Page 41 of Mated to the Monster God
That breaks me open. Joy, fear, desire, love—all converging in one sacred collapse.
A breeze whispers through the leaves, carrying the scent of rain and possibility. I rest my face against his chest, listening to the pulse of warmth and promise there.
This is how love feels—raw as blood, deep as roots, brilliant as hope.
“Promise me,” I whisper, voice bruised with awe.
He kisses the back of my head. “I promise.”
We lie there, the jungle exhaling around us, a sacred hush.
I know I’m lost. And found. And more loved than I ever believed possible.
And that knowledge will carry me through whatever comes next.
I pull back first, drifting away like a feather caught in dawn's first breeze. My breath is still ragged, my skin humming from what just happened. I rest on my side, facing away, trying to gather the shards of consciousness that are scattered inside me.
Sagax’s chest rumbles in my vision, steady and sure. He doesn't pull away. Not really. His presence stays close, comforting like low gravity. It’s maddening—like I'm craving oxygen while trying to remember how to breathe.
I swallow hard, jaw tight, eyelashes damp with something electric.
“Esme?” His voice is gentle, tentative, like he’s afraid to wake a sleeping beast.
I don’t answer. Instead, I reach for my canteen, hands shaking. The cool metal feels alien in my palm—even though I held it hours ago.
“I—I need a minute,” I manage finally. My voice cracks, but I hold the words out to him anyway.
He stills. His body stays curved around mine, tethered as if he fears any movement might disappear me entirely.
“I understand,” he says quietly.
His acceptance steels the knot in my chest, part relief, part sorrow. I’ve never wanted so desperately to rest—but to hide. Because the world shift in me is too new, too raw.
I take a deep breath, focusing on the rhythm of the night—crickets and distant frogs, the ripple of the river, the metallic scent of cooling gear. Every detail anchors me back to reality, away from the dreamscape we just lived.
I can feel his gaze, warm and curious.
“I’m sorry,” I say, voice small. “I didn’t mean to?—”
He shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for.”
I snap my eyes open, meeting his gaze. He’s watching me with that intensity that used to terrify me, now thrilling me instead. But there’s a softness there too—something like heartbreak in his luminous pupils.
“I just…” My voice goes brittle. “I’ve never done anything like that.”
His expression shifts—something like understanding, maybe even pride. “No one has ever been you before.”
I lean back into him. The heat of his chest steadies my racing heart.
“But we need,” I pause, swallowed by the need to explain, “time.”
“Time,” he echoes, voice low.
“When things feel normal again,” I continue. “When I can think without my chest exploding. Then… I want to talk.”
He doesn’t blink. He nods, ever so slightly.
“Then we’ll talk,” he says softly. His arm tightens around me, but not in a grip—more like a cradle.
