Page 24 of Mated to the Monster God

ESME

T he sky peels open like a wound closing shut.

One by one, the Baragon ships lift off, black obelisks rising on jets of shrieking fire.

The very air trembles under them, their departure like the groan of a dying god.

The colony holds its breath. And then—nothing.

The last thruster flare fades into the clouds, and the silence is deafening.

Someone shouts, “They’re leaving!”

Then the dam breaks.

Screams of relief, of joy, of disbelief ripple through Sweetwater like a tsunami.

I hear Tara sobbing somewhere behind me.

Jimmy is howling like a wolf pup, wild and free.

Even Blondie’s voice cuts through the cacophony with a laugh—sharp, hysterical.

The air tastes like copper and gunpowder and ozone, but it’s also tinged with something I haven’t felt in days.

Hope.

I’m still standing on legs that don’t feel like mine.

My knees are jelly, my muscles trembling.

My fingers won’t unclench from where I’ve dug them into Sagax’s arm.

He’s crouched beside me, breathing like a beast who’s just finished hunting down an empire, his eyes still glowing faintly with that golden fury.

We did it.

He looks at me, not with triumph, but with worry. “Esme?”

My lips try to move. I want to say, I’m okay. We’re safe now. But all that comes out is a strangled, broken sob.

The adrenaline drains from me so fast it’s like someone pulled a plug. My body gives up. I pitch forward, and the world tilts sideways. Sagax catches me before I hit the ground.

“Hey, hey—” His voice is low, ragged with something like fear. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him scared before. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

The moment I fall into his arms, I finally let go. Of everything.

The fight. The running. The horror. The loss. It all crashes down at once, a wave of exhaustion and grief and relief so enormous it guts me from the inside out.

My head lolls against his chest. I smell blood—old and new. Smoke. The musky tang of his skin. My own tears. Everything spins.

“Just hold on,” Sagax murmurs, wrapping me tighter. I feel the strength in his arms, in his body. The way he shields me with his bulk. “You’ve done enough.”

I think I mumble something—maybe sorry , maybe thank you . Doesn’t matter. I let myself go limp. Let him carry me.

He rises to his full, towering height, and I hear the gasp ripple through the colonists as he stands with me in his arms like I weigh nothing.

Rick lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t know we had a damn war god in our back pocket.”

Someone else mutters, “That’s the thing she said was bonded to her. Thought it was a parasite…”

“He just saved all our asses,” Tara says, voice hoarse but firm.

Sagax ignores them. He doesn’t need their praise or their permission. He moves with purpose, stepping over scorched ground and discarded weapons, carrying me through the wreckage of the colony gates.

People part like water before him. I feel their eyes. The heat of their gazes on my face, my limp arms, the blood on my shirt.

A child says, “Mommy, is that the monster?”

“No, baby,” comes the answer. “That’s our guardian angel.”

I want to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. But I just keep breathing in his scent, letting his heartbeat steady mine.

We pass the burned-out husk of the watchtower. The place where Jimmy once dared me to climb to the top in a windstorm. The place where Sagax stood last night, silent and fierce, watching the sky.

I feel like a ghost in my own skin. Like I’m floating just behind my body, watching Sagax carry me home.

Home.

Sweetwater isn’t rubble. It isn’t ashes. It’s still here. We’re still here.

As we pass the clinic tent, Tara rushes over, brushing soot from her arms. “Bring her inside—let me look at her?—”

“She just needs rest,” Sagax says, his voice more gentle now. “But she’ll want to see her family.”

Blondie appears, dirt-streaked and wide-eyed. She reaches for me, then pulls back, unsure.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, finally finding my voice. “Just… tired.”

Sagax carries me all the way to my family’s habitat pod, sets me down like I’m porcelain, and pulls the blanket over me with careful fingers.

His hand lingers at my cheek. “Rest. I’ll be just outside.”

“Don’t go far,” I say, voice raw.

“Never.”

Then he’s gone, and I hear Jimmy’s voice somewhere outside, babbling to someone about what happened. About how the ships rose like firebirds. About how I stood beside the monster that saved the world.

I let the warmth of the pod cocoon me. The mattress under me feels like a cloud. I sink into it, heart thudding slow and heavy.

