The Beasts Boxed Set

Chapter 2-2

“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 s**t.

“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!”

I gasped, along with everyone else. That couldn’t be true. Could it?

Glancing at the most beautiful man I’d ever seen—and the biggest—I didn’t see shock or denial on his face. I saw… acceptance at what Chet had said. Oh God.

No. Just no.

He had to choose a bride. That was it. Had to. Or die.

Chet’s flair for the dramatics was, for once, true.

Genevieve was beautiful. Nice enough. She’d always been pleasant to me. Willow was a bit more extroverted, but I liked her as well. They were both genuine women hoping for true love. Surely he could pick one and avoid… execution.

I thought dating on Earth sucked. The poor Atlan across from me took things to a whole new level. Find your special someone or be put to death? That seemed a bit extreme.

God, what a waste. He was so damn perfect, so gorgeous. So… sexy.

“Now, before we bring the bachelor of the hour out onstage, let’s take a look back over how these two beautiful women made the final cut and earned a chance to be claimed by the Bachelor Beast.” He winked at the camera. “Right after this short message from our sponsors.”

“Aaaaaand we’re out.” The director yelled the all clear, and the room burst into chaos as everyone discussed the newest revelation. I stood quietly, hidden, and watched the alien stand still as stone, waiting.

The commercial break dragged on for several minutes as the producers milked the show for every advertising dollar possible. The entire time Wulf stood still as a statue. Unmoving.

I ached to run across the stage and give him a hug, but he had no idea who I was. It would be damn awkward, to say the least.

Hi, big guy. You don’t know me, but I feel sorry for you and want to give you a hug.

I did feel bad for him. But at least he had two of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen to choose from. He wouldn’t die. He would live a fantasy life on The Colony with one of the lovely creatures onstage.

I’d go home, grateful that my dating dry spell didn’t come with planet Atlan–level consequences.

The stage manager cued the audience and Chet that the show was back, and the techies played the promised videos. Even I couldn’t tear my gaze from the large screens mounted above the stage as they showed a compilation of video clips of first Genevieve, then Willow on various dates with Wulf. Just as I’d remembered, he was always courteous. Respectful. Polite. There was even an interview clip where Willow had complained that she’d tried to put the moves on him and he’d turned her down.

Like what was that about? He was obviously a male in his prime. He’d chosen her over and over, episode after episode. Her and Genevieve. So why not go for it when she was so obviously willing? Why not soothe that beast? It made no sense.

Every man I knew would have taken her offer and had her naked immediately.

So, what? He was a warrior and a monk? Did they have some kind of celibacy rule? Wulf was s*x on a stick, a walking o****m. No way he didn’t have women throwing themselves at him on The Colony. He had to be what? Thirty? Forty? It was hard to tell with an alien. He was full-grown and made my p***y clench with things I hadn’t dared feel in a long damn time.

Too long.

But then I’d had a lot to deal with the last few months. s*x with an Atlan beast wasn’t one of them. Any guy for that matter. Okay, maybe when I lay in bed at night, I thought about Wulf and what it would be like to be with him, but I was the ugly duckling in comparison to the two swans onstage, Genevieve and Willow.

It wasn’t only my average looks and curvy figure holding me back. The fact was, my life was a Dumpster fire. Tears welled up, and I lost focus on the show. On Chet’s rambling.

No. I wasn’t going to think about what my life had become or the responsibilities I’d inherited from my dead brother, and I wasn’t talking about Tanner and Emma. Not now. Right this minute I was going to ogle the eye candy who’d just been introduced and dream that he liked big girls with curves, lots and lots of curves, instead of supermodels with perfect pink lipstick.

“We’re back on the Bachelor Beast,” Chet said, grinning at the camera. “Let’s bring out the alien of the hour, Warlord Wulf!”

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 s**t, 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 s**t. 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.

Wulf turned around, ignored Chet entirely and made his way in my direction again.

“Turn the cameras!” the producer hissed.

The one nearest me swung about, and I was about to jump out of the way of its path when Wulf stopped it with his palm. The cameraman retreated to safety, and with one push Wulf toppled the huge machine onto its side. The crash reverberated through the set, but all I heard was a second, “Mine,” coming from Wulf’s lips. The producer screamed at the other cameras to get the shot as Wulf stopped directly before me and… sniffed.

I looked up. Way up. My head was tilted so far back my chin was facing him more than my eyes. My mouth hung open.

“Um… hi.”

“Mate.”

“Uh… no. No, no. No,” I stuttered.

“Mine.”

Taking another deep breath, he growled. Men with handheld cameras surrounded us, absorbing in everything. What was I wearing? God, I had on my white T-shirt with the word sassy in sequins across my chest. It was almost laundry day, and I wore a skirt I’d found in the back of my closet. My hair was up in a sloppy bun, and while I did makeup for a living, I wore none. Holy crap, I was on live TV around the world.

I couldn’t think of that now. An Atlan warlord was looming over me, breathing hard and saying mine.

“Genevieve or Willow are lovely choices for a mate. You should pick one of them,” I said, my voice shaky.

“No. You. Mate.”

My eyes widened and I stared. You could have heard a pin drop on the set… and Wulf’s ragged breathing.

“Me?” I set a hand on my chest, and his gaze dropped. Kept moving down, all the way to my feet, then back up to my face. His gaze was focused, unblinking.

“You.”

“This is a new twist, ladies and gentleman,” Chet stage-whispered. “It appears our Atlan beast has surprised everyone and chosen his mate. But she’s not a contestant. She is an employee of the studio production team, a makeup artist, if I am correct?” He looked to the producer for confirmation, and I wanted to slap the i***t.

“We know nothing about her, folks. Is she married? Does she have children? A boyfriend?” The last was said with a conspiratorial chuckle. “Our big Atlan beast wouldn’t be too pleased with that turn of events, would he?”

Wulf turned his head in Chet’s direction, glared until Chet lost his cheeky smile, then looked around at the crowd of very interested people.

Before I could even blink, Wulf scooped me up in his arms as if I really was his bride, and walked off. Yup, walked right past the backstage people, past Chet Bosworth, who was saying something frantically, and to the door that led to the backstage area.

“Wait. I… you…”

“Mine. Mate. You.”

I shook my head, but all I could think about was how strong he was, the feel of his muscles as he held me against him. How big he was. How far off the ground he held me. How hot his chest was, like he had a… fever.

Oh my God. This alien giant thought I was his mate.

My body wasn’t arguing. Reality, however, wasn’t going to play nice. I could not be mated to an alien. Could. Not. No matter how magnificent he was.

This simply was not going to work.