Sneak Peek – The Beast’s Bride

CHAPTER ONE

Warlord Egon, Miami, Florida

The bejeweled cloak caught the wind as I ran, a ridiculous scrap of glitter and velvet that the Bachelor Beast TV show’s producers had insisted I wear for the cameras. The leather pants—ceremonial, they’d called them—chafed in places no warrior should ever have to endure. And the chest glitter…

Gods be damned, the fucking chest glitter. I had the show’s flamboyant announcer, Chet Bosworth, to thank for that.

I looked like a child’s toy. A sparkling, half-naked, gigantic freak racing through the streets of this primitive human city while a camera crew scrambled to keep pace with me, their equipment bouncing as they sprinted.

“Egon! Wait!” Chet Bosworth’s voice shrieked through the earpiece, tinny and desperate. “The producers want you back at the studio! We have a schedule!”

I ripped the earpiece from my ear and crushed it in my fist.

No more schedules. No more contracts. No more pretending.

She was close.

I could smell her.

Sweet. Feminine. Perfect. Like sunshine and vanilla and something darker, something that made my beast roar with recognition. The scent hit the back of my throat like the finest Atlan firewine, burning through my veins, obliterating every coherent thought except one.

Mine.

My true mate.

My salvation.

Three days. For three days, I had tracked her scent across this sprawling swamp of a city. Three days of madness while the Bachelor Beast production team paraded me before their cameras, their human females preening and posing, hoping I would choose one of them.

As if I had a choice. I had no say in the matter. The beast was in control when it came to finding our female. And now the beast had chosen. When the beast chose, the Warlord followed.

Mating fever had been consuming me for years—ever since I’d been exiled to The Colony with the other contaminated warriors. Since the Hive had marked us as unfit for civilized society. The rage, the pain, the fever that burned beneath my skin… I had learned to endure it, to function despite it, to tell myself that perhaps, in time, it would fade.

I had been lying to myself. Fucking lying. I hung on by force of will. Desperation. I’d seen every single one of the worthy males I traveled to Earth with find their mates. Every single fucking one of them. But not me. I was alone. Fighting the beast inside me with every breath. Clawing for control as the feral beast inside me fought to get out.

There was no cure for mating fever except the touch of one’s mate. And without her, without this female whose scent had ensnared me, I would eventually lose all control. Become the monster everyone feared. If I failed to find her, I would choose execution as the only honorable alternative to madness. I had nearly given up hope.

Until three days ago. The faintest scent of vanilla and feminine skin. Unique. Fucking perfect.

Mine.

The beast knew at once. Since then, we’d hunted. Today, I had found her. Her scent was fresh. Strong. Strong enough to follow.

Which was why I ran down the street at top battle speed, leaving the humans behind as if they were standing still. Chet Bosworth and three of his cameramen piled into a van and gave chase, wheels squealing as they barreled around corners. Tried to keep up.

My chest heaved, muscles burning as I pushed myself faster. The transformation was coming. I could feel it in my bones—my body stretching, reshaping, the beast clawing its way to the surface. I was already larger than a normal human male, but soon…

Soon, I would be monstrous. An Atlan beast in full glory. Ready to fight.

Or claim my female.

Mine. The beast’s voice rumbled inside my head, as impatient as I to get to her. Find her. Faster.

“Quiet.” I shoved him down with merciless strength of will. “You’ll scare her. You will wait.”

No. Mine.

“Fuck you.” Arguing with my beast had become a common occurrence. Right now, I was implacable. He was too big. Too feral. This little human female, whoever she was, was mine to protect. To woo. To seduce. Not his. Not yet. “If she’s afraid of us, she won’t choose us. So fuck off and let me find her before you start making demands.”

I ran, body bursting with energy. I could go for miles. Hours. I wouldn’t need to. She was close. The scent grew stronger. Intoxicating. My mouth watered. My heart—already pounded, ached at the first hint of her—throbbed with a fresh surge of hope. My shaft was painfully hard, straining against the ridiculous leather pants, my body preparing to claim what belonged to me.

She was here. Somewhere ahead.

“There he is!” someone shouted behind me. “Keep filming! This is gold, people! Pure gold! Get this on camera! Don’t stop! Go! Go! Go!”

A production van swerved around the corner, tires screeching. Chet’s face was visible through the open passenger window, his expensive hair now plastered to his forehead by the wind, his expression a mixture of desperation and manic excitement.

“Warlord! Egon!” he shrieked, hanging halfway out of the window. “Think about what you’re doing! You’re breaching contract! Do you understand what this means? The legal consequences?”

I didn’t care. Did not fucking care.

I’d signed their ridiculous papers because I’d been desperate. Desperate enough to believe that perhaps, in a galaxy of trillions, my mate might be found through a reality entertainment program. Desperate enough to ignore the protests from my beast. He knew within seconds none of the females were ours.

