Chapter 11 #2
Vrax was enormous—even compared to the other alien males in the room. His skin held a faint golden hue, his hair a bright metallic blond that matched the strange yellow-gold of his eyes. They reminded me of a cat’s.
He looked like a walking bar of gold bullion wearing a slightly too-tight tuxedo.
"You are the human female Warlord Egon stole from the wedding?" he asked politely. "The bride?"
I blinked.
"How do you know about that?"
"I live at the Interstellar Brides Processing Center." His tone was matter-of-fact. "We have access to human social media."
Oh my God. Even the aliens were watching the internet. We were doomed as a species.
"Yes," I admitted with a helpless laugh. "That was me. I'm Tori."
"I am Vrax." He extended his hand as the music shifted. "Shall we dance?"
I accepted his hand. The moment he led me toward the dance floor, I felt it.
Egon's gaze.
Burning straight into my back.
Vrax turned out to be an excellent dancer. Surprisingly light on his feet for someone who looked like he could bench-press a truck. He kept a respectful distance, guiding me easily through the movements.
"The Warlord watches you," he observed quietly.
My heart skipped. I didn't look toward Egon. Instead, I forced my attention back to my partner.
"He's… protective."
"He is besotted." The word came with a faint smile. Vrax glanced briefly toward the throne where Egon danced with Contestant Number One. “You are fortunate,” he added softly. “To find one’s true mate… it is the greatest blessing.”
Before I could respond, the music cut off. A loud chime rang through the air.
“Switch!” Chet’s voice rang through the room.
Vrax bowed slightly and released my hand.
The next three dances blurred together. A massive Viken warrior who moved with the careful precision of someone afraid he might accidentally break me.
Then another Atlan beast who smelled faintly of metal and storm wind.
Then a tall male who looked almost entirely human—dark hair, calm eyes, perfectly tailored suit.
When I asked, he explained that he was an Elite Everian Hunter—which, according to the whispered commentary from the contestants around me, meant he was one of the most feared assassins in the known universe.
And he waltzed like a ballroom champion.
I smiled politely. Made small talk.
But my attention kept drifting across the room.
Watching Egon. Dance after dance.
Number Two: a blonde who giggled nonstop.
Number Three: the Asian whose long, silken hair I’d kill for.
My stomach tightened as she pressed herself against him, whispering something in his ear.
Egon's jaw clenched visibly.
Number Four: a redhead who stepped on his feet three times in two minutes.
Number Five: another blonde who tried to kiss him and very nearly lost her arm for the attempt.
Number Six: a brunette who started crying when he wouldn't look at her.
The dances kept rotating. Faster. More chaotic.
My partners changed every three minutes while the cameras zoomed in, capturing every expression.
And through it all… Egon kept looking at me.
Every few seconds his gaze searched the room until it found mine.
Making sure I was still there. Still safe. Still his.
Then Chet's voice cut through the music again.
"Ninth dance!" he announced dramatically. My pulse jumped.
My turn you shallow bitch. The ninth dance with Egon was mine.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
Egon crossed the room toward me like a predator stalking prey.
The crowd parted for him instinctively. No one told them to move. They simply did. There was something about him—something primal and dangerous—that made people step aside without thinking.
He stopped in front of me.
His golden eyes swept over me slowly, devouring every ridiculous inch of my fairy costume—the wings, the tiara, the glitter-covered wand.
Then his hand extended.
"May I have this dance?"
His voice was rough, low, barely controlled.
I placed my hand in his.
"You may."
The music shifted.
The bright and fast moving music slowed, faded into something I assumed was a waltz—strings and piano, romantic and sweeping.
Chet was manipulating us again. Like a puppet master pulling the strings of every marionette in the room.
It worked like a charm. The edge of chaos and danger melted away, replaced by romance. Whimsy. Egon pulled me into his arms immediately, one hand settling firmly at my waist while the other closed around mine.
The moment he touched me, the world steadied.
He felt like safety. Like home. Like something my heart had been searching for long before I knew he existed.
"You look like a dream," he murmured against my ear. His lips brushed my skin as he spoke.
I smiled. "You look like a Disney villain."
"What is a Disney?"
I laughed softly. "I'll explain later."
I moved closer without thinking, my body fitting naturally against his. The stupid wings shifted behind me, brushing his arm, but neither of us cared.
For a moment I forgot about everything.
The cameras.
The other contestants.
The ridiculous costumes and staged drama.
All of it faded away.
He smelled like cedar and smoke and something warm that belonged only to him. His heart beat steadily beneath my palm, strong and reassuring. The heat of his hand burned through the layers of tulle at my waist, sending tiny shivers across my skin.
I had danced with other males tonight.
Good males.
Kind males.
Males who might have been wonderful partners in another life.
But none of them were him.
None of them made my breath catch when they looked at me.
None of them made my skin come alive with awareness.
None of them made me feel like the universe had just… clicked into place.
The realization hit me so hard I almost stumbled.
I loved him. I wasn’t falling in love. It was too damn late for that.
The truth landed like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
I loved him.
This impossible, stubborn, literal-minded alien Warlord who had crashed my wedding and declared me his mate in front of millions of people.
I loved him.
And more terrifying than that— I wanted to keep him.
The mating cuffs flashed through my mind.
The sacred Atlan ritual.
The claim that would bind us together forever.
I wanted them.
I wanted to wear his mark openly where the entire world could see it.
Was I crazy? Possibly. Probably.
He was an alien. A literal extraterrestrial from another planet.
We had different cultures. Different histories. Different worlds.
Would I have to leave Earth someday? Move to The Colony? Or even to Atlan?
I didn't know. And maybe that should have scared me more.
But when Egon looked at me the way he was looking at me now—like I was the only thing in the universe that mattered—none of those questions seemed important.
The song ended.
"Switch!" Chet called out.
Egon's hand tightened on my waist. For half a second he didn't move. His eyes locked on mine. The beast inside him flickered there—restless, unwilling to let me go.
Then slowly, reluctantly, he released me.
A male stepped forward from the group of Coalition guests. At least, that was what he was supposed to be.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a suit that didn't quite fit his frame, the fabric pulling awkwardly across his chest like it had been borrowed from someone else. For a fraction of a second my brain tried to process him the way it had processed the others.
Alien. Guest. Dancer. He reached for my hand before I could step back and pulled me toward the dance floor as if it were part of the choreography.
Then something inside me went cold.
His face. Too smooth. Too familiar.
My blood turned to ice.
"Derek," I breathed.