Page 9 of The Monster's Daughter
I want her beside me—not as hostage, not even as healer. Justher.
I can’t explain it. Don’t want to. But I know this: I will find out if my parents live. I will walk every ash-choked street of Lurax if I must. And when I do, I want her there.
Whether she agrees or not doesn’t matter.
Because the bond doesn’t lie.
And neither do I.
CHAPTER 7
BELLA
Iwake up to the sound of steel being chewed alive.
Crack. Scrape. Crack.
When I crack an eye open, Kage’s sitting against a bent support beam, dragging a shard of metal slow and steady down his claws. Sparks jump with every stroke, sharp teeth singing against rust. The sound rattles through the hollow station like a promise.
I sit up cross-legged, ration pack balanced in my lap. The plastifoil tears with a wet rip, smell of stale protein paste puffing out. It tastes like sawdust and wet cardboard, but hunger doesn’t give me room to care. I shovel a bite into my mouth, chewing as loud as I can just to break the silence.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak. Just keeps working that metal against his claws, muscles shifting under scales with each precise motion.
And my body—the traitor—watches. The stretch of his shoulders when he rolls them back. The way his chest rises and falls with each controlled breath.
I curse under my breath and cram another mouthful down. My body doesn’t care that he’s the enemy, doesn’t care thathe could snap me in half without thinking. Doesn’t care that I should hate him.
“Could you maybe not make that sound like nails on a chalkboard?” I mutter, finally.
His head tilts, but he doesn’t stop. “You eat like an animal. We all have flaws.”
I choke on my bite, glaring. “Excuse me?”
“You tear. Chew. Snarl at your food. Like a beast.” His silver-shot eyes flicker toward me, quick and sharp. “Loud.”
“Wow,” I say, smirking around the chalky paste. “Coming from the seven-foot walking woodchipper, that means a lot. Thanks.”
For a second, his mouth twitches, like he almost smirked. But then the silence comes back, heavier than before—not fear this time. Something else. Anticipation, maybe. Like both of us are waiting for something we don’t want to name.
I dig for distraction. “So. The squad.”
His claws pause mid-stroke.
“What squad?” he rumbles.
“The one we were sent to find,” I press. “The reason I’m here in the first place. You know something.”
The silence that follows is brutal. Thick enough I taste it on my tongue, like smoke.
He says it. Two words, low as thunder. “They’re gone.”
My stomach drops. I don’t need him to explain. I’ve seen the blood on the walls. Heard the crunch in the dark. Felt the shadows breathing against the back of my neck.
It was him.
I stare down at my ration pack, fingers clenched so hard the plastifoil crumples. I should scream. Should spit in his face again. Should call him a monster.
Instead, I take a slow breath and say, “They were assholes. Most of them.”
