Page 29 of Mated to the Monster God
He studies the food in confusion but takes it. He doesn’t ask what it is—he just lets the taste unfold on his tongue, eyes closing.
“You’ll get used to it,” I say with a quiet laugh. “Some of our plants smell like reproduction parts of insects. But once you stare at the bloom long enough, it’s like perfume.”
He nods, as if that makes sense.
I stretch out on the ground, shoulders resting on cool stone. My muscles still buzz from the day’s tension. Sagax shifts to liebeside me—sprawling in human shape for comfort, tail tucking under.
“I remember the first time I smelled rain as a kid,” I say, voice trailing softer. “Back home, rain was rare. When it came, I expected drowning—but the smell... petrichor? It made me whole for a second.”
Sagax doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. His presence hums beside me like a steady instrument.
Memories bloom in my mind. Razor-leaf scratches, childhood laughter, blossom dust sticking to my fingers, Martian skies untouched by war.
A crease forms in my brow, and a whisper escapes me in the dark: “You feel like home.”
I open my eyes. Sagax is still awake, watching me—staring through every memory and back again. His chest shifts in slow breathing, eyes luminous in the black.
I drift toward sleep, curling closer.
Sagax doesn’t sleep. He stays wind and watch, heartbeat soft and constant at my back, holding me with something I’m only starting to recognize within him.
Something permanent.
CHAPTER 8
SAGAX
The jungle opens before us as if inhaling in deep anticipation. A network of ravines yawns across Pwarra's terrain—jagged ridges slick with moss and mist. Esme moves confidently ahead, boots pounding the leaf-littered paths, scouting points for supply caches. Every step rediscovered sharpens the ache in my chest—pride, worry, something I’m still trying to name.
“I saw your path markers,” I say quietly, keeping pace. “Your tracking is improving.”
She shoots a dimpled grin over her shoulder. “Tracking? That would mean you’re followingme, Sagax.” Her voice teases effortlessly, but there’s warmth beneath it—more than there was before. It settles inside me. I won’t let it burn out.
“Your wilderness training is strong now,” I reply. “You move like a native.”
We cross a narrow wooden bridge, cracks groaning under me. Beneath, water churns—a ravine injects fresh breath into the jungle, raw and intoxicated. The scent of wet wood, dragonfruit flowers broken open by dew, and the faint copper of distant rivers mix in the air. I inhale and feel the ecosystem pulse through my lungs.
“It’s where I practice,” she says softly. “I used to explore ravines like this when I was bored waiting for school pods to upload.”
She balances effortlessly on the rail, scanning the trees. “Promise me you’ll still feed me, even if I become too competent.”
I can’t help but laugh low. “You’re already competent.”
Her posture shifts as the jungle hushes. Shadows lengthen. We step into a clearing and find the hidden supply cache nestled beneath gnarly roots—a battered cache box half-buried, vines curling around its seams. Esme plucks it open, revealing ration packs, scrap electronics, and filtered water pouches. A shared breath of relief flickers between us.
“We’re lucky,” I whisper. “This could sustain the colony for two days if need be.”
Her eyes shine. “Two days to buy time. Two days to fight.”
I reach for a ration bar, but the dry crunch stops the moment a twig snaps somewhere south.
Sagax’s instincts snap to attention. I pivot and press against Esme’s back, alert.
From the underbrush, a pair of Baragon soldiers emerge. Silhouettes of mirrored helmets throw angular reflections in the dying sun. Their gait is slow but lethal. No hesitation. No mercy.
Esme reaches for her pistol, but she stalls, breath caught. I slip between her and the patrol, claws humming.
“They’re too close,” I whisper.
