Page 14 of Mated to the Monster God

ESME

I throw myself into chores—anything to distract my mind from Sagax.

The day is bright with overdue sunlight, the kind that burns the morning dew off leaves and highlights dust motes drifting in the air like ancient spirits.

Tara’s in the medical tent stacking medigel canisters.

I help her measure doses—shielding the trembling memory of what happened last night behind clinical routine.

“Tara, we’re low again,” I say, my voice steady. “If we don’t stretch these, we’ll run out by midnight.”

She glances at me, the concern flickering in her hazel eyes. “I know. You’ve been holding us together. Again.”

I brush it off with a quick laugh, “Just doing my job.” But in the back of my mind, I know why—because facing what Sagax means to me is harder than any Baragon ambush.

Blondie, popping her head into the tent, tries to talk about feverblooms—but I only nod distractedly and retreat into the cool shadows. Mom sees me exit and starts a question. I dodge.

“Oh, just grabbing post-ration supplies,” I say, voice too bright. “Need to check on Jimmy anyway.”

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, not pressing. I catch the look in her eyes—concern mingled with something else. Maybe she senses the shift, the quiet tension rooting between us.

I slip away into the corridors, scent of antiseptic clinging to my clothes.

I find Jimmy in the workshop. He’s kneeling by scattered components, building something corrugated—presumably a toy. He looks up with big, curious eyes.

His pencil tips tap in rhythm with the machinery hum. “Hey, Big Sis. You’re heading out again?”

My heart lurches.

“No—just checking on supplies,” I lie, voice shaky.

Jimmy doesn’t say anything. He ducks behind a workbench while I gather screwdrivers. Fear, relief, and warmth mingle inside me.

Suddenly, he appears by my side. “Sis, I know where you’re going.”

“How?” I hiss.

He shrugs, innocent as the sunrise, and says softly, “Be safe, big sis.”

That’s it. No lecture. No betrayal. Just that. My throat tightens.

I scoop him up in a hug before he can blink. His laughter ripples into me something fierce and wholesome.

“I will,” I promise him in a whisper he doesn’t need to understand.

He digs a thumb into his mouth and melts away around the corner with a small whistle.

I stand alone in the hush of the workshop, the smell of solder and gear oil lingering. I realize then: I have more to lose than ever before. A colony, a family, and a man who might be all I’ve ever truly needed.

I wipe sweat from my palm, pressing it against the cool steel of the table—and let the weight of that sink in. The hum of distant generators resonates through me like a drum ready for battle.

I have responsibilities. To them. To him. And slowly, the panic in me quiets.

I take a breath, grappling with the fear and fierce joy of what I’ve found—and what I stand to lose.

Then I walk back to the medical tent.

The sky splits open with thunder as I stand at the edge of Sweetwater’s perimeter, the wind tangling my hair into knots that smell like rain and iron. I pull my jacket tighter, the fabric still damp from earlier storms and clinging to my skin like a second layer of worry.

Sagax stands beside me—tall, silent, a sentinel transfigured by love and guardianship. His golden eyes track the distant treeline as if it were the threshold between safety and oblivion.

I exhale, tasting cold and fear on my tongue. “We can’t stay here,” I say, voice low but rising. “We can’t just wait for them to spit us out.”

The rain spits ice-cold on my cheek, and Sagax remains unmoved, unmoving.

“But where would we go?” he asks after a beat. His words are soft, but each one weighs like iron. “There’s no help out there for the colony.”

“This isn’t about the colony,” I snap, though guilt hits me sharp and fast. “This is about us.”

He turns to face me, an umbrella of shadow beneath the iron sky. “Then if you go, I will follow. If you stay, I will fight.”

I feel the words vibrate through me—unyielding loyalty not demanded, but offered entirely. It builds inside me like an ocean, unstoppable, overwhelming.

You. You’re mine. I’m yours.

Panic trembles on the edge of my voice. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Sagax. I’m changing. And not all of it feels like... home.”

Lightning flickers through the trees. I remember the dreams—the way he touched me in sleep and waking, and how real it felt. I remember my body, the way it ached for him. I see now I was afraid of how it changed me already.

He takes a step closer, water pooling under his boots. His presence cloaks me warm. Not hot. Gentle. Relentless.

“What about you?” I whisper. “Are you changed by me?”

He hesitates—gone are the blazing warrior mask, the predator’s unshakable calm. In its place: vulnerability carved into his jaw, eyes bleeding gold with resolve.

“Yes,” he finally says. “Every moment with you changes me. Every breath.”

The thunder rumbles again and I wonder if the world’s crashing down—or maybe something is finally breaking open inside me.

