“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
