Tori stepped forward, confusion flickering across her face. "Flowers?" She picked up the card. Her hands began to tremble slightly. "Derek," she whispered.
The name hit my ears like a blade.
"He sent flowers." She handed me the card. The writing was bold. The message urgent.
To my beautiful bride. Come back to me. —Derek.
Bride. The word snapped something inside me. My hand moved before I consciously decided to act. The card crumpled instantly in my fist.
"He wants what is mine," I growled. The sound that left my throat was no longer entirely human. It was deeper. Rougher. The beast pressing dangerously close to the surface. "He sent gifts to my mate," I continued, my voice vibrating with restrained fury. "He believes he can take you from me."
The tropical wind stirred the ribbons tied around the bouquets. The scent of roses filled the air. My beast rose fully now, making demands of his own. Demands no true Warlord could deny.
Find him. Break him.
Tori lifted the roses and walked to a nearby trash receptacle. She dumped the flowers into the large container as if they were truly rubbish.
My beast calmed. Derek the groom would live another day. But the sooner I got my mating cuffs around Tori's wrists, the better. Not just for her. I needed them. Needed the reminder that she existed. That she was mine. Needed the pain to help me remain in control. The beast was dangerously close to the surface. Irrational. He could see no logical reason not to hunt down the other male and tear him in half with our bare hands.
9
Tori
* * *
I was going to kill Chet Bosworth.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Possibly with one of the ridiculous inflatable horses currently bobbing in the resort’s Olympic-sized swimming pool.
“Laaaaadies and gentlemennnnn!” Chet’s voice boomed through the sound system, echoing across the water and bouncing off the stadium lights they had somehow managed to install around the pool deck. “Welcome to the WARLORD’S TOURNAMENT!”
The crowd—consisting mostly of camera crews, production assistants, and the other contestants who weren’t currently being forced into humiliating swimwear—cheered with wildly exaggerated enthusiasm.
I stood at the edge of the pool with my arms crossed tightly over my nearly naked chest, staring at the chaos before me.
The elegant resort pool had been transformed into some kind of medieval-themed fever dream. The water glowed an unnatural shade of bright blue that probably violated several environmental laws. Inflatable castles floated at either end like props from a children's birthday party. Plastic drawbridges bobbed lazily in the chlorinated waves.
And in the center of the pool… the "steeds." Pink, inflatable horses. Sparkly ones.
I closed my eyes briefly. I should have told Egon everything last night. About Derek. About the fact that, technically, I was still married.
But we’d returned to his suite and he’d pounced. I had no will to resist when his mouth closed over my pussy and he made me beg for release. Wasn’t going to bring up Derek when his huge cock was pumping into me, making me lose my damn mind. And after? God. He held me like I was breakable. Ran his dinner-plate sized hands over every inch of me like he would never get enough.
I had never been touched like that. Ever. He was lethal. Irresistible.
And I was still keeping secrets. Damn it. I should have told him. My stomach twisted.
I'd called my lawyer yesterday morning. He'd left a voicemail while we were filming, asking me to call him back as soon as possible. Apparently, Derek's lawyers "weren't cooperating." I still had no idea what that meant. Why wouldn't they cooperate? Derek had wanted this marriage to be temporary. That had been the whole deal. Six months. Clean divorce. He gets what he wanted. I get paid. Everyone moves on.
Unless…
No. I pushed the thought away. I didn't have time to spiral about my maybe-not-yet-annulled marriage while standing next to a pool full of inflatable horses.
"Each contestant will mount her noble steed!" Chet announced dramatically, his neon green suit shimmering under the lights. Today's costume appeared to be "insane medieval king." A plastic crown sat crookedly on his head while his usual feather boa had been replaced with something that looked suspiciously like a curtain tassel. "She will take up her lance—" He gestured toward a rack beside the pool. Bright yellow pool noodles. Each one wrapped with duct tape handles. "—and joust for the honor of the Warlord!"
