I remembered watching Wulf find his mate during the first season of the show, the moment his beast had recognized her. I remembered the footage of Warlord Tane at the Cinderella Ball, the way the Atlan Warlord had looked like gravity itself had shifted when he saw the human female across the ballroom. This felt exactly like that. Except now I was the one standing in front of the beast.
The massive, glitter-dusted Warlord who had crashed my wedding was staring at me like I was the answer to every question he had ever asked. "Who…" My voice barely existed when it came out, thin and breathless beneath the fading chaos of the room. "Who are you?"
He leaned closer. Slowly. Carefully. Until his forehead rested against mine. The contact stole the air from my lungs. I could feel the heat of his skin, the slow rhythm of his breath mingling with my own. Cedar and smoke wrapped around my senses, the scent thick and masculine and impossibly intoxicating. The rest of the world faded away. There was nothing left but golden eyes. Warm breath. And the dizzying sense that my life had just tilted onto a completely different path.
"Egon," he growled softly. "Warlord. Atlan." His gaze softened slightly as he studied my face, the intensity still there but threaded now with something gentler. "You. Name?"
I swallowed, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. "My name is Victoria Smith," I said quietly. Then, because something about him made honesty feel easier than breathing, I added, "But my friends call me Tori."
He paused before answering me. The movement was subtle, but I felt it immediately where our bodies almost touched. His chest expanded beneath a slow, deliberate breath, his massive frame shuddering slightly as though he were wrestling with something powerful inside himself. When he spoke again, his voice came out rougher. "Tori."
The way he said my name sent a strange tremor through my chest. His gaze darkened as he drew in another breath, the muscles in his jaw tightening as though the scent of me alone demanded effort to endure. "You. Are. Mine."
Around us, the church had dissolved into pure chaos since the roar. Guests shoved past one another in their frantic rush toward the exits, heels scraping across marble as people stumbled over overturned chairs and crushed rose petals. Somewhere behind us, someone was crying. Someone else shouted for the police. The camera crew did the opposite of fleeing. They pushed closer. Three large cameras rose over shoulders and pews; their massive lenses pointed directly at us with almost frightening intensity. The operators moved with professional focus, weaving through the chaos like sharks scenting blood in the water.
And behind them— Chet Bosworth. My brain struggled to keep up with the sheer absurdity of the moment as the sequined show host waved his arms wildly, his bright feather boa shedding yellow fluff everywhere it brushed against the wrecked flower arrangements. "Get this angle!" he barked toward one of the camera operators, pointing frantically. "No, no—closer! Closer!"
Derek was shouting something behind me. Security guards were shouting something else.
Pastor Johnson had apparently abandoned ship entirely. None of it seemed to penetrate the strange stillness surrounding Egon and me, because I was looking into a pair of golden eyes that held the promise of something I had stopped believing in a very long time ago. Something I had convinced myself didn't exist outside of fairy tales and cheesy movies. True love. Destiny. Kismet. Every ridiculous romantic fantasy I had ever rolled my eyes at suddenly seemed to collide in one impossible moment.
My pulse hammered wildly against my ribs. "This is crazy," I whispered. His thumb had resumed its slow path across my cheekbone, the rough callus brushing my skin in a motion so careful it made my chest ache. My breath hitched every time his thumb moved. "I don't even know you."
"You will." The words weren't reassurance. They were a promise. The quiet certainty in his voice made something deep inside me tighten. My breath came a little faster as he leaned closer, closing the small distance between us with patient inevitability.
His massive hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers spreading there with possessive steadiness as he drew me gently closer. I didn't resist. I couldn't. Didn’t want to.
The church, the cameras, the screaming guests—it all faded into distant noise as his face lowered toward mine. His lips hovered inches away, full and sensual and far too tempting for a man who had just crashed my wedding. My heart raced wildly. I had never wanted a kiss so badly in my life. Ever. The anticipation coiled through my body like tension before a lightning strike. My breath came shallow and uneven as I waited for the moment his mouth would finally meet mine.
