But once I figured out they were all talk, I relaxed, even joining in sometimes when they were working on one of their ridiculous plans.
I even started taking Sundays off from work, spending the time reading, watching vids, or taking walks around the neighborhood when the weather was nice.
That night, I had come in from an afternoon walk to find Frannie cooking in the communal kitchen. She was the best cook among us—so good that several of us offered to trade doing less pleasant jobs just to convince her to cook for us all.
The gleaming, modern kitchen, such a far cry from the halfway houses I’d seen on vid-dramas, was filled with delicious scents. I leaned over the pot of stew bubbling on the stove to inhale. “Smells amazing.”
“I’m making cornbread to go with it,” Frannie said. “The real Southern kind, not that sweet stuff y’all have up here. That stuff tastes like cake, not cornbread.”
I grinned at the familiar mini-rant. “Better for us, too, I’m sure.”
“Definitely.” Frannie gave a firm nod and then winked at me as she pulled the cornbread out of the oven.
I had made it back from my walk just in time for dinner. The rest of the women made their way into the kitchen within moments and began loading their bowls and plates. As I sat down in my chair at the old farmhouse-style table, I realized that although I hadn’t anticipated it, these women were becoming my friends.
Funny that I had to go to prison to finally begin to make real friends on the outside.
I had just bitten into my second piece of cornbread when all the screens in the house clicked on, including the one on the refrigerator door.
Vos Klavoii’s too-bright smile flashed at us. “Welcome to the latest edition of the Bride Lottery.”
“What the fuck?” Mandy exclaimed. “I can’t believe they’re doing this again already.”
Frannie let out a string of curses under her breath, the most I’d ever heard from the small, round, blonde Southerner.
Jacinda stared at the screen with her dark eyes wide, her spoon halfway to her lips, forgotten for the moment.
Roya simply narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair and watching with her jaw clenched tightly shut.
My stomach lurched, even as I reminded myself that it was unlikely I would ever be chosen to participate in the Bride Games. I was only three years away from aging out of the program altogether, and they certainly wouldn’t want someone with my record on Station 21.
I kept telling myself that as Vos went through his usual schtick about Khanavai males and human females finding “true love.”
True love. As if that were possible to find on a game show.
No. Roya was right—these women were hostages, forced to pay for all humankind’s safety with their bodies and the rest of their lives. Just because some of them had Stockholm Syndrome didn’t mean the rest of us had to play along and pretend it was all right.
And so what if some of the hostage-takers are tall, beautiful, green aliens with bass voices and eyes that made my knees go weak?
I shoved the thought as deep down as it would go, working hard to pretend it didn’t exist.
Vos’s next announcement, however, jerked me out of my thoughts entirely. “I’m delighted to inform you all that this year’s first episode of the Bride Games will feature brand-new brides drawn from tonight’s lottery, as usual—but for our grooms, we are going to do something new.”
He’s really gotten the game-show host patter down. He actually sounds excited about this.
“This season,” he continued as the camera panned out to show several Khanavai warriors gathered in the familiar Bride Games auditorium, “we are bringing you a new theme: Second Chances. For the first time ever, grooms who participated in earlier games without finding a mate will get another chance at love. Let me introduce you to several of our bachelors.” He paused, allowing the vid to swing back around to his plastic smile. “Or reintroduce you, as the case may be.”
“So these poor women are going to get the rejects?” I had thought Frannie couldn’t look any more horrified than she did over cornbread with sugar in it, but she did. Trust Vos Klavoii to really upset her.
“And what does he mean by ‘episode one’ and ‘this season’?” Roya asked, her brow furrowing. “Are they increasing the number of Bride Games?”
“That ‘Holiday Special’ business sure suggested it,” Jacinda said, finally dropping her spoon back down into her bowl of stew, leaving the bite untasted.
“So it’s not enough for them to auction us off like…like farm animals, but now they’re selling us to the men who couldn’t convince any other women to marry them? That’s seriously fucked up,” Mandy said, throwing her napkin down onto her plate. “God, I wish there was some way we could find to stop this travesty.”
Roya tapped her lips with one forefinger. “It makes you wonder if all their really good groom options are off fighting the Alveron Horde. They don’t like to tell us much about our supposed enemies, do they?”
“Dee, what do you think? You’ve been awfully silent over there,” Frannie asked.
I would have answered, but a new image on the vid display snagged my attention.
Wex. He was on the program again, one of the second-chance bachelors scheduled to play this game.
A wave of sickness washed through my stomach, and I had to swallow to hold it down.
How can I possibly still be attracted to him after seeing his little snit-fit in the Holiday Special?
I dragged my attention away from his captivating face, all planes and angles and chiseled good looks, and answered Frannie’s question. “It does sound like they’re trying to marry off as many of their males as they can. But I doubt everyone’s off fighting the Horde.” I waved a hand
