The sun was low in the sky by the time Ambrose returned to the dorms. After all of the training and assessments, not to mention a short lecture on supplementary equipment and potential courses, Ambrose had finally gotten to write a letter home. She had addressed it to Miz Shatterhorn, as that was the most prominent household in the village, and usually where mail ended up going anyway. In the letter, she had addressed everyone, including checking in on T-Lynn and Kayden. She let everyone know where she was and why it had taken her so long to send them letters. Then she had dove into the details of her wild adventure away from home.

  She had done her best to only spare unnecessary details, and had ended the letter expressing her intentions to start sending home money and supplies as soon as she was able. After that, she'd sealed and sent off the letter. She wasn't certain when she would receive a reply from her people, but she had walked to dinner filled with excited optimism in her heart.

  Dinner itself had been interesting, as she had walked in as a Holstaurus and once again been mistaken for some form of street harlot due to her attire. Switching back to her human form had almost immediately cleared up the issue, but then she had sat moping through her meal, because she genuinely enjoyed being in the cow girl form. She resolved that she would wait until she had proper clothing to dine in the form, but she would begin dining in whatever form she pleased in the future, until the people around her got used to it.

  She'd resumed the form of a Holstaurus once she'd left the main building and headed back to the dorms. She hoped that at least some of her equipment would be ready for her when she got there. Miss Bellwether, the dorm Mistress was so taken aback by her appearance, she didn't even greet or stop her. The other girls she passed in the halls didn't pay her much mind either. When she made it back to the door to her Dorm room, she casually shifted back to being human, used the key to unlock the door, and stepped into the room. What she found in the room was a little disconcerting.

  Laiji, her roommate, was once again at her desk, bent over some piece of paper. Her half of the room was still as Ambrose would expect. Yet her own half of the room was a mess. Books were piled high on her desk, layers of clothes laid across the back of her chair and foot of her bed. Armor pieces had been set up on the mattress and pillows and weapons were propped or resting in any available space in the room. All of her new equipment had not only arrived, but it was laid out for her so she couldn't miss any of it.

  “Ah. You're back,” Laiji said, looking up from her work with a bemused expression on her face, one arched brow raised as she observed Ambrose. “A whole moving crew of men showed up a few hours ago and dropped off an abundance of items and gear. I didn’t move or touch anything, but there’s a whole lot of it. I’m not even sure where you’re going to put half of that stuff,” she continued conversationally. It was the most Ambrose had heard the dark-haired woman speak.

  “That’s okay. Most of it is going to just disappear,” Ambrose said with a knowing smirk.

  —

  “Oookay… So the Pantrada is a fast, light weight, night hunter demi-human with similar enhancement to some gravity and sky elementals,” Laiji confirmed as Ambrose pulled on the top as well as the shorts and the chaps came on with ease. Whatever measurements Lyssandrea had made by eyeballing her forms were spot on. Each outfit Ambrose had tried, from the flowy, light nightwear, to the uniforms for her Holstaurus form (which she had requested in addition to her normal uniforms) were fitted properly.

  “Yeah. They’re like… an evolution from what we know of the everyday cat catfolk. Light on their feet, playful and nimble. They have great balance and sensitive ears and noses,” Ambrose listed off, going over the things that she knew about the catfolk.

  “We know those things about the catfolk?” Laiji asked, a little confused.

  “Yes. I mean, it’s easy to see it in their day to day lives. It’s like… how we know that most elves have a strong bond to nature and the trees. They stay by them. It’s not uncommon to see an elf acknowledge a tree even subconsciously. I’ve never seen an elf stumble over roots or run into branches. Even when distracted. People attribute that to them just being naturally graceful. But in cities and around people, they bump and push all the time,” Ambrose said, casually as she moved on to her Lambda form, looking at the size of the blouse meant for her and then looking down at her bust before sighing and giving a nod. It was likely the right size too. Even if it seemed big. She went looking for the bra.

  “I…. Huh. I mean. I suppose I knew that about elves too, but I never really thought of it. But I’ve also never been around a catfolk for more than five minutes at a time. I was told they are aloof and tricky. That they’re thieves and not trustworthy,” Laiji said with a shrug. The statement gave Ambrose pause, and she looked over at Laiji with a frown, even as she held the cups to her breasts.

