Page 19 of Mated to the Monster God

SAGAX

I wake to the tender pressure of Esme’s lips against my chest. Her breath, soft and rhythmic, trails warmth over my scales, ignition in the chill of dawn.

The cave air stills, every raindrop above us hanging like silent witness.

I’m intertwined with her—heart muscle pressed against skin and scale, every nerve trembling with wonder.

She moves her fingers, tracing patterns along my ribs—ancient maps reading my soul. The touch is reverent, tremulous. I taste the rain on her lips—somewhere between petrichor and honey—and I realize devotion blooms here, not fear.

I inhale her scent—wild mint tangled with sweat and earthiness—and exhale soundlessly, burnt away by how intimately I love her.

Then she moves, sliding up until she straddles me.

Her warmth floods me. Her hair spills like dark flame across my chest. She places hands on my shoulders, steadying, grounding. Her gaze is fierce in half-light, brilliant with dawn and still-wakes. “I’m here,” she murmurs, voice soft but full of unshakeable conviction.

My claws press into the stone beneath us, spine humming with the charge of belonging. “And I am yours,” I whisper, voice rumbling like thunder under skin.

She leans in, and our lips meet in hunger and worship. Not desperate—but inevitable. A knowing dance in the aftermath of chaos.

My hands glide along her hips, memory etched into muscle, curve, softness. I inhale the salt of her skin, the tremor in her breath, her heartbeat a wild confluence against my palm.

Esme rocks into me, soft moans that echo like prayer through the drips of the cave. Our bodies merge—flesh, scale, heat, need. I taste desire on her tongue, gratitude, joy.

She breaks our mouth-kiss with a gasp, voice blazing. “Sagax?—”

I lower my lips to her collarbone, then trail soft bites along her neck—teeth gentle, claiming. She arches, pulse pounding in my mouth and ribs.

Her hands clench in my hair. I lift her higher, chest to chest, everything lightning-fused. The cave’s breath quivers—the rain outside forgotten.

My tail coils around her waist, holding her aloft. I worship her with every trembling touch, reverence tattooed into our sweat and longing.

We break again—eyes locked. Mine gold and hungry. Hers feral and tender.

“You are mine,” I growl against her skin, voice rich with possessive devotion.

A tremor passes through her. Her breath hitches. “I always was,” she replies, voice full and holy.

She presses into me, claiming me. I respond by marking her with my mouth—gentle bites trailing scars of devotion across her shoulder. Pain and release bloom together on her skin—primal, sacred.

This moment is both carnal and divine. Flesh fused with spirit. Every nerve in my body roars, every scale sings. I hear her pulse echoing in our shared breath, cascading rhythm that ties us beyond words.

Outside, raindrops pound the dish shell. Inside, we are infinite in surrendered fire.

I lean upward and roar her name—low, feral, beautiful as life itself: “Esme!”

Her gasp quivers in reply, shaking me down to the depths. We collapse together, breath tangled, heartbeat thrumming through one another’s veins.

Time dissolves. There is no past. No future. Right now, under the fractured ribs of a fallen world, we are each other’s sanctuary—raw, worshipful, complete.

We stay beneath the fractured arches of the satellite dish, rain whispering around us like a lullaby.

In the dim, fractured light, I cradle Esme’s body close—closer than life itself.

Her eyelashes glisten with moisture, and each breath she draws trembles through me like the last spark of a dying sun.

I’m drowning in the scent of her—wild mint, honeyed sweat, the deep salt of fear turned to survival.

It clings to me, this scent, and I swallow it, it becomes fuel.

My heart pounds so hard I think the world might shatter. I’ve held her through infernos and insect swarms, through storms and ambushes. But in this moment, intimacy forged in soft tremor after love—this is vulnerability. And I feel invincible and terrified in equal measure.

My claws, still glistening with resin and sacrifice, flex in the moss beneath us. If someone dared to take her now, I wouldn’t merely fight—I would obliterate the world for her. The thought steels me with a clarity I’ve never had.

Esme murmurs in her sleep or something like it, face softening. I press my laps against hers, gently swallowing her breath, memorizing the curve of her cheek.

I try to soothe my chaos with whispered reassurance, but my voice is hoarse. “I would—” I start, but the sound dissolves into silence, untethered to words.

She shifts, opening eyes luminous in the silver, bloodshot with the night's ecstasy. She studies me, pupils wide, golden light of dawn reflecting in them.

“Sagax,” she breathes.

I draw her closer, trembling. “I—what I feel for you... it's beyond any battle I can remember.”

Esme cups my cheek, thumb tracing a trembling line along my scale ridge. The touch sends a shiver through me—not fear, but deep, sacred belonging.

She murmurs, voice low and certain, “I trust you.”

