7. Poppy
POPPY
The moment Vael-Torin carries me out of the tree line and onto the set, my optimism completely shrivels up and died.
After the dim forest, the overly lit stage is like a slap in the face.
Blinding blue and white studio lights illuminate a high-tech platform built right over the dirt. In front of it, rows of seats are packed with an all-male crowd of velvety grey Roth and green-scaled Suevans, all drinking and murmuring while metallic drone cameras buzz through the air.
The result makes me feel surprisingly claustrophobic and too exposed all at once. Not a fan of this part of my reality TV stardom, not a fan at all. It’s one thing to know I’m being recorded in private… and another to have a full on audience of aliens.
I clench my teeth, biting down my second thoughts.
It’s too late to have second thoughts.
Vael-Torin sets me down gently at the edge of the platform. My marabou kitten heels are clutched against my chest, and I slip them so I’m not barefoot on the cold metal structure. I try my best to smooth my fuschia silk slip, but my hands tremble so much it’s an exercise in futility.
Worse than the stage is the heat.
My physical, sex-needing heat.
Whatever Draegon venom runs through my veins, cooking me from the inside out. It’s like a hormonal rave in there, and the DJ’s putting on a hell of a show. Every time Vael-Torin shifts beside me, the furnace-like warmth of his ruby-red scales sends a violent spike of lust through me.
A quick glance up tells me he’s not doing any better.
He stands over me like a wall of muscle, jaw locked, eyes dark with blown-out pupils.
The fluffed end of his red tail snakes around my waist, yanking me against his side.
I can feel his anatomy doing that frantic movement thing right through his pants and straight against my hip.
We are swimming in hormones, trying to play it cool, but the second the rest of my friends stumble onto the set, my horny brain-short takes a backseat to absolute horror.
Oh, god. What have I done?
I choke back a sob, clapping a hand over my mouth as I take them in.
They look like they've been dragged through a garbage disposal.
Ellison is covered in dirt, her hair a giant nest, limping on her bare feet.
Lucy looks pale, slung over the shoulder of a peachy Draegon like a sack of flour.
And Lily? Lily looks ready to commit a felony.
There are actual twigs falling out of her bob while a white-haired, purple alien trails her with a predatory stare.
Guilt hits my chest so hard I can't breathe.
This was supposed to be a fun prime-time dating adventure. Glamorous, fun, with a ticket off Earth at the end.
Except… my friends are bleeding. They're terrified. And I'm the one who put their names on those digital waivers while we were blasting through margarita pitcher number six.
I did this to them. I messed up. The urge to burst into tears and beg for forgiveness nearly drops me to my knees.
Seeing Ellison and her green alien emerge from the brush, I wave my arms, my voice cracking. “Oh, there you are! Hi Ell,” I call out, trying to project total confidence.
I fail.
Lily stumbles up the steps a second later, dried blood crusting her shins.
“What happened to you?” Ellison asks, rushing forward.
“I fell,” Lily mutters, her eyes flashing with an anger that makes me flinch. She rakes her fingers through her messy hair, glaring at the alien behind her. “Thank fuck this is the translator challenge. Not being able to talk to this dude is driving me fucking nuts.”
My panic amps up. If I break down right now, on camera, in front of a live audience of aliens, we are doomed. I need them to focus. I need myself to focus.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell Lily, trying to force my pageant smile back on. “You look beautiful?” I try, because even bloody and dirty, she does. “Your partner is hot…”
Lily whirls on me, her gaze dripping venom. “Don’t even fucking start with me, Poppy.”
I wince.
She has every right to hate me. I want to throw my arms around her and apologize, to tell her I’ll find a way to fix this, but the drones are hovering inches from our faces, catching every twitch.
And I’m not sure I can fix this, not anymore. Fuck.
Lucy’s partner bridal-carries her up the stairs next, and she offers a tired smile. “Hi, you guys. These guys are handy to have around, huh?”
“More like handsy,” Lily mutters, glaring at her mate. He snaps his teeth at her, muttering in his language, his purple tail doing it’s best to sneak around her ankle as she does her best to stomp on it.
“Welcome to the inaugural season of Mated and Afraid.” The host, Ayro, who I recognize from their site, steps to the front of the stage, his voice cutting through our conversation.
He flashes a smile that sets me slightly more on edge.
“And welcome to our first challenge! We begin by randomly selecting your event.”
