Chapter 3 #2
My pulse hammered wildly against my ribs. "This is crazy," I whispered. His thumb had resumed its slow path across my cheekbone, the rough callus brushing my skin in a motion so careful it made my chest ache. My breath hitched every time his thumb moved. "I don't even know you."
"You will." The words weren't reassurance. They were a promise. The quiet certainty in his voice made something deep inside me tighten. My breath came a little faster as he leaned closer, closing the small distance between us with patient inevitability.
His massive hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers spreading there with possessive steadiness as he drew me gently closer. I didn't resist. I couldn't. Didn’t want to.
The church, the cameras, the screaming guests—it all faded into distant noise as his face lowered toward mine.
His lips hovered inches away, full and sensual and far too tempting for a man who had just crashed my wedding.
My heart raced wildly. I had never wanted a kiss so badly in my life.
Ever. The anticipation coiled through my body like tension before a lightning strike.
My breath came shallow and uneven as I waited for the moment his mouth would finally meet mine.
"WARLORD!" The shout cut through the moment like a blade.
Egon froze instantly. Every muscle in his massive body went rigid.
The warmth surrounding me vanished as his frame tightened, the sudden tension coiling through him like a spring pulled too tight.
His head turned slowly toward the voice.
Too slowly. The movement carried a quiet menace that made the hair rise along my arms. For a split second I genuinely wondered if whoever had shouted was about to be ripped apart.
Chet Bosworth stood only a few feet away.
The show host held a tablet in one hand and one end of his feather boa in the other.
The sequins covering his electric-blue suit caught the candlelight and scattered it everywhere, sending chaotic sparkles dancing across Egon's glitter-dusted chest. The visual combination was almost surreal.
Two different kinds of glitter reflecting off each other like a disco ball inside a war zone.
"You signed a contract," Chet said. The manic excitement he usually carried on television had vanished completely. His voice was calm now. Serious. Focused in a way I had never seen during any episode of the show. "You gave your word, Warlord."
Egon's chest vibrated with a low growl. The sound traveled straight through the air and into my body where I still stood inches from him. It was deeper than anger. Something primal stirred beneath it, something restrained only by a thin thread of control.
Apparently, Chet had a death wish. "You promised to participate in the selection process."
For a moment Egon didn't answer. The change began subtly.
The enormous tension filling his body eased slightly.
The towering bulk of his frame shifted as though the creature inside him had pulled back, retreating beneath the surface.
His shoulders lowered a fraction, his breathing steadied.
He was still enormous. Still terrifying.
But the wild edge of the beast seemed to recede just enough for the warrior beneath to regain control.
"I care nothing for your contract," he said at last, his voice steady but still edged with a dangerous rumble. "She is my mate." His hand tightened gently at the back of my neck, drawing me half a step closer to his side as if the contact anchored him. "I claim her now."
Chet didn't flinch. If anything, he stepped closer.
The sequins on his suit flashed brightly as he moved, the ridiculous feather boa bouncing against his shoulders as he squared himself in front of a seven-foot alien Warlord who could snap him in half.
"If you walk away now," Chet said quietly, "you doom every single male on The Colony who already signed up for the next round of Bachelor Beast."
Egon went very, very still. The change rippled through him instantly.
The warm weight of his hand against my skin didn't move, but the muscles in his hand tightened with sudden, absolute control.
It felt as if the entire massive body beside me had locked into place, every instinct sharpening at once.
Chet didn't hesitate. "The producers will shut us down," he continued, his voice lowering into something almost coaxing now.
The manic sparkle I'd seen earlier had faded into something more serious.
"They'll claim Atlan Warlords are unreliable.
Uncontrollable. Contractual liabilities.
No more shows. No more chances for your Atlan brothers to come to Earth.
No more opportunities for them to find their mates.
" He paused just long enough for the words to settle. "You will be dooming them all."
I felt the moment the logic struck home.
Egon's chest expanded slowly beneath a measured breath, the movement powerful and restrained.
His hand tightened against my cheek just slightly, not painful—never that—but enough that I could feel the tremor of tension running through him.
Honor. Responsibility. Those things mattered to warriors like him.
I could see it in the rigid set of his jaw and the storm building behind those molten amber eyes.
"We had an agreement, Egon," Chet said quietly. "Go through the process. Follow the script. Give the others a chance to come to Earth and find their mates."
The church had grown eerily quiet now that the guests had fled.
The cameras hummed softly somewhere behind us, still pointed in our direction, capturing every second of the confrontation.
"You are a Warlord," Chet continued, his tone almost gentle now.
"You gave your word. Will you break it and abandon your fellow Atlans?
Or Prillons? All those contaminated Coalition fighters on The Colony?
Because we got permission for males from the other planets to participate next time as well.
" He twirled the end of the boa before delivering the final push.
"Or will you honor your commitment and give them the same chance to come to Earth and find their mates… the way you just found yours?"
The silence that followed stretched thick and heavy between them.
Standing so close to Egon, I could feel everything.
The pounding rhythm of his heart beneath the broad plane of his chest. The faint tremor running through the hand that still cupped my face.
Even the subtle shift of his breathing as he fought something powerful inside himself.
The beast. I could see it raging behind his eyes.
The need to claim me. To take me. To remove every obstacle between us and never let me out of his sight again.
But there was another force inside him too.
Discipline. Honor. I found myself holding my breath as I waited to see which one would win. Beast. Or man.
Wondered which one I was rooting for. Couldn’t decide.
"I will not let her out of my sight." The words came out rough, dragged through his throat like gravel. The strain in his voice told me exactly how hard that decision had been. "I will not allow her to be harmed. I will not permit another male to touch her."
Chet smiled instantly, the expression sharp and victorious.
"Agreed." He clasped his hands together as if sealing a business deal.
"She'll be Contestant Number Forty-One. Officially part of the show.
You'll have ample opportunity to… get to know her.
" His eyes flicked between us knowingly.
"You just need to go through the motions on camera.
What you do behind the scenes—in your private time—is entirely between you and your mate.
Except for the mating cuffs. No mating cuffs until the finale. "
For the first time since bursting into the church, Chet actually looked at me directly. His gaze skimmed over my face like he was assessing a newly discovered complication. "That is… if she agrees and signs the contract."
Contract? Absolutely not. I had spent the last few weeks signing enough paperwork to last a lifetime. Derek's lawyers had stacked documents in front of me so thick my hand had cramped before I finished the last page. "I'm not signing any contracts."
"My dear, just listen." Chet waved one of his assistants forward impatiently.
By now the church was nearly empty, the last few guests disappearing through the broken doors.
The chaos had quieted into an eerie stillness.
Chet held out a tablet. I stepped away from Egon to take it, though the moment I moved his presence followed like gravity shifting around me, his hand now deliciously warm on the small of my back.
It was like he literally could not bring himself to stop touching me.
I liked that. A lot.
"Look," Chet said quickly. "We need you now.
Egon and the others already signed their agreements.
You're… a complication. But since Egon apparently refuses to do the show without you—" He lowered his voice conspiratorially.
"—you can name your price." He pointed at the tablet in my hands. "I didn't tell you that, by the way."
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he signaled the camera crew. "Cut the recording." The lenses lowered immediately, the operators stepping back but staying alert. Apparently, Chet didn't want the entire universe to have a recording of this part of the negotiation.
"Name my price?" I repeated weakly. The adrenaline that had carried me through the last few minutes was starting to fade, leaving my hands slightly unsteady. My fingers tightened around the tablet as the reality of everything crashing down on me caught up all at once.