Chapter 12
Tori
Derek smiled.
Not the confident smile I remembered from boardrooms and charity galas. This one was tight. Desperate. His eyes looked wild. Like he hadn’t slept in days.
Or he was on cocaine. He’d snorted a lot of money up his nose our freshman year of college. I knew that look.
"Hello, Tori."
I tried to step back.
He moved with me instantly, adjusting like it was part of the dance. His hand slid around my arm, fingers digging into my skin hard enough to hurt.
"Dance with me.” His voice was low. Too intimate. Terrifying. "One dance. For old times' sake."
"Let go of me." I tried to pull away, look around for Egon. Egon was on the other side of the room. Dancing with Jessica. Shit.
Derek’s grip tightened painfully. “Look at me.”
I turned to face the man I’d once believed was my friend. "Why won't your lawyers answer their phones? Or return a call?" I snapped.
"Just listen to me." He leaned close, his breath hot against my ear. "We don't need lawyers. I've been trying to reach you. Sending flowers. Leaving messages. But you won't talk to me. You won't even look at me."
"Because I'm done with you, Derek." Anger surged through me now, pushing the fear aside. "You sent thugs to beat us up," I continued, my voice sharp. "They pulled a knife on us. One of them had a gun."
His fingers tightened again. “I just need you to listen.”
"Let me go."
"I can't." His voice cracked suddenly. “I need you. You’re my wife.” The words burst out of him, raw and frantic.
"Come back to me. We can fix this. We can—"
"Get your hands off her."
The voice behind me was not human. It rolled through the ballroom like distant thunder, deep and dangerous. Conversations stopped. Music faltered.
I felt the shift in the air before I even turned.
Something primal had awakened.
"Egon," I whispered under my breath.
Slowly, I looked over my shoulder.
He was no longer dancing with Jessica. He stood frozen in the center of the dance floor, every muscle in his massive body locked tight.
And his eyes—
Oh God.
They were glowing. Amber light burned inside them like molten gold. His hands had changed, claws extending from his fingertips in curved, deadly arcs. His lips had pulled back slightly, revealing the sharp points of elongated fangs.
The beast.
"Egon," I said carefully. "Don't—"
"He touched you." The words were barely recognizable, dragged from a throat that no longer sounded entirely human. "He put his hands on what is mine."
Derek didn't look afraid. He looked smug.
Dread spread through me instantly. I knew that expression. And I knew exactly what he was about to say.
"She's my wife, Warlord." His voice carried across the stunned ballroom. "Legally mine. Not yours."
My stomach dropped. Egon’s gaze darted to mine. Confused. Hurt.
"And she's coming with me."
Oh shit.
I expected Egon to hesitate. To react. To look at me with regret or confusion.
But the beast was in control now. And the beast did not care about human law.
With a roar that shook the walls, Egon charged.
"Egon—!"
Derek shoved me aside. Hard.
I stumbled backward, my ridiculous wings snagging on one of the foam castle pillars as I tried to regain my balance.
Derek turned to face the oncoming Warlord. His hand disappeared inside his suit jacket.
When it came back out, he was holding— a taser.
“I came prepared, you alien freak!” Derek snarled, his composure shattering completely. “You want her? You have to go through me!”
Egon didn’t slow.
Didn’t hesitate.
He crossed the distance between them in a blur of motion, moving faster than anything human.
One massive hand shot forward.
He grabbed Derek by the throat.
Lifted him. Held him a full foot off the ground like the man weighed nothing at all.
Derek’s legs kicked wildly, his hands clawing at Egon’s wrist as he gasped for air.
“YOU DARE TOUCH WHAT IS MINE?!” Egon roared.
The sound rattled the chandeliers.
“YOU DARE LAY HANDS ON MY MATE?!”
“Egon!”
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the sharp pain shooting through my shoulder where I had slammed into the pillar.
“Egon, stop!”
He didn’t hear me.
Or maybe he did—but the beast didn’t care.
Egon shook Derek like a ragdoll, slamming him down onto the marble floor with terrifying force. Once. Twice. The sound echoed through the ballroom like thunder.
He snarled something in a language I didn’t recognize—deep, guttural syllables that vibrated with raw fury.
Derek’s face was turning purple. His eyes bulged. His hands clawed desperately at Egon's wrist. He was going to die.
And Egon—my Egon, the male I had just realized I loved—was going to become a murderer in front of a ballroom full of cameras.
I moved.
I didn't think.
I just ran.