I lean against him, and the connection is a lifeline. I hug him nearly convulsively—rain dampening my hair, his scales cool beneath my fingers.

“I’m terrified you’ll change me too much,” I admit to the storm-slick night. “That... once I don’t need you like this, you’ll outgrow me.”

He holds me less tightly—open, not distant. “I am not your future. You are mine.”

I jerk back and stare into his eyes, dull and shining with that impossible gold. The rain pelt becomes delicate around us—each drop a word in a conversation too rarefied to be spoken.

“What if I become someone you don’t—or worse—someone you don’t recognize ?” My voice trembles, fracturing.

He steps toward me again, wrapping me tight despite the hardened ground beneath. “You are Esme. You will always be her. My promise isn’t to who you become. My promise is to who you are now , and to you.”

It hits me then—the depth of it. Not obedience. Not servitude. A choice. A vow that doesn’t bind me—sets me free.

Tears break and I let them tumble down, mixing with rain and grief and hope.

“I love you,” I whisper, but it’s not enough. Too fractured a space.

He kisses my temple, gentle enough to leave impression, strong enough to ground my chaos.

“We both do,” he says. “Let’s do this together—whatever comes.”

I step back into the clearing, water dripping from my lashes. Fear still thrums, but now it’s joined by a fierce sort of hunger.

We stand side by side as the rain morphs into steady drizzle. The colony behind us stands fragile, beautiful, needing protection—and we’re not perfect. But maybe we’re enough.

Rain has begun to drape over the tents, soft sheets of silver that make the colony smell of fresh soil and wood-fire smoke.

Under the shelter of a canvas tarp, I stand pressed into Sagax’s side, rain tracing cold rivulets down his scaled shoulders.

My heart hammers with that wild ache of vulnerability—the thrill of being loved while afraid of what that means.

He cups my chin, lifting my face to meet his gaze. His eyes—those molten, impossible eyes—haven’t softened. That steadiness, that fierce clarity, is what he’s giving me right now: affirmation that our bond doesn’t swallow who I am—it makes me stronger, elevates me.

“You are still you,” he says. His voice is steady, warm like embers in the rain. “You’re not lost in this. You’re found.”

I lean into the sound of his words, into the tremor that echoes through me. “I know,” I whisper, voice small against the steady percussion of raindrops. “But it’s terrifying.”

He brushes a thumb along the line of my jaw. “Good things can be terrifying,” he murmurs, and then presses his lips to mine.

It’s slow and gentle at first, as if he’s mapping the space between us with cautious reverence. I taste rain, the soft ache of longing, and something decidedly familiar beneath it—for so long, he was the monster in my bloodstream. Now, he’s soft here, in this moment, and I feel it in my bones.

I wrap my arms around his waist, and hefolds easily into me. The kiss deepens, sweeter, needy yet tender. My chest presses into his. I can hear my heart in his quiet ribs. It’s a symphony—uneasy notes settling into harmony.

When we break, breathless and still, I lay my forehead against his chest. His heartbeat is a slow tide. The world has paused—the rain, the jungle, even the distant shouts of repair efforts—for a heartbeat just for this sanctuary.

I lean into the safe, steady rhythm beneath me. His scent—spiced earth, something ancient and whispering—soothes the gap between my fear and his love.

“I don’t know what this means,” I confess, voice muffled against his scales.

He strokes my hair. “It means you’re brave enough to love someone who couldn’t love himself fully before knowing you.”

That strikes me with silent force. I feel the gravity of what this connection cost him—and cost me, too. Unraveling, healing, remaking ourselves in half-light.

I lift my chin, gaze layering over him: moonlight, rain-spattered, steady. “What does it make me... if I love you?”

He answers with his mouth on mine, gentle and solid reassurance. But when he leans back, his lips curve faintly. “It makes you... extraordinary.”

Bewilderment blooms in my chest. “Extraordinary doesn’t feel right.”

He brushes my lips again, whispering, “Then let me tell you what it makes you.”

And I do something dangerous, something paradoxically thrilling: I tell him exactly where I stand. “I’m falling in love with a parasite,” I say, voice trembling on the edge of confession. “What does that make me?”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t wince as though the word bites him. Instead, he shifts me gently until our foreheads meet again, breath intermingling with the rain-slick night.

“You’re the only one who ever made me feel human,” he replies, pressing his forehead to mine.

His honesty is the kindling that sets something smoldering alight inside me. A tether threaded through uncertainty—but fierce and irrevocable.

In the hush between us, I taste salt and promise, and a future that’s terrifying but real.

I don’t whisper anything after that. I don’t need to.

I just lean into him, trembling and solid, falling deeper into what we are becoming together