“WHERE’S THE DANGER?”
Five minutes ago, Ryder had been wearing a pair of swim trunks. Now he was dressed in sweatpants and boots, his chest still bare and his skin mostly dry.
I blinked, slapped out of my confusion for a split second by the gloriousness of the view. Muscles, acres of muscles. Intricate tattoos sheathing his arms and winding up one side of his neck, their design intentional and beautiful unlike my own bodily scratchings. A few stray water droplets begging to be touched as they sparkled in the moonlight.
More relevantly, a scabbard hung at Ryder’s waist while his right hand wrapped around the hilt of a very special sword.
The Kingmaker. Ryder held the mythical weapon as if it was a baseball bat grabbed up to deal with an intruder. Its blade gleamed, not quite enough to b
