_Calden’s POV_
Imposing and composed, my features carved by the hands of the gods themselves—or so Nicholas liked to joke—I exuded what I hoped was an irresistible air of mystery and aloofness.
‘You look constipated,’ Kelson helpfully observed. ‘Not mysterious. Constipated.’
I ignored him as Zarelle, feigning obliviousness, gracefully exited her vehicle, her high heels clicking on the pavement in a rhythm that seemed designed to torment me.
Wrapped in an exquisite emerald green dress that accentuated her every curve, she emanated confidence and an untainted purity that took my breath away.
‘Our mate is beautiful,’ Kelson sighed. ‘And we’re about to make fools of ourselves again, aren’t we?’
“Zarelle.” I closed the distance with purposeful strides, my heart pounding.
