Lucy blinks, her mouth dropping open, and I see the exact second before her brain catches up. She lurches off the floor, her face twisting into an unhinged snarl as she grabs a handful of fruit from the platter and throws them straight at my chest.
“Your a joke, Poppy,” Lucy shrieks. “You dragged us to an alien game show because you are a loser. You ruined my life.”
Selene doesn’t miss a beat. She lets out a feral yell, grabs the entire pitcher, and dumps the slush straight over her own head, letting it run down her suit.
“You are both fucking idiots,” Selene says, then grabs a throw pillow and rips it open with her bare hands, sending a cloud of feathers into the air.
Lucy and I stare at her, because damn, I’m not sure if she’s acting or not.
“I will kill both of you, and your partners, and then I will go to Roth and take those mother fuckers out too.”
Her chest heaves, and then her eyes widen slightly when she realizes were both actually a bit scared of her. “But first I’m going to win this whole thing,” she adds, the delivery extremely deadpan.
Lucy shoots a look my way, and then gives a little shrug before launching herself at Selene.
The green room descends into a storm of flying fruit, feathers, and screaming humans. We are kicking the sectional couch, throwing platters, and screeching the most unhinged things possible.
“THE LIE DETECTOR DETERMINED THAT WAS A LIE,” I scream at Selene.
“IS THAT YOUR FINAL ANSWER?” she yells back.
“I’M THE NEXT AMERICAN IDOL,” Lucy says, and I swear, Selene almost laughs at that one.
The silver drone hovers mid-air, its blue lens darting frantically back and forth through the cloud of feathers as Ken’s system tries to process the sudden escalation.
“Incredible,” Ken’s voice shrieks through the speakers, his hologram face expanding with corporate joy. “The psychological breakdown metrics are breaking the scale. The engagement metrics are melting. Keep fighting, contestants. This is the highest-rated after-party in the history of the show. It is also the only after-party in the history of the show.”
Beneath the cover of chaos, I adjust the device in my boobs. The green light pulses safely against my skin.
We have a plan. As I grab another piece of fruit to pelt at Lucy's head, I can’t decide if I want to laugh or cry.
We are getting out of this nightmare.
I lick some piña colada off my finger and decide it is not the worst mixed drink I’ve ever had. That dubious honor belongs to the trash can punch I had in college.
CHAPTER 31
VAEL-TORIN
I bringmy fist down against the metal wall with a force that should have shattered it. The metal groans, a slight indentation appearing beneath my knuckles, but the emergency locks do not disengage.
"Save your energy, Vael," Pol rumbles from behind me. He is leaning against a neon-blue pillar, his nearly human-colored skin shifting slightly with tension. The intricate tattoos weaving across his broad shoulders and arms look sharp and dark against the strange lights.
"My mate is on the other side of that wall," I growl, my throat smoking with a dangerous, unstable purple heat. My tail thrashes against the neon floorboards.
"She is not alone," Ty-Rok says smoothly from the shadow of the velvet curtains. The warrior doesn't look at the wall; he dismantles an automated refreshment intake valve with his talons, searching for copper wiring he can weaponize. "Lucy is with her. And Selene. The human females possess a strange pack instinct. They are stronger than they appear."
I reluctantly lower my fist. Ty-Rok’s assessment is correct. I have witnessed Poppy in action.
Pol reaches onto the buffet table, tossing fruit in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "We need to adjust our strategy. This entire competition... it reeks of my father."
"You know as well as I do, Vael, he has something to do with this meat grinder," Pol spits, his tail lashing behind him. "I wouldn’t doubt he engineered this nightmare as a way to get rid of us. He wants us to break. Me especially."
I know Pol, as we all do back home— he’s the son that turned from his father early on, left court to strike out on his own. A mercenary, the rumors said, a pirate, others claimed.
Either way, he left the mad king’s court, had the strength to do so long before I did.
Pol straightens, the tattoos across his chest flexing as his jaw sets into a firm line. For the first time since I met him in the staging ship, the careless aura vanishes from his posture.