The last thing I remember before the dark takes me is the sound of a heartbeat—not mine.

His.

I wake up to the antiseptic sting of med gel and the soft hum of field diagnostics blinking overhead. The lights are too bright. The sheets under me are too stiff. My skin feels like it’s wrapped in grit and sunburn.

For a second, I panic. That disoriented kind of terror where you don’t know if you’re safe or if you’re still dreaming. I sit bolt upright—and regret it instantly. My ribs protest, my shoulders scream, and my brain pounds like someone’s using it for target practice.

“Whoa there, speedster.”

Tara’s arms are around me before I can do more damage. She smells like iodine and smoke, and her cheek is damp against mine. She’s trembling, just a little.

“You scared the hell outta me,” she whispers.

“I’m okay,” I rasp. “Mostly.”

“You passed out cold, Es. We thought…” Her voice breaks.

I hug her tighter. We don’t do this often, me and Tara. Not since I was little and afraid of lightning storms. But I let her hold me now, and maybe I hold her back just as hard.

“I told them you’d pull through,” comes Blondie’s voice, firm and clear—but I can hear the guilt stitched behind it.

I look up. She’s standing at the foot of the medbed, arms crossed tight over her chest, her curls a frizzy halo of ash-blonde wildness. She looks like she hasn’t slept in a week.

“I was wrong,” she says, and that stings more than any wound. “About Sagax. About everything.”

“You weren’t the only one,” I murmur.

“He saved us. You saved us.” She clears her throat. “I should’ve trusted you.”

Blondie steps closer, hesitant, and brushes my hair back from my forehead like she used to when I had fever sweats as a kid. Her fingers are callused, and there’s dirt under her nails.

“I’m proud of you,” she says softly. “So proud.”

The medpod tent flap rustles, and Rick stumbles in like a one-man disaster zone. His hair’s doing this mad scientist halo, and his shirt’s stained with grease and maybe blood. He’s cradling a half-empty flask like it’s a newborn.

“Alright, where’s our favorite war goddess?” he slurs, before spotting Sagax in the corner.

The big guy’s there, silent and still, like a statue carved from emerald fire and menace. His eyes lock on Rick, unblinking.

Rick raises the flask in salute. “Big guy! You did good. Real good.” Then he burps, loud and wet. “You ever need a mechanic, I’ll install rocket thrusters on your sexy tail.”

Sagax raises one brow ridge, clearly baffled. “I… do not require propulsion.”

I choke back a laugh. “He means thank you.”

“Yeah,” Rick nods sagely, swaying a little. “That. Thanks.”

Then comes the worst part of waking up—Morty.

The tent flap flaps again and in swaggers my hormone bomb of a nephew, shirt half buttoned, chin up like he’s auditioning for a holo-drama.

“Alright, alright,” he says, gesturing like he owns the damn place. “Let’s get one thing straight. If you’re gonna keep hangin’ around my Aunt Esme, you better treat her right. She deserves the best.”

Sagax tilts his head. “I am bonded to her in blood and mind. I would kill stars to keep her safe.”

Morty nods, trying not to look impressed. “Cool, cool, just… don’t get cocky, bro.”

Sagax’s growl is low. Not threatening exactly, but pure primal warning. The kind that makes predators freeze.

Morty turns pale. “Right, uh, message received.” He backs out of the tent with the speed of a guilty cat.

I can’t help it—I burst out laughing. It hurts, but it’s so worth it.

Tara’s grinning, Rick’s still belching proudly, and Blondie just shakes her head like she’s somehow still surprised by our family.

It’s a weird, beautiful moment.

But outside, Sweetwater isn’t cheering anymore. The mood has shifted.

I slip off the bed, ignoring every protest from my aching body. Sagax is instantly at my side, one hand on my elbow, eyes alert.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just… help me walk.”

We step out together into the fading afternoon. The colony looks like it’s been chewed up and spit out. The east wall’s scorched. Several homes are gone entirely, just smoldering outlines in the dirt. Blood streaks the main drag, some of it human, some of it not.

There are bodies laid out in the square, wrapped in sheets, silent and still. A dozen? Two dozen? I can’t count. Some faces I recognize—others I don’t. Doesn’t matter. They were all ours.

The whole colony’s gathered. Tara hands me a torch, already burning low.

