“You’d be surprised,” he murmured, settling across from me. “Humans are remarkably adaptable.”
We ate in companionable silence, the stew rich and hearty, perfect with the flatbread. When I finished, I pushed my bowl away with a satisfied sigh.
“I’ve been thinking,” I began, feeling a flutter of nervousness despite our newfound ease with each other. “About the southern field. It gets good morning light, and the soil seems richer there. I thought perhaps we could plant some of those sweet tubers we tried at the market last week.”
Vuhr tilted his head, considering. “You’re planning for next season already?”
“Well, yes,” I said, then realized the implication of my words. I was thinking months ahead, assuming I would still be here, still be with him. “I mean, if that’s?—”
“I like it,” he interrupted, his tail swishing with what I now recognized as pleasure. “The southern field would be perfect for tubers. And perhaps the western corner for those blue flowers you admired. They’re drought-resistant and would add color.”
The tension in my shoulders released. “I’d like that. A garden just for beauty, not only for sustenance.”
“A home should have both,” Vuhr said simply.
As evening settled over the desert, we moved to the broad window seat that overlooked the expansive landscape. The sun sank below the horizon in a spectacular display of crimson and gold, the sky darkening to reveal stars in quantities I’d never seen in the city. Vuhr settled behind me, his massive frame curled protectively around mine, his wings folded but partially extended to create a cocoon of warmth.
I leaned back against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I never thought I could love a place like this,” I admitted softly. “It’s so different from everything I’ve known.”
His tail coiled around my waist, a gentle pressure that felt like belonging. “And yet you thrive here,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “You were meant for more than city walls and artificial light.”
Later, as night fully claimed the desert, we retired to our sleeping chamber—a large room with a nest-like bed built intothe floor, piled high with soft furs and cushions. I shed my day clothes and slipped beneath the covers, sighing as Vuhr joined me, his body radiating heat like a furnace.
He gathered me close, one wing extending to drape over us both like the finest blanket. His tail, that fascinating appendage I had once feared and now cherished, wound possessively around my thigh. I traced the smooth scales with my fingertips, marveling at how something so alien had become so familiar, so comforting.
“Are you happy here, Mira?” Vuhr asked, his voice a low rumble in the darkness.
I thought about the question, about how much had changed in such a short time. About how I no longer jumped at sudden movements or hoarded food as if each meal might be my last. About how my voice had grown stronger, my laughter more frequent, my opinions more freely given.
“Yes,” I answered, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “I’m happy here. With you.”
His arms tightened around me, and I felt rather than heard his answering purr of satisfaction. As sleep claimed me, wrapped in fur and scales and the scent of cinnamon and wild things, I realized that I had found something I never expected when I signed that first cohabitation agreement.
I had found home.
When morning light spilled through the high windows of our chamber, I woke still entwined with Vuhr, his tail a possessive weight across my body. I watched dust motes dance in the golden beams, listening to the deep, even breathing of the Manticore beside me.
Once, I had been quiet. Careful. Always gauging risk against reward, always looking for the next threat. Living in the margins, speaking in whispers, hoping not to be noticed.
Now, I stretched luxuriously against Vuhr’s sleeping form, feeling the pleasant ache in muscles grown stronger, the confidence in a body that was learning its own power. I no longer whispered. I no longer hid.
In this sun-baked adobe home, with this fierce, gentle creature who had chosen me as I had chosen him, I had found my voice. And I intended to use it.
vuhr’s epilogue
Iwatched 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.
