Page 94 of Forsaking All Others

“I’ve got a bucket-full of sleeping tablets. Say the word and you can drink up and drop off.”

“No,” She scowls.

“Then shut up and get ready. We’ve got to wear these stupid mother-fucking catsuits again, and if your whining wasn’t enough to push me to murder you, these sure as hell will.”

I hold up my catsuit and flap it around her face to emphasise my words, and she rises and pushes it aside to embrace me.

“Stop it. Get off!” I mutter as she squeezes me.

“Thank you, Cat,” she sniffles in my ear.

“I’ll probably drown you later,” I mutter, pushing her away, “so give it a rest.”

“You won’t.” She rolls her eyes, turning from me to put on her suit.

“You’re right,” I look at her and grin evilly as I zip myself into the skin-tight catsuit. I need to win tonight. I need time with Jaguar to question him about his immortality claim, and I have an enemy, or two, that need elimination.

“Drowning you will have to wait. I plan to kill the twins tonight, and I think I just might have figured out a way.”

She meets my eyes, and her own widen.

“No,” she shakes her head, correctly understanding my Machiavellian expression. “No, Cat. I can’t.”

“You can and you will.”

68

I survey the dark, swiftly flowing river and study the canoes, each with a man sitting at the stern holding two paddles, little woven moses basket at his feet.

Of all the disgusting trials and contests this Game manifests, the Baby Challenge has to be the worst. Eleven infants, each with a tiny, coloured ribbon tied to their wrists, are going to be handed to my contestants. Contestants who have barely demonstrated they know how to keep themselves alive, let alone a child.

‘And worse, if it could get any fucking worse, they have not only each other to fear tonight, but potentially a psychotic vampire with a silver sword sharp enough to shave with, and the fucking mafia. Christ, what a fuck-up this whole thing is.’

I remind myself that my guards are scouring the mountain forests surrounding us as we speak, and that I’ll be accompanying the contestants on this quest. Still, there’s something about tonight that sets my teeth on edge.

As my name’s called I turn to watch the babies being placed in the Moses baskets one by one by the women purporting to be their mothers.

‘There should be a law against this. If I can’t end the Games straight away I’ll at least work to have this contest permanently banned. Perhaps that’s the way forward — rule changes little by little until the Games are no longer to the death. After all, once upon a time they were called The Hunt, and we chased our wives down and married those we didn’t slaughter. I’ll have to mention this to Eleanor when I catch up with her.’

Thinking of Eleanor makes me think of Angie and the baby I’d thought was mine, and I scowl and turn to watch as the contestants arrive.

Stepping out of the bus they stand in line as the crew hands them all water bottles, baby bottles, and other paraphernalia they might need for the challenge. It’s so fucking hot here, even at eight at night, that dehydration is a real possibility. Drowning, too, apparently, because Silke is allowed a life vest as a nod to the fact she still has a leg in plaster. Everyone else is given a pool noodle the same colour as the hot little catsuits they’re once again wearing. I’m reminded of Seville and having to push my hand down Cat’s suit to retrieve handguns she’d wedged down her ample cleavage, and my body stirs at the memory.

‘Christ, what the fuck? Have I sublimated my desire for her blood by fantasising about her pussy? It started with that fucking kissing competition. It has to stop.’

Scowling, I study the other contestants. Miranda has her arm just bandaged now, her sling no longer needed. Silke’s leg is still a liability, but the others seem fit. Sona, Thorun and Cat stand close together, as do Miranda and Claire, an odd pairing and one I hadn’t picked up on earlier. Meanwhile the twins, Aditi, Cherry and Vasiliki all seem to be keeping their distance from one another.

As each of the contestants receives their gear and has a coloured ribbon tied to their arm, they head over to stand where they’re directed, facing me and the now approaching Starlen, who’d been sitting in his air-conditioned vehicle waiting for his cue. Given that this challenge is one of the most-watched each season, he’s expected to bring on-the-spot updates and commentary to the television audience. And since it’s not unheard of for a baby to appear on this show as an extra like this, and later when they’re adults as a contestant, as Evelyn had, Starlen, like his predecessors, will hype the television audience into a frenzy over the ‘Baby Challenge.’ If past seasons are a reliable indicator of this one, he’s sure to make the most of the fact that each and every one of these infants could, in fact, one day grow up to be a royal bride. Which makes their safety even more imperative.

As he reaches his assigned spot he gives me a perfunctory nod, raises his chin, and winks at the director.

‘And…Action!’

“Welcome, beautiful contestants,” he gushes, “to this, our third-last challenge for the season — and arguably the most anticipated.”

The contestants sigh their greetings, and several, like Cherry, give him coquettish smiles and simper.

“I’m sure you all know the stakes,” he goes on, “but as a matter of protocol and tradition I’ll read out the rules and instructions for you, and for those watching at home in the Bachelor Universe.