Page 8 of Married to the Manticore (The Monster Matrimony Files #1)

eight

T he officiant’s chambers looked different this time—brighter somehow, though nothing about the austere government office had actually changed.

Same worn chairs, same scratched desk, same flickering light panel that cast everyone in a sickly blue glow.

Yet as I walked in beside Vuhr, his massive frame a comforting presence at my side rather than an intimidating one, I realized the difference was in me.

My steps were steadier. My spine straighter.

My hand, when it brushed against Vuhr’s, didn’t flinch away but lingered, savoring the connection.

The officiant glanced up from her terminal, recognition flaring in her tired eyes.

She was the same one who had processed our initial paperwork—a middle-aged woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe knot and fingers stained with ink from the physical stamps she still preferred to digital alternatives.

“The Manticore and his human,” she remarked, voice dry as ancient parchment. “Back for the final signatures, I presume?”

“Yes,” Vuhr answered, his deep voice rumbling through the small space. His wing shifted subtly, the edge of it brushing against my back in what I now recognized as a protective gesture.

The officiant’s gaze flicked between us, lingering on our proximity, the casual way we stood together. Something in her expression softened imperceptibly. “You seem more settled than when you first came in.”

I smiled, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “We’ve had some time to adjust to the arrangement.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her screen, and documents materialized on the surface of her desk.

“Final cohabitation agreement requires biometric verification, witness statements attesting to mutual consent, and confirmation of living arrangements.” She looked up at us.

“I assume the previously filed domicile is still accurate?”

Vuhr nodded. “The homestead outside the eastern boundary.”

“The desert property,” she murmured, making a notation. “Unusual choice for a human.”

“Not for this human,” I said quietly, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice.

The officiant’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she made no comment, instead sliding the first document toward me. “Press your palm here, please.”

I placed my hand on the indicated space, feeling the warm tingle of the scanner reading my biodata.

As I did, I caught sight of my reflection in the polished surface of the desk—cheeks flushed with health, eyes clear and bright.

When had that happened? When had the hollowed look of mere survival been replaced by something that looked remarkably like contentment?

Two weeks ago, I had been scraping by in the human quarter, taking any job that would keep a roof over my head and food in my belly.

The Cross-Species Cohabitation Act had seemed like just another survival tactic—a way to secure better living conditions and the protection that came with a non-human sponsor.

I had expected to endure whatever came with it, as I had endured everything else life had thrown at me.

I hadn’t expected to find this—this warmth that spread through my chest whenever Vuhr looked at me, this sense of rightness when his tail coiled possessively around my ankle, this feeling that I was exactly where I was meant to be.

The scanner beeped, confirming my identity. The officiant turned to Vuhr, who extended his massive hand toward the device. His claws, usually retracted when dealing with human affairs, were partially extended—a sign of emotion he wasn’t entirely containing.

“Are you certain of this commitment?” the officiant asked him, her professional neutrality slipping to reveal genuine curiosity. “The human population is still uncertain about the Act. Some cohabitations have dissolved within the first month.”

Vuhr’s amber eyes found mine, the gold flecks in them catching the light. “I chose Mira,” he said simply. “I will continue to choose her. Every day.”

Something inside me melted at his words, at the uncharacteristic openness with which he spoke them in front of a stranger. This proud, private creature, declaring his intentions without hesitation.

The officiant looked surprised, then thoughtful. She turned to me. “And you, Ms. Everett? Is this still a matter of convenience for you?”

The question hung in the air between us. Once, I would have answered yes without hesitation. Now, the very suggestion seemed laughable.

“No,” I said, meeting Vuhr’s gaze steadily.

“It might have started that way, but now...” I took a deep breath, gathering courage.

“Now I choose him too. Not because he offers safety or shelter, but because he sees me. Really sees me. And I’m choosing to see him in return, to learn him, to. ..” I faltered, words failing me.

“To build something together,” Vuhr finished softly, his deep voice almost a purr.

I nodded, grateful. “Yes. To build something together. Every day.”

The officiant studied us for a long moment, then sighed—not with exasperation, but with something that might have been reluctant approval.

“Well. That’s more than most couples bring to this desk, human or otherwise.

” She stamped the document with a decisive thud.

“Sign here. And here. Then place your hands together on the final seal.”

We did as instructed, the physical act of signing ancient parchment feeling weighty and significant in a way digital contracts never could. When Vuhr’s massive hand covered mine over the seal, a faint golden light spiraled up from the paper, encircling our joined hands briefly before fading.

“It is done,” the officiant said, adding her own signature with a flourish. “May your cohabitation be...” she paused, searching for the appropriate bureaucratic phrase, then seemed to abandon the script entirely. “May you continue to choose each other, when it’s easy and when it’s not.”

As we left the office, the final papers tucked safely away, I realized with sudden clarity what had changed in me. For years, I had been merely surviving—each day an exercise in making it to the next, each choice calculated for maximum security and minimum risk.

Now, with Vuhr’s wing curved protectively around me and the desert homestead waiting for us beyond the city limits, I wasn’t just surviving anymore.

I was living.