That anchors me more than any vow. I feel the swirl of storm inside me settle, replaced by something quieter, stronger—love.

I press my forehead to hers, breath mingling. “You have no idea what that—” I swallow hard, voice cracking. “What that means to me.”

Her fingers tighten. Outside, the rain softens, as if the storm hears us and bows.

I whisper, “I promise you... I would do more than fight.”

She looks at me, her gaze becomes a prophecy. “I know.”

It breaks me open—tears of relief and love flood me, and I cradle her like I’m trying to keep her inside me forever. The scales on my chest press in, wanting to absorb her warmth, memorize the tremor of her heartbeat.

“Nothing can take you,” I vow, voice trembling like water on glass.

She smiles—soft, wounded, unbreakable. I taste her lips again, tasting salvation. My roar dies in my chest, becomes breath turned worship.

In that silence, under broken light and stone, something pulls tight between us.

We are no longer two souls clutching survival. We are forge and fire.

I trace the small scar on her temple—finger gentle as moth wing. “You’re more than enough,” I say. “Always have been.”

She closes her eyes and presses in, offering herself with no fear—just trust. I breathe her in, memorize the scent, taste valor on her lips.

“No one will ever—” I catch myself. Words can fail.

She says, against my mouth: “Just hold me.”

I do.

Rain drums overhead, and we lie bound—blood sweat scale and flesh, but stronger than any blade, tenderer than any lullaby.

Somewhere distant, the world rages on.

Here, under broken satellite ribs, we are invincible in love.

The serene echo of rain under the satellite ribs vanishes with a shrill whoop from the sky—an emergency flare scorches through the morning haze. It blasts red across the dawn, painting the crevasse walls in warning. The alarm pierces me so sharply I nearly drop Esme, still curled against my chest.

I push to my feet, her heartbeat skipping under my fingers. She’s alive, here—but danger’s energy crackles between us like broken lightning.

“Flare,” I growl. The word is ragged with warning and a surge of protective instinct.

Esme’s eyes snap open. “What?—?”

“We’re needed,” I say, voice low and fierce. I stand, moss crunching under claws. She rises, wings of damp hair framing her face. She’s trembling, but resolute.

Outside, the forest thrums—a red flare arching skyward cannot go unnoticed. I scoop her onto my back and burst from the crevasse’s safety.

The outside world has shifted. Dawn’s soft promise collapsed into chaos. Sweetwater lies beyond the trees, but barrier-like drone patrols swarm the clearing. Mechanical whines fill the air. Their sensors glint like malicious stars hunting through foliage.

I lean into the underbrush, pressing Esme lower. The rust of leaves, the whir of propellers, the thrum of fear—each sound is life and death.

“They’re drone patrols,” Esme whispers, voice trembling. “Swift, silent.”

I nod, lips brushing her temple. “Stay low.”

We sprint through the forest’s skeletal arms. The whine splits the silence. One drone spots us, swivel eyes igniting red.

I pivot onto two legs, tail whipping for balance. I snarl, folding the drone with bone and furious intent. Sparks explode, metal shearing like brittle leaves. Esme grips me, breath stuttering.

We cover thirty more paces before two more patrol into view. I don’t wait—snowballing claws shatter the drone’s rotors. It crashes behind us, a mechanical rendition of dead leaves falling.

I keep going. The forest opens. There—Sweetwater’s barricade, hastily erected logs and trenches glistening with rainwater.

I barrel forward, calling out to the colonists. They look up—eyes filled with panic and relief.

“I need passage,” I shout, voice thunder-choked. “Open the barricade!”

Rick, near the palisade, slams a control lever. Logs shudder; the barricade groans and splits.

Inside, organized chaos blooms—colonists scurry, Tara shouting, firing up medigel tanks. Blondie herds children behind cover. The air thickens with the acrid tang of cordite and adrenaline.

As I burst through, the world strains. Esme tumbles from my back, breath ragged.

“Esme,” I growl, reaching for her. She stands, trembling, rain plastering her face. Her gaze rises—up into the sky.

A thundering voice booms down from orbit, crackling across speakers and comms. Mechanical, remorseless.

“Your time is up. Prepare for extinction.”

The voice—Krenshaw’s—drips through the entire colony like poison sugar. Faces twist into horror.

I feel Esme press against me, a tremor finding me through her bones.

Anger surges hot—pure, volcanic. My claws extend involuntarily, digging into my own flesh until I taste iron.

People freeze. Rain washes over their faces, but their eyes are ablaze. I step forward, voice raw with buried fury.

“We fight,” I roar.

And Esme, rain and blood and defiance in her eyes, matches me: “We fight.”

Above, Krenshaw’s voice fades—but the threat lingers, a storm before battle.

I look at Esme. Her strength hums against my spine. I will not let her go.