Page 46 of Mated to the Monster God
“This isn’t about the colony,” I snap, though guilt hits me sharp and fast. “This is about us.”
He turns to face me, an umbrella of shadow beneath the iron sky. “Then if you go, I will follow. If you stay, I will fight.”
I feel the words vibrate through me—unyielding loyalty not demanded, but offered entirely. It builds inside me like an ocean, unstoppable, overwhelming.
You. You’re mine. I’m yours.
Panic trembles on the edge of my voice. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Sagax. I’m changing. And not all of it feels like... home.”
Lightning flickers through the trees. I remember the dreams—the way he touched me in sleep and waking, and how real it felt. I remember my body, the way it ached for him. I see now I was afraid of how it changed me already.
He takes a step closer, water pooling under his boots. His presence cloaks me warm. Not hot. Gentle. Relentless.
“What about you?” I whisper. “Are you changed by me?”
He hesitates—gone are the blazing warrior mask, the predator’s unshakable calm. In its place: vulnerability carved into his jaw, eyes bleeding gold with resolve.
“Yes,” he finally says. “Every moment with you changes me. Every breath.”
The thunder rumbles again and I wonder if the world’s crashing down—or maybe something is finally breaking open inside me.
I lean against him, and the connection is a lifeline. I hug him nearly convulsively—rain dampening my hair, his scales cool beneath my fingers.
“I’m terrified you’ll change me too much,” I admit to the storm-slick night. “That... once I don’t need you like this, you’ll outgrow me.”
He holds me less tightly—open, not distant. “I am not your future. You are mine.”
I jerk back and stare into his eyes, dull and shining with that impossible gold. The rain pelt becomes delicate around us—each drop a word in a conversation too rarefied to be spoken.
“What if I become someone you don’t—or worse—someone you don’trecognize?” My voice trembles, fracturing.
He steps toward me again, wrapping me tight despite the hardened ground beneath. “You are Esme. You will always beher. My promise isn’t to who you become. My promise is to who youare now, and to you.”
It hits me then—the depth of it. Not obedience. Not servitude. A choice. A vow that doesn’t bind me—sets me free.
Tears break and I let them tumble down, mixing with rain and grief and hope.
“I love you,” I whisper, but it’s not enough. Too fractured a space.
He kisses my temple, gentle enough to leave impression, strong enough to ground my chaos.
“We both do,” he says. “Let’s do this together—whatever comes.”
I step back into the clearing, water dripping from my lashes. Fear still thrums, but now it’s joined by a fierce sort of hunger.
We stand side by side as the rain morphs into steady drizzle. The colony behind us stands fragile, beautiful, needing protection—and we’re not perfect. But maybe we’re enough.
Rain has begunto drape over the tents, soft sheets of silver that make the colony smell of fresh soil and wood-fire smoke. Under the shelter of a canvas tarp, I stand pressed into Sagax’s side, rain tracing cold rivulets down his scaled shoulders. My heart hammers with that wild ache of vulnerability—the thrill of being loved while afraid of what that means.
He cups my chin, lifting my face to meet his gaze. His eyes—those molten, impossible eyes—haven’t softened. That steadiness, that fierce clarity, is what he’s giving me right now: affirmation that our bond doesn’t swallow who I am—it makes me stronger, elevates me.
“You are still you,” he says. His voice is steady, warm like embers in the rain. “You’re not lost in this. You’re found.”
I lean into the sound of his words, into the tremor that echoes through me. “I know,” I whisper, voice small against the steady percussion of raindrops. “But it’s terrifying.”
He brushes a thumb along the line of my jaw. “Good things can be terrifying,” he murmurs, and then presses his lips to mine.
It’s slow and gentle at first, as if he’s mapping the space between us with cautious reverence. I taste rain, the soft ache of longing, and something decidedly familiar beneath it—for so long, he was the monster in my bloodstream. Now, he’s soft here, in this moment, and I feel it in my bones.