  “I’m not saying that’s what I think!” Laiji said, throwing up her hands defensively as Ambrose looked at her with a critical gaze. “It’s just… what I’ve heard all of my life. I’ve never had an opportunity to disprove the stereotype, and the only other thing I’ve been told is that they… and other demi-beasts make for great bed partners. There’s an entire district in the city dedicated to that kind of thing.”

  Ambrose’s frown softened, and she nodded, looking away and returning to adjusting and trying the bra. “While that’s… not really your fault, it bothers me. I was raised around Demi-humans. I know that they’re just like the other races. Everyone has their quirks, their tendencies and vices. Yet the people I grew up with are treated so poorly for theirs.”

  Laiji nodded. “I… I can kind of see where you’re coming from. My class has given me a bit of a new perspective on my own beliefs. Where I come from. The… the woman who raised me taught me to respect and revere the elementals. Not to fear them. Most people see them as violent or unreasonable. But most times they are simply protecting their homes, or their essence when they attack humans. Or they have been robbed or disrespected enough not to tolerate it any more. When… When I feel the building around us… I don’t see the walls like I used to. I see crushed homes and dried corpses. I feel… sorrow. This place… even the castle… they aren’t natural, and the elementals would weep to remain here. Yet… they also understand the needs of humans. They wouldn’t deny a society its rights to space. They just wish we wouldn’t take that space away from them…”

  Ambrose sat and listened, very interested to hear Laiji’s unique perspective. She had noticed that her roommate seemed to be turning into an elemental, but hadn’t thought that such a transformation would come with its own shift in perspective. Ambrose had always thought highly of Demihumans. So it was natural that she loved being able to share in their experiences and their natures.

  It was interesting to hear about a similar experience from someone who went from almost worshiping elementals to becoming one.

  “That said, can you tell me more about that form you put the cloaks on? And the shawls, and hood?” Laiji asked, her cheeks turning a light pink. Getting the Deviswine into clothing had been an uncomfortable experience, as though the form rejected the notion of covering its body on a primal level. Even the pantrada, which had a more wild nature than the Holstaurus or even redcappi form, wasn’t as averse to clothing.

  “I wish I could, but I know very little about that form. I need a bit more time with it to understand it,” Ambrose replied with a gentle, apologetic smile. As she continued working on her equipment and setting certain things aside for later use, Ambrose detailed to her roommate what she could about each of her forms, talking about examples she’d seen or heard of in society, as well as her feelings while in the form.

  While Ambrose hadn’t really thought she was going to grow to like her roommate originally, she found that Laiji was fun to talk to. The girl was both inquisitive and a good listener. She also didn’t mind sharing her own thoughts and perspectives. Sharing ideas with her as the afternoon slipped into the evening was fun, and when Ambrose finally laid down, she drifted off to sleep with positive feelings about her new lodging partner.

  —

  Ambrose woke to the distant blare of a horn from the royal castle, its resonant blare traveling over the grounds with ease. Her eyes went wide and she uncurled from her position on her bed, her feline ears flicking as the first horn was answered by a series of horns in the academy, which was much louder in her sensitive ears. Rather than wait and ponder why she was in her feline form, Ambrose took advantage, rolling out of bed after a deep stretch. Looking over to Laiji’s bed, she found her part- elemental roommate to still be sound asleep.

  Opening the window and slipping out of it Ambrose dropped from her room to the ground, landing in a crouch that absorbed all of the impact of her fall without issue. Ambrose listened, her ears on a swivel for anything other than the blaring of the horns across the city. She was fairly certain all the guards were on alert after the almost entire minute of horn calls. It was during a lull in one of the calls from the Academy that she finally heard something interesting. There was some sort of clash going on near the main gates.

  Taking off at a run, Ambrose threw herself over the dorm fence and onto the property with a simple bound, only to drop, tuck herself and roll into another sprint towards the main gates of the Academy. Her feet carried her with all the amazing speed she had displayed earlier in the day, making a trip that would have taken another person several minutes less than a single minute for herself. When she arrived what she found there was a scene of horror.

