Page 20 of Mated to the Monster God

ESME

D awn breaks gray and brutal across Sweetwater, but the colony buzzes with grim purpose—not coffee or idle chatter, but the clack of shovels and the roar of fusion charge firing.

Trenches are gouged into the earth, muddy lines cutting through the plains like wounds given deliberate shape.

A matrix of half-forged defenses rises: log barricades cemented with clay, fusion blocks humming with weird blue energy, and towering perimeters manned by anxious hands gripping scavenged rifles.

My muscles ache, not just from hauling medigel and resin vials but from command. I bark orders with steady urgency, “Channel two teams to the southern wall! Keep that trench flooding—we need to slow anything crawling across floodlight range!”

The air vibrates with fear and iron. Someone hammers down barbed wire—fractured steel singing in damp morning. The smell is electric—ozone and rain-touched earth and latent fear. Every inhaled breath is both fuel and warning.

Sagax never leaves my side. His shadow follows me, tail coiled protectively around my ankles, presence tethering me to courage when I teeter on exhaustion. His eyes—steely and golden—scan the horizon, always calculating, always ready.

Blondie scuttles past with a satchel of extra medigel—those small vials of shimmering resin mixed for long-term healing, now a constant ritual.

I grate out instructions, “Keep them chilled with ice-synth! Don’t let the heat ruin the compound!”

Tara, hair plastered to her face with rain, calls out for more feverbloom resin. “Esme! We can’t keep up with demand! People are going down fast!”

“I’m on it,” I yell back, handing her a fresh batch. My spine aches—every muscle trembles—but adrenaline ignores exhaustion.

The sky is pregnant with thunder, thick and heavy. In between ordering supplies, I steal a glance at Sagax. His chest rises and falls with steady certainty—a reminder everything we’ve sworn to protect.

At midday, the colony huddles as rain drums lessons into grit.

I move through trenches, checking splintered barricades, comforting the frightened, administering medigel vials.

The smell of antiseptic mingles with wet earth as I smooth another bandage.

Rick staggers by, rattling gun stocks, sweat and blood on his brow.

I grip his shoulder. “Hold fast. You’re our line,” I say. His nod is tight with love and fatigue.

Later, I find Sagax and pull him aside. Mud slicks our boots. Hammering rain hisses on our heads. I lean into him—the scent of rain and resin and his pulse grounding me.

“Tomorrow…” I begin, voice soft between the storms.

He presses his fingertips to my cheek. “Tomorrow we face them.”

I swallow the tremor. “I want… once this is over, I?—”

Before the words spill, I catch a spark in his eyes. The rain stalls—like the world’s holding its breath.

I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his chest. His heartbeats ripple under scale—the cradle of all I’ve fought for. He swallows, breath brushing into rage and tenderness.

“When it’s done,” I murmur against him, “we’ll—go away. For real.”

He places a hand at the nape of my neck. Thunder rolls overhead. He tilts me up until I’m on my toes, then kisses me—deep, urgent, fragile with promise.

Rain drifts into my hair, into his hair.

His mouth ghosts every ache in me—fear, exhaustion, longing—all melting into a single vow.

I step closer, pressing into the beat of his chest. “I love you,” I whisper, not needing curtain or limit.

In the steel-hushed chaos of our war-forged world, our lips meet, a silent covenant. I taste dawn and hope and the promise of home.

When we finally part, the rain picks up, wind lashing us, world roaring again—but here, in this stolen moment, I am anchored.

“Hold me,” I breathe.

He does.

The biolab’s ruins smell of antiseptic ghosts, damp metal, and cold stone—but in this moment, it’s our sanctuary.

We slip through the shattered doorway, wet boots slapping on the cracked tile.

Sagax presses his scale-warm hand to my back, guiding me deeper into the ruined med bay.

Instruments lie scattered and inert; rusted trays, cracked vials, everything abandoned when war uprooted our routine—but now it cradles us.

We strip without words, clothing slithering away like memories we no longer carry.

Each piece falls to the tile with sound muted by the storm outside.

My bare skin prickles with chilled adrenaline, yet, with every shift closer to him, warmth blooms, fierce as wildfire.

Rain slashes the broken windows, drumming relentlessly.

The air tastes metallic and electric. And with him—scale against skin, bone, breath—I feel alive in a way neither battlefield nor barricade ever awakened. My pulse smacks in my ears like a war drum, calling me home.

Sagax’s fingers trail along my spine—light, deliberate, as if memorizing the paths of memory and desire.

I shudder, tipping into him. His arms sweep around my waist—A fortress.

His breath brushes my ear, voice low, nearly a rumble.

I can almost hear it in my mind—his thoughts echoing: You are mine.

The promise vibrates through my skull, my heart, my blood.

His hands travel urgent paths—up the curve of my thigh, rising, commanding—no hesitation, only devotion sketched in heat and hunger. I gasp, shudder under the weight of how thoroughly he knows me, commands me, cherishes me.

“You feel like fire,” he murmurs again, voice thick with reverence.

He’s not just speaking. He’s channeling need, wrapping me in force of his will and love. In his eyes, my fear has cracked. He replaces it with gratitude, devotion.

Every breath with him is urgent, fluid. Rain beats overhead, echoing our rhythm—fast, insistent, alive.