Pink tulle and ridiculous fairy wings flew behind me as I crossed the distance between them. I reached Egon's side and grabbed his arm—the arm currently holding Derek pressed to the ground. My fingers pressed into the rock-hard muscle of his forearm.
"Egon." My voice came out steady despite the panic pounding through my chest. "Stop." I tugged harder. “Damn it! Stop!”
He froze. Completely. Utterly. It was like someone had slammed a pause button on a monster.
The beast was still there. I could see it in his glowing eyes, the sharp fangs pressing against his lips, the unnatural bulk of his body where the Atlan transformation had partially taken hold.
But he stopped. For me.
I swallowed hard and forced the words out. "They'll put you in prison if you kill him."
My hand tightened on his arm. "They'll keep us apart."
His eyes locked onto mine.
The fury still burned there—but something else flickered beneath it now.
Recognition.
Trust.
"Let him go," I whispered. My voice trembled slightly. "For me."
For a long moment nothing happened.
The beast and the man fought visibly inside him. I could see it in the tightening of his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
The beast wanted blood. The man wanted me.
Slowly… painfully slowly… his fingers opened.
Derek curled onto his side immediately, clutching his throat, gasping and wheezing as he dragged air back into his lungs.
Egon turned toward me.
The glow in his eyes dimmed slightly. But it didn't disappear. "You stopped the beast in a killing rage.” His voice was rough. Amazed. "The beast…" He swallowed hard. "He obeys you. Only you."
A violent shudder passed through his massive frame.
Then something even more shocking happened.
Egon dropped to his knees in front of me.
Right there in the middle of the ballroom.
The giant Atlan warrior wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close, pressing his forehead against my chest.
Instinctively, my arms wrapped around him. Holding him. Grounding him.
"SECURITY brEACH!" Chet's voice exploded across the room. He sounded equal parts horrified and thrilled.
"We have a security breach! Someone get this man out of here!"
The room erupted into chaos. Cameras rushed forward. Producers shouted into headsets.
Security guards stormed across the ballroom and grabbed Derek, hauling him to his feet as he coughed and struggled.
"I love you!" Derek screamed hoarsely as they dragged him toward the doors. His face was flushed and wild. "Tori, I love you! This isn't over! I'll get you back! I'll—"
The ballroom doors slammed shut behind him. Silence followed.
I looked down at Egon, still kneeling in front of me, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist.
My heart was still racing. Adrenaline buzzed through my veins.
Then something made the back of my neck prickle. I looked up.
Jessica stood near the foam throne Egon had abandoned. Her posture was perfectly composed.
Her face carefully blank.
But her eyes… her eyes were following Derek's retreat. Disappointed. Not surprised.
And there was something else in that look. Satisfaction. Calculation.
Cold realization slid through me like ice water.
Had she known? Did she know Derek was here tonight, disguised as one of the Coalition guests?
Had she deliberately kept Egon distracted—flirting, whispering in his ear—dancing with him while Derek made his move?
My stomach dropped.
Jessica and Derek? Working together? Plotting against us?
"Oh my GOD!" Chet's voice rang out, carrying across the entire ballroom. He was practically vibrating with excitement, his gold hair catching the lights, glitter falling from him like fairy dust. "Did you see that?! The beast mode! The rescue! The DRAMA!"
He spun in a circle, cape flying, arms raised in triumph.
"People! We are making TELEVISION HISTORY! This is Emmy material! This is ratings GOLD!"
He grabbed a passing producer, shaking the poor woman by the shoulders.
"Did we get that?! Tell me we got that! The whole thing—the taser, the chokehold, the 'you dare touch what is mine'? Guess the cat's out of the bag!"
"We got it, Chet," the crew member assured. "Every angle."
"BEAUTIFUL!" Chet released her, spinning toward us, his eyes manic with creative fervor. "Warlord! Victoria! You two are MAGICAL! The tension! The passion! The possessive violence!"
He clutched his chest dramatically. "We are not just making TV," he announced to the room at large. "We are making history!"
I looked at Egon.
He looked at me.
Behind Chet's glittering, manic excitement, behind the chaos of the ballroom and the residual adrenaline of the attack, I saw the truth in his gaze. Chet knew the truth of what was in my heart.
Egon was mine. I was keeping him. And Derek, Jessica and anyone else who had a problem with it could kiss my ass.
Tori, Three Hours Later
The hallway outside the production offices was too quiet.
Not the normal quiet of a late night on set—the muffled hum of furnace fans, distant laughter from the crew, music leaking through ballroom doors. This silence felt heavier, like the building itself was holding its breath.