  Blood-soaked, strewn corpses littered the pathway and the grass surrounding the gate was soaking in red. The main gates had been blown off of their hinges, shards and chunks of the iron embedded in the yard and several of the bodies. Guards were all struggling to surround… someone. A cloaked individual stood in the center of the large group of armed men and women, evading attacks with almost playful ease. Each time they faded away from a slash, or swirled to the side, something behind them blurred and then someone died.

  The latest victim of that blurred limb fell, a hole big enough to put a hand through gaping in their head, as Ambrose got close enough to get a good look at the individual. The light of the smashed lamps and their burning oil cast the woman in menacing shadow, though her figure was revealed in the flickering light. She was a mightily built woman with a lethal musculature to her. She was not bulky, but powerful, with toned arms and a defined midsection bare beneath that cloak.

  Her legs were coated in dark fur that may as well have been black, and spurs jutted from the ankles of her mighty hind paws. Behind her, arching over her back, was a scorpion tail, long and barbed densely with spikes that dripped venoms and glistened menacingly against the light. The cloak obscured her face from Ambrose's vision, covering just enough of her face that the light of the fires interfered with the natural dark vision of the Pantrada.

  While Ambrose had been told to help when she could, where she could, her entire being told her that she absolutely could not help here. The fact that her enhanced Pantrada form could not keep up with that deadly tail’s movement with her senses was warning enough that approaching the woman would lead to her dying like the guards were. So instead, Ambrose chose to help another way. She would try and keep a tab on this person, and figure out what they were doing.

  The guard nearest the scorpion tailed woman moved in with a skill that seemed to enhance his speed, and only succeeded in running himself into the curved stinger at the end of that tail, impaling himself painfully in his gut. The woman casually kicked him off of her long skewer. “You pathetic worms are nothing before the manticore! Scatter or die here!” she demanded in a husky tone, and a pulse of… something rolled from her. Most of the remaining men broke immediately, turning tail and leaving their weapons in a hurry to get away. Those who hesitated long enough were made an example of with frightening speed.

  Holes appeared in each guard, rapid fire, bursts of red painting the lawn as the Manticore dispatched every remaining guard in her way. The raw carnage the woman left in her wake when she stepped into the campus was appallingly gratuitous.

  Ambrose melted herself into the shadows, maintaining a distance from the woman. For the moment, pursuing and observing was the only real way for the girl to contribute, so she would. The new clothes the prince had supplied made moving along over the grass just as silent and efficient as the silks had been, and much less revealing, which made Ambrose happy. The holsters made the throwing knives she had stowed away at her thighs remain silent even as she darted after the cloaked manticore who moved through the night in powerful, leaping bounds.

  The pair of them were closing in on the main building to the academy when a large blazing ball of fire roared from the heavens and crashed down onto the walkway leading to the front doors. The flames roared and swirled, blocking the Manticore’s progress toward the door, and Ambrose found herself backing away from the magic. She was in no form or position to be taking hits of that caliber. Yet the manticore swiped her claws, her very body seeming to eat at the magic.

  The blast had blown back the hood of her cloak, revealing deep red hair that fell in wild locks around her head and settled on her shoulders, parting around big wildcat ears. Her face was beautiful, bearing natural red markings under her brilliant multicolored eyes. Her cheek bones were high and prominent, her lips pouty and naturally dark in shade. She carried herself with an alluring power that both gave Ambrose pause and kept her at a distance.

  It didn’t seem to deter the teachers of the Academy, though. The Halfling Mage, Mathilde, and the racist Half Orc, whose name Ambrose could not remember and likely never bothered learning, both moved in the way of the Manticore, each of them nearly glowing with the mana rolling off of their bodies.

  “Abomination! You will not pass into these halls!” roared the half-orc. The raw righteous fury in his voice, kind of made Ambrose hope the manticore made it inside, just to prove him wrong.

  “I don’t need to pass into them, ‘holy man’,” she chuckled, her tone sardonic as she spat the title. “My target is right here.”

  Whether by luck, or intuition. Mathilde raised a barrier around the Half-Orc that next instant. Had she been any slower, he would have died. The manticore had moved too fast for Ambrose to process, slipping behind them both and lashing out with deadly intent, her tail poised to sever the priest’s spine and exit through his solar plexus. The barrier didn’t even fully stop the point of the tail. Instead the tail pierced through until its wide bulb met with the barrier and was forced to stop, mere inches away from her target’s back.

