Page 98 of The Monster's Daughter
We collapse together, breathless, spent, his body curling protectively around mine.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs into my hair.
“And you’re mine,” I whisper back.
And this time, there’s no fear in it. Only truth.
CHAPTER 54
BELLA
The night air is brittle and scented with smoke long since cooled. I step onto the deck of our tenuous relief camp, Natalie’s still form drifting between Kage and me beneath a thin blanket. The stars overhead smear through the smog, flickering like ghosts of constellations. I cup Natalie’s face, brushing ash from her eyelashes. She murmurs, half-awake: “Mommy?” and tightens her grip on my finger.
“Shh,” I murmur, pressing my cheek to hers. “Safe here.”
Kage shifts behind us, wrapping an arm around my waist. His warmth anchors me against the night’s tremble. “We should get moving,” he says quietly. “There’s a fresh flare. Sector seven is calling.”
I nod. My boots crunch across ash-dust. The smell of smoke, charred earth, and resinous pine drifts in the air. We walk without talking, our shoulders touching in silent solidarity.
We arrive at the outskirts of the fire zone just as the dusk sky bleeds red. The smell is heavier now—burning wood, singed grasses, hot sulfur. Flames lick distant ridge lines. People bustle about in dusty gear, hauling water pods, erecting triage tents, carrying blankets and rations. The wild fire has swallowed fieldsand homes; now it’s spitting embers over the skeletal remains of forest.
I strap on my field-kit, throat tight. A volunteer meets me—hair streaked with grey ash and eyes too young. “Medic Corvain?” she calls.
“That’s me.” I attempt a smile that tastes dry. She leads me past a cluster of tents. A father cradles his child, leg blistered and raw; smoke curling wafts from the wound’s edges. He is crying quietly. I kneel beside them.
“Tell me your name,” I say gently.
“Laro,” the boy says, voice cracked.
“Laro, okay. I’m Bella. I will fix this.” I press a gauze patch soaked in healing serum. He flinches. “You’re brave, Laro. You’re holding on.”
His mother watches, eyes haunted. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I nod and move on, across scorched soil, carrying more bandages, helping water tanks be lifted overhead, directing traffic of relief shuttles. I find Natalie helping in the food line, serving ration packets to displaced families. Her small form moves back and forth. No one stares at her scales. She is just part of the life here.
She sees me. “Mom,” she says, handing me a packet. Her cheeks are streaked with dust and sweat.
I take it and press it to her lips. “Thank you, hero.”
Her eyes sparkle. “You taught me well.”
Hours pass in rhythm: triage, repair broken generators, cart water, hand out blankets. My sleeves roll back and my arms sting with scrubbed soot. My hair is matted; my uniform is damp. But there’s energy—purpose. This isn’t war. This isn’t hiding. This is healing.
At dusk, twilight spills across the campsite. The sky flickers with distant flare lights. Children dart between tents, playingtag. Natalie coils her tail and slinks into the game. I pause at the edge—ash specks floating in golden lamplight.
One girl, small, with human hair and dusty face, runs up. “Tag—you’re it!” She touches Natalie’s shoulder. No one shrieks. Natalie laughs, flips, gives chase.
I lean against a support pole, arms crossed. Another volunteer slides beside me, hose in hand. She watches the children.
“They don’t care she’s part dragon,” she says quietly.
I nod. “They see her courage before her scales.”
Smoke drifts. Embers drift overhead. Yet laughter persists. It’s a living thing.
Then a boy trips, falls face-first in dust. Natalie is there in a heartbeat, hands out, helping him up. She steadies his trembling knees.
I swallow. The tears sting.
