The next hour passed in a whirlwind. Fabric rustled around me as the wedding dress disappeared and new layers replaced it. Hands worked quickly through my hair, pulling pins loose from the elaborate bridal style until brown curls fell past my shoulders. Brushes swept across my skin, powders and shadows blending together in practiced strokes. Across the room, Egon stood with his back to us exactly as promised. Even facing the wall, his presence dominated the space.
Two makeup artists circled him carefully, attempting to adjust the glitter smeared across his chest and shoulders while fixing his dark hair. He tolerated their efforts with stoic patience, barely reacting as they worked.
But I could see him in the mirror. His reflection watched me. Golden eyes fixed on my every movement with a quiet intensity that made my pulse jump whenever our gazes met. Possessive. Hungry. Patient. He didn't turn around. But he never stopped watching me.
Finally, Marguerite stepped back, arms folded as she studied her work with a critical expression. "Acceptable," she declared. She lifted a small radio clipped to her coat and spoke into it. "Chet. She's ready."
The door burst open almost immediately. The showman himself strode inside without bothering to knock, his sequined suit flashing under the lights as he took in the room. "Excellent work, Marguerite. Excellent." Then his eyes landed on me. "Oh, my Lord," he breathed. "This is going to be epic."
I turned slowly toward the mirror. For a moment, I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me. My hair had been completely transformed. The dark brown curls now fell in soft, shimmering waves past my shoulders, threaded with tiny glints of sparkle that caught the light like stardust. My makeup had deepened dramatically; smoky shadows framing my eyes so the brown of my irises seemed more intense than I'd ever seen them. My lips were stained a rich berry color that made them look even fuller.
And the dress… the dress was breathtaking. Deep burgundy silk flowed over my body like liquid twilight, the fabric shifting subtly between shades of dark red and black glitter as it caught the light. Tiny crystals scattered across the gown sparkled like distant stars. The fitted bodice hugged every curve of my torso before the skirt spilled down toward the floor in soft waves.
"You are beautiful, mate." Egon's voice came from behind me. I saw him in the mirror as he stepped closer, his massive frame moving into the space at my back. His golden eyes darkened as they traveled slowly over the new dress, the curve of my waist, the bare line of my shoulders. The naked desire in that look stole the air from my lungs.
"Remember," Chet called from near the door. "You're pretending you don't know her yet. Act normal." Egon's expression changed instantly.
Egon’s hunger disappeared behind a carefully blank mask. "I will pretend," he said evenly. His gaze returned to mine in the mirror. The promise burning there was anything but neutral. "But not for you," he added quietly. "Only so my fellow Warlords may come to Earth and find their mates."
"Excellent!" Chet clapped his hands together. "We've got ten minutes!" Then he pointed directly at Egon. "Don't you dare touch her, Warlord. We do not have time to redo her makeup." He wagged a finger dramatically. "Hands to yourself."
"You are not undoing all our hard work." Marguerite huffed dramatically as she and her assistants gathered their brushes, palettes, and curling irons in a flurry of movement. Makeup cases snapped shut, garment bags zipped, and the rolling rack of dresses rattled toward the door. "Opening ceremony in the ballroom!" she called over her shoulder as she followed Chet out of the suite. "Ten minutes—and I mean it. Do not be late." The door clicked closed behind them.
For the first time since the whirlwind of stylists had invaded the room, silence settled over the suite. Then Egon moved. His arms slid around me from behind, strong and certain, pulling my back into the solid warmth of his chest. The heat of him seeped through the thin silk of my dress instantly, the contact sending a slow ripple of awareness down my spine. I turned slightly within his hold so I could look up at him. That required tilting my head back quite a bit.
His golden eyes were darker now, the molten amber deepening as they searched my face with quiet intensity. "In public," he murmured softly, his voice so low the words barely stirred the air between us, "I must be the Warlord searching for his mate."
His arms tightened fractionally around my waist. "I must look at the other contestants. I must pretend to consider them." The thought made something uncomfortable twist in my chest, but before I could react his hand rose, the large, scarred fingers brushing my cheek with almost unbelievable gentleness. "But know this," he continued quietly, his gaze never leaving mine. "Every moment. Every breath. Every heartbeat belongs to you."
The sincerity in his voice hit somewhere deep in my bones.
"I am yours, Tori. The beast is yours."
Holy shit. He wasn't just intense. He was overwhelming. His words didn't just sound romantic—they felt real in a way that made my pulse stutter. The strange connection humming between us seemed to tighten, vibrating through my chest like something alive.
"I will not kiss you now," he said. His thumb brushed slowly across my lower lip, the light contact sending a shiver racing down my spine. "If I start," he added softly, "I will not want to stop." The promise in his voice made warmth curl low in my stomach.
"When we are alone tonight," he continued, his tone dropping even further, "I will bring you pleasure. I will show you what it means to be my mate."
The words sent a hot rush of awareness through my body that had nothing to do with fear. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at me the way Egon did—like I was something extraordinary, something worth claiming. My past experiences with sex had never been particularly memorable. A few awkward college encounters that had felt more mechanical than passionate. Nothing like this. Nothing that made my pulse race or my breath catch the way it did now. Right now, I wanted more. I wanted to know what it felt like to be wanted this fiercely.
A sharp knock at the door broke the moment. Egon stepped away reluctantly and crossed the room in two long strides. When he opened the door, two enormous men stood waiting in the hallway. My brain stalled for a second. Holy shit. Not men. I was literally surrounded by aliens.
The two Prillon warriors inclined their heads politely in my direction before addressing Egon directly. "Chet sent us to watch over your female," one of them said in a deep, measured voice. "You must report to the ballroom. We will escort your mate to the contestant area."
Egon's gaze hardened instantly. "You will not leave her side." The tone left no room for negotiation.
"Of course," the other warrior replied calmly. "She is under our protection. We would die to keep her safe."
"As you should."
The three warriors clasped forearms in what looked like some kind of formal greeting. The gesture carried an unspoken gravity, like an oath exchanged without words. Then Egon turned back to me.
He crossed the room and leaned down, pressing a kiss against my cheek. The contact was almost frustratingly brief—soft, restrained, far more controlled than the heat in his eyes suggested he wanted it to be. "I will see you soon, mate," he murmured.
He nodded toward the two Prillon warriors. "This is Rohn and Krag. They are Prillon warriors. Honorable males. Chet's mates. They will protect you when I cannot."
Chet's… mates? My brain froze on that detail. Wait. The sequined chaos machine who hosted this ridiculous reality show was married to two alien warriors? How did no one know about that?
