Yes, pity, and that proved how deep I’d sunk.
At least I was fortunate to be in a place with a comms station, offering me a direct connection to The Colony, to home. I’d been trying to talk Maxim, my governor, into intervening before the final episode, which was happening in just a few minutes.
“What?” Rachel said, her voice full of panic. “You have to pick one of them.”
“Do you prefer either female to live on The Colony? I know you Earth ladies up there are close, but you’ll have to include whoever I pick into your little group. Willow and Genevieve are fine females, but they won’t be happy. Not with me. Especially since I’ll have to fuck her for the rest of my life and my beast is livid at the possibility. He might refuse to touch her, to claim her. Females are meant to be treasured. Adored. I cannot do that. My beast refuses.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Maxim said.
I eyed him for a moment. “My cock isn’t rising for either of them. My beast would rather transport to Atlan and be executed. He would rather die. It is our way. The Atlan way.”
Maxim cleared his throat at what was becoming a likelihood. My beast had been raging for a long time, the fever pushing me to find my mate. I knew it was part of the reason I’d been selected, hoping I’d find a female here in this… reality show… who was my mate. The alternative was death. That was looking more and more likely.
“Two minutes!” A perky female the size of an Atlan child stuck her head into the room, interrupting us, then disappeared.
Fuck.
“I’ve been on these things called dates with the females. I’ve gone on something called a fan boat in a water swamp to see prehistoric creatures with sharp teeth. I’ve walked along a beach barefoot. I’ve had something called a picnic. I’ve even gone swimming.”
“At least you learned how from Mikki.”
I growled and Rachel pinned her lips closed.
“I’ve done everything expected of me, including making twenty-two women cry at being rejected. I don’t need to see an Earth sunset while holding hands with a female to know she, or any of them, are not my mate. I’m surprised females here don’t demand to be tested to avoid such activities when they have no idea if the male they’re spending time with is worthy.”
“Preaching to the choir on that one,” Rachel interjected. As I had no idea what she was talking about, I continued.
“A bride test is simple and quick and ensures they find the perfect mate.” I sighed, knowing it wasn’t the same on the males’ side. I’d been tested years ago and even been matched. That had turned out to be a complete disaster. I’d been fighting the fever ever since, returned to space, to battle as an outlet for my rage. I had given the vast wealth and lands granted to me on Atlan to my family when I left for the second time. I had planned to go back, to try to find an Atlan female who would soothe me, but the Hive had killed that dream as well. Captured me. Tortured me. Turned me into… this.
I was out of time and out of options. My family on Atlan would be well taken care of. If I could convince even a handful of human females to be matched to others on The Colony, I could go to Atlan with a clear conscience. I would hold the beast back for one more day. One more night.
But I was glad I had an inner beast to let me know who my mate was—or wasn’t. I could not hate him, nor regret that he was part of me. He had saved me in battle, killed countless enemies. He didn’t deserve falsehood. He deserved respect. I would not force him to accept a female neither of us desired. If he preferred death, I would accept his choice.
“I must go.”
“No, Wulf, listen! Just pick one. You can tell them the truth after the show,” Rachel countered.
“My cuffs are in a glass case on the stage,” I reminded her, pointing at the closed door and the stage that lay beyond. “They expect me to get down on a knee and offer the cuffs to one of them while the entire world watches.” I took a step toward the screen and narrowed my eyes. “I’m Atlan. To make such an offer with no intent to claim the female would be dishonorable. My beast will not kneel for anyone but my true mate, Maxim.”
The producer came through the door. He was a small human. Well, they were all small. His hair was gray, and he never seemed to stop talking. Or moving. I wanted to lift him up by the neck and tell him to fuck off. “Say goodbye to your space friends. This is a live show. We’re live in thirty seconds. Now move!”
Yeah, I really wanted to finish him.
“Good luck. We’ll be watching,” Rachel said before the screen went dark.