  The raw speed and power obviously took both of the teachers by surprise and they shouted in shock as the Manticore turned her attention to Mathilde, swiping another claw at the defenseless woman and cleaving open her robes and chest with the motion, sending her tumbling to the ground, screaming in pain.

  The cleric got his wits about him, casting a spell that radiated from him in blinding, holy light, washing over himself and Mathilde, healing the nearly downed woman as he turned, raising a staff of his own that materialized in his palm. The staff shone brightly, waves of soothing, white light cast off of the gemstone at its head.

  For Ambrose, it was calming, if blinding, but it also seemed to be an attempt to fend off the manticore, one that initially pushed her back one step, then two, before she crouched and then lunged, moving again with such speed that Ambrose could not track her until her claws were severing the head of the staff from its haft, and the cleric was diving to the side, blood streaking his chest and side. He hit the ground with a deep groan, his blood spilling over the grass.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Mathilde hadn’t even had the time to pull herself from the ground before she was trampled by the pass of the manticore and slammed into the lawn. A second later, the wicked sting of that scorpion tail had nailed her into the grass, once, twice, thrice in a second. Ambrose couldn’t even follow the blur of the tail with how quickly the Manticore was moving at that point. Yet if Mathilde died and there were no items around to help her, the young woman was certain that the half orc would be dead soon, she had no idea what could be done to help either of them, and a feeling of powerless despair tried to settle in on her, until she reminded herself of her lack of investment, both in this place and its people.

  If Lyssandrea encountered the Manticore and perished… maybe then, she would allow herself to feel anything more than sympathy for these people. Until that point, she would do what little she could and observe what she couldn’t. What she observed next had her eyes widen.

  In a blaze of purple flames, the second prince of Diestol dropped free of the main building, rocketing toward the Manticore and his own allies. His armor gleamed in the moonlight and his roar of combat echoed in the fields. The impact he made blew away Mathilde, who tumbled into a limp heap as his violet fires washed over the grass and flowed into the air in tongues of brilliant light.

  The half-orc raised a hand, summoning a glowing barrier that held against the pressure the prince exuded with his entrance, though cracks spidered along it to resist the sheer force of the prince colliding with the Manticore. She had blocked the blade of his weapon with a forearm now coated in scales that reflected the violet hue of his flames. With a swipe of her arm she tossed the prince’s weight off of her, putting him back several feet before he landed.

  “What manner of beast is this?” The prince shouted. “Adgaton?!”

  “She is unknown to me!” The half-orc called back, summoning up a complex weave of magic. “She feels like nothing I've seen before.”

  The prince staggered back, parrying away a stab from the tail, his armor glowing around him. He seemed much more well protected now that he had the armor on. In the center of his chest, Gloin shone brightly, the protector of this land standing between him and his enemies in a figurative sense. He kept his blade high and in a guard position as he monitored the manticore.

  “I am the manticore. I have feasted on dragon and devil, tasted the flesh of succubus and god, bathed in the essence of divinity and the heated fury of the mountain. I am apex and hunter! I am destruction and renewal! I see your folly, man. And I bring judgement!” The manticore hissed, red flames licking at her beautiful lips before a hissing, screaming stream of fire blazed past them, catching the unprepared prince in the chest and blowing him through the front of the school.

  The doors crashed open with his impact, and the Manticore rounded on Adgaton, her smile cruel across her face. The half-orc tried to reinforce his own barrier, but it shattered under a series of barely perceptible strikes from the barbed tail. “Come, ‘holy man’, let me return you to your precious lies. Guidance in this life, and the after,” the Manticore taunted, her tail tracking the man’s head as he tried to retreat. The cleric seemed unable to summon his own spells in a short time. Ambrose tensed, her body wanting to pull into motion, but her own good sense refused her. She would not be able to save the half-orc, no matter what she did, now that he was cornered.

  A stream of purple flame shot from the doorway, searing across the space to slam into the Manticore who caught the flames in a clawed hand, seeming to absorb the very heat of the flame and draw it into herself. Even as the prince left the building, advancing and channeling his flames, she continued to absorb them. He did succeed in distracting her from Adgaton, who dove back and to the side, evading an errant stab from the tail for the most part. A pair of barbs broke off of the tail into his shoulder, but he otherwise landed fine, beginning to retreat for distance.

