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.