Zoey Indiana, $0.99, ISBN 978-1005231514
Fantasy Romance, 2021
Emmet Lyons, a human bloke, doesn’t like it when people intrude in his personal space. Therefore, it makes perfect sense for him to work in a bar patronized by horny, rampaging alpha males looking for their mates. Seriously, someone make an app already for these critters.
Oh, and no, this is not a gay romance. I know, we’ve been conditioned to believe that all males are shifters because they won’t be 30-inch peen-ed alpha males if they weren’t, but the shifter here is Ripley, not that Ripley, but a manticore. A lion with a stinger… but no other two heads, for some reason.
She literally collapses onto Emmet and begins the “mating ritual”, because come on, this is a short story and we haven’t got all day. Peen in, everyone’s happy, now pay the author and have a nice day.
“You’re my Tsigo. The only way I can survive your death is if we haven’t finished the mating ritual. Once the bond completes, I’ll die if you do.”
Er, so this mate thing, it’s supposed to be a good thing? I don’t know, I think I’ll pass.
It’s so dumb. Ripley is fleeing a mate arrangement done by her parents, which I don’t see the point of when these critters are destined to mate with their one and only, as determined by a complex algorithm of sixth sense, crotch and armpit stench, death bond, pheromones, depths of the hoo-hoo, length of the ha-ha, and just how long or short the author wants to drag out any semblance of courtship between these characters.
How fortunate that she bumps into her true mate shortly after. She grumbles about having to be mated to a human, but I don’t know. Given how fluid the mate bond seems to be that one can end up fated to mate with anything and everything, she should be grateful that her true mate is not a fire hydrant at a street corner.
The story gets dragged through some farcical lunacy that culminates with a court case, of all things, but I still can’t get past the whole notion of parents arranging a marriage when everyone knows that a true mate is out there, it’s just a matter of time.
Are weddings of these critters cheap? I personally cannot bring myself to spend on the cake, the gowns, the catering, the rental of the venue, the alcohol (oh my god, that is a killer), and more when I know it’s going to be called off soon anyway. Maybe that’s why I’m a boring human and not a sexy were-whatever sniffing at the crotches of hot men to find out which one is my true mate.
I can only hope that real life furry hook-up culture is nowhere as complex and bewildering as the one here.