The stage groans as a wheel rises from the floor, flashing with alien script and English letters.
“Approach and spin the wheel,” Ayro says, announcer voice on full display.
Billie, the human woman who’s I think producing or masterminding the show, is talking into a headpiece just off stage.
She’s former Earth Federation, if I remember correctly, now positioned on Roth, one of the humans who are trying to help diplomacy along there after the freakin’ Roth dictator was overthrown. Ugh. This is a mess.
My heart’s pounding frantically in my ribs, because it’s just now hitting me what I’ve gotten us into. This isn’t just some show or a fun way to get a trip to Sueva— this is a full on diplomatic propaganda piece to show interspecies collaboration, and I got me and my friends all tangled up with it.
Out of sheer boredom with my life.
Vael-Torin’s arm tightens around my waist, anchoring me against his side and stopping some of the self-loathing with a fresh wave of heat.
Nothing like lust to distract you from an intergalactic shit show of your own making.
The wheel whips around before creaking to a stop, an arrow plunking to a brightly colored pie slice.
Style Build and Drag.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Vael is muttering nonsense alien words under his breath, and then I’m being rushed along to the next part of the challenge.
The translator chimes over the speakers, directing us to our lanes.
Vael-Torin hurries me along, chest heaving.
The crowd seems to be pushing him to the edge. He keeps touching me, making sure I’m alright, positioning his big body between me and the audience.
It’s not helping my heat. “We gotta do this, big guy,” I tell him brightly. “We can win. Then think: Sueva, a mansion, and you and me having a lot of fun.” I put an extra oomph on the word fun.
Because I mean sex. Like, sex is the only prize I care about right now at all.
He leads me to a roped-off lane of dirt where a fabric-covered lump sits at the starting line.
The second we hit the dirt with the supplies in front of us, his entire attitude changes.
Vael-Torin whirls around, ruby-red wings flaring wide to block the drone cameras from getting a shot of my bare legs.
Before I can say a word, his hands clamp around my waist, lifting me into the air and placing me squarely onto the fabric sheet so my feet don't touch the gravel.
Which is actually pretty damn cute. I beam up at him. “Thanks.”
“Fankssss,” he repeats, squinting at me briefly before returning to his alien language.
Okay. Well, he’s trying.
He drop-thumps onto his knees in front of the pile, ignoring me as he goes to work.
I watch, transfixed, the ache of my heat making my lady parts throb as I track his movements. His forearms bunch, thick muscles standing out as his long fingers rotate the iron bolts with crazy speed. He isn't guessing.
He knows exactly how the chassis aligns.
I would have cried over this. Legal briefs and research and divorce negotiations are one thing. Putting together whatever the fuck this is is completely different field, and I can confidently say that I’m not good at this.
“You’re doing great,” I tell him, trying to keep my smile in place while he ignores me totally. “You’re so good at that, Vael!”
If he hears me, he doesn’t act like it. Finally, I give up and just watch.
Within minutes, the heap of metal brackets transforms into a rigid rickshaw.
He stands to his full height, chest expanding as he pats the wooden bench inside the basin. He looks at me, a flash of pride in his eyes. “Pah-pee?”
I don’t love that he’s turned the second syllable of my name into a bodily function.
"POP-py," I tell him, stepping over the iron frame and settling onto the seat, bracing my hands flat against the rails.
He marches to the front, hoisting the handles onto his shoulders, tucking his wings tight against his spine.
Then he explodes forward.
I scream, wind whipping my hair around my face. The fluff on my little heels try to flutter with the force of the air, but are too sodden to do more than plop sadly.
The power of Vael’s legs launches the rickshaw across the terrain.
The cart rattles as he banks into the roped turns. He moves at an inhuman speed, tail whipping behind him to counter the momentum, mastering the "style" requirement with a roll of his shoulders that sends a cloud of dust billowing behind us.
He crosses the finish line, slamming the cart to a halt.
Vael-Torin whirls around, a grin stretching across his face as he shows off his canines, looking incredibly pleased with himself.
I sit there, gasping for air, not even worried about looking composed. That was fucking scary. I look back at the dust cloud, then up at his handsome face, and the weight of my fear lifts for a second.
We did it.
We are in absolute hell, and my friends currently want to skin me alive, but looking at my red dragon, I know I'm going to do whatever it takes to win this stupid game and make him mine.