  The Manticore turned, matching the advance of the prince, both closing in on one another until Ulfrig could swing, bringing his blade down in a mighty chop that was batted off course and sank into the stone of the walkway. He raised an arm, blocking a closed fist from the manticore that rang loudly against his armor as he used his other arm to free his blade from the ground, leaning back he tried to kick the monster in the chest, only for her to step outside of his kick and behind him, opening her mouth. Flames exactly like the ones he had tried to roast her with streamed from her mouth, washing over him and sending him tumbling into the grass, his armor shining brightly as its enchantments protected him from what likely would have been death.

  A volley of Ice lances flew at the Manticore from behind as Mathilde continued casting spells. The caster seemed to have gotten a potion into herself before she bled out, and now she was trying to cover Ulfrig as he scrambled to his feet in order to re-engage. Perhaps with the three of them in the mix, they could overwhelm this attacker. Ambrose looked to see where Adgaton was on the field, only to find him spasming and twitching on the ground, a white foam at the corners of his mouth.

  Circling the fight as the Maticore rounded on Mathilde again and surged forth, only to be blocked by a thick, spiked wall of ice, Ambrose moved closer to the priest, trying to find out what was happening to him. She crouched over him, his blind eyes not seeing her as his body thrashed. The clash behind Ambrose intensified as the young woman found the barbs from the manticore’s tail were still lodged into the man, black veins spreading from where they had entered his body. Was the manticore able to poison him this badly even from a grazing blow?

  Reaching out quickly, Ambrose plucked the barbs from the half-orc, hoping it would help. The spikes came away tearing flesh out with them and leaving the man bleeding, but a burst of light and a sense of impending danger forced Ambrose away before she could do more. A searing bolt of lightning tore through the air above Adgaton, a missed shot that nevertheless would do harm wherever it landed.

  A hissing pain brought Ambrose back to herself, and she looked away from another clash between Ulfrig and the monster in order to see that the skin where she was contacting the barbs was already starting to blacken. She tossed them both away in a hurry, terrified that the venom was so volatile.

  Not wanting to be anywhere near the barbs, or the rest of the fight, Ambrose took advantage of her body’s natural talents and snuck away from that spot, giving herself range and vantage as she watched the manticore block a series of arcing slashes from the prince, batting away the blows only to try to counter and be forced back by another volley of ice lances from Mathilde.

  Ambrose thought for a moment that the pair of them had an advantage, and could win against their deadly opponent. But as if the universe intended to prove her wrong, the manticore blurred out of her vision again. When she reappeared, it was with her tail piercing the halfling woman through the heart. Rather than stop there, she unleashed another gout of the prince’s purple flames, roasting the beautiful caster in an instant, until the tiny, smoldering bones of the woman tumbled free of her tail atop a pile of ashes.

  The prince screamed in anguish and rage while Ambrose winced, watching on in fearful awe as the Manticore stepped forth and crushed the skull of the fallen magus with her paw. The bone crumpled and crumbled away, ash flowing like sand from a stomped sandcastle.

  Rage took the man and he launched himself at the manticore, his sword blazing with righteous heat. Yet every slash he made at the monster was evaded, the enemy calculating and reading his each movement with uncanny accuracy. She let him keep swinging, allowing him to maintain his frenzied offensive and wear himself down. He was too angry, too enraged to notice that he was being lured into a trap.

  Ambrose couldn't and wouldn't warn him, though. She was completely out of her league. Instead his warning came in the form of a kick to the side. The platinum knight, Margaux moved in, in a streak of gleaming white-silver and slammed her foot into his side, sending the prince sprawling and tumbling off onto the grass.

  The attack happened so suddenly Ambrose and the Manticore were both stunned by the friendly assault. Then Margaux moved, diving away from the Manticore in time to only receive scratches on her armor in exchange for her proximity to the monster. A second later, a rip appeared in the very air, directly in front of the manticore and from it stepped the cloaked guardian of the Heiress of the Advelhein Empire. They moved with a casual calm that screamed of confidence and power, stepping toward the Manticore and raising a hand from the confines of their robes.

