Page 3 of Married to the Manticore (The Monster Matrimony Files #1)

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T hey led me to a circular chamber with walls of polished obsidian that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

The floor beneath my feet hummed with energy—the portal terminus, I realized, where Vuhr would materialize from his world to mine.

Or rather, where he would appear to claim me and take me back to his.

My palms were slick with sweat, and I rubbed them surreptitiously against my thighs, wondering if Serrathi could smell fear the way Earth predators could.

“Remember to breathe,” Counselor Patel murmured from beside me. “The first impression is important, but they understand human nervousness. It’s expected.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The officiant and technician had positioned themselves at the edges of the room, tablets ready to record the encounter.

I stood alone in the center, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the simple white garment they’d provided—a shift dress that fell to my knees, with sleeves that ended just above my elbows.

Traditional first-meeting attire, they’d explained, designed to be respectful without being provocative.

A low hum built in the air around us, vibrating through my bones. The circular pattern beneath my feet illuminated with symbols I couldn’t read, glowing blue-white like captured lightning. My heart hammered against my ribs as the air in the center of the room began to shimmer and distort.

“Portal sequence initiated,” the technician announced unnecessarily. “Arrival in five, four, three...”

I didn’t hear the rest of the countdown. The air split open with a sound like thunder contained in a small room, and a blinding light poured through the fissure. I raised my arm to shield my eyes, blinking away afterimages as the light receded as quickly as it had come.

And there he was.

Vuhr.

My husband-to-be.

The holographic images hadn’t prepared me for the reality of him.

He was massive, for one thing—at least seven feet tall at the shoulder, his body powerfully muscled and covered in short, tawny fur that gleamed like burnished gold in the chamber’s light.

His torso rose from the leonine body in a seamless blend of human and animal, the fur giving way to smooth skin the color of sunbaked clay.

His face was the most human part of him, yet still alien—high cheekbones and a strong jaw framed eyes that were entirely black except for vertical pupils of molten amber.

No whites at all. No nose as I understood it, but rather two vertical slits that flared as he took in my scent.

His mouth was wider than a human’s, lips fuller, revealing the tips of what might have been fangs when he parted them slightly.

Behind him, large wings were folded tight against his back, the membrane between the spines appearing delicate but iridescent, like oil on water. And that tail—thick as my arm at its base, tapering to a wicked point that curved up over his back, ready. Dangerous.

He wore what looked like armor across his chest and shoulders, worked metal in intricate patterns that caught the light. Functional, but also beautiful. A warrior’s protection that doubled as ceremonial attire.

I realized I’d been staring, mouth slightly open, for what felt like minutes. The silence in the room was absolute.

Vuhr moved first. He approached with a fluid grace that belied his size, muscles rippling beneath fur and skin.

When he stopped before me, I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

This close, I could smell him—like sun-warmed stone, desert sage, and something else, something alien but not unpleasant.

He made a sound deep in his chest, like distant thunder. Not threatening, but questioning.

“You may speak,” the technician said quietly to me. “He understands your language, even if he doesn’t speak it often.”

I moistened my lips. “Hello, Vuhr. I’m Mira.”

Vuhr’s head tilted slightly, those unsettling eyes studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He didn’t speak. Instead, he reached into a pouch at his side and withdrew a small package wrapped in what looked like leaves. He held it out to me, his movements deliberate, careful.

“The offering,” Counselor Patel whispered. “Accept it with both hands.”

I reached out, trying to control the tremor in my fingers, and took the package. It was warm to the touch and emitted a sweet, spicy aroma. “Thank you,” I said, unsure of the proper response.

Vuhr made another sound, this one higher, almost musical. His tail moved in a slow arc behind him, which the neural interface knowledge translated as approval or satisfaction.

“You may unwrap it,” the officiant said.

I carefully peeled back the leaves to reveal what appeared to be small, golden cakes or pastries, flecked with red and purple specks. The aroma intensified—honey and cinnamon and something unfamiliar but mouthwatering.

“They’re called satha,” Counselor Patel explained. “A traditional bonding food. The ingredients are all compatible with human digestion. In fact, they contain nutrients specifically beneficial for humans living in desert environments.”

He’d brought me food. Prepared for me. The gesture was so unexpectedly considerate that I felt a knot form in my throat.

“Should I eat one now?” I asked.

Vuhr answered by selecting one of the cakes and holding it up to me. Not placing it in my hands, but offering it directly to my mouth. Another ritual element, I realized. Feeding one’s mate.

I hesitated only briefly before leaning forward and taking a small bite. The flavor exploded across my tongue—sweet and complex, with layers of spice and something that reminded me of stone fruits. It was delicious, and I couldn’t help the small sound of appreciation that escaped me.

Vuhr’s pupils dilated visibly, and that tail moved again, a quicker motion this time. Pleasure? Pride? I couldn’t be sure.

“Now comes the initial bonding touch,” the officiant said. “Extended skin contact establishes preliminary physiological compatibility.”

Vuhr set the remaining cake back in the package and slowly extended his hand, palm up. An invitation, not a demand. His fingers were longer than a human’s, ending in retractable claws currently sheathed. His palm had pads like a cat’s, but the skin looked soft.

I placed my hand in his.

A current seemed to pass between us—not electrical, but something just as powerful.

Warmth spread up my arm and across my chest, and with it came a sense of presence.

Not thoughts or words, but emotions, impressions.

Curiosity. Respect. Determination. And underneath it all, a loneliness so vast it took my breath away.

He felt it too. I could see it in the way his eyes widened slightly, the subtle shift in his posture. Whatever this bond was, it went both ways.

Vuhr made a third sound, lower than the others, almost a purr. He drew me a half-step closer, and his tail—that dangerous, venomous appendage—curved around behind me in a protective arc, not touching, but creating a barrier between me and the rest of the room.

The message was clear: Mine. Protected. Safe.

And strangely, impossibly, I did feel safe. Standing hand-in-hand with this alien predator who could tear me apart without effort, who communicated in sounds and scents I barely understood, who would take me to a world I’d never seen—I felt safer than I had in years.

“The initial bonding is successful,” the technician announced, checking readings on his tablet.

Vuhr’s grip on my hand tightened fractionally. I could feel his pulse against my palm, faster than a human’s but strong and steady. Whatever lay ahead—whatever this marriage would bring—we would face it together.

I took a deep breath and gave his hand a small squeeze in return. His tail moved closer, the tip hovering near my shoulder now, not threatening but watchful. Protective.

This was my future. Not the slow death of Earth, but life among the stars with this alien warrior who brought me sweet cakes and looked at me like I was precious.

I was terrified. I was fascinated. I was ready.