“You wanna say it?” she asks.

I step forward, barefoot and bruised, standing in front of our dead. My throat tightens.

“We lost too much,” I begin, voice hoarse. “We fought too hard. And we’re never gonna be the same.”

I kneel, light the pyres one by one. The smell of smoke joins the scent of singed metal and wet earth. Tears blur my vision, but I don’t wipe them away.

“We stay,” I whisper. “We rebuild.”

Sagax steps beside me, silent and solemn. His hand brushes mine.

And behind us, Sweetwater burns—but it also breathes.

Night falls soft and thick over Sweetwater like a blanket draped across a battered body. The fires have burned down to embers, and the wailing has quieted to whispers. Somewhere in the distance, a child laughs—a bright, foreign sound in the dark. It makes something catch in my chest.

I’m sitting with Sagax on the ridge above the habitat domes, tucked between the rocks like we’ve done before, but this time feels different.

The air smells like ash and wildflowers, of burned hopes and stubborn dreams. It’s cooler now, the breeze tickling the sweat-slicked hair at my nape, lifting the edge of the blanket around my shoulders.

He sits beside me, not touching but close—close enough that I can feel the heat of him. The starlight paints his face in strange silver angles, catching on the scar at his temple and the fine edges of his jaw. He’s silent, eyes fixed on the sky like he’s expecting it to fall again.

“Do you ever wonder what now means?” I ask, breaking the silence.

He turns his head slowly. “Clarify.”

“Now that we’re not running. Not fighting. Not dying every second.” I look up too. The stars are absurdly beautiful tonight, like they showed up just to prove something. “What do we do now?”

Sagax blinks once, as if this is the first time the question’s ever occurred to him. Maybe it is.

He shifts slightly, just enough that our knees brush. “Whatever you want,” he says. “I exist for you.”

My breath catches a little.

It’s not just what he says. It’s how he says it—like it’s the simplest truth in the universe. Like it’s as unshakeable as gravity.

“For me?” I murmur.

“Yes.” He studies my face, eyes glowing faintly like molten gold behind smoked glass. “You saved me. I owe you all that I am.”

I shake my head, chuckling softly. “That’s not how people work, big guy.”

“I am not people.”

That makes me laugh, even as something hot and fierce stirs in my chest.

“No,” I agree. “You’re not.”

We sit in silence for a bit, the kind that hums with things unsaid. Crickets chirp. Something rustles down by the water pumps. I don’t care. The whole world could burn again and I wouldn’t move.

I lean into him, just slightly. His body is warm—radiating strength and protection and something else I can’t quite name.

“I don’t want to survive anymore,” I whisper. “I want to live.”

Sagax looks at me, his brow furrowing. “What is the difference?”

“Surviving is breathing. Living is choosing. Laughing. Building something real.” I bite my lip. “Loving.”

He processes that slowly, the way he does everything. Then nods. “Then let’s live.”

I turn toward him fully, our faces inches apart. My fingers twitch, aching to touch him, to trace the sharp line of his jaw, the strange, otherworldly scars beneath his cheekbones.

“Let’s make this place ours,” I say.

His eyes flare softly, golden light catching on my skin like firelight. “Ours.”

I reach up, thread my fingers through the collar of his armor, feel the heated metal hum beneath my skin. “Kiss me.”

“I do not know if?—”

“I’ll show you.”

And I do.

I press my lips to his and the world melts away.

He goes still at first, stunned maybe, but then he responds—not clumsy or confused, but careful, as though I’m a constellation he’s afraid to break.

His mouth is warm, unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

My hands cup his face, and I feel the heat thrumming beneath his skin.

He lets out a low sound—half growl, half sigh—and his arms wrap around me like he’s anchoring himself in this moment.

And I don’t stop.

I pour everything into it—all the fear, the pain, the love that bloomed like wildfire in the dark. All the dreams I never let myself have. I kiss him until my lips are swollen and my chest aches from wanting.

When we finally pull apart, our foreheads rest together, breath mingling.

“I’m not afraid anymore,” I whisper.

“I would burn this world before I let it harm you again,” he replies.

I believe him.

The stars watch us. The breeze sings through the dry grass. Sweetwater sleeps, broken but breathing.

I choose us .