to herself, craning her head as she twisted and turned, trying to pull it into a better position.

Wide load stickers were out. They’d clash with the color scheme. The wedding coordinator—an army drill sergeant masquerading as a slender vampire of a certain age and an impeccable pedigree—would have kittens. No, pink and white it was. And
only
pink and white. Baby pink, she’d been corrected earlier. She’d taken that at face value. Pink was pink. Why did it need so many different names?

She suppressed a sigh. She’d never been scared of anything. When Maria, the king’s fiancée, had asked her to be one of her bridesmaids, Vixen had been happy to accept. After all, she was Vixen, big, scary Kyn warrior. The only female warrior. Ever.

Like the other warriors, she spent her days hunting and killing rogue vampires, the most ferocious creatures to walk the night. And she was damn good at it. Just last week her patrol had topped the leader board for the most kills for the third week in a row.

What was being a bridesmaid compared to that? A dress, some flowers and following the bride up the aisle to make sure she didn’t break a nail. It couldn’t be that hard, right?

Wrong, dead wrong. If her knees knocked any harder, they’d have to keep checking the door. Moments to go and she shook with nerves. She looked ridiculous. She’d thought she was clever, avoiding those dress fittings. Boring as they’d been, the reason behind them was now crystal clear.

Her dress didn’t fit.

The pink silk was stretched tight 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 to not breathe deeply, or not breathe at all. Not breathing was the best option. The neckline was so low a deep breath would spill her breasts 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, whilst ornamental plaster carvings covered over 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.

Despite the fact he’d been caught up in court protocol recently with the wedding preparations, Marak was her patrol leader and one of the meanest warriors out there in the fight against the rogue. Someone she didn’t want to piss off.

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 to boot.

“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 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 into 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 look stunning.” Maria’s dark gaze seemed to make 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 wondered, as the bride moved off to speak to one of the other bridesmaids. Already, Maria had adopted the role of hostess, a skill she’d need as Marak’s queen. Hope filled her—surely Maria would understand…

She was a warrior, not used to being pulled about and tarted up as she had been this morning, by a series of beauticians and hairdressers. All to put her on display like some kind of performing seal. No, it still wouldn’t work, she realized, as she picked at the ribbons on the handle of her bouquet. Whatever Maria said, regardless of whether or not she agreed with Vixen’s reasons, she wasn’t the big problem.

There was still Marak to consider. It had been Maria who had asked Vixen to be her bridesmaid, but he had also mentioned how happy he was to have at least one warrior amongst his bride-to-be’s attendants…

* * *

“I know it’s just from the Ravensford estate and she’ll be escorted by the Ravensford knights all the way…but you know what knights are like. I’ll be far happier knowing there’s at least one of my guys in there too,” He’d said to her in the gym last week. She’d grimaced as she lifted the barbell, and hid the sense of pride that had filled her as he called her one of ‘his guys.’

She had no feminist principles about it. The only female warrior in existence, she’d spent most of her life trying to prove herself in a man’s world. She’d done it, making the grade as a member of Marak’s patrol. Having him call her ‘one of his’ was the icing on the cake.

She agreed with his point about knights, all the warriors did. They trained hard to keep up their speed and reactions, constantly learning and practicing new forms. It was necessary, a matter of survival. Rogue vampires were fast as hell, and thanks to the madness in their veins, stronger than their Kyn counterparts. A slow warrior was a dead warrior. It wasn’t the same with knights, not that Vixen had seen. Once you were a knight, sword across the shoulders and all that jazz, you were always a knight. No one took that away from you, even when you got too old and slow to raise a sword.

“I was going to stick Feral in a dress just for the hell of it. But he’d only sulk.” Marak’s expression had been on the verge of pleading when Vixen hadn’t answered right away, revealing how nervous he was. Marak had never been chatty—he was more the silent, brooding type. Until he’d met Maria. Vixen liked the change. It suited him.

“So come on, what do you say, Vixen? Put me out of my misery here…I promise Feral will love you forever.”

* * *

Vixen’s mood took a nosedive as she returned to the present. “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 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 would like to make sure this wedding didn’t go through, and for Marak not to marry. As she recognized the man who stepped into the room, she relaxed marginally, a silent look 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 chosen to marry 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, then it would have been a different matter. Occasionally though, no one knew why, some humans couldn’t be converted. The scientists thought it might have to do with a strain of paranormal DNA in their genetic makeup, something not quite 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 taken one look at the warrior’s 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 ya’ll 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 of confirmations 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. In fact, 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 her friend, and soon queen-to-be, up the aisle.

*

“Oh 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 his usually implacable friend had turned into. By the way Marak acted, one could have easily mistaken him for a green youth on his first date rather than a centuries-old vampire.

“Of course she is,” he murmured, completely unheard by his enraptured friend. “It’s 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. And, as an added bonus, a bonded couple was more likely to have children…maybe even female children.

Despite seeing evidence of it, right in front of him, as Maria 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.