Page 10 of Married to the Manticore (The Monster Matrimony Files #1)

I watched her sleep in our nest, this small human who had somehow become essential to my existence.

Moonlight filtered through the high windows, bathing her skin in silver.

She lay curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other stretched toward me even in sleep.

Her hair—that fascinating cascade of copper and gold—spilled across the furs like liquid fire.

My tail remained coiled possessively around her ankle, unwilling to break contact even in rest. Such a fragile creature, yet she had shown more courage than warriors twice her size.

When the Terran Council first announced the Cross-Species Cohabitation Act, I had been skeptical.

Humans were notoriously fearful of our kind—the wings, the claws, the tail especially marking us as predators in their eyes.

I had expected any human assigned to me to shrink from my touch, to flinch at my movements, to endure my presence only for the benefits the arrangement provided.

I had not expected Mira.

She had been cautious at first, yes—but never cowering. Those remarkable eyes of hers, the color of desert sage, had assessed me with wariness but not terror. And then, day by day, the wariness had faded, replaced by something I had not dared hope for: curiosity. Interest. Desire.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, drawing my attention back to the present.

She shifted in her sleep, turning toward me, seeking my warmth.

The blanket slipped, revealing the elegant curve of her shoulder, the delicate line of her collarbone.

My claws extended involuntarily, the primal part of me responding to the sight of her vulnerability, her trust.

I remembered my disbelief the first time she had laughed in my presence—a bright, unguarded sound that had startled us both.

She had been attempting to operate the ancient water filtration system, and the sudden spray had drenched her completely.

Instead of anger or frustration, laughter had bubbled from her like water from a spring.

I had stood frozen, entranced by the transformation of her face, the uninhibited joy.

I was still getting used to Mira voluntarily touching me. Especially my tail. And not just in response to my initiation. No. She touches me in casual affection.

We had been sorting desert herbs, working side by side at the kitchen table.

Without comment, without hesitation, she had reached out and stroked the length of my tail where it rested near her hand.

The sensation had been so unexpected, so intimate, that I had nearly knocked the table over in my shock.

She had simply smiled and continued sorting herbs, as if touching the most sensitive part of a Manticore was the most natural thing in the world.

Her eyelids fluttered now, her breathing changing as she rose gradually toward wakefulness. I remained still, savoring these moments of watching her emerge from sleep—the slight furrow of her brow, the deeper breath, the slow stretch of her limbs.

Her eyes opened, immediately finding mine in the darkness. No fear, no startlement—only recognition and a drowsy smile that tightened something in my chest.

“You’re watching me again,” she murmured, voice husky with sleep.

“Yes.” I saw no reason to deny it.

Her smile widened. “What are you thinking about so intensely?”

I shifted closer, my wing extending to create a canopy over us, a private world of shadow and warmth. “I’m thinking that you continue to surprise me.”

“Hmm?” She reached up, fingers tracing the line of my jaw with casual intimacy. “How so?”

“You should fear me,” I said simply. “Most humans do.”

Her hand stilled on my face, and for a moment I wondered if I had finally reminded her of what I was, what separated us. Then her palm flattened against my cheek, warm and certain.

“I know what you are, Vuhr,” she said softly. “I see you. All of you.” Her eyes held mine, unflinching. “And I choose you, exactly as you are.”

Something ancient and powerful unfurled in my chest—a heat that had nothing to do with the desert night and everything to do with this remarkable creature who looked at a predator and saw a partner.

I lowered my head to hers, pressing my forehead to hers in the Manticore gesture of deepest affection.

“Mira,” I breathed against her lips, my voice rougher than intended. “May I have you?”

Her answer was to press her body against mine, her hands sliding into my hair, pulling me down for a kiss that burned away any remaining doubt. Her mouth opened under mine, sweet and eager, her tongue meeting mine in a dance that set my blood on fire.

I growled low in my throat, the sound rumbling between us as I gathered her closer.