He lowers me onto an old stainless-steel counter—cold, unforgiving metal—but beneath his touch I bloom. There’s no fear. Only surrender. It’s different now—the surrender of someone who trusts, who knows it’s love steering their submission, not fear.

He kisses me with tenderness that turns fierce. His mouth is serious as thunder. Lightning blooms through the windows. I arch into him. His grip at my hips tightens.

My fingers catch in his hair—wet, tangled, slick with rain and longing. “You are mine,” he rasped earlier. It’s more than claim. It’s vow.

My breath shudders. “And I am yours,” I say, voice trembling but clear, fierce.

His fingers brush over my heart—a whisper—“I’ll die if you fall.”

The edge of panic and love slices open me.

He tilts his head, chest pressing between my breasts. “Then I won’t,” he whispers.

Every atom in me freezes, then erupts. It’s no longer protection. It’s promise. The vow of a warrior willing to reshape worlds for me.

I press forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss that burns—hot and sacred. His arms engulf me; we shatter into each other, breath stunned with devotion.

We collapse—entwined—onto years of broken tile and weapon parts. Rain cascades around us, a symphony for our communion.

This time, the heat isn’t survival. It’s love—fiery, triumphant, unafraid.

I trace the line of his jaw after, lips trembling. “I love you,” I whisper with fierce reverence.

He swallows. “I love you.”

The words shape around us like a pact. Rain drips into puddles that echo our promise.

We fall into each other—no more fear, no more defenses. Only love, raw and glorious.

In the biolab’s ruined sanctuary, with rain as witness, our souls entwine anew.

And I know—this isn’t just sanctuary. It’s the birthplace of something unbreakable.

The world around us rumbles with unspent storm, vines trembling on metal beams overhead.

Sagax and I step out of the ruins of the biolab, thighs pressed tight against one another, sweat and rain steeling our resolve.

The colony blazes background life—trenches freshly carved, torches flickering in the twilight—but for now, I carry him like sanctuary.

He waits, tail wrapping around me like a living rope of safety, and I press my palm to his chest. The beat of his heart thrums like a pulsing drum against my palm—steady, fierce, sure.

“Your hands saved me,” I murmur, voice raw, eyes flickering with raw emotion.

He smiles, rough edges softened by dawn. “Your courage saved me.”

I lean into the warmth of his body, air metallic and damp—a taste of victory electrocuting the sense of fear. The storm beyond waits on the horizon, thunder circling like predators at the edges, reminding us of what’s to come.

But in this moment, we exist where the violence can’t touch us.

We walk toward the barricades, where colonists bustle and guns hum. Mud caked on boots, wet cloth on skin, fear in every heartbeat—but we carry quiet flame between us now. We don’t speak until we reach the line.

Morty drags another barrel of ammo through the muck. I catch his eye—mud-slicked and brave. “Stay safe,” I say.

He nods, voice tight. “You too.”

I don’t dismiss him; I offer a true wish.

Beside me, Sagax bends down to whisper to little Summer—eyes wide, she clutches her mother’s apron. His tail brushes her ankle. She giggles at the comfort—magic. My chest lifts.

I head to the med area where Tara hands out extra medigel. I catch her eye—we share solidarity forged in blood and hope. I nod and she passes me a fresh satchel.

“Thanks,” I say. She squeezes my shoulder.

“Bring it back in one piece,” she calls.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” I retort, more a vow than promise.

Hunger claws at me, but it recedes compared to this white-hot focus.

Sagax stands beside me. His shadow looms large, soft yet in control. I reach for his hand—an anchor.

“Storm’s building,” he whispers.

Something heavy shudders in the sky—thunder cracks. Rain lashes down—patented fury. The sky churns with jagged darkness, flashing veins of lightning illuminating fear in everyone’s eyes.

But fear has become fuel.

I turn to Sagax. The world trembles, but his gaze anchors me. I lean into him, voice soft: “Will you be here when this is over?”

His fingers ghost over my cheek. “Always.”

I exhale, grounding into that vow. Words hang like promise between us.

He pulls me close, cloak slick with rainwater and blood—not necessarily ours, but mixing with the universe’s pulse.

“We need to go,” I say, voice taut.

We race—through trenches, past nervous hands, over slick terrain. Fusion blocks spit blue energy, lighting our faces with cold fires.

Drone lights sweep overhead, but our bond is a wall.

We dodge patrols, mud hissing underfoot. Every breath is devotion, heartbeat doubling.

At the barricade, I shout down orders—I’m steady, controlled. Sagax stands at my side, guarding, roaring quiet promise into every direction.

Rain hammers down. The barricade holds, guns fire back at unseen threats.

Across the roar of thunder, Krenshaw’s voice booms from orbit—his false calm twined with malice:

“Your time is up. Prepare for extinction.”

Silence hollows the barricade. Figures freeze mid-dig, panicked eyes widen, the rain’s rhythm falters.

My chest tightens. Fear, yes—but fear transformed into heat. Sagax’s tail lashes in the mud behind me. He steps forward, fingers crackling with controlled power.

I lean into his heat. “This is it.”

He answers with one touch—warm, reverent, owning me. “Together.”

I squeeze his hand, muddy and trembling.

The storm rages on outside, but between us, something fiercer roars.

We don’t flinch.

Because together, we are the storm.