Page 21 of The Monster's Daughter
My mother’s the first to move. Sorena’s claws cup my face, rough pads tracing every line of my scales. Her touch trembles, her breath hitching like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she blinks. “You’re thin,” she murmurs. “And you stink of ash and blood.”
I huff a laugh that’s more broken than I want it to be. “Still better than dead.”
She presses her forehead to mine, frills flaring wide. It’s the same gesture she gave me as a hatchling after nightmares. The same one that meant,I see you. You’re mine.
Gake comes next. My father doesn’t speak at first, just looks me over with those sharp, calculating eyes. He nods once, then claps a heavy hand on my shoulder. The strength in it nearly buckles my knees.
“You made it,” he says simply.
I can’t answer. My throat’s a knot of gravel and grief.
Behind me, Bella lingers in the doorway, arms folded tight across her chest. Her eyes flick between us, wary and soft all at once, like she’s trying not to intrude. But her presence hums in my bones, steadying me. I don’t want her to feel like an outsider. Not anymore.
“Come in,” I say, jerking my head toward her. “You’re not a ghost. You don’t need to haunt the threshold.”
She hesitates, then steps forward. My parents’ eyes narrow slightly, assessing, but they say nothing.
That night, we share a meal. It’s nothing glamorous—ration bricks boiled with dried herbs my mother scavenged, broth thin as air but hot, comforting. The steam curls in the dim bunker light, carrying scents that almost smell like home.
Bella sits across from me, legs tucked under the chair, eating slow. My parents flank me, their hands occasionally brushing mine, as if reassuring themselves I’m real.
Halfway through, Sorena clears her throat and pulls a small receiver from her satchel. She fiddles with the dials until static fills the room, sharp and hissing. Then a voice cuts through.
It slithers. Metallic, warped, but disturbingly… curious.
“Organic. Patterned. Perfect, but flawed. Too much fear. Too much waste. I will fix it. I will?—”
The transmission skips, garbled, but I don’t need the rest. My claws curl tight against the table.
“Nulegion,” Bella whispers. Her voice is steady, but her knuckles whiten around the spoon.
Sorena nods grimly. “It hasn’t died. It’s moving through the underground channels. We’ve been intercepting its signals for days.”
She taps the receiver, pulling up a flickering grid. Tunnels. Mines. The pattern sprawls across the mountain’s underbelly like a cancer.
“It’s close,” she says. “Closer than I like. And it sounds different now. Less… machine. More…” Her frills twitch. “Hungry.”
My father sets the receiver down with a growl. “We can hold this bunker. We’ve done it before. We’ll do it again.”
“No.” The word rips out of me. Both their eyes snap to mine. “This place won’t hold if it comes here. It wants me. Us. Whatever game it’s playing, it’s not you it’s after. It’s me.”
Silence presses heavy. My mother’s eyes shine wet, but she nods. She’s always known.
“I’ll leave at dawn,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. “Bella and I will draw it away.”
Bella blinks, caught off guard, but doesn’t argue. Not yet.
Sorena gives me that look—the one that used to stop me in my tracks as a boy. Sharp. Commanding. But proud. “Then you must lead it far. Whatever it wants, it cannot have us.”
Gake rises, walks to a locked chest in the corner. From it, he pulls a blade. The steel is old, etched with runes that catch the bunker’s light. The handle is worn from generations of claws.
He walks past me and stops in front of Bella.
Her eyes widen. “Oh, no. Don’t hand me some sacred family heirloom. I’m just?—”
He presses the knife into her palm. His voice is gravel, steady as stone. “It’s yours now. Use it if you must.”
She stares at it, lips parting, a protest hovering. But the weight of his eyes silences her.
