Page 8 of Alien Jeopardy

“Unless you want me to unleash my fire on you, Roth, you will let your betters decide.”

A laugh, unhinged, spills from the purple-skinned Draegon in the back of the room. He’s old, much older than the rest of us, his silver hair and ice-blue eyes full of malice.

“Careful there, princeling,” he says, the words a sarcastic purr that sets my teeth on edge.

The Roth’s throat bobs as we all glance to him, wondering what he’ll do.

If he refuses the prince, he may not leave this room alive.

If he doesn’t refuse the prince, all five of us may be driven to fight, our instincts screaming to get to the females in the next room.

If the prince picks my woman, I will sate my thirst for blood before he has time to blink.

“Perhaps the females should be allowed to pick,” the Roth says nervously.

My tail slashes the air, the idea of my female choosing another male making my stomach churn.

The prince, Pol, glances back at the silver-haired Draegon in the back, then nods.

“That will suffice,” Pol announces.

My talons bite further into my skin, and I force my hands to relax at my sides.

She won’t pick one of the others.

She can’t.

The petite human with the pale skin and spots on her cheeks, with the perfectly thick thighs and careless yawns…

She is the one for me.

My mate.

CHAPTER

THREE

Ellison

“We aren’t dreaming, this isn’t a dream,” Lucy chants, her usually perfectly tamed blue-black hair a total mop around her head. Dark circles stand out under her eyes.

A speaker crackles, and I make myself stop yawning and stand up a bit straighter.

“Margaritas were a bad choice,” Lily mutters, and I nod fervently.

“Welcome to the first season of the brand-new reality show that is sure to be hit,” a computerized voice says over the speaker.

“Oh god, we did do that, didn’t we,” Lu squeaks. She attempts to rake her hand through her thick hair, but her fingers get stuck.

A few tugs and she gives up, several black strands falling to the floor.

A new reality show.

“Poppy,” I say slowly, turning to look at my lingerie-clad friend.

She’s wringing her hands, her eyes darting around the room like she’d rather look anywhere but at me.

“What day is it?” Lily asks. Her short dark brown hair is messier than usual, and she looks more hungover than anyone else.