Page 34 of Mated to the Monster God
“I am many things,” he says, stepping closer, “but notjusta weirdo.”
His shadow falls over me, tall and strange and oddly comforting.
I tilt my head, looking up at him. “Can I ask you something weird?”
“Always.”
“What’s it like?” I ask. “Being made of... other people? Other species?”
He lowers himself beside me, the ground barely making a sound beneath his weight. His gaze turns inward, like he’s scrolling through a thousand files in his mind.
“I remember... sensations. Emotions. A sense of purpose. Hunger. Joy. Panic. Some leave stronger impressions than others. But they’re fragments. Disconnected. Like dreams half-remembered.”
I nod slowly, dragging my fingers through the river water. “So not names or faces.”
“No. Onlyyouhave given me continuity. Wholeness.”
The words hit me square in the chest. “That’s... heavy.”
“It is the truth.”
I sit there in silence, fingers going numb in the current, heart doing flips like a damn circus acrobat. Part of me wants to believe it’s just infatuation or the psychic bond or whatever excuse I can make. But I know it’s not.
There’s something in the way he saysonly youthat makes my throat tighten.
“You ever think,” I say, voice small, “that maybe I’m not enough for someone like you?”
His head snaps toward me, golden eyes fierce. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m just me, Sagax. I’ve never been off-world. Never fought in some grand war. I haven’t invented anything or changed the world or—hell, I haven’t even kissed anyone in like... three years.”
His expression softens. He reaches out, slow and careful, and brushes a damp curl from my cheek. “You are strong. Clever. Stubborn. Curious. You have survived more than most, and you still choose kindness.”
“But—”
He silences me with a fingertip against my lips. Not rough. Not demanding. Just there. Gentle. Final.
“I do not need a legend, Esme. I needyou.”
“You say you’re made of fragments,” I whisper. “Well, I’m made of fear. And fire. And longing. I don’t know which part of me wins most days.”
“Then let me help you balance them.”
I open my eyes. His face is so close. The air between us hums, thick with static and promise. I can feel the heat of his breath. Smell the faint scent of resin and ash and something uniquelyhim.
“I’m scared,” I admit.
“So am I,” he says, almost reverently. “But I am alsocertain.”
His hand drifts lower, fingertips grazing my jaw, tracing the edge of my throat like I’m something rare and breakable.
The river babbles beside us. Birds call in the distance. But all I hear is my own heartbeat, thudding like a war drum in my chest.
“God,” I murmur, “you really are something.”
“You feel like everything,” he replies.
And somehow, I believe him.
