"Good." He gave my shoulder a friendly pat and drifted away, already turning his attention toward the next contestant as if the entire situation had been nothing more than another piece of production logistics.
Across the ballroom, assistants began guiding the contestants into position. A loose line formed near the enormous double doors that led into the larger ballroom where the introductions would take place. I wandered over and slipped into place near the end of the line. There didn't seem to be any real order to it. Women shuffled forward as assistants gestured and whispered instructions. The doors ahead stood partially open, and through the gap I caught glimpses of bright lighting and camera equipment waiting on the other side.
And Egon. He sat on an elevated platform inside the room. On a throne. An actual throne. The massive chair looked like something carved from polished black metal and silver, its high back rising behind him like the seat of some alien king. The lighting above the platform cast a golden glow across his broad shoulders and glitter-dusted chest, turning him into something almost mythological.
He looked exactly like what he was. A Warlord. Powerful. Dangerous. Completely out of place among velvet carpets and reality television cameras.
As if he felt my stare, his head lifted. His gaze swept the room once… then looked through the crack in the door and locked on mine. The connection hit like a physical thing. His golden eyes held mine across the distance, steady and unblinking. Just for a second—maybe two—but it was long enough to send a jolt of awareness through my entire body. My breath caught. Heat curled low in my stomach. And my body reacted in ways that were wildly inappropriate for a public ballroom full of cameras. How could I be this turned on when he hadn't even really touched me yet?
"I don't know if I can do this," I murmured under my breath. The words were mostly for myself. Because the moment I imagined standing here while dozens of women paraded past Egon—smiling, flirting, throwing themselves at him for the cameras—something dark and possessive twisted inside my chest. Especially one woman in particular. Could I really stand here smiling politely while Jessica draped herself all over him?
"You could leave." The voice appeared beside me like a drop of poison in a glass of champagne.
I turned. Jessica stood at my elbow, her smile sweet enough to rot teeth. It didn't reach her eyes.
"If you don't think you can compete," she added smoothly.
"You wish." I looked her over deliberately. Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Perfect body poured into a silver gown that probably cost more than my car. She stood with the relaxed confidence of someone who had spent her entire life being the most beautiful woman in the room.
Her gaze drifted back toward the ballroom doors. Toward Egon. The look in her eyes made my jaw tighten. She was studying him like a prize she fully intended to win.
6
Egon — Six Hours Later
* * *
I was going to kill someone. The thought had repeated itself so often over the last six hours it had become almost meditative. Calm. Focused. Controlled. Unfortunately, the producers would likely object to me executing one of their staff on camera.
It was nearly midnight, and I had spent the evening enduring a parade of human females throwing themselves at me with escalating desperation. The producers had chosen a ridiculous theme for the evening. Royalty Among the Stars apparently required me to wear this absurd dark sorcerer costume. My cape was black velvet with silver embroidery, and so heavy with gemstones it weighed nearly as much as my Coalition armor had during the war.
They had instructed me to pretend to cast "love spells" by waving my magical scepter around. When I growled, Chet improvised. A wizard character stood behind me for several hours, chanting ridiculous poetry and waving a wooden staff taller than the frail old man who held it. I had no idea where Chet had come up with the elder and did not care. I had cast exactly zero love spells. Instead, I had stood where they placed me and stared across the ballroom at my mate. Watched. Waited.
Hungered. If I had the ability to cast a spell of love on one of these females, it would only be her. I wanted her love. Her acceptance. I needed her to find me worthy and claim me and my beast. She was the only living being who mattered.
The fucking males on The Colony owed me a life debt for this. For acting as if she was not mine. Pretending I did not hunger for her with every beat of my heart. I was aware of every word she spoke. Every movement. The smallest change in expression on her soft, feminine face.
Mine. The beast surged at the thought, claws scraping inside my skull. Claim her.
"Soon," I muttered under my breath. I couldn’t fully claim her the way I wanted to, could not allow him to claim her. The problem was the mating cuffs. The metal bands rested in a sealed display case, saved for the dramatic finale when I would put them on my ‘mate’ on live television. It was the only episode of the show this year that would be broadcast as it happened.
Chet had explained that with the volatile nature of previous beasts, the show’s producers had decided to film and edit most of the season.
I didn’t fucking care what they did as long as the Warlords on The Colony were not doomed to execution for mating fever, and Tori was mine at the end.
Before Tori, their plan had been irrelevant to me. I would act for their cameras. ‘Claim’ one of the females to complete the illusion. And when it was over? My brethren on The Colony would have their access to Earth and I would leave. Return to Atlan. End my misery.
Now Tori was here. Everything was different. But the beast had become even more difficult to control. I needed those fucking mating cuffs on my wrists. On hers. Needed the connection. The pain. The control. Needed to know she was mine.
My bare wrists were a fucking constant reminder of everything that had not yet happened. On Atlan, placement of the cuffs around the wrists of a male and female was more than ceremony. It was a bond recognized by the entire planet. A vow. A claim. A promise that quieted the beast and anchored the warrior. Without them, my beast paced restlessly inside me, furious and half-wild. He’d been berating me every second since we’d found her and not claimed her. My cock had been hard and aching for so long I was in physical pain.
Cuffs. Claim her.
"I will."
Now! My beast snarled inside me. Another male could touch her. Take what is mine.
"Not while I breathe." The vehemence in my response soothed him enough that I could function. For now.
