Chapter 11
Tori
Another day with Chet Bosworth meant another catastrophe. Today's humiliation came with wings.
They were enormous—gauzy, iridescent things strapped to my back with thin ribbons that bit into my shoulders every time I moved. When I shifted my weight they fluttered behind me, brushing the back of my arms like restless insects. The effect was supposed to be magical. Delicate. Enchanting.
Instead, I looked like a decorative lawn ornament someone had dragged into a ballroom.
The dress didn't help.
Pink tulle exploded around my hips in aggressive layers, the fabric so stiff it rustled when I breathed.
The bodice squeezed my ribs until every inhale felt shallow and carefully rationed.
Rhinestones glittered across the neckline, catching the lights overhead and scattering little flashes across the walls.
Fairy sparkle, the wardrobe team had called it. I called it a suffocation hazard.
And the crown. The crown was the final insult.
Plastic. Gold-painted plastic with fake gemstones glued into a flimsy frame that reflected the overhead lights like a bargain-bin disco ball.
"Perfect!" the wardrobe assistant chirped as she fussed with the glitter wand they'd forced into my hand.
The wand was a stick coated in pink glitter and tiny plastic stars. If I swung it hard enough, I was fairly certain it could still function as a weapon.
"You look adorable!" Margaurite beamed.
I stared at my reflection. "I look like a cake topper."
Her smile brightened even further. "A princess cake topper."
As if that somehow improved the situation.
I studied myself in the mirror and felt a long, slow groan rise in my chest.
Twenty-five years old. A grown woman. A soon-to-be veterinary student who had spent years studying anatomy, biology, and animal behavior.
And tonight? I was dressed like the decorative figurine on a six-year-old's birthday cake.
But this was almost the end.
Fairy Tale Night. We were down to 5 contestants. Poor Egon had suffered through ‘dates’ with the other four while I’d been meeting with my lawyers, making calls, watering the plants at my shitty apartment. I forced myself to sleep in my own bed… just to prove that I could.
Stupid. I laid there most of the night. Alone. Miserable. And for what? To prove I didn’t need a man?
But what if I do?
Didn’t matter now. I was back. Egon had spent the night making sure I knew exactly how much he missed me. I was sore in all the most delicious places.
So, the fact that Chet Bosworth's interpretation of a fairy tale involved grown women dressed in costumes that somehow made inflatable horse jousting look dignified by comparison was just another Tuesday, so to speak.
When I stepped into the ballroom, the scale of the madness revealed itself.
Twinkling lights draped across the ceiling like artificial stars.
Painted foam towers rose in each corner, designed to resemble castle turrets.
Except they were seafoam teal. Neon orange.
Bright metallic silver. The dance floor had been completely covered in rose petals and glitter that crunched faintly beneath every step.
The air smelled like expensive perfume layered over the hot electrical scent of stage lights.
And standing near the center of it all—radiating chaotic enthusiasm—was Chet.
His hair had been sculpted upward into something that vaguely resembled a crown. Every hair on his head had been dyed metallic gold and dusted with enough glitter to blind most animals.
He wore a purple velvet suit with elaborate gold embroidery curling across the lapels.
And a cape. Of course there was a cape. Chet had a fucking hard-on for capes.
The overall effect made him look like a deranged fairy godmother having a very public midlife crisis.
"Ladies! Gentlemen! Alien warriors!"
His voice boomed through the sound system, vibrating through the ballroom walls. The theatrical energy behind it suggested he had already mentally rehearsed his Emmy acceptance speech.
"Welcome to FAIRY TALE NIGHT!"
The contestants around me erupted into enthusiastic cheers. I tightened my grip on the wand and resisted a powerful urge to stab myself in the eye.
"Tonight's challenge," Chet continued, spinning dramatically so his cape flared behind him, "is a twist on a classic!"
The room leaned forward collectively. Even I felt a flicker of dread-filled curiosity.
"Not only will our Warlord dance with each of you lovely fairy princesses…" he said, dragging the suspense out with professional flair. His glittering hand lifted, pointing toward the towering ballroom doors. "…but we've invited some special guests!"
The doors burst open.
The shift in the room was immediate.
Conversation died.
Air seemed to thicken.
