Page 28 of Mated to the Monster God
“Step back, Cal,” I say, catching hard onto Sagax’s arm. “It’s not what you think.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “What is it, Esme? A Second Invader? A damn beacon?” His voice echoes off rusted vehicles.
“He saved me,” I say, stepping fully between them, defiance humming in my veins. “A predator attacked—Sagax dragged me out. He’s not the enemy.”
Calvin lowers his rifle subtly, wary. His eyes flick to Sagax’s chest, where the scales adapt, olive-green morphing into a shadowed pattern.
“Don’t pretend to know more than you do,” he snaps. “That thing doesn’t belong here, and you’re making my job harder. Stay away from it.”
I swallow. Fear tries to squeeze my throat. “He’s not a weapon. He was the only thing that saved us. I’ve seen what he can do.”
Calvin points the rifle again, fists tense at his sides. “You keep him close, Esme, and you’ll be exiled. You’ll lose your standing here.”
My chest bleeds ragged hope and anger. I square my shoulders. “He’s not just some thing to fight against. He’s real. He’s trying to help.”
Sagax remains silent, watching the exchange with those molten eyes.
Calvin shakes his head, voice lower but harsher. “I don’t want trouble.”
“Neither do I,” I say. “But I won’t let you chastise family.”
He glowers at me before turning on his heel, weapon clinking against his thigh as he storms away.
Quiet descends like dust.
I exhale so hard my lungs ache.
I turn. Sagax’s shoulder nearly grazes me.
“I’m sorry,” I say before I can betray my heart.
His breath is slow, measured. “You defended me.”
I swallow again, biting back my own ache. “Of course I did.”
He flicks his gaze down. Something fierce and tender settles in the curve of his jaw. “He’s not wrong.”
My breath catches. “You are not a threat.”
“Maybe I should be.”
My fingers brush his arm. “You’re my threat—my unpredictable, terrifying, saving kind of threat.”
He doesn’t say it, but I feel it. Pride. Something soft and potent underneath. I breathe again.
We settle near the old communications relay, its metal skeleton like a broken antenna tipped crooked toward the sky. The night wraps around us in tight velvet; the air tastes faintly ofsolder and chipped circuitry. I push a handful of dry leaves into the base of the relay to fashion a makeshift seat. Sagax crouches beside me—massive but careful, like a mountain trying not to crush a flower.
“I lived in a pod once,” I begin. My voice is soft, surprised the jungle hears me. “Not this one—it was small, crowded, and smelled like recycled air and stale starch. But I was seven, and it felt like a world unto itself.”
Sagax tilts his head, eyes glowing gold. He’s so close I can see the fine ridges along his scales, feel the faint thrum of his breath across my shoulder.
“I had a toy bot,” I continue, half-laughing at the memory. “It was all lights and whistles. I used to talk to it like a real friend. One day I accidentally dropped it in a power conduit. It exploded into fireworks.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink—just listens.
“I cried for days,” I admit, voice tightening. “But the next morning, everyone was singing in our corridor. Someone had rigged the strip lights to blink in time with music. So I drew a picture of that. Sent it to him—imaginary me to imaginary friend.”
I scoop at the handheld ration pack, shaking out a roasted root and passing it to Sagax.