Worse, I didn’t trust the humans with their cameras. Had no desire to be a spectacle. I didn’t want to hope.

But I had hoped. And now? Now the beast had found her.

Not through their orchestrated nonsense. Not through their pre-screened candidates and dramatic rose ceremonies.

Fate had delivered her to me in the most unlikely way possible—a scent on the wind as I’d walked through this district three days ago. A scent that had stopped me dead in my tracks, that had made my beast rear up and howl with recognition.

Mine. My mate. Then I lost the trail. I had been searching for her ever since.

The tracking had been torture. Every step closer to her had been both ecstasy and agony. The beast wanted her immediately, wanted to tear through every obstacle between us, wanted to claim her right then and there regardless of consequence or propriety.

Except there was no female to claim. She had vanished like fog burned away by sunlight. The beast raged. Screamed. I had fought him. Locked him down. Tried to be rational. Reasonable. I’d brought an Elite Hunter to the location, but there had been too many other humans. Too much wind. Too much time had passed. He could not track what I could no longer identify.

I’d returned to the studio when the producers demanded it. Smiled for their cameras. Pretended to consider their carefully selected candidates while my beast raged and my body burned and every instinct screamed at me to run, to find her, to claim what was mine.

This morning, I hunted. I found her, the scent undeniable. Overwhelming. The beast had roared with such ferocity that I’d had no choice but to follow. I had abandoned the studio, abandoned the contract, abandoned everything.

I had not known where the scent would lead me. I had not known her name, her face, her life. Only that she was mine, and that I would find her or die trying.

The mating fever had been burning hotter with every passing hour. Last night, I had destroyed my quarters in a feral rage, my beast terrified that we would never find her, that I would slip into madness before I could claim my salvation.

But fate had intervened.

Somehow—impossibly—my true mate’s scent had carried me here, to this moment, to this place. Today. Just in time.

The human legal contract meant nothing. The producers meant nothing. The cameras meant nothing.

Only her.

Only my mate.

The scent grew stronger as I rounded a corner, the beast practically howling now, my vision tunneling with the need to find her, to see her, to touch her. My hands were shaking, my entire body trembling with the effort of holding back the transformation.

“Egon!” The van screeched to a halt and Chet tumbled out, nearly face-planting on the pavement before catching himself. His face was flushed, his designer suit rumpled, one shoe untied. “What are you doing? You can’t just—”

I growled.

It wasn’t a human sound. It was the sound of a predator warning everything in its path to flee or die. Chet stumbled backward, his eyes going wide. Two Prillon warriors, his mates, stepped out of the front two seats and moved to stand between me and their weak little human.

Fuck them all. If I wanted to destroy the, I would have. I wanted one thing. One.

The female inside this human building. A church, they were called. She was inside. She was mine.

Mate. The beast agreed.

The camera crew had positioned themselves behind me, three of them, their lenses trained on me. I didn’t care. Let them film. Let the entire universe witness what happened when an Atlan Warlord’s beast decided to claim his mate.

“You don’t understand,” Chet stammered, holding up his hands. “Whatever you think you’re doing—whoever you think is in there—this is a mistake. This is going to be broadcast on television. Millions of people will see it. Billions. You need to calm down and—”

“She is mine.” My voice came out rough, distorted, barely recognizable as my own. The beast was rising, transforming my vocal cords, reshaping my throat. Soon, I would have no words at all—only roars and growls and that single, sacred syllable.

Mine.

Chet paled. “Egon, listen to me. You signed a contract. You promised to participate in the selection process. This—this stunt—it’s not going to help the others on The Colony. The producers will—”

“I care nothing for your producers.” I turned toward the church. The scent was overwhelming now, driving me forward, stripping away reason and restraint. Inside, music was playing—some soft, melodic human composition. I could hear humans shifting and whispering in their seats. Some kind of ceremony had begun.

I stalked toward the entrance, my muscles bunching and shifting beneath my skin. The transformation into my beast nearly impossible to resist. I could feel myself growing taller, broader, my ceremonial pants straining against expanding thighs. The ridiculous cape flared behind me, catching the afternoon light, making me look like some kind of supernatural entity.

Good. Let the humans see me as I truly am. Let my mate see the truth.

A monster. A beast. A Warlord who would burn worlds to claim what fate had given him.

The humans at the entrance saw me coming and scattered like frightened birds. Their screams were distant, unimportant. Nothing mattered but her.

Nothing.

I reached the massive wooden doors—closed now, sealed to keep out the uninvited—and paused only long enough to gather my strength. Then I planted my hands against the ancient timber and shoved.

Wood splintered. Metal groaned. The locking mechanism tore free with a shriek of protest, and the doors flew open, crashing against the interior walls with a thunderous boom that echoed through the vaulted sanctuary.

