Arranged Monster Mates

My tiny new wife is a force of chaos bent on turning my life upside down. I am a researcher. I read books, conduct experiments, and live quietly on the fringes of the orc town. All I want is peace, quiet, and a female to satisfy the wild urges of my orc body so they don't distract me from my work. Getting a human wife through the Temple seems like a logical solution-until I bring her home and she starts sowing chaos. She moves my books, cuts my herbs to make bouquets, and replaces the blessed silence with laughter and song. For such a tiny person, she can be very loud. And opinionated. Worst of all, she does nothing to calm my libido. Instead, she makes my body eager and my mind obsessed. She encroaches on my space, my work, my thoughts, and worst of all, my heart. I hate being out of control, yet with her, it's all I can be. This cannot go on. Something has to give. The Temple, a matchmaking service for monsters, shifters, and aliens, is open for service. Contains mature themes.

She is tiny, frightened, and all mine. I won't let her get away. As king of the ice giants, I must have heirs. But our customs do not satisfy me. I do not want a giantess who will bear me a child and then leave to be with another. I would much rather pursue a union the human way: find a partner who will share my bed, bear my children, and stay by my side. Until death do us part. One drop of blood is all it takes to get a match. And when I see her, my cool blood rushes faster in a daze of heat. Only one thought is clear in my mind: she belongs to me. I must claim her before my subjects to prove once and for all this female will not take lovers. She will be mine forever. I will show her vigorously how different I am from puny human males. And once she knows what it means to be with the king of the giants, she will never want to leave. Contains mature themes.

Every living thing is repelled by my corpse-like body . . . but not my wife. Liches are almost gone, only a handful of us left. I must marry to keep my race from extinction, yet how? No living female will ever stoop so low as to marry a lich. People fear us. They say we are the harbingers of death, bad luck, rot, and decomposition. In one last bid to carry out my duty, I request a wife through the Temple. She turns out to be a neglected, sickly thing with trembling hands and downcast eyes, seeking an arranged marriage out of despair. And she's perfect. Her blushes burn hot, her voice rings with feeling, and her kisses taste like summer. She is life personified, all warmth, light, and sweetness, and I crave her like darkness craves the sun. But will she sacrifice her warm, beating heart to a creature of death like me? Contains mature themes.