"WARLORD!" The shout cut through the moment like a blade. Egon froze instantly. Every muscle in his massive body went rigid. The warmth surrounding me vanished as his frame tightened, the sudden tension coiling through him like a spring pulled too tight. His head turned slowly toward the voice. Too slowly. The movement carried a quiet menace that made the hair rise along my arms. For a split second I genuinely wondered if whoever had shouted was about to be ripped apart.
Chet Bosworth stood only a few feet away. The show host held a tablet in one hand and one end of his feather boa in the other. The sequins covering his electric-blue suit caught the candlelight and scattered it everywhere, sending chaotic sparkles dancing across Egon's glitter-dusted chest. The visual combination was almost surreal. Two different kinds of glitter reflecting off each other like a disco ball inside a war zone.
"You signed a contract," Chet said. The manic excitement he usually carried on television had vanished completely. His voice was calm now. Serious. Focused in a way I had never seen during any episode of the show. "You gave your word, Warlord."
Egon's chest vibrated with a low growl. The sound traveled straight through the air and into my body where I still stood inches from him. It was deeper than anger. Something primal stirred beneath it, something restrained only by a thin thread of control.
Apparently, Chet had a death wish. "You promised to participate in the selection process."
For a moment Egon didn't answer. The change began subtly. The enormous tension filling his body eased slightly. The towering bulk of his frame shifted as though the creature inside him had pulled back, retreating beneath the surface. His shoulders lowered a fraction, his breathing steadied. He was still enormous. Still terrifying. But the wild edge of the beast seemed to recede just enough for the warrior beneath to regain control.
"I care nothing for your contract," he said at last, his voice steady but still edged with a dangerous rumble. "She is my mate." His hand tightened gently at the back of my neck, drawing me half a step closer to his side as if the contact anchored him. "I claim her now."
Chet didn't flinch. If anything, he stepped closer. The sequins on his suit flashed brightly as he moved, the ridiculous feather boa bouncing against his shoulders as he squared himself in front of a seven-foot alien Warlord who could snap him in half. "If you walk away now," Chet said quietly, "you doom every single male on The Colony who already signed up for the next round of Bachelor Beast."
Egon went very, very still. The change rippled through him instantly. The warm weight of his hand against my skin didn't move, but the muscles in his hand tightened with sudden, absolute control. It felt as if the entire massive body beside me had locked into place, every instinct sharpening at once.
Chet didn't hesitate. "The producers will shut us down," he continued, his voice lowering into something almost coaxing now. The manic sparkle I'd seen earlier had faded into something more serious. "They'll claim Atlan Warlords are unreliable. Uncontrollable. Contractual liabilities. No more shows. No more chances for your Atlan brothers to come to Earth. No more opportunities for them to find their mates." He paused just long enough for the words to settle. "You will be dooming them all."
I felt the moment the logic struck home. Egon's chest expanded slowly beneath a measured breath, the movement powerful and restrained. His hand tightened against my cheek just slightly, not painful—never that—but enough that I could feel the tremor of tension running through him. Honor. Responsibility. Those things mattered to warriors like him. I could see it in the rigid set of his jaw and the storm building behind those molten amber eyes.
"We had an agreement, Egon," Chet said quietly. "Go through the process. Follow the script. Give the others a chance to come to Earth and find their mates."
The church had grown eerily quiet now that the guests had fled. The cameras hummed softly somewhere behind us, still pointed in our direction, capturing every second of the confrontation. "You are a Warlord," Chet continued, his tone almost gentle now. "You gave your word. Will you break it and abandon your fellow Atlans? Or Prillons? All those contaminated Coalition fighters on The Colony? Because we got permission for males from the other planets to participate next time as well." He twirled the end of the boa before delivering the final push. "Or will you honor your commitment and give them the same chance to come to Earth and find their mates… the way you just found yours?"
The silence that followed stretched thick and heavy between them. Standing so close to Egon, I could feel everything. The pounding rhythm of his heart beneath the broad plane of his chest. The faint tremor running through the hand that still cupped my face. Even the subtle shift of his breathing as he fought something powerful inside himself. The beast. I could see it raging behind his eyes. The need to claim me. To take me. To remove every obstacle between us and never let me out of his sight again. But there was another force inside him too. Discipline. Honor. I found myself holding my breath as I waited to see which one would win. Beast. Or man.
Wondered which one I was rooting for. Couldn’t decide.
