Read the opening below to get a real feel for the characters, voice, and pacing before choosing an edition.
The Beast’s Bride
by Grace Goodwin
Chapter 1
1
Warlord Egon — Miami, Florida
The bejeweled cloak snapped behind me as I ran, velvet and glitter catching the wind like some ridiculous banner announcing my humiliation to the entire primitive city. The thing weighed almost nothing, yet every time it flared out behind me it reminded me exactly how absurd I looked—half naked, covered in sparkling chest glitter, sprinting through human streets like a decorative toy instead of an Atlan Warlord. The leather pants were worse. Ceremonial, the producers had called them.
They chafed in places no warrior should ever have to endure. And the glitter. Gods damn the glitter. I had the show's flamboyant announcer, Chet Bosworth, to thank for that particular indignity.
My boots struck pavement in powerful, punishing strides as I raced down the street, the scent in the air pulling me forward with relentless force. Humans blurred past on either side of me. Their startled cries barely registered. Behind me, the camera crew scrambled to keep pace, equipment clattering as they ran.
"Egon! Wait!" Chet's voice shrieked through the earpiece lodged in my ear, thin and desperate. "The producers want you back at the studio! We have a schedule!" I ripped the device out and crushed it in my fist without breaking stride. Plastic shattered beneath my grip.
No more schedules. No more contracts. No more pretending.
She was close. I could smell her. The scent filled my lungs like fire. Sweet. Feminine. Perfect. Sun-warmed skin. Vanilla. Something soft and bright that slid straight into my bloodstream and detonated there. My entire body reacted instantly—muscles tightening, pulse pounding, every nerve igniting with fierce recognition. The beast inside me surged forward, roaring its approval.
Mine. The word thundered through my skull. My mate. My salvation.
For three days I had tracked that scent through this sprawling swamp of a city. Three days of slow, grinding madness while the Bachelor Beast production team paraded me before their cameras like some prize zoo animal. In a nearby room, human females had preened and posed beneath bright studio lights, batting their eyes and rehearsing their smiles, each one hoping that once we finally met, I would choose her.
I would not. My beast had already inspected each of their scents. Their voices through the thin dividing walls. I had no choice in the matter. The beast did not negotiate. When the beast chose, the Warlord obeyed. And now the beast had chosen.
Mating fever had been eating me alive for years. Ever since exile. Ever since the Hive contamination had marked us and cast us onto The Colony with the other warriors deemed unfit for civilized Atlan society. The fever burned beneath my skin constantly—an endless pressure inside my bones. Rage. Need. Instinct clawing for release. I had endured it. Controlled it. Forced myself to function through sheer discipline.
But I had been lying to myself.
[Preview ends before mature content.]
