She rolls her eyes so hard terror grips me.
Is she having a—no. They return to their normal orientation.
Blinking, I stare at them. “Is this a human trait? Do you attempt to detach your eyes?”
She tries to grab her shoes again, but I hold her firm. Her mouth mutters something in her odd language—no doubt a thank you for saving her—as I hoist her fully into my arms.
Adjusting her against my chest, I cradle her in a secure carry, tucking her curved thighs over my forearm. I can’t help but to squeeze them. “You are so soft here,” I tell her. “It makes me want to bite you. I cannot wait to bury myself in your softness, and claim you for all time.”
She lets out another huff, chittering away, but then her small hands find the scales of my neck. Her fingers curl into my neck as she relaxes her weight completely against me.
Good. This is how it should be.
Pah-pee’s absolute trust makes my Draegon instincts hum with satisfaction. I pull my wings in tight, shielding her bare legs from the biting morning wind, and step out of the root cave onto the path.
They tried to tell us it would be a survival endeavor, but there’s no doubt in my mind that these paths have been cleared in advance. A youngling could tell this was a path, let alone a trained warrior like myself.
I would rather fly.
“There would be no need for these idiotic paths if they let me use my wings,” I tell her. She doesn’t answer, just watches me with wide eyes. “It is very stupid, this entire concept. I know I was sent here because the mad king on my planet decided I was no longer loyal, but that doesn’t mean I am suddenly incapable of winning this strange competition. I still have no doubt it is a trap of some sort.” I narrow my eyes, waiting for said trap.
It does not appear.
We have been walking for less than twenty minutes when a computerized chime echoes from the sky.
A silver drone plunges through the tree tops, hovering a few feet ahead of us. A mechanical voice crackles from its speakers.
"Attention, contestants. You have two hours to reach the primary waypoint stage to select your first televised challenge. Failure to arrive before the countdown expires will result in immediate forfeiture of the round and your translation rewards. Travel by air is strictly prohibited. Proceed to the coordinates immediately."
The drone projects a small, blinking red arrow into the dirt ahead, pointing deeper into the rocky ravine, before zipping back up into the clouds.
I look down at Poppy. Her face is slightly pale, her jaw tight as she looks in the direction of the arrow.
We cannot communicate; we cannot share a strategy.
But as she looks up at me, her fingers tightening against my neck scales, a low, fierce rumble builds in my chest.
I am a warrior. I will not allow distance or deadlines to stand between my female and our victory. I tighten my grip on her lush hips, lengthen my stride, and begin to run.
I will not squander this gift of a female in my arms.
CHAPTER 7
POPPY
The moment Vael-Torincarries me out of the tree line and onto the set, my optimism completely shrivels up and died.
After the dim forest, the overly lit stage is like a slap in the face.
Blinding blue and white studio lights illuminate a high-tech platform built right over the dirt. In front of it, rows of seats are packed with an all-male crowd of velvety grey Roth and green-scaled Suevans, all drinking and murmuring while metallic drone cameras buzz through the air.
The result makes me feel surprisingly claustrophobic and too exposed all at once. Not a fan of this part of my reality TV stardom, not a fan at all. It’s one thing to know I’m being recorded in private… and another to have a full on audience of aliens.
I clench my teeth, biting down my second thoughts.
It’s too late to have second thoughts.
Vael-Torin sets me down gently at the edge of the platform. My marabou kitten heels are clutched against my chest, and I slip them so I’m not barefoot on the cold metal structure. I try my best to smooth my fuschia silk slip, but my hands tremble so much it’s an exercise in futility.