  Fine translucent shards sang through the night, their sharp edges glimmering in the moonlight and forcing the Manticore to dodge, her body moving with the same power and grace as she had maintained through this entire raid. Even when the extended blade of Margaux’s sword entered the fray, they deftly evaded, managing to slip in a stab with her tail at the cloaked opponent.

  They countered her attack with a blast of electricity that, by all logic should have locked up the monstrous opponent, but the power simply ran along the carapace as the sting dug a hole into the cloak. The guardian disappeared, melting into the shadows only to reappear several feet away from the manticore, who swirled under a series of wide, horizontal slashes from Margaux, only for the Prince to rush in again.

  The cloaked mage raised his hands, summoning forth large lances of clear, shimmering ice and began launching them at the woman whenever a lull in the battle occurred, not giving her another opening for a devastating counter.

  Kicking the prince away with a sharp clawed back paw to the chest that sent him sprawling, the Chimera slowed herself, not pursuing him like the cloaked mage predicted and standing still. “It seems I’m out of time to play with you all. But I already got what I came for,” she chuckled, her grin turning devious.

  “Oh no you don’t!” Margaux shouted, dashing forward and trying to close the gap to keep the Manticore locked in combat, but she was no match for the manticore’s speed. By the time she had made it to where the other woman had been standing, she was already gone, taking off across the campus grounds with loping strides.

  “I’ll get you, you b-” Margaux began, but the shady voice of the cloaked M rank, resonated out over the area.

  “Margaux! No! Calm yourself. I have an injury and we must tend these wounded,” the voice commanded. Margaux growled in frustration as she hesitated, obviously wanting to pursue the enemy. Then she turned tossing her helm off and to the side as she moved over to the Prince.

  Ambrose didn’t waste another second sitting around with them. If they were going to tend the wounded, Ambrose needed to catch up with that Manticore. Luckily, she was in possibly the only form she could do that in already. Darting off into the night after the scorpion tailed woman, she only hoped that things would somehow work out.

  —

  The Pantrada stalked the scorpion tailed woman across the rooftops, shifting along walls and shadows with tight, stunning ease. Her body was meant for this, to stalk, to hunt and observe and so she had little trouble silently keeping up with her target. The cloak on the woman's back shifted as she moved, leaping the rooftops as she moved further from the castle, toward the wall.

  Part of Ambrose thought to cut the other woman off, but the aura around her screamed that the woman was both powerful and still ready for conflict, even after her fight at the academy. Instead, it would likely be best to see if she could be tracked to her hiding location, and then for Ambrose to back off. Of all of the people she had encountered to this point, this was one Ambrose felt certain she could not defeat without taking serious harm or risking her own death.

  Even as she was considering such dangers, the woman slowed as she neared the walls, moving near the river gate into the city. Without hesitation, she dropped from the roof, and down into the street where there seemed to be several dwarvish workers shifting crates from the water and into a wagon.

  One of them noticed the girl approaching and stopped what he was doing. “Oy, miss. I'll be needing ye to return to ye-” he began, but his sentence never finished. The Scorpion tail struck with swiftness and accuracy that even Ambrose in her current form felt she couldn't evade. The man didn't even notice the movement until five of her barbs were lodged in his throat. The tail hadn't lodged its point into the man, instead simply moving close past his head and stuffing him with the long, venomous, six inch barbs that had protruded from her tail. The raw speed of the movement broke the barbs off into his face and neck, and seconds later he dropped, convulsing in pain.

  The men on the riverside noticed immediately and moved to attack, drawing weapons from pockets and scabbards, but Ambrose could tell it was hopeless. Their speed was nowhere near close to the speed the other woman had displayed, and that tail was beyond lethal. Within moments she had slaughtered all ten of the men who had been unloading the boat. Then she moved over to the little raft, looking down into it as though evaluating it. Perhaps it was supposed to be her path out of the city?

  Ambrose moved closer, keeping to the rooftop, but looking down at the transport to see if there was anything special on it. Yet as she did so, one of the shingles on the roof cracked under her light weight. It must have been brittle from years of disrepair. Ambrose grimaced and looked down at the shingle before looking back to where the manticore was… had been. She was gone.

  “I… did not expect to find a sister of the jungle here,” a husky voice said from behind her, making her tails go rigid in surprise.

