Page 26 of Mated to the Monster God
“What?”
“You heard me. Open.”
I hesitate. Her hand is halfway to my face, the wrap steaming in her grip. I obey. She presses the food gently to my lips andI take a bite, more out of shock than hunger. Flavors explode across my tongue—tangy, earthy, rich with salt and smoke.
She watches me chew like it’s the most interesting science experiment she’s ever seen.
“Well?” she asks.
“It’s... pleasing.”
Her grin widens. “You just tasted Rick’s secret chili paste and lived to tell about it. Color me impressed.”
I chew slower, savoring it now, letting my eyes study her in the flickering light of her small field lantern. Her freckles stand out more tonight. Her smile is easier. But there’s something behind it. Something soft and quiet and cautious.
“You didn’t have to bring me this.”
“I know,” she says.
“I could have foraged.”
“You don’t even know what’s edible.”
“I’ve absorbed some of your knowledge?—”
She raises an eyebrow. “Which still doesn’t explain why you were about to eat what I’m pretty sure was a toxic gutbloom yesterday.”
“That was an experiment.”
“That was a near-death experience.”
We both laugh, and I marvel at how simple it is now. How my body responds to her voice—muscles relaxing, pulse slowing. Her proximity is a balm, one I didn’t know I needed until she handed it to me with a teasing smirk and a home-cooked meal.
She holds another piece of the wrap up. I open my mouth again.
“This is weird, right?” she murmurs, not quite meeting my gaze.
“Yes,” I reply honestly. “But I do not wish it to stop.”
“Good,” she says quietly. “Because I kinda needed this, too.”
Her voice dips at the end, almost lost in the wind. But I hear it. Feel it. The tremor of vulnerability. The slow unwinding of something tightly guarded. She finishes feeding me the last bite and sits back, brushing her hands on her pants.
“I brought a real pack, too. Water, med-strips, spare comm patch, rations, a clean shirt—though I doubt anything in this galaxy fits you.”
I lift the shirt, a pale gray one made of soft, breathable fiber. I hold it up and raise a brow. “It is... small.”
She laughs again, curling her arms around her legs. “Yeah, well. Points for effort.”
We sit in silence for a while, the kind that hums with unspoken things. The jungle rustles in the distance, nocturnal creatures singing, hunting, living. But here, in this carved-out sliver of peace, there’s only her. And me. And something that feels dangerously close to home.
“You’re not alone anymore,” she says softly.
The words strike like a pulse through my chest. I inhale sharply, but my throat tightens around it. No witty comeback rises. No analysis or correction.
Just her voice. And the impossible mercy woven through it.
I drop my gaze. “You say that like it’s simple.”