2
Olivia Mercier, Interstellar Brides Program Testing Center, Backstage
I heard the alien’s voice rumble through the walls and strained to make out what he was saying. Unfortunately the entire set was buzzing with excitement. Everyone was talking, rushing around like angry wasps under attack, moving cameras, checking mics, lighting. The fast-paced insanity of a live show had people amped like they had an IV of coffee direct into their veins.
“Makeup!” The yell from one of the show’s producers had me scrambling.
It wasn’t my name, but that was what I was called. Makeup. I was a faceless employee who did her job without being noticed.
“That’s me. What do you need?” I asked the older gentleman who was frowning at one of the two women the Atlan warlord had chosen as his finalists. Her name was Genevieve, and she was beautiful. Really beautiful, with long blonde hair that fell in perfect waves to her waist, bright blue eyes lined expertly with traces of lavender and pink to bring out the color. She looked like a Miss America contestant… or a Barbie doll.
“Look at this. You tell me.” The producer threw his hand in the general direction of Genevieve’s face as she looked up at me helplessly. Her hands shook despite the fact that almost any single woman in the world would trade places with her in a heartbeat. I’d been watching the Bachelor Beast every night from home, and the Atlan warlord, Wulf?
God, he made my entire body wake up and pay attention. He was the chocolate sundae and the cherry on top.
I wanted one. The sundae, definitely, but a mate like Wulf.
But I would never qualify to be on a reality show like this, not that I’d tried. I was tall enough. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was the extra weight I packed around my waist, my hips… hell, everywhere. I was not small. Both finalists could probably squeeze into the pants I was wearing—at the same time. I was called a big girl. Everywhere. Hell, I could probably fit both of Willow’s ass cheeks in my damn bra.
A whiff of air left me at the comical thought. At least I had that on the skinny little thing. Genevieve had no cleavage. None. As much as I admired her supermodel-perfect body in every other way, I loved my big, heavy breasts. They were my best feature.
“Well?” the producer yelled, snapping me out of my usual rambling thoughts.
“What?” I asked him. “I think she looks amazing.”
“Thanks, Olivia.” Genevieve sat patiently, staring at the mirror in front of her seat at the makeup station. Neither one of us was going to win this argument, not when the producer was in one of these moods. Which was all day, every day.
“Those lips make her look like a stripper. Give her a pale pink. Something natural. We’re selling true love here. She’s not pole dancing.” With that, he stormed off to scream at his next victim.
With an apologetic wince, I reached for the makeup remover cloths. “Sorry. I’ll have to wipe it off and start over.”
Genevieve sighed. “That’s all right.” She leaned back and tilted her head up so I could have easier access. “I liked the hot pink.”
“Me, too.” It was the truth. With her fair coloring, the bright pink not only matched the shade I’d used on her eyelids, but her blush, too, and made her lips pop.
I’d done my best to make the final two contestants look gorgeous. Which wasn’t hard, considering they both appeared like they’d stepped off a runway in Paris wearing formal evening gowns. Genevieve’s dress was a da
rk navy, as the producers felt black was morbid, but they wanted to contrast with her blonde hair and fair skin. The other contestant, Willow, was a black-haired goddess. I didn’t know if she was mixed race, Italian, Hispanic or Asian. She was exotic looking. Black hair, almond-shaped eyes, rich, dark skin. Her gown was ivory. The jewels around her neck perfectly matched the amber tone of her eyes. The two finalists were darkness and light standing next to each other. Too beautiful to be real.
It was exactly what I thought about the alien who was the star of the show. Seven feet tall if he was an inch, his shoulders were twice the size of mine and his hands were as big as dinner plates. I’d watched as he ducked as he went through doorways. Every talk show and media outlet in the world had been speculating about this mysterious “Beast” he turned.
He wasn’t just a guy from another planet; he was a veteran. He’d fought the mysterious and dangerous Hive, even been captured by them and somehow escaped. He was like a movie hero, not a reality show hunk.