  Ambrose turned, keeping her body low, only to find the scorpion tailed woman behind her, watching her, that deadly tail tracking her every movement. Their gazes met, and… then they both paused. Something magnetic seemed to sync up between both of them, the very world pausing around Ambrose as she found herself locked in on the other woman. Now that they were so close to one another, her beauty seemed magnified a thousand times over. Her face, and the powerful, bestial grace she carried in her every movement were radiant in Ambrose’s vision. Ambrose lifted a glowing hand to move her bangs away from her face, exposing her uniquely rainbow shaded eyes and white lashes as she tried to look into the other woman.

  The shifting shades of the rainbow met the roiling hues of an aurora, and both women stared into one another as a draw on her being pulled her toward the dangerous monster. The manticore matched her movement, stepping closer, both of them still intensely locked together in the moment. Ambrose licked her lips, goosebumps rising on her skin in anticipation of what would happen when they finally made contact, even if she didn't know what it was. She wanted, no, needed to feel the manticore.

  “What…. What are you?” The manticore asked, stepping forth on her black paws until the two of them were close enough to reach out and touch. Ambrose knew she was well within a kill zone. The woman's tail could lash in an instant and slay her. Yet she felt no fear, only the heat of danger that flowed from the woman who was even at that moment, reaching out with a clawed hand.

  Ambrose had never known the touch of a lover. She'd never had the opportunity and the right person to mingle with. Yet when she dropped her bangs and reached out to meet hands with the Manticore her body felt comfortable, like it was embracing an old friend. Their fingers intertwined and the Manticore, who was the taller of the pair of them, stepped forward again, using her free hand to sweep Ambrose's bangs away from her face, reconnecting their gazes.

  The closeness, the proximity of the manticore had Ambrose's body tingling, flustered sensation roiling in her stomach as she was suddenly nervous, docile in the arms of this… this…

  “Beautiful. Truly beautiful,” the manticore said, her scent, a bouquet of spices and wildflowers, filling Ambrose's nostrils. “A soul so fine, a body so rare. You are… exquisite,” she whispered, her husky voice filling Ambrose's head and washing away her thoughts like the tide washed away footprints on a beach. It was so simple just to be close to this woman, to be wrapped in her power and her scent. Their bodies talked and touched with the familiarity of years, as though they’d mingled and danced for an eternity before this moment.

  Her words had Ambrose blushing, squirming like a young maiden under the attentions of some favored suitor. Her fingers squeezed the Manticore’s hand, and the taller woman squeezed back. Ambrose had never felt like that before in her life and her heart pounded in response. Her breathing was wild and unsteady, almost ragged with an excitement Ambrose couldn’t place..

  “You are so young, yet you have the bearings of a wife. Were I not so called upon, I would take you, jungle sister, and show you the wonders of being a Manticore's wife,” she growled, the noise coming across much deeper and fiercer than the Manticore's size would indicate. The rumble sent tingles up Ambrose's spine and she gasped. She felt eager, desperate in that moment, to find out what that was like. To be a wife…

  “Alas, my business calls me. I must be gone. Yet… if I find you again, young flower, I will pluck you, and take you for my own,” she said, leaning in and pressing her lips to Ambrose’s. The kiss was nothing like trading air with Henric had been. No other contact in her life had filled her with such heat, such passion, such molten desire. Her core burned with yearning from even the light contact and for a moment, she feared that she would catch fire. Her hips pressed to the manticore as her body made its longing clear. Yet less than a second later, the cool caress of the night air was all that was left on Ambrose's lips, and her fingers were curled around nothing, her bangs falling back to cover her eyes, which had fluttered closed during the moment of union.

  Ambrose turned her head, looking for the Manticore and then turned around, only to see the scorpion tailed woman already on the raft and pushing off into the flow of the water, though Ambrose could tell that they were still looking at one another, even as the Manticore drifted away.

  Reaching up with the same hand that had been locked with the other woman's, she touched her lips, feeling the lingering heat of their moment together. “Show you the wonders of being a manticore’s wife,” echoed in her mind and made her knees weak.

  By the time she had the wherewithal to realize that she was losing her target along the river, Ambrose couldn’t see the manticore any more.