Two dozen males strode inside. Aliens. They were taller than most human men. Broader. Their movements carried a quiet, lethal confidence that instantly separated them from everyone else in the room.
Coalition fighters. Even before Chet confirmed it, I knew.
They moved like predators who had survived battlefields most humans couldn't imagine.
Some of the facial features weren't quite right. Too angular. Their skin and hair colors were odd. Bronze. Gold. Copper. One gorgeous alien’s skin was so dark it looked like the night sky.
The rest looked human enough. If you ignored their size.
Except for the beasts. There were a couple Atlans.
They were just too big to be anything else.
The suits they wore clearly hadn't been designed for bodies like theirs. Jackets strained across massive shoulders. A Prillon warrior near the back flexed slightly and the seam along his sleeve looked dangerously close to surrender.
The room full of glitter-covered princesses suddenly felt… very fragile.
Some of the males studied the contestants with polite curiosity. Others looked far more interested.
Predatory interest.
My stomach tightened. All the contestants were here tonight. Even the ones that had been eliminated earlier in the show. Kind of like a giant reunion episode before the show was even over.
"Single males from the Coalition Fleet processing center!" Chet announced with manic delight. "They're here looking for their mates, too!"
Excited whispers rippled through the ballroom.
I felt my pulse pick up.
Because this catastrophe just waiting to happen? This was new. Chet loved new.
"Which means…" he continued, spreading his arms wide like a magician revealing the final trick. His grin widened. "…EVERYONE DANCES WITH EVERYONE!"
Oh no.
Across the ballroom, Egon stood near the edge of the dance floor. Even in a room full of towering alien warriors, he dominated the space.
His eyes found mine instantly.
And the moment he saw the wings—his mouth twitched. The bastard was trying not to laugh.
The camera crews swarmed the room like locusts.
Lights flashed. Microphones swung overhead. Production assistants darted between contestants adjusting wings and tiaras while the music kicked on. The room filled with a strange ballroom pop remix that had absolutely no business being played at something allegedly called a fairy tale ball.
"The rules are simple!" Chet shouted over the noise, his voice booming through the speakers. "Each contestant dances with Warlord Egon, AND with our Coalition guests! The Warlord will also dance with each contestant! We rotate every three minutes! Listen for the chime."
Three minutes. Three minutes of torment every time I had to watch Egon put his hands on another woman.
Three minutes I knew he would have to fight his beast every time one of these unmated males put their hands on me.
Chet was going to get someone killed.
I scanned the room automatically, searching for my man. Egon had moved. He stood next to the ridiculous foam throne at the far side of the ballroom.
They had dressed him as a "Dark Prince." He didn’t have a cape this time. First time for everything. But he did have wings. Dark leather pants that hugged his muscular thighs, tight ass, and other things. A flowing black shirt was tucked into the pants. They’d unbuttoned it to his waist—of course—so he looked like a winged pirate.
Instead of a crown he wore a pirate hat that actually looked…
annoyingly good on him. An old fashioned pirate’s sword was strapped to his side.
I think Chet confused fairies and pirates, but I wasn’t complaining.
Black metal.
Sharp edges.
Dark jewels.
The pirate look suited him far too well. Maybe he was a bad fairy. A very bad, very naughty, very sexy royal fae. Like Maleficent, if Maleficent had been a seven-foot alien Warlord built like a tank and constantly on the verge of punching someone.
He looked absolutely miserable.
His golden eyes found mine instantly.
The intensity of that gaze made heat rush through me, wings or no wings. I saw the hunger there. The tension coiled in his shoulders. The barely restrained possessiveness in the way he watched the other males moving near me.
He didn't want to dance with anyone else. He didn't want to be here at all. But he was doing it anyway.
For the show. For the other warriors. Because I refused to break my contract and forfeit the money Chet had promised me.
That money was my guarantee. My safety net.
My future and my freedom all rolled into one.
And even though I was pretty sure I was falling in love with Egon, and him with me, I couldn’t make myself give it up.
"First dance!" Chet called brightly. "Contestant Number One with Warlord Egon! Everyone else, check your dance cards!"
I looked down at the ridiculous device strapped to my wrist. It looked like a smartwatch the size of a hockey puck, displaying a rotation list.
First up for me:
Vrax – Prillon Prime
A shadow fell over me. I looked up. And up. And up.