Page 50 of Mated to the Monster God
She meets my gaze, eyes wide, rain glistening on her lashes. “What are you planning?”
My mind runs a thousand possibilities—the wicked blade from my shoulder, the silent elimination of threat. I have fought more efficient battles than this. But on her face, I see the cost of taking vengeance too quickly.
“There’s a path,” I say, voice quiet but burning. “Not easy. Dangerous. But I can’t let him stake a claim on what is our home.”
Her fingertips drift up to my cheek—cool rain for hot fire. “I don’t want you losing yourself.”
“I’m already lost,” I murmur, leaning into her. The rain drips between us, washing away hesitation.
She shakes her head. “You’re powerful. And you’re mine.”
That tether squeezes my heart until I taste copper on my tongue.
I hear a voice behind me—Tara: “Sagax? Esme?”
I turn slowly. Tara, Blondie, and a few others cluster by the med tent, storm-worn and watchful.
I mask my rage behind calm. “We spoke,” I say. “We’ll resist—together.”
Tara nods, eyes steady. “We’ll stand.”
Esme finally untangles my cloak from her arm and stands tall, as solid as any fortress. “We’re not leaving.” Her voice cracks and holds both fire and fragility.
Krenshaw’s ship glints phantom-white in the distance. Sunrise and ultimatum press. But around us, I taste survival, and—most sacredly—I feel our bond deepening, tempered in shared defiance.
I take Esme’s hand, pressing it into my shoulder. The rain is distant now, a backdrop to the rhythm of our breathing and my calculated heartbeat.
“If he comes back…” I trail off.
She smiles, small, fierce. “He will.”
Every promise coils in my chest—vengeance, protection, hunger for something more than fear.
As the rain pelts harder, drumming on canvas, on leaves, on skin, I let my errant instincts settle into purpose instead of fury. The colony stands. I am here. She is beside me.
And I swear—no one will touch her but me.
CHAPTER 15
ESME
Ipound a wooden table with shaking hands, clearing a space for the whole colony. The makeshift council circle forms in the flickering torchlight—each face drawn tight with fear, anger, uncertainty. My voice cracks with urgency. “I’m calling this meeting because Krenshaw is demanding sunrise. If we don’t comply?—”
Tara stands beside me, eyes soft with worry. She steps forward. “We can’t run blindly. There has to be another way.”
Rick leans heavily on his cane, mouth soap-box loud. “We drop tool and flee tonight. No offense, Esme, but I won’t work in a bloody factory under those suits.”
Murky grumbles of agreement roll across the circle.
Blondie raises a hand, exposing her palms as though they're dry-ruled slates. “Wait. I discovered something—something that could change this fight.” Instinct urges me to hush her, but curiosity claws at my lips. “The extra resin I extracted from the feverbloom cuttings… It’s potent. I tested it on a rat’s wound—it doubled the speed and quality of healing.”
Silence crashes the tent.
The resin smell lingers—sharp, floral, sacred—under flickering flames. Medical tools and ration containers seem to hold their breath along with everyone else.
“This… could save us,” I whisper, voice hollow with promise.
Blondie nods, swallowing hard. “If I can synthesize larger quantities, we could make medigel stretches last twice as long. Save lives. Maybe enough to buy time.”
