Page 3 of The Manticore's Fire

She knew that it was part of the creature’s trap and yet she still was prepared for the growl that trembled in the air. It was far too close when it came, and she was nearly a hair too slow bringing her javelin up in front of her when the creature burst from out of nowhere. Planting her feet, Abby instinctively thrust upward but found herself knocked back off her feet for her effort as her javelin was shoved back at her with surprising force. With a shout of alarm she rolled, barely evading the swiping claws extending from something that was as much a hand as it was a paw. They scored the rock with a loud shriek, and she rolled back, slamming the wooden length of her weapon into the creature’s head.

A curse split the air that gave her a momentary pause, but it was followed by a monstrous bellow that made her blood run cold. Readjusting her grip, she stabbed blindly as the scarab flittered too erratically for her to see as the magic’s attempted to follow her movements. A heavy masculine grunt echoed through the cave as claws scraped across the floor as her javelin’s lethal tip was neatly evaded.

“Fuck me,” she hissed beneath her breath as she attempted to push herself up from her ass only to find her knocked back again when her javelin was wrenched brutally from her hands.

Her breath exploded from her as her back hit the rocks, followed by the thump of her head cracking against the ground, but that was nowhere near as painful as hearing the splintering shatter of wood echoing around her. Her javelin was gone.

Hot breath scored her skin as the weight of the creature prowled over her prone form. She blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear her vision. Deep golden fur and a roughly carved feline face and maned in crimson rose above her. Green eyes, the dark pupils of which contracted into thin, slitted diamonds, stared down at her. The manticore. His mouth opened wide, revealing sharp teeth and fangs and just behind him she could see the shadow of his enormous scorpion’s tail rising for the killing strike.

What remained of her breath shuddered out of her and she dragged in a quick, painful gasp of air as she wrenched a dagger free from her harness and pressed it against the thick neck that bulged beneath the heavy mane that fell over her arm. There was a pause and the creature’s green eyes blinked slowly, its fangs just inches from her face. A thread of saliva dripped from its mouth onto her cheek, and she grimaced.

“Disgusting,” she muttered to herself. The eyes narrowed further in insult, and she smirked at it. “Understood that didn’tyou? Well, perhaps you understand this, you bite down, and I will ram my blade into your damned throat.”

Its breath fanned her in a growl. “Attempt to slit my throat and I will not hesitate to bite off that pretty face.”

It… talked? She attempted to shake the revelation off. After all there were many monsters that spoke and had a clear sentient language that they were still hired to deal with. Raiding orcs and trolls, minotaurs that attacked towns, centaurs… talking did not make an exception but sentience was always something that was carefully weighed and the cause of the attacks thoroughly researched.

“Look you… you. If you dare bite my face… the moment those teeth come down my dagger goes up.”

The creature’s brow furrowed and, as her vision cleared, she became aware of the fact that the leonine face bore distinct human characteristics. In fact, it seemed slightly more human than feline with only the slight exaggeration of the lion around the rise of the muzzle around the lips, the mane, and the conical ears that peaked out from it. The mane itself almost seemed absurdly styled in ringlets. Its lips closed over its teeth as it regarded her, and its nostrils flared in its broad almost humanoid nose. The corner of the mouth quirked faintly.

“Strange thing,” it muttered. “It seems we are at an impasse.”

“Only for the moment,” she countered. “I’m bred for the hunt. I can be patient.”

Its gravelly chuckle filled the cave, startling her. “As am I, little one. But I can outlast a tiny human…” it breathed in again, “female.” There was a slight note of wonder in its voice and its head lowered closer to blink down at her with its luminous green eyes and its nostrils flared again as if drawing in her scent. “Very masculine in trade and garb but definitely female. How curious.”

“Nothing curious about it,” she bit out, infuriated once more that her gender had anything to do with it. “A woman can kill you just as well as a man,” she pointed out hotly.

Another chuckle filled the cavern, this time with considerably more warmth and interest even though the creature did not give her even an inch more space. She felt something brush her leg in a lazy tap that reminded her of cat’s tail, and she froze, her eyes widening as she recalled just what sort of tail the manticore was equipped with.

“Only a man blessed by the gods would be successful in killing me,” he purred. “Perhaps a female might fare better, but it would be sad to find out and lose such delicious company when it has been so very long since I’ve laid eyes on a female’s rounded cheek.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at his wording. “What do you suggest then?”

“Tea,” he rumbled, rising from her abruptly. “Or coffee you prefer. I have plenty of both. The caravans that come close to my cave keep me well stocked.”

Abby blinked, her gaze following the manticore as he prowled from her on all fours before rising onto his hind legs like a man. It was then that she noticed that his build was very much like a man though his chest was broader and structured a bit different and his shoulders less defined and set further back, but he walked with ease without a glance back at her as if confident that she would either follow or that he could deal a killing blow if she dared attack.

So, what was she to do? Go back? If that was even an option, she would have already set across the desert hours ago. There was no chance of Zayman making a return for her so soon. And she had a suspicion that the manticore wasn’t just going to let her flee.

“Are you coming or do I need to fetch you myself?” he called back, affirming her suspicion.

Gritting her teeth, Abby pushed up to her feet. She absolutely hated being at a disadvantage.

Chapter

Three

Abby followed the manticore through the long cavern hall and around the bend, enjoying the warm bath of golden light as it intensified enough that her eyes were able to adjust to it. The cavern that it emptied out into, however, struck her with wonder. This was no mean lair of a beast but was plush with furnishings and brightly colored rugs, and there over a fire burning an enormous hearth, was a kettle.

“Coffee or tea?” the manticore repeated in its deep, gravelly voice and Abby jerked to attention, a blush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks that she had been caught gawking.

“Uh, tea, please,” she replied. She wasn’t about to tell him she hadn’t a clue what coffee was.

He turned toward her, his heavy leonine brow raising. “Do you care for mint?”

A flicker of a smile tugged at her lips before she squelched it. “Yes. I love mint actually.”

---