Her skin was silk beneath my hands, warm and pliant.

I traced the delicate curve of her spine, the subtle flare of her hips, marveling at the contrast between her softness and my hardness, her fragility and my strength.

My tail unwound from her ankle to slide higher, caressing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

She gasped into my mouth, her body arching toward the touch.

I had learned her responses well over our week together—knew exactly how to stroke, where to press, when to retreat to build her pleasure to unbearable heights.

“Please,” she whispered against my neck, her fingers digging into my shoulders with surprising strength. “Vuhr, I need you.”

The scent of her arousal filled my senses, sweet and heady, triggering instincts far older than civilization. My wings mantled fully, creating a cocoon that trapped her scent, her heat, her essence. Mine, every primal part of me insisted. Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to cherish.

I shifted above her, careful to distribute my weight on my forearms, keeping the bulk of me from crushing her smaller frame.

The position brought us face to face, allowing me to watch every flicker of expression as I positioned myself at her entrance.

She was slick and ready, her body welcoming me as I pressed forward with excruciating slowness.

The sensation was exquisite—hot, tight, perfect. I shuddered with the effort of restraint, holding still when I wanted nothing more than to claim her completely.

“You feel like home,” she breathed, her hands framing my face, her eyes never leaving mine.

The words undid me. I began to move within her, each thrust measured and deep, my tail coiling around her thigh to pull her closer, angling her body to take me deeper still. Her soft cries spurred me on, each sound of pleasure a reward more precious than any treasure.

I bent to taste her skin, my tongue tracing the salt-sweet path from her collarbone to the pulse fluttering wildly at her throat. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm against my chest, her breath coming in quick gasps that matched the pace of our joining.

“Mine,” I growled against her ear, unable to stop the possessive word from escaping.

Instead of protest, she answered with a breathy “Yours,” her hands sliding down to grip my hips, urging me deeper, faster.

The claiming became more urgent then, our bodies finding a rhythm as ancient as the desert surrounding us.

My tail tightened around her thigh, the sensitive tip brushing against the place where we were joined.

She cried out, her inner muscles clenching around me in a way that nearly undid my control.

“Let go,” I commanded softly, watching her face, needing to see the moment pleasure overtook her. “Let go for me, Mira.”

She did, her body arching beneath mine, her eyes wide and vulnerable as ecstasy claimed her. The sight, the sound, the feel of her surrender triggered my own release. I buried my face against her neck, breathing in her scent as pleasure crashed through me in relentless waves.

In the aftermath, I gathered her trembling form against me, arranging us so that she lay across my chest, my wings folded around us both like a living blanket. Her heartbeat gradually slowed, her breathing deepened. My tail remained coiled around her, unwilling to relinquish contact.

I pressed my nose to her hair, inhaling deeply. Beneath the scent of our lovemaking, beneath the desert dust and the herbs she had worked with that day, was her essential fragrance—something that reminded me of rain on hot stones, of green things growing in unlikely places.

“When I agreed to the cohabitation program,” I murmured against her temple, “I thought I was offering sanctuary to a human in need of protection.”

She made a soft sound of inquiry, too content to form words.

“I didn’t realize it would be you who saved me,” I continued, the admission easier in the darkness, in the privacy of our nest. “From solitude. From the belief that my nature made me unworthy of genuine connection.”

Her hand came up to rest over my heart. “We saved each other,” she corrected sleepily.

As her breathing evened out in sleep, I tightened my hold on her, my most precious possession, my most unexpected gift. I breathed her in once more, letting her scent anchor me to this moment, this perfect peace.

“Mine,” I vowed silently to the desert night, to whatever powers might be listening. “Forever.”

And for the first time in my life, I felt the certainty that forever might be possible—one day at a time, one choice at a time, building something neither of us could have imagined alone.

Thank you for reading Married to the Manticore. The next book in The Monster Matrimony Files is Hitched to the Hellhound, coming soon.