Page 11 of The Monster's Daughter
I’ve never felt anything like it. Not with Jamie, not with the kindest friends I lost to fire. This is different. She’s different. And it terrifies me more than the war ever could.
I was supposed to protect my family. My parents. That was my vow. And now here I am, risking everything for a human who insults me, mocks me, spits in my face—and somehow, with every look, pulls me apart.
I can’t let her do this.
But I don’t know how to stop it.
The suburbs of Lurax are worse than I imagined.
Burned-out houses lean crooked against one another like tired old men. Hovercars sag on melted wheels, their frames warped and caved. Mailboxes gape like open mouths, ash spilling from them like tongues. The streets smell of rust and charred plastic, the air thick with the faint tang of coolant from vehicles that bled out years too soon.
Bella stays a pace behind me, weapon loose in her hand—not pointed at me, but not tucked away either. Habit, not threat. Her boots crunch glass with every step. I can hear her breathing, sharp and controlled, the way soldiers keep themselves steady in places that reek of ghosts.
Then I see it.
Our house.
It’s still standing.
The roof’s bowed and the windows are blown out, but the walls are there, the door still clinging to its hinges like it refuses to fall. My heart slams against my ribs so hard I almost stagger. Against all odds, our home defied the fire.
Bella glances at me, then slips past with her weapon raised, scanning corners as she pushes the door open. It creaks loud in the silence.
I follow her inside.
The air smells like dust and faint spice. Like my mother’s cooking, buried deep in the wood. The table still stands, dishes scattered but unbroken. A photo clings crooked to the wall—my parents, younger, standing in front of the deli. My father’s hand on my shoulder. My mother’s smile like sunlight.
I can’t breathe.
Bella moves carefully, scanning, but I don’t hear her anymore. My eyes track the details that shouldn’t exist after fire. A chair upright. Curtains half-burnt but still hanging. The faintscrape of claw marks on the doorframe—mine, from years ago, when I was too young to open it without scratching the wood.
But the hovercar is gone.
I stop in the doorway, claws digging grooves into the frame as relief slams into me like a wave. They fled. They weren’t here when the bombs fell. They could be alive.
Hope claws its way into my chest. Thin, fragile, but alive.
Outside, Bella holsters her weapon and squints at me. Her hair catches the light, copper flames against the ruin. “Okay,” she says slowly. “If they’re not here, where would they go?”
The answer is already in my throat. “The mountains. There’s an old family bunker, hidden in the cliffs. Supplies, water. It was built for times like this.”
She whistles, low. “Hell of a hike.”
“It won’t be easy,” I admit. My claws flex at my sides. “The zone between here and there… it crawls with scavenger drones. Nulegion’s, most likely. They pick over wreckage like carrion birds.”
She nods. “Great. Murderbots. Just what I needed on this trip.”
I turn to her, ready to tell her to stay behind. To find some hollow, safe enough for a human. But the words stick in my throat.
She doesn’t need my protection. She doesn’t want it. She’s already walked through fire beside me, already faced shadows that took her comrades. She’s here.
And deep down—gods help me—I want her here. Not as bait. Not as a medic. Just… here.
I look at her, really look, and the bond hums in my veins, undeniable.
“You’ll come with me,” I say. My voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t threaten. It just decides.
She crosses her arms, green eyes sparking. “Like I had a choice?”
