Page 48 of Mated to the Monster God
His grin is brittle. “Your people lack resources. We offer protection. Work. Medigel enhancements. A place in the Combine’s future.”
Esme’s glare melts warmth from my scales. “We want none of it.”
He spreads his arms like he’s offering a gift. “Provoke me at your peril.”
Esme clenches her fists. I feel her fear seethe through the bond. A rippled wave of emotion: defiance woven with dread.
I shift, silent, ready to strike.
Krenshaw steps closer. “He’s a weapon, isn’t he?” he says, nodding toward me unseen in the trees. “Genetically novel. Telepathic. Dangerous.”
I step out—breaking canopy shadow for moonlight.
Every head turns.
Esme gasps. My feet flex on the branch, glow of fear and power thrumming through me.
“I am no weapon,” I say quietly, voice low and jagged with suppressed fury.
Krenshaw’s eyes narrow behind that skin-mask. “You confuse creature and possessive bond. Fascinating.”
Esme wraps her arm around my waist—half-fear, half shield.
I press my cheek to her hair, inhaling fragility and fire. She trembles there, and I burn with need to protect her.
Krenshaw tilts his head in approval. “You’re hers, aren’t you?”
“She’s mine,” I correct, claws pressing into bark.
The world tilts. I taste acidic promise in the air—steel and fear and hope.
Esme steps forward, chest shining with defiance. “If anyone is yours,” she says, pulling me beside her, “it’s us. Together.”
The colonists murmur approval. The air hums with tension.
Krenshaw smiles—half human, half predator. “Bold.”
Esme breathes in low. “We live or die on our terms.”
I ripple a growl low in my throat.
Krenshaw’s laugh grimmers than thunder. “So be it. You’ve been warned.”
He turns and steps back into the shuttle’s maw that shines and waits.
The doors seal. The engines hum. The ship lifts, birdlike, and vanishes into open sky.
The jungle exhales. Leaves stir. The bond between us crackles deeper—thicker than blood.
Esme turns to me, voice small, fierce: “They came for us.”
I draw her close and murmur: “Then we’ll show them who holds Sweetwater.”
Inside, I taste smoke, rain, and triumph.
Krenshaw’s voice drips over the settlement’s ragged boundaries like some poisoned lullaby. He stands before the gathered colonists—Esme at the forefront—offering them “opportunities.” Jobs in his Helios Combine weapons factories,tiny shards of respite in exchange for shipping them off foreign. He brands it generosity.
I grip a root below, muscles taut. The metallic tang of his promise coats the air—cheap, corrupting.