Silence fell.

Hundreds of human faces turned toward me, their expressions shifting from shock to terror in the span of a heartbeat. The music faltered, then died. The officiant—a human male in black ceremonial robes—froze with his mouth open, his hand raised in mid-gesture.

And there, at the far end of the aisle, standing in front of everyone? Her. My mate.

My knees nearly buckled.

She was exquisite. A vision in white, her gown cascading around her like clouds, her brown hair swept up in an elaborate style that exposed the delicate column of her throat. Her face—heart-shaped, with full lips and eyes the color of summer sky—turned toward me, her features a mask of confusion and alarm.

Beautiful. So fucking beautiful it hurt.

My chest ached with the force of my heartbeat. My beast howled in triumph, recognizing what my mind already knew with absolute certainty. Mine. She was fucking mine. This human female with her soft curves and her frightened eyes and her scent that had driven me across this entire city. She was everything.

“Mine.” I wasn’t sure if I spoke or the beast did. Didn’t fucking matter. We were in complete agreement.

“What the—” A male voice cut through the stunned silence. The male—a tall human in an expensive suit, his face handsome in a soft, pampered way—stepped forward, positioning himself between me and my mate. “Who the hell are you? Security! Someone get security!”

I held up my hand—not a threat, but a command for silence. The Atlans were warriors, yes, but we were honorable above all else. And honor demanded that I know the truth before I acted. I recognized what was happening here, even if my soul threatened to shatter.

My mate was in the process of being bound to another. Claimed by a human male. Mated in the human way. This was a wedding. She was the bride. His bride.

“Have you spoken your vows?” I walked forward, stopping halfway between the door and my female. I tried to speak softly. Calmly. But my voice was rough with the strain of holding back the beast. “Are you mated in the human way?”

The groom blinked, confusion replacing his fear. “What? I—what are you talking about?”

I ignored him, my gaze fixed on her. On my mate. My chest ached with the effort of restraint, my beast screaming at me to claim, to take, to destroy any rival who dared stand between us. But I was a Warlord of Atlan. I would not interfere with her choice. I would not steal her choice if she had freely given her heart and her vows to another.

If she had already spoken her oaths—if she had chosen this male—then I would walk away. I would return to The Colony and face execution with honor rather than live as a monster who stole another’s chosen mate. My beast had chosen. There would be no other.

The thought nearly broke me.

“Answer me,” I commanded, my voice thundering through the sanctuary. “Have you chosen this male? Have you sworn yourself to him?”

The officiant—a human male in ceremonial robes—finally found his voice. “N-no. The vows have not been exchanged. The ceremony was… was just beginning.”

“I am not in love with him. This was…” She glanced at her groom. There was no sadness in her gaze. No tenderness. Softness. Desire. No love. “…an arrangement.”

Thank the gods. Relief crashed through me like a tidal wave, nearly driving me to my knees.

She had not chosen him. She was not bound. The beast roared with triumph, and this time, I let him rise to the surface. Let the human male access his enemy. His rival. For I would no yield in the fight to claim this female. To woo her. Bring her pleasure. Take care of her. Protect her. She was my life now. My reason for breathing. My mate.

“Mine.” I said it again. Would never fucking stop speaking the truth. I stalked down the aisle, my boots striking the stone floor with deliberate, predatory precision. The guests shrank back, pressing themselves against the pews, their fear a palpable thing that filled the air with sour adrenaline.

I didn’t look at them. I only had eyes for her.

For my mate.

I took in every detail as I approached—the way the candlelight caught the shimmer of her gown, the way her hands trembled as they clutched her bouquet, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickened. She was terrified. Of course she was terrified. A monster had just crashed her wedding.

But beneath the fear, I saw something else.

Curiosity.

Recognition.

Her blue eyes were locked on mine, unable to look away, her lips parted in a silent gasp. She wasn’t running. Wasn’t screaming. Wasn’t trying to flee like the others. She was waiting. Waiting for me.

The realization nearly shattered my control.

“I said stay back!” The groom’s voice cracked. He grabbed a candlestick from the altar, brandishing it like a weapon. “Don’t come any closer!”

I didn’t slow. The male had his chance. She had not chosen him. Not spoken out with love for him. Devotion. Stated her choice. Claimed this human male. She had not chosen him. And now…

Now she would choose me.

The beast was fully upon me now, my body swelling with power, my mind narrowing to a single, all-consuming purpose. Words were difficult, almost impossible. The transformation was nearly complete, my thoughts becoming simpler, more direct, driven by instinct rather than intellect.

Claim.

Protect.

Mate.

“Please,” the groom whispered as I reached the altar platform. “Please, I don’t—I don’t understand—”

He swung the candlestick, a desperate, clumsy blow that I caught easily, crushing the metal in my fist. His eyes went impossibly wide as he stared at the ruined candlestick, then at my face.