That beast? It came out not only in danger, but to claim a mate as well. A gorgeous female and the tantalizing prospect of beast sex? It was like the “Beauty and the Beast” fairy tale come to life. The rated R version. Maybe triple X if his cock was as big as the rest of him.
I wanted to fan myself at how hot that thought was.
Wulf, being Wulf, was one reason the entire world was watching the grand finale tonight, broadcast live in a few minutes.
It was also the reason I’d been over the moon when Lucy had offered to babysit for me so I could stay and watch the show. She and I had been on the makeup crew since the beginning, when there had been twenty-four women to get ready. I’d never seen the beast—the Atlan—in real life. My job was the ladies’ makeup, and that had kept me here in this room, making them all gorgeous. Now, with only two remaining, just a few of us were needed. Lucy and I had traded tonight, and I was so excited to see what happened. Right in front of me. Live. I wanted to see Wulf once before he picked his mate and transported back to The Colony.
Wulf never came in until the last minute, and I was always gone by then, off the clock and forced to watch the latest episode from my couch like everyone else in the world.
Lucy said he was even more gorgeous in real life, which didn’t seem possible. Even through my television screen, he was… there were no words. Virile. Handsome. Rugged. Wild. Feral. Untamed. Controlled. Potent.
“Two minutes!” The stage crew was yelling, and everyone scrambled into position as I swiped the last touches of a neutral pink onto Genevieve’s lips. She was still beautiful. Stunning, really. I hoped she would get a happily ever after.
Someone should, and it wasn’t going to be me.
“Where are my girls? Willow. Good. Right there.” There was a pause, and we both tensed even before the stage manager was shouting at the top of her lungs. “Genevieve? Get out here! Twenty seconds!”
Genevieve slipped off the makeup chair with a nervous smile. Even her lips were shaking.
“Break a leg,” I whispered, squeezing her hand. “You’ll be great.”
“Thanks.” She hurried into position, and I followed until I stood in the darkest shadow of the set I could find, stage right, as the music began and the announcer, an arrogant asshole named Chet Bosworth—Really? Chet freaking Bosworth?—came into view with his fake teeth, fake smile, and more makeup on his face than the women. Not that he needed it. He was one of the beautiful people, too.
He did have several million followers on social media, most of them panting women, so I rolled my eyes as he tilted his hip and winked at the camera.
“Hello out there and welcome back to the exciting finale of the Bachelor Beast. Tonight our world, or universe famous”—he chuckled at his own joke—“and very eligible bachelor, Warlord Wulf, an Atlan currently stationed on The Colony planet, will finally choose his bride.”
The lights flickered, cueing the live audience to stomp and clap, which they did with great enthusiasm. I did, too.
“From twenty-four eligible mates, Wulf has narrowed the field to the final two single women standing on this stage. Both beautiful, intelligent and very eager to be his bride. Who will he choose? Who will his beast claim? Which one of these lovely ladies will be offered the prize, not only of the priceless alien mating cuffs, but the unwavering devotion of an Atlan’s beast?” The crowd went wild again, and even my heart rate, already practically pounding out of my chest in excitement, kicked up a notch. He was good at his job, big-toothed Chet Bosworth. “Do you want to know?”
The ladies in the audience screamed, and I clapped twice before I caught myself. With a flourish of his wrist, he whirled around and the curtains that had been hiding the final contestants opened to reveal Genevieve and Willow, both with dazzling, if nervous, smiles on their faces.
Chet winked again at the camera. “Who will the Atlan beast choose? It’s time to find out.”
Chet kept talking to build up tension—as if people around the globe weren’t on the edge of their seats—while a murmur moved through the crew backstage. I knew the Atlan would come from stage left, and I’d positioned myself to get the best view possible while remaining unseen. The producer didn’t mind if the crew watched the show, in fact, demanded it, in case of a makeup or hair emergency or wardrobe malfunction. But there were only two women onstage tonight, and I wasn’t responsible for the Atlan’s makeup.
