Page 51 of Mated to the Monster God
Tara's gaze sharpens. “That’s what Krenshaw needs,” she adds, testing the air. “Access to that resin.”
The thought hums in my brain like trapped static. Krenshaw wasn’t bluffing when he pointed at me. He wanted me, or my mother’s discovery, alive.
Rick pours sweat onto the floor, scowling. “They’ll come back in the morning. Sunrise. Without this resin, we’re just targets.”
I shake my head, steady myself. “We won’t run.” Determination ignites. “We dig in. We secure the resin. We prepare defenses.”
A ripple of murmurs moves through the settlers.
“I’ve figured out ration safeties,” Tara says. “We’ll ration with the resin medigel. Every dose counts.”
“I’ll hunt,” Morty pipes up. “Trap more feverbloom plants.”
Jimmy, clutching his gadget parts, pipes nervously, “Protect the station.”
Even Rick looks stiff with renewed fire.
Hope is a fragile flame—but it’s lit again.
I step into the center, warming my hands on the table. “We fight.”
Tara places her hand on mine. “Together.”
A tremor runs through me—fear and fierce protectiveness coiling into resolve. Krenshaw thinks us weak, but he’s about to find out he’s never faced a colony with heart, with something wild and burning to defend.
Rain pulses against the canvas of Sweetwater like a frantic drumbeat. Thin rays of lantern light flicker across slick leaves, muggy earth, and the drawn faces of colonists huddled inside the tent. I slip out, taking air that tastes like wet dirt and adrenaline.
The resin vial thuds against my thigh—cool, heavy with potential. Thoughts aren’t yet coherent, just pure drive. I have to do this.
I emerge onto the path that leads into the forest, where moonlight fractures through leaves. Boots squelch in mud. Insects shriek behind damp trunks. Wind smells like moss and fear—it’s what fuels me, what pushes me forward.
My lungs ache when I sense movement—a predator’s grace beneath rain’s murmur. Sagax.
He steps into the glow of a bent lantern, dripping with water, skin supple in dark bronze. His eyes shoot gold fire.
“Esme,” he says, voice low as thunder. Every syllable weighs. “What are you doing?”
My steps falter. I turn, hands trembling, the vial cupped against me.
“I’m trying to save everyone,” I manage, voice thick.
He exhales, chest heaving. “Or you’re trying to flee from what this means.”
Lightning splinters the sky, painting his face in half-shadow—half-scaled, half desperate. I shiver, wanting to soothe and push away both instincts.
“I can’t just wait for Krenshaw to take us apart,” I whisper. “That resin… it’s our only leverage. We cannot survive what’s coming.”
His claws scrape against the wooden post. Wood cracks along the grain. “You’re stealing from your own—your mother.”
I curl the vial tighter. Cloudburst rain sluices around us, soaking through every layer. The forest sighs.
“It’s not theft. It’s a lifeline,” I whisper.
He advances, rain sliding from his shoulders like molten metal. “You’re risking yourself,” he says, voice gritty. “All for a hope.”
“Because hope is more than staying alive,” I pause, chasing breath. “It’s aboutliving.”
The air crackles between us—wet tension, fear, something savage beneath the water’s wash.
