I stand up, my legs leaden. I don’t even manage to take one step before the world tunnels into darkness and I’m vaguely aware of the floor meeting my face.

My eyes flutter open, the strange dream I had about the damned asshole brain in a vial blessedly floating back to my subconscious space.

Someone’s rubbing something cool against my cheeks while other hands flutter along my back. Gentle fingers work at knots I didn’t even know I had between my shoulders.

I sigh in appreciation, then startle as the reality slams back into me, the relaxed floating sensation not so much ebbing as drying up completely.

“Married?” I wheeze. “I signed up to be married?”

There’s a brush running through my hair, and it stops abruptly.

“She’s awake,” a breathy voice calls out, and before I can react, someone else is squeezing my hand.

“You checked the box for future program consideration on your initial application.”

“Violet?” I ask, completely out of sorts but determined to manage a way out of this predicament. Sure enough, her purple hair swims into my field of vision. I’m forced to close my eyes as whoever—or whatever—is rubbing my face places something cool on my eyelids.

It shouldn’t feel so good.

I shouldn’t be so relaxed.

“Yes. I’ve gone through your paperwork at least ten times to ensure all the loopholes were, in fact, closed.”

“That doesn’t sound great,” I tell her. “For me.”

“You signed all the paperwork. You are contracted into this position⁠—”

“Marriage,” I correct.

“You will live the life of a Wulfric princess,” Violet snaps. “This massage? This Stardust package? This is just the start of it. You will be a pampered member of one of the most powerful clans on the planet. Anything you want or need will be provided to you.”

“I didn’t know,” I start, but clamp my mouth shut, really thinking about it. “I didn’t know,” I repeat weakly.

“You will receive a monthly stipend that’s…” She pauses, and whatever’s sitting on my eye rolls off as I open it, watching her rifle through her data pad. “It’s five hundred thousand standard credits. A month.”

I inhale deeply, then sit up as I choke on my own spit.

The patch on my other eye falls off as I cough, trying to catch my breath.

“Five hundred thousand credits?”

“A month,” Violet confirms.

“You’d be an idiot not to go,” the masseuse says from behind me.

“The tailor already took your measurements,” Violet adds. “He’ll be back with a full new wardrobe for you.”

“Five hundred thousand credits?” I ask again.

It’s more money than I’ve ever had in my lifetime. More money than I’ve ever considered having.

A month. Monthly. Every month.

The hands on my back resume their careful kneading, and my brain, the one in my head and decidedly not in a vial, tells me I would be a total idiot not to take this job.

Even if the job is as a wife, of all things.

“And what do I have to do to fulfill the contract?” I finally manage, my voice sounding somewhat more normal. A little squeaky and high, sure, but more in control, at least.

Five hundred thousand credits.

“Do you want to see what he looks like?” Violet asks coyly.

Biting my lip, I nod at her, and her smug smile only deepens.

Couldn’t hurt to see it. At this point, there’s no way out, and five hundred fucking thousand credits a month is a pretty good price for my hand in marriage.

In fact, this is too good to be true. He’s probably hideous. That’s probably what’s wrong. He’s probably a ball of slime or some kind of freak with a blood fetish. Though… for five hundred thousand credits a month, maybe I’m into that too…

Violet throws the three-dimensional image of the Wulfric—my soon-to-be husband—onto the floor next to me, and my jaw drops as the life-size hologram slowly spins.

He’s not a blob. He’s not an Oolasag or a brain in a vial or a tentacle, and I don’t know whether it’s my own lack of standards or the price tag attached to my hand in marriage or the fact that he is… handsome.

Not just handsome.

He’s beautiful.

The man in front of me is at least six inches taller than me. Broad shoulders hidden under a tunic that hits at his hips and wraps at the waist. Despite the loose fabric, there’s no disguising the pure power of his build. His brown hair is an odd cut, shaved at the sides but longish in the middle, pulled back into a bun, in this image at least.

It looks silky.

It looks like it would be nice to run my fingers through it.

His face, though.

A strong, well-articulated jaw, high cheekbones that beg to be touched, and hooded eyes a golden-tawny color I’ve never seen before with a feral, hard edge to them that makes something in my body tighten all over.

“Oh,” I finally say. “He’s…”

“He’s hot,” Violet agrees, running a forefinger down the tip of one horn. “Not bad, right?”

“There’s got to be a catch, right?” My voice doesn’t sound convincing, even to me. “Why would he go to a bride lottery when he looks like that?”

Certainly he has his pick of all the females on his planet.

“Our clients’ reasons for choosing Starlight Lottery are classified.” Violet grabs at the hologram, whisking it back into the data pad.

I stare wistfully at the empty space.

“Right.”

“Now, if he breaks his terms of the contract, then that’s cause for you returning here until a new placement can be found. We do have protections in place for you.”

“His terms?” I ask, only because I think I should.

I can’t stop thinking about the man she just threw in front of me.

Holy hotness.

He looks human.

Except those eyes.

I swallow hard. “Wulfric?” I ask, furrowing my brow. “What species is he?”

What species am I marrying?

“He’s a Wulfric,” Violet says slowly, enunciating as though that will make it clearer.

“Yeah. I don’t know what that means,” I tell her, annoyed in spite of the delicious things the masseuse is doing to my back. Who knew I even had that much tension back there?

“Oh. Let me think.” She does her thinking by rotating the data pad and flipping through the display there.

I wait, slightly exasperated and very intrigued by this entire situation.

Maybe even a little… excited by it.

Five hundred thousand credits is quite a large number of credits.

“Werewolf. That’s the Earth term for them. Yep.”

“Werewolf?” That can’t be right.

“Werewolf.” She nods perfunctorily. “His contract terms are no biting unless approved, as well as no hunting for sport, and no trauma or abuse of any kind.”

I blink. “Do some people, er, species, require that? Is that normal for the Wulfric?” My tongue trips over the word, and my head spins.

“The hunting is part of their courtship rituals, but it won’t be expected of you. We wouldn’t work with a species who would abuse their employees, unless the employee specifically requested that…” She pauses, her fingers wiggling over the data pad. “Which you did not.”

Thank goodness for that.

“Can I see him again?” I ask quietly, somewhere between resigned and excited about my future.

If this is what’s in store for me, what the hell is going to happen to Bridget?

“I had a friend who was taken to another hub,” I sputter. “Can I have her new contact information?”

“Of course,” Violet says smoothly. “As soon as you’re on planet, we’ll send you her new comms details. Does this mean you won’t be a problem for us? You accept your contract… again?”

My throat works over the knot in it as I swallow.

The man—werewolf’s—eyes flash through my mind.

“I accept,” I say.

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CHAPTER 4