Page 52 of Mated to the Monster God
He bares his teeth—not a snarl, but a need. “I’d die before you go in unprotected.”
I blink against the rain. “I’m not asking for your blessing... only your understanding.”
His chest convulses. “I don’t understand chaos wearing your face.”
Something in me breaks at the fracture of his words. I step closer, rain bathing us both in electric cold. "Maybe you never will," I say. “That’s not your burden to bear.”
He flares up in a shudder that sends the leaves sizzling in response. “I won’t stop you,” he says, voice cutting.
I turn away and start through the trees, every step a stab in my soul.
Sagax reaches after me, grabs my shoulder—cool scales burning through my soaked jacket.
I yank free. “Let me go!” I hiss. “Let me try!”
He steadies himself. My vision catches—snippets—his jaw tightened, fire as rain spears through his silhouette. I don't look back again.
I race away until rain and tears blur into one. Jagged roots grab my boots. The forest closes behind me.
Unknown to me, above in the hush of branches, he slips into shadow, watching... waiting.
I walk through the hush of the forest toward the sleek gleam of the Helios Combine shuttle like I’m walking into the mouth of a wound. Each breath tastes of rainwater and fear—metallic, cold. My jacket clings to me, soaked into a second skin. The forest seems to hold its breath. Night has flattened into anticipation.
Krenshaw stands just beyond the faint underside glow of the shuttle ramp. Half-machine, half-man, the pallid skin stretched tight over metal skull, tracing expression like wires under silk. Rain trickles down his face, not washing away the permanence.
I clutch the resin vial inside my jacket pocket—a promise and a prayer. Memories of Sagax burned across my senses—his betrayal, his fear, his love. Guilt coils in my gut. But I press forward.
He smiles—too smooth, too practiced. The air thins when he speaks. “So, Miss Cruise, you’ve brought the cure.”
His voice rattles like wine in a crystal glass. I swallow—past the lump in my throat.
“I did.” The words taste bitter. “I want to make a deal.”
His eyes narrow. The skin tightens. I can almost hear the metal in his chest ticking. “Proceed.”
I hold out the vial. The resin glows softly, opalescent. “This is feverbloom resin. Double medigel effectiveness. Enough for the colony to survive.”
He tilts the vial, golden light dipping into the blue of his hovercraft’s glow. “Impressive.”
I swallow. Wet grass shifts under my boots. Rain draws down my eyelashes. “I want a promise—no forced resettlement, no factory slavery. Leave us in peace.”
He sets the vial on a nearby crate with reverence. “Such generosity in the rain.” He laughs—thin and aloof. Then he leans forward. He touches the vial with a finger, smears resin between thumb and forefinger. Pulls it back to his face.
“I’ll take the resin,” he says softly. “But I’d like something more valuable in return.”
My heart stops.
He smiles wider—with no warmth. “Your bloodline is... unique. I intend to extract pain. Transform you. Into a Baragon.”
Auroras explode behind my eyes. “What—what are you?”
“I’m an evolutionary architect,” he replies, his voice silk drowning in malice. “Your blend of human and terra-adapted genetic markers could yield something exquisite.”
“Don’t,” I manage, wet fingers clenched on my jacket.
He leans in. Resin drips from his fingers—like grafted life. “Your agony will be symmetrical. Pain that bleeds into perfection. And when you ‘ascend,’ your value to me will be beyond price.”
I feel the world quake beneath that promise.