Confident in my skills, I knew the ladies wouldn’t need me. Which left me free to watch… and forget to breathe.
There he was. Warlord Wulf. God help me, he was huge. I’d seen him on the television screen, but that had been a pale comparison to the raw sexual magnetism pouring off the alien in waves so thick I felt like I was choking. My dormant hormones screamed at me to wake the fuck up as he stomped his way out of camera view on stage left.
They’d put the alien in a very human tuxedo, and the black material hugged him like a second skin. He was all muscles. Pure, bulging power. He had to weigh close to three hundred pounds, but there couldn’t be an ounce of fat on him. His expression was serious, unhappy. He looked uncomfortable, as if the tuxedo was strangling him.
“Oh shit.” I whispered the words before I could stop myself. I had never once considered the fact that the Atlan alien didn’t want to be here. But clearly he was not happy. Surely he’d find happiness with Genevieve or Willow. I’d seen the earlier episodes. He was reserved in his actions and his emotions. Quiet. Calm. I’d thought he’d been told by the producer not to give away too much while filming, but now? I wasn’t so sure.
Both ladies were barely holding it together. Shaking. Hugging each other like the last two women in an international beauty pageant, waiting to discover who would get the crown.
This man? Alien. Whatever. He was a god on two feet. Any woman he chose would feel like a queen.
“Tonight Warlord Wulf will finally choose his bride. Per Atlan custom, he will kneel before her and ask her to accept his mating cuffs. For those of you out there wondering what those are, let’s take a look at the stunning artistry of his traditional bracelets that have come all the way from planet Atlan.”
Chet Bosworth walked over to a large glass case where two sets of what looked like wide bracelets lay side by side under the glass, on display like Cinderella’s glass slipper. Two large and two small. Two for him, and two smaller ones for his bride to wear around her wrists.
I had to admit, it was romantic.
The cuffs were beautiful. I’d sneaked a peek when I first arrived and been told that they were handmade by craftsmen on Atlan and each family had a unique design. The cuffs on display represented Wulf’s family heritage, the delicate and stunning weaving of dark gray and silver fancier than the most elaborate Celtic designs I’d seen. They were beautiful, the Atlan version of wedding rings, but they served another purpose. A visible claiming.
Warlord Wulf was flat out scowling as Chet leaned over and the cameraman zoomed in close to show the people at home exactly what the cuf
fs looked like. They did this every night, and I knew what was seen at home. I’d also heard Chet’s annoying and faux scandalized voice explain why the Atlans presented the cuffs to their female mate.
“As you all know, folks, Warlord Wulf is suffering from a common Atlan affliction known as mating fever. The Atlan males all carry, buried within them, a beast capable of rending and tearing, of destroying enemies on the field of battle. But once they reach a certain age, they are no longer able to control their wild side alone. They need the delicate touch of a female, a mate—a bride—to tame their, shall we say, beastly desires?”
His conspiratorial chuckle made me want to slap him. God, he was annoying and dramatic.
Narcissists the world over would be proud.
“If Warlord Wulf does not choose a bride tonight, I have been told—and this is new, folks…” Chet stood and indicated the cameraman should span back and focus on his and the contestants’ reactions to his next words. “He will be sent back to Atlan and—”
Genevieve and Willow looked at each other, confused.
This was new. The ladies couldn’t fake this, which meant they’d held back on all of us. Typical.
I looked at Warlord Wulf, who stood in the shadows, waiting to come onstage when he was cued, but his hands were in fists and he closed his eyes as if fighting for control.
Holy shit.
“I can’t. I can’t believe this, folks.”
Chet, a true master at the art of dramatics, waited until the audience was making enough unsettled noise to be heard at home. “If Warlord Wulf does not claim a bride tonight, now, in just a few moments, he will be sent back to Atlan and he. Will. Be. Put. To. Death!”
Bachelor Beast (Interstellar Brides® Program: The Beasts Book 1) Page 2
