Page 18 of Mated to the Monster God
I would walk this jungle a thousand times if it meant carrying her just like this.
The stone outcropping rises from the jungle floor like the shattered bones of some long-dead giant, jagged and veined with mineral seams that catch the moonlight just enough to see by. It offers cover—dense enough to mask our heat signatures, stable enough to keep the elements at bay. I check for residual energy signatures, for acidic mold or root predators, then beckon Esme toward the narrow crevice that forms a half-shelter near the base.
She slumps down with a relieved groan, resting her head against the cool rock and closing her eyes. Her lips are chapped, her breathing labored, but her spirit doesn’t dim. If anything, it hardens under pressure, like carbon into diamond.
I crouch beside her, careful not to brush her skin as I scan the perimeter again. My body hums with residual adrenaline, senses stretched like a bowstring, but the moment I glance back at her—legs pulled up, one hand buried in her blonde tangle of hair—I feel something far more dangerous than fear.
Longing.
She is not built for this place. The jungle devours the unprepared. But she moves through it like she was forged for it anyway—reckless and radiant and maddeningly alive. I want to protect her. That is expected, logical. But there is something more, now. Some twisted fire licking at the corners of my reason. I don’t just want her to survive. I want her to be mine.
Her eyelids crack open, green eyes catching the starlight. “You’re staring.”
“You’re beautiful,” I answer without flinching.
She snorts, rubbing a leaf out of her hair. “Yeah, I’m a real vision. Covered in dirt, bleeding from one knee, and smelling like death beetle musk.”
I inhale, slow and deliberate. “You smell like survival. Like defiance. Your pheromones are changing.”
She freezes. “Excuse me?”
I shift closer, leaning one elbow on my raised knee. “Your body is adapting to stress. Hormonal fluctuations. Desire suppressed by adrenaline. Your scent changes with every emotional spike. I find it... compelling.”
She gives me a look that’s equal parts flustered and wary. “That’s not weird at all.”
I smile, my version of one, at least. It still unnerves her. My teeth are sharper now.
“I’m just saying,” I continue, voice quieter, “if you ever decide you’re curious... about what mating with a post-protean humanoid hybrid feels like...”
Her eyes go wide.
“I’m not propositioning,” I clarify, raising both hands. “I’m observing your biological responses. Cataloguing potential compatibility. Strictly theoretical.”
“Right,” she says, standing abruptly. “Well, this just got weird. I’m going to set up the fire starter... over there.”
She points at the farthest shadow and walks toward it, muttering under her breath.
I listen to her thoughts hum and hiss beneath her practiced calm. She’s rattled, not just by what I said—but by how much she didn’thatehearing it. Her attraction is coiled tight beneath layers of logic and self-reproach. She fears what it would mean to want someone like me. Something like me.
I hadn’t intended to unsettle her.
Only to test the boundary.
Still... I feel her. Even from here, across the stone cavern. Her tension. Her conflict. Her curiosity.
I lower myself onto the stone, my body adjusting instinctively to support her safety perimeter. I tune my senses outward—listening for Baragon patrols, for the quiet click of insectoid scouts or the shrill pitch of aerial drones. But every few seconds, my thoughts drift back to her.
Esme.
I study the curve of her back as she works, her fingers coaxing flame from the fire-start disc in her pack. Her movements are precise, practiced, and yet every flicker of hesitation reveals how tired she truly is. Her shoulders slump when she thinks I’m not watching. Her sighs deepen. Her hands tremble for just a moment before she clenches them into fists.
I want to reach out. Just to touch her shoulder. To say,You are not alone.
But I don’t.
Instead, I say, “I will not push you. On anything.”
She glances over her shoulder, eyes guarded. “Thanks.”
