Page 26 of Mated to the Monster God

ESME

I t’s strange, how quickly peace settles in the bones.

You’d think after everything—the death, the terror, the sound of metal ripping flesh and screams echoing through cracked corridors—that the quiet would be unbearable.

But it’s not.

It’s healing.

The days after the war bleed into each other like watercolor. Sunrises stretch longer. Shadows aren’t as sharp. People speak softer, laugh easier. Sweetwater breathes again.

Children race past me in the morning, laughing with wild abandon, their bare feet slapping the newly laid planks of the main corridor.

Tara’s youngest tugs at a toy drone made of string and wire while Blondie teaches two older boys how to hammer nails straight.

They’re building a treehouse in one of the banyans— a treehouse , like they’ve never seen blood on their hands.

It guts me. In the best way.

Sagax works at my side most mornings. Always shirtless, always glistening with sweat before noon, his shoulders catching the light like burnished bronze.

He’s building a shelter just beside mine, insists it’s for space, but neither of us believe that lie.

He rarely sleeps there. Most nights he ends up tangled with me in my hammock, legs too long and arms too heavy, snoring like some ancient engine set to low hum.

But I don’t mind. I never have.

We plant crops together in the afternoons, his hands deep in the red-brown soil.

He’s shockingly delicate with the seedlings—like they’re glass, like every root is sacred.

He hums sometimes while we work, a low melodic tone that vibrates through the soles of my feet and lodges somewhere between my ribs.

“You’re getting good at this,” I tease one day, wiping sweat off my brow with the back of my hand.

He looks up, dirt smudged on his cheek, eyes bright. “I was engineered to adapt.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, nudging him with my hip. “You’re not so bad at zucchini.”

He grins. Full teeth. Slightly terrifying. Completely adorable.

The whole colony watches us like we’re something holy.

Maybe we are.

Blondie still gives me crap, of course. “The hell did you do to that man?” she mutters one morning as Sagax brushes past with a basket of ripe melons, humming like it’s nothing.

“Turned him domestic,” I say, grinning.

She rolls her eyes. “Sweetwater’s real secret weapon? Love.”

Rick overhears and lets out a wheezing cackle, clutching his side like he’s about to keel over. “Ain’t that the damn truth!” he hollers. “Boy’s got it bad! ”

Sagax pauses, glances back at us with that amused quirk to his mouth. “Affirmative.”

I cover my face, groaning into my palms.

He’s not embarrassed. Not even a little.

Sometimes, I wake up at night and just stare at him—this impossible, beautiful, deadly being curled around me like I’m his home. And I wonder if this is real. If it will last. If the world will let us keep this.

So far, it has.

He’s learning to cook, too. Like actually following recipes and experimenting with spices like a damn gourmet. He brings me samples with this straight-faced seriousness, holding out a carved wooden spoon like it’s a sacred offering.

“Consume and evaluate,” he commands.

I do. Every time. And every time, it gets better.

One night, he serves roasted root stew with charred greens and foraged berries and I swear I almost cry. It tastes like something out of a dream. Like home.

“You’re dangerous,” I murmur, licking a drop off my thumb.

He tilts his head. “I am yours.”

And damn it, my heart does things.

Tara caught us once kissing behind the hydroponic shed and just sighed like she’s seen it all. “You two gonna be disgustingly happy forever or what?” she muttered, tossing me a wrench.

“Working on it,” I said.

We all are.

Sweetwater rebuilds itself brick by brick, hand by hand. The wounds are still there—scars in the dirt, the empty chairs, the names we whisper during evening prayers—but they don’t define us anymore. They shape us, sure. But they don’t own us.

Not anymore.

And every time I see Sagax gently nudge a child out of harm’s way or crouch to inspect a cracked water valve or hum while chopping wild onions with fingers designed to kill, I know we’re doing it.

We’re living.

Together.

We return to the waterfall cave like it’s our church.

The jungle parts for us now, like it knows where we’re going—like it wants us there. Every leaf brushes against my skin like a benediction. Every stone step we take feels like a heartbeat toward something holy.

There’s no war at our backs this time. No fire licking at our heels. No blood clinging to our boots. Just him. Just me. Just... this.

When we get there, the cave is quiet, the moss still glowing soft blue, blanketing the stone like a dream that never ends. Water spills down from the ledge above, a silver thread catching starlight and making everything shimmer. The air smells like wet stone and night jasmine.

Sagax looks at me like he’s trying to memorize this moment. Like he’s trying to etch it into his bones.

We say nothing.

We don’t have to.

He steps forward and brushes a damp strand of hair from my face, fingers trailing over my cheek like I’m fragile. Like I’m priceless.

I reach for his tunic, fingers trembling—not from fear. From the weight of this moment. From wanting to remember, too.

We undress each other slowly, reverently. No fumbling. No frenzy. Just the quiet awe of two people who know what it means to lose everything and still choose love.

His skin is warm under my hands, humming with life. His scars catch the light, but he doesn’t flinch when I trace them. Doesn’t hide. He just watches me, breathing slow, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

I whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips twitch into the smallest smile. “Good.”

I tilt my head up, and he meets me there. The kiss is soft, warm, endless. His lips part just enough for me to taste the breath he shares. His hands settle at my hips, pulling me in like gravity. Like I belong.

It’s not hunger this time.

It’s home.

When he lays me down on the moss, it’s with the kind of care that makes my chest ache. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t devour. He touches me like I’m made of art. Like I’m worth every second.

And I feel it.

