Page 5 of Married to the Manticore (The Monster Matrimony Files #1)

five

S unlight streamed through high windows, warming the furs piled around me in a nest-like arrangement.

I blinked awake slowly, my body aching pleasantly in unfamiliar ways.

The events of the previous night returned in vivid flashes—the ceremony, the bonding, the intensity of it all.

I stretched carefully, cataloging new sensations: the lingering tingle where Vuhr’s venom had entered my system, the subtle marks his tail had left across my skin, the changed scent of my own body now carrying notes of his.

I turned my head and found Vuhr still asleep beside me.

In repose, his features seemed softer, the predatory intensity temporarily banked.

His wings were partially unfurled, one draped over my legs like a living blanket, warmer and heavier than any Earth-made comforter.

His tail had loosened its grip on my thigh during the night but still maintained contact, the tip twitching occasionally as he dreamed.

What dreams visited a Manticore warrior? I wondered. Did his kind dream as humans did, in fragmented stories and symbolic imagery? Or was it something entirely different, something I could never fully comprehend?

I studied him with the freedom that his unconsciousness allowed.

The rise and fall of his broad chest. The occasional flick of his ear.

The place where tawny fur gave way to the more delicate skin of his face.

In the golden morning light, I could see hints of copper and bronze in his coloring that hadn’t been visible under the ceremonial lights.

He was beautiful. Not in any human way, but in the way that apex predators were beautiful—perfectly designed, powerful, dangerous. And now, somehow, mine.

A slight change in his breathing told me he was waking.

His golden eyes opened, pupils contracting rapidly in the bright light before focusing on me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then his mouth curved into what I recognized as a smile, though on his leonine features it might have looked like a threat to someone who didn’t know better.

“You’re still here,” he said, voice rough with sleep.

“Where else would I be?” I replied, reaching out tentatively to touch his face.

He turned into my touch, a rumbling sound emerging from his chest that reminded me of a purr. “Some humans experience regret after bonding. The venom’s euphoria fades by morning.”

“No regrets,” I assured him, echoing my words from the night before. “Just adjusting.”

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. With a stretch that extended his impressive wingspan nearly to the walls of the chamber, he rose from our nest of furs. I watched, still somewhat disbelieving, as my husband—my mate—moved around the room with casual grace.

“You must be hungry,” he said, pulling on a simple garment that accommodated his wings while leaving his chest mostly bare. “Wait here.”

Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me alone in the sunlit chamber.

I took the opportunity to examine my body in the clear morning light.

Small bruises dotted my hips where his hands had gripped me.

A faint pattern of marks traced my inner thighs where his tail had marked me with scent.

At the junction of my neck and shoulder, the puncture from his venom glands had already closed, leaving only a slight discoloration that would fade to a permanent, subtle mark—visible proof of our bond.

I wrapped myself in one of the silky robes provided for guests of the Sanctuary Compound and padded to the window.

The view revealed a corner of the grounds—lush gardens designed to accommodate various alien species, some plants familiar, others utterly foreign.

In the distance, mountains rose against a sky that was almost, but not quite, the blue of Earth’s.

A reminder that while this place had been made welcoming for me, I was the alien here.

The door opened, and Vuhr returned carrying a tray laden with food. The smell hit me immediately—warm, yeasty, with hints of spices I couldn’t name.

“You bake?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise.

His ear flicked in what I was learning indicated amusement. “Did you think we only consumed raw meat and the hearts of our enemies?”

“I—” I began, then caught the teasing glint in his eye. “Very funny.”

“Bonding bread is traditional,” he explained, setting the tray on a low table and gesturing for me to join him. “In the old days, when warriors would return from battle with new mates, the bread provided necessary nutrients for recovery.”

“Aftercare bread,” I murmured, settling beside him.

“Precisely.” He tore a piece and offered it to me. “It’s adapted to human digestion. I spoke with the nutritionists.”

The thoughtfulness of this gesture struck me unexpectedly.

Of course, I knew that Vuhr was intelligent, considerate in his way.

Our courtship had been careful, respectful.

But this—anticipating my needs, ensuring my comfort in a way that honored his traditions while accommodating my biology—revealed a depth of care I hadn’t fully appreciated before.

The bread was delicious—dense and slightly sweet, with a complex flavor that reminded me vaguely of sourdough but with unfamiliar undertones. We ate in comfortable silence, occasionally feeding each other bites in a ritual that felt both strange and natural.

“Tell me about your clan’s morning traditions,” I said, genuinely curious. “What would we be doing if we were with your people?”

Vuhr’s expression softened. “The newly bonded are given privacy for three days. When we emerged, there would be a feast, and you would be presented with clan gifts—weapons mostly, but also practical things. Tools for whatever craft you practice.”

“They give weapons as wedding presents?”

“To show they trust you to defend the clan. It’s a high honor.” He hesitated, then added, “I have something for you, though not a weapon. Not yet.”

From a pocket in his garment, he withdrew a small object and placed it in my palm.

It was a pendant on a chain, the metal unlike any I’d seen on Earth—shifting in color as the light hit it, somewhere between silver and blue.

The design was intricate, showing what I recognized as the emblem of his clan interwoven with a symbol I didn’t know.

“This is your personal mark,” he explained, touching the unfamiliar pattern. “I worked with the artisans to create it based on your essence. In our tradition, every being has a unique signature. This is how the clan will know you.”

I closed my fingers around the pendant, unexpectedly moved. “It’s beautiful.”

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to put it on me.

I nodded, turning so he could fasten it around my neck. His claws, deadly weapons capable of tearing through armor, managed the delicate clasp with surprising dexterity. When the pendant settled against my skin, I felt a slight warmth, as though it was alive somehow.

“It’s reactive to your body chemistry,” Vuhr explained. “It will grow warmer when you’re near clan members, coolest when you’re alone, and somewhere in between with strangers. A protection measure from ancient times.”

I touched it wonderingly. “So I’m never truly alone while wearing it?”

“Not as long as I live,” he confirmed, his expression solemn.

Something shifted then, in my perception of him, of us.

The alliance I had entered for protection, for mutual benefit between our peoples, suddenly felt like something more profound.

I saw Vuhr not just as my assigned protector or even my mate, but as a partner—someone who thought of me as an extension of himself, who considered my needs and comfort as his own responsibility.

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against his in the gesture I’d learned was intimate among his kind. His eyes widened slightly in surprise before closing in contentment.

“Thank you,” I whispered, meaning it for more than just the pendant.

His tail curled around my wrist in response, a gesture that felt, somehow, like coming home.