He saw what I was now. He saw the beast. I pushed him aside.

Not a killing blow—I had enough control for that, barely—but enough to send him sprawling across the dais, tumbling into the decorative flowers, landing in an undignified heap several meters away.

He didn’t matter. The male was irrelevant. Nothing mattered but her.

I stood where the human groom had been moments before and turned to face my mate. My chest heaved, my body trembled with the effort of holding back the final stages of the transformation. Of freeing the beast. Losing control. I wanted to be gentle with her. I wanted to kneel, to speak softly, to explain in perfect, logical terms why she needed to come with me, why the universe itself had designed us for each other.

But I had no words left. The beast consumed them all with need. Hunger. I needed to touch her. Hear her voice. Smell her skin. Bury my cock so deep inside her wet pussy that she’d never get me out. I needed to hear her scream with pleasure. Say my name. I needed to see my mating cuffs on her wrists. Know she was mine to protect. To claim. To obey. My beast was hers now. He would listen to no other. Devoted didn’t begin to describe the feral, instinctive need the beast had to please her. He would answer to no one else. No military commander. No rival. No one. Only her.

“Mine.” The deep rumble of my voice shocked even me. It had been months since I’d allowed the beast out to speak. I’d never heard him take that tone with any living being. Gentle. Seductive. He was on his best behavior, needed to please her as badly as I.

He reached for her, our massive hand hovering near her face, giving her a chance to pull away, to scream, to reject us. The beast might be primitive, but it was not cruel. It would never force itself where it was not wanted. It would never cage what it loved.

She didn’t move. She waited. Accepted the gentle touch.

She stared up at me, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her pulse visible in the delicate vein at her throat. Fear warred with something else in her expression—confusion, yes, but also fascination. Wonder.

Desire?

Hope blazed through me, hot and fierce. She felt it, too. Connection. Need. Desire.

I leaned closer, inhaling her scent—deeper now, richer, layered with the intoxicating notes of her fear and her arousal and something else, something that sang to my soul. The fragrance was overwhelming, clouding my thoughts, making my cock throb with desperate need.

My mate. My female. Mine. Mine. Fucking mine.

The word built in my chest, gathering power, demanding release. It wasn’t enough to think it. It wasn’t enough to know it with every fiber of my being.

I had to declare it again. Claim her before all these witnesses, before the universe itself.

I straightened to my full height—nearly eight feet now, and threw back my head. The roar that tore from my throat shook the stained glass windows, sent the flower arrangements trembling, made the assembled guests cry out in terror.

And then, with all the authority of a Warlord, with all the certainty of the beast, with every atom of my being focused on this single, perfect female…I claimed her.

“MINE.” The roar thundered through the church like a physical force, echoing off stone walls and ancient wood, hanging in the air like a promise. Like a vow. Like destiny itself given voice.

Chet Bosworth crowded close, his cameramen spread out in a fan around the church, recording everything as screams erupted. Chaos exploded.

Guests scrambled for the exits, trampling each other in their haste to flee. The officiant cowered behind the altar, his prayers forgotten. The groom—still sprawled among the ruined flowers—stared at me with an expression of dawning horror, finally understanding that he had lost. Utterly. Completely. Fucking lost her.

She had never been his. She had always been meant for me.

Her eyes had gone impossibly wide, her lips parted in shock, her face pale beneath her careful makeup. She stared at me as if I were a creature from nightmare, a monster from the dark spaces between stars.

Perhaps I was. But I was her monster. And I would fight gods and demons and entire armies to keep her.

I reached for her again, slower this time, letting her see my intent, giving her every opportunity to flee. She trembled. She didn’t run.

Hope—fragile, desperate, all-consuming—bloomed in my chest.

“MINE,” I said again, softer this time, the word a caress, a prayer, a promise. I cupped her face in my hand, marveling at how small she was, how delicate, how perfectly she fit against my palm. “My female. My mate. Mine.”

Her breath hitched. Her eyes searched mine, looking for something—truth, perhaps. Or madness. Or hope.

I let her see it all. Hunger. Need. The absolute, unwavering certainty that she belonged to me, and I to her, and that nothing in this universe or any other would ever tear us apart.

“Who…” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the chaos still raging around us. “Who are you?”

The question cut through the beast’s haze like a blade, giving me just enough clarity to form human words. “Egon,” I growled, my voice rough with strain. “Warlord. Atlan. You. Name?”

“I’m Victoria. But my friends call me Tori.”

Tori. We would be friends. More than friends. I leaned closer, until my forehead rested against hers, until her breath mingled with my own, until there was nothing in my world but her. “Mine.”

I found her. My mate. I would kill anyone who tried to take her from me.