"Careful," she whispered so softly only I could hear. Her breath brushed my lips. "Just for the show."
The beast snarled softly.
Fuck that. I leaned closer so only she would hear me. "No act. You are mine.”
Then I kissed her. Not the fierce kiss from the church. Not the desperate hunger from the night we had first come together. This one was softer. Slower. A brush of lips meant only for her. A promise. I claimed her the only way I could, with gentleness. Seduction.
My mate melted against me, her breath catching softly as the connection between us sparked to life. Even a simple kiss felt dangerous now that I knew the taste of her, the feel of her body beneath mine, the quiet sounds she made when we were alone.
The ballroom erupted. Cheers. Gasps. Applause.
Reluctantly, I lifted my head but did not let her go.
Chet's voice rose above the noise as he proclaimed something about "true love's magic" and "destiny unfolding." I ignored him.
Jessica stood several feet away, her expression sharp with barely concealed fury. I ignored her too. My attention remained on Tori.
The ceremony ended quickly after that. Chet announced the "private dinner" for the chosen lady and her fantasy prince, his voice full of theatrical enthusiasm while the other contestants were dismissed toward the ballroom doors. Jessica passed us as she left. The look she gave Tori promised trouble. I watched her go with mild interest. If the female became a threat, she would discover very quickly how protective an Atlan Warlord could be.
Soon the ballroom emptied. Tori and I were escorted through a side corridor into a private dining room filled with hidden cameras. The change in atmosphere was immediate.
Quiet. Soft candlelight flickered across the small table in the center of the room. Tall windows overlooked the dark shoreline outside where moonlight glimmered faintly across the distant ocean. The tropical wind moved gently through the palms beyond the glass. The walls were lined with candles. Roses decorated the center of the table. Everything was meant to be seductive. Romantic. Beautiful.
And not nearly private enough.
My senses quickly located multiple cameras. Hidden in the corners. Disguised inside decorative lanterns. Watching. Always watching.
Tori sat across from me, smoothing her skirts carefully as she settled into the chair.
"So," she said brightly, clearly performing for the microphones, "this is nice. The view is beautiful."
I leaned back slightly in my chair. The candlelight flickered across her face. My mate. So close.
"Yes," I said slowly, my golden eyes fixed on her across the table. "You are very beautiful."
Dinner was an exercise in restraint. Not the polite, social restraint humans practiced when navigating awkward conversation. This was the kind of control forged in war—discipline layered over instinct until it became armor. Because my mate sat across the table from me. And I could not touch her.
The candlelight flickered softly between us, casting warm shadows across her face. The yellow silk of her gown caught the light whenever she moved, the neckline dipping just low enough to make it nearly impossible not to notice the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. My gaze kept returning there. Every instinct in my body demanded I pull her into my arms and carry her somewhere private. Somewhere without cameras. Somewhere the mating cuffs could finally close around our wrists and silence the restless hunger building beneath my skin.
Instead, we played the game. For the cameras, we spoke politely. For each other, we spoke with our eyes. Small touches became our rebellion. A brush of fingers when the server refilled our wine. Her foot sliding briefly against my boot beneath the table. The soft hitch in her breath when my hand lingered a moment too long while helping her with her chair. Each contact sent heat through my body like lightning. The beast paced.
When dessert arrived—a delicate chocolate creation shaped like some elaborate human sculpture—I barely noticed it. My focus remained entirely on the female across from me. Finally, I pushed back from the table.
"I would like to walk you back to your room," I said formally, projecting calm for the listening microphones. "If you would permit it."
Her lips curved slightly. "I would like that."
We left the dining room together. The resort had grown quiet. Warm tropical air drifted through the open walkways. Palm trees swayed gently under the moonlight, their long leaves whispering above us. Somewhere nearby the ocean rolled steadily across the sand, the sound deep and rhythmic.
We walked side by side. Carefully. Not touching. The moment we left the private dining room, a camera crew appeared, trailing behind us like hungry vultures. Our arms brushed occasionally as we moved down the lantern-lit path. Each accidental contact sparked through my nerves. The beast stirred with restless satisfaction.
She wants us. "Yes."
As we passed the front desk, one of the hotel staff called out to us. “Miss Smith? Victoria? You have a delivery.”
“What?” We both turned to see a massive arrangement of roses, lilies, and orchids spilling over the hotel clerk’s raised counter in a barricade of color and scent. White ribbons spilled down the front. There was a card.
My body went completely still. The beast surged instantly. Looked for a threat.
