Page 106 of Monster's Pretty Bride

To belong to him? To give myself over, not because of duty, not because of magic, but because I choose him?

The answer is so simple it shakes me.

“Yes,” I breathe.

He exhales, something easing in his expression. Then he lifts his hand, claws retracted, palm up. An offering.

My heart thunders as I lift mine, pressing my palm against his. Heat surges. The villagers gasp as a ring of light flares between us, magic responding to the vows yet to be spoken.

The elder dips her fingers into the blessed water and draws a sigil on my forehead, then his. “Under the moon’s witness, you bind your souls.”

Naranus lowers his head, pressing his brow to mine. Electricity snaps between us.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice rough with something dark and possessive.

I swallow, breath shuddering. The words come naturally.

“In the way of my people,” I whisper, “I bind myself to you.”

His hands slide to my wrists, gripping firmly, claiming.

“And in the way of mine,” he rasps, “I take you as my mate.”

Magic ignites.

A rush of power, uncontrollable, undeniable, swirls around us, sending dust and petals spiraling into the night. The fire behind us roars higher, and the village erupts into cheers.

Someone sobs. A woman wipes her tears, muttering about how beautiful it is.

Children laugh, their innocence untouched by the weight of the moment.

And through it all, Naranus’ golden gaze never wavers.

I’m his.

He’s mine.

It is done.

The ceremony melts into celebration.

Tables overflow with food, roasted meats, spiced stews, fruit so ripe it drips nectar onto eager hands. Ale flows freely, mugs clinking, voices raised in song and laughter.

The bonfire crackles high, casting golden ribbons of light across the dancers twirling in the center of the village.

Of course, they don’t let us sit out.

“Come on, Warlord!” one of the elders calls, lifting a mug high. “Even mighty warriors must dance for their mates.”

Naranus snorts. “You wish to see me make a fool of myself?”

The villagers laugh. But I narrow my eyes. “Oh, I think you’ll do just fine, warlord.”

Challenge flickers in his gaze. “Is that so?”

I grab his hand. He doesn’t resist.

We step into the clearing, surrounded by clapping hands, stomping feet. The music swells, and suddenly, we’re moving.

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