Page 15 of Mated to the Monster God
I combed through her memories, swam in her subconscious desires. She dreams of strength, of protectors cloaked in danger. Creatures that stand between her and the wild. I chose Vakutan features because she admired their myth—their honor, their loyalty, their... sensuality.
Yes. She thought of them often. And not just with awe.
I am built for her.
Every muscle, every scale, every whisper of heat along my skin is a reflection of her yearning.
Yet now that I am here, in this body, I am no longer content to echo her desires.
I want.
Iache.
This is new.
Protean instincts are simple: feed, grow, survive. But I—Sagax—I have evolved beyond that. I want to learn her. I want to feel her skin against mine without the barrier of urgency. I want to trace every scar, every freckle, and ask how it came to be.
I want her laughter. Her anger. Her trust.
And more than anything, I want her to choose me—not because she is afraid, not because she is grateful, but because some part of her soul recognizes that we are no longer separate beings.
I shift my weight and she looks up sharply, eyes wide and green as jungle leaves after rain.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, voice brittle.
“You,” I answer, without hesitation.
A blush blooms along her cheekbones. “You’re not subtle, you know.”
“I do not wish to be subtle.”
She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch at the corners. “Well, that much is obvious.”
There is silence again. Not the awkward kind. The kind that stretches, ripe and electric, like lightning waiting for a place to land.
“Do you like it?” I ask. My voice is softer now. I touch my own chest, trail claws down the ridges of my abdomen, motion to the power coiled in my limbs. “The form I made. Is it... acceptable?”
Her gaze flickers down my body, then jerks back to my face so fast it might’ve given her whiplash. She opens her mouth, then shuts it. Tries again. “I mean... yeah. You’re, uh... terrifyingly hot.”
The pulse in her throat stutters.
“Terrifying,” I echo, tasting the word. “But hot.”
“Ugh, don’t repeat that like it’s a victory.”
“It is,” I say. “For me.”
She makes a sound—half laugh, half groan—and leans her head back against the inner wall of the tree.
“I don’t get it,” she mutters. “This morning you were a leech. Now you’re this... this alpha alien dreamboat with the voice of a war god and the eyes of a sunstorm.”
“You do not get it because it defies your linear understanding of evolution. I transcended.” I pause. “Because of you.”
Her head turns slowly.
“Because of me?”
“You risked yourself for me. You gave me a name. You offered me a purpose.”