I feel it in the way his hands trail down my ribs, feather-light. In the way his mouth finds the curve of my neck and lingers there, breathing me in like incense. In the way he says my name—not like a need, but like a vow.

“Esme,” he murmurs, between kisses. “Esme.”

My hands shake when I pull him closer. “Sagax, please…”

But I’m not begging.

I’m asking.

For more of this. For all of him. For everything.

He slips inside me with a sigh so tender, so human, I nearly break. My eyes sting, and I blink fast, but the tears come anyway. I don’t even know why. Maybe because this is the first time I’ve felt truly seen. Not lusted after. Not needed. Cherished.

He moves slowly, holding me like I’m the most precious thing in the galaxy. His rhythm isn’t perfect—it’s raw, uneven, but real. And it’s enough. More than enough.

I clutch at his back, nails dragging down familiar ridges of muscle and scale. He moans, low and broken, into my shoulder. The sound sends fire through my belly.

“I love you,” I whisper, over and over. Like it’s a spell. Like it’ll keep this moment from ever ending.

His breath hitches, and he lifts his head to look at me. “I am yours,” he says again. “Always.”

We find a rhythm that feels like flying. That feels like gravity never mattered. That feels like stars could fall around us and we wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t care.

The tension builds between us like a slow-burn flame. Every thrust, every whisper, every sigh—we rise together, climb together.

When we fall, we fall as one.

It hits me in waves—pleasure so deep it tears a sob from my throat. He groans, shuddering, and holds me tighter than ever, burying his face in my hair.

And then it’s quiet.

For a beat, the only sound is the rush of water and our mingled breathing.

I laugh.

It bubbles out of me, stupid and breathless and wild. He pulls back, blinking down at me like I’ve gone mad.

“What?” he asks, lips twitching.

“I don’t know,” I giggle, wiping at my cheeks. “I just… I love you so much it’s stupid. Like, look at us. In a moss cave. Post-apocalypse. Making love like it’s the end of time.”

He huffs a laugh and presses his forehead to mine. “I do not find it stupid.”

“Of course not. You’re a literal alien war machine.”

He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Your alien war machine.”

“Damn right.”

We lay there tangled up, naked and damp and grinning like idiots, hearts pounding in sync.

And for once, nothing else exists.

Just love.

Just this.

The waterfall hushes the world.

Mist curls around us like ghost breath, catching fire in the newborn light. The sky bleeds pink and orange, the sun clawing its way up through the horizon like it’s just as reluctant to leave this place as we are.

We’re curled together beneath the falls, my back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around my waist like vines. His chin rests in the crook of my neck, breath warm, slow. I can feel his heartbeat thudding against my spine—steady, strong, impossibly real.

The moss beneath us is damp and warm from our bodies. Our clothes are scattered like leaves around the edge of the pool. The water trickles in little rivulets over our legs, sparkling in the light like we’re carved from something holy.

I don’t want to move. I don’t even want to blink. I want to bottle this moment, trap it in amber, and wear it around my neck until I die.

My fingers trace idle patterns on his forearm—lines, loops, the occasional heart.

He doesn’t speak.

“I keep thinking,” I murmur, voice thick from sleep and satisfaction, “we could’ve left.”

His fingers tighten just a little on my hip, not enough to hurt—just enough to feel.

“We could’ve gone,” I say. “Hopped a supply ship, vanished into the stars. Started fresh somewhere not dripping in old ghosts.”

Sagax exhales, slow and deliberate. “We could have.”

I turn my head, just enough to see his profile. His eyes are open, watching the mist drift across the cave’s ceiling like it holds secrets.

“But?” I prompt.

He smiles, slow and devastating. “I saw the stars the moment I met you.”

My breath catches.

Goddamn it.

“You sap,” I whisper, throat tightening.

He brushes his lips against my temple. “Truth.”

I twist in his arms until we’re face to face. “You mean it?”

His expression doesn’t change. Doesn’t even flicker.

“I mean every syllable.”

I kiss him. Slow. Deep. Like the sun might never rise again.

When we break apart, I don’t pull away. I press my forehead to his and whisper, “Then let’s grow old right here.”

He doesn’t flinch.

“Affirmative,” he breathes. “With you, always.”

And just like that, I know. I know I don’t need the stars or the cities or the slick polished walls of orbital habitats. I don’t need a bigger life.

I just need this.

His hand brushes a stray curl behind my ear. “Do you regret staying?”

“Never.”

Not even with the scars. Not even with the ghosts. Not even with the ache of loss that lingers in the quiet spaces.

Because I’ve found something here I never thought I’d have.

Belonging.

Love.

Peace.

And it’s all wrapped in six feet of muscle, scales, and the kindest soul in the known universe.

We lie there in silence as the sun rises higher, painting our skin in gold. A bird shrieks overhead, breaking the stillness, and I laugh into his chest. He chuckles too—awkward and deep—and the sound rumbles through my body like thunder through roots.

Eventually, we pull on our clothes, piece by piece, reluctant but smiling. He helps fasten my shirt like it’s the most delicate task in the world, then runs his claws through my tangled hair like he’s trying to memorize the feel of every strand.

We don’t say much as we walk back through the jungle. But we don’t need to. Every glance, every brush of fingers, every shared breath says it all.

Sweetwater rises in the distance, smoke curling from chimneys, laughter echoing through the trees.

Home.

And I think to myself, not for the first time, how strange it is that I had to almost die to truly live.

He threads his fingers through mine and lifts our joined hands to his lips.

“You are everything,” he says.

And I believe him.

Because there’s nowhere else in the galaxy I’d rather be than with him… right here, right now, on Pwarra.