The audience went wild as Wulf walked onstage. His gait was swift and ate up the space in only a few steps. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides as he stopped in front of his chair as if he were a puppet being moved by strings and not a warlord who’d survived the Hive. It had been especially made for his supersized frame, huge and sturdy. His gaze shifted to Genevieve and Willow, and he offered them a respectful nod. Nothing more.
Chet walked over to Wulf. Their size difference was impressive as both men stood on the raised platform. I’d seen reruns of The Dating Game from the seventies, and this set had a similar feel with orange carpet and a white lattice backdrop. It only made Chet look more ridiculous and Wulf more… just more.
What woman would want an Earth man after knowing that Wulf wasn’t the only Atlan out there? He’d choose Genevieve or Willow, but he was here to promote the Interstellar Brides Program, where any volunteer could get a perfectly matched mate of her own.
I’d considered taking the matching test but learned that I didn’t meet the qualifications since I was the guardian of my niece and nephew. While I hadn’t given birth to them, they were legally mine, and I couldn’t leave them here on Earth for a hot alien match. No. Tanner and Emma were everything to me. I didn’t need a man if it meant giving them up. Never.
“Let’s look back on the warlord’s time here on Earth,” Chet said.
The light on the camera went out, and I knew prerecorded and edited footage was being shown to the home audience. Chet tipped his head back to look up at Wulf. “Have a seat,” he told him, his arm out, indicating where Wulf should go. As if it wasn’t obvious.
Wulf didn’t say a word as he dropped into the white leather seat that looked a whole lot like a huge throne. Now Chet was taller, which was obviously his sole reason for the request. His ego was wider than Wulf’s shoulders.
I took a step closer, careful of the thick cords across the floor while remaining behind the cameras. Wulf’s hands gripped the arms of his chair as if they were keeping him from flying away. Maybe because I looked at people’s faces all the time, I could often tell what they were feeling, or maybe Wulf was equally bad at hiding his emotions.
I’d lusted after him. Drooled over him. Dreamed of him. I hadn’t really thought of the toll this show was taking on him. Had he truly volunteered for this? He looked about as enthused to be sitting here as someone in the waiting room before a colonoscopy. Was what Chet had said true? Would he die if he didn’t pick Genevieve or Willow? Was he really going to be executed?
Was his life so bad that he’d choose execution over the women? Not once in the three weeks of taping had Chet asked him what he was looking for in a mate. Everyone assumed, including me, that Wulf was whittling down the ladies to his favorites, to the one he’d give his cuffs.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
The show dragged on, as they had a one-hour time slot, with plenty of commercial breaks to heighten the anticipation. I was ready to scream by the time Chet stopped his inane questions and finally got down to the business at hand. The choice. Wulf’s choice.
“It’s finally time. Genevieve, Willow…” Chet spoke and the ladies took a step closer. The lights dimmed except for a focused beam on the gleaming cuffs in the glass case.
I moved around another camera to be as close as I could but remain behind the scenes. We were all in shadows, the large set being lit only by the stage.
“Warlord Wulf. It is time.”
Wulf slowly rose to his feet.
“Who is going to be your bride? Genevieve or Willow?”
Mary, a wardrobe tech, moved to stand beside me but bumped my shoulder, pushing me forward. I gasped and stopped my forward momentum out of sheer panic. I didn’t get in the way, but my heart was in my throat. Mary’s hand settled on my shoulder, and she mouthed a sorry along with a small smile.
I looked back at the stage, at what I’d been waiting for since the first episode. But Wulf wasn’t looking at the final contestants. He was looking at me.
Me.
Oh. My. God.
Had I gotten in front of the camera? Had I distracted Wulf at a time like this? Oh shit, I was going to be fired. I took a small step back, but Mary stopped me.
Genevieve turned to look my way. Willow narrowed her eyes in my direction as if trying to peer into the shadows. Chet even broke his perfect facade to glance past the cameras.
At me. Although I wasn’t sure if they could actually see me, or if they were trying to determine what held Wulf’s attention.
A rumbling came from the stage. Chet, Genevieve and Willow whipped their gazes back toward Wulf. Then came a growl that practically made the floor shake. I felt it deep inside me and I gasped.
Wulf’s eyes were still on me, and I couldn’t look away. Not when he was growing. Actually growing. The audience gasped, murmured. Backstage whispering kicked in. Chet stepped back. Genevieve took hold of Willow’s hand, and their eyes widened.
The tuxedo jacket ripped at the seams on Wulf’s body. He wasn’t seven feet of alien any longer. He had to be eight feet and all beast. Angled features, ragged breathing, taut muscles. A gaze laser sharp. Intense, as if he was ready to pounce.
“Mine.” The one word was low and deep, and it silenced the entire set.
Wulf’s arm went out, and he moved Chet out of the way as if he were a puppet. With his heel, he backkicked the throne chair, and it went flying across the stage and into the lattice backdrop.
It broke and part of it clattered to the stage.
Shrieks filled the air, and audience members began to panic, having no idea what Wulf was going to do. They’d taunted the beast for three weeks, and now everyone was surprised when it appeared.
I had to admit I was panicked, too, but I couldn’t move. I could only watch.
Wulf stalked across the stage.
“Um, makeup girl… he’s looking at you,” Mary said, fear in her voice.
“No way. He’s looking at you,” I countered. Makeup girl. Yep. No one in this place knew my name. Invisible. As always. Except, apparently, right freaking now.
She took a step to the left, out of the beast’s path. Wulf’s gaze did not follow her. “No, it’s you.”
Oh shit. He was staring at me.
“Ladies and gentleman, it seems there’s been a change in plans. It appears Warlord Wulf’s beast has chosen to make an appearance. We’re live on set, and as you can see, he’s grown impossibly larger. If I hadn’t witnessed this for myself, I wouldn’t believe it. It seems his beast has seen something offstage and will not be deterred from reaching it.”
“Mine.”
Chet sputtered. I felt like a doe in the headlights.
This couldn’t be what I thought it was. This huge, gorgeous alien man was not talking about me. No freaking way.
I took a step backward.
Wulf’s roar made people scream.
I didn’t scream. I couldn’t breathe.
Chet had his dramatic voice back under control. “Ladies and gentlemen, what we are seeing is unprecedented in the history of live television. It appears that the alien, Warlord Wulf, has decided to choose a member of our audience as his mate.”
Wulf spun around and faced Chet. The man turned pale under his thick stage makeup. When Wulf loomed over him, Chet gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Wulf grabbed the microphone out of Chet’s hand and squeezed, crumpling the metal as if it were tinfoil, then dropped it to the orange carpet.