The Monster Lady and the Holy Knight - Chapter 3

A squelching sound echoed in her ears. Leon pulled the small body closer, tilting his head to bite deeper.

Her clothes rode up, and his rough hand caressed her soft back. Every touch sent shivers through her body. Feeling the heat from her flushed skin, he frowned.

What is this… so damn sweet.

“Ah… ugh.”

The woman tasted delicious. As vulgar as it sounded, there was no better way to describe it. She was so sweet that he wanted to devour every drop of her, down to the last bit of blood. Everything about her—taste, scent, and feel—was sweet enough to make his heart tighten painfully with desire.

It was absurd for Leon, who had never succumbed to sexual desire.

Without care, he stirred the panting woman, delving deep and rough. He shoved his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her groans.

“It hurts… it feels weird…”

Each time his tongue scraped against her palate, her sobs grew louder, sending a chill down his spine.

More. Just once more, and it won’t hurt.

This time, he was the one pleading, not her. His reason snapped the moment she awkwardly pushed her tongue back at him.

With a girl who had just come of age.

“…I’m losing my mind.”

He barely pulled his lips away from her tender flesh, letting out a hollow laugh. He was already hard below.

There is a sweet poison that melts the tongue. He was old enough to know that. But she wasn’t. That’s why he had to stop.

Taking deep, rough breaths, he raised himself on his arms. Their breaths mingled at close range. Her dilated pupils were fixed on him, wide and glassy with excitement.

He was on the verge of losing control. He was probably looking at her the same way—like a beast, ready to rip and tear as they devoured each other in a frenzy.

“…Ha.”

The cold winter air scattered white breaths between them. A silence that seemed endless followed.

It felt like being intoxicated by a strong drug, teetering between pleasure without a ceiling and an abyss without a bottom.

The fact that it was a completely different being—he never imagined that the union of a human and a Bahamut would create such an intense attraction. After all, he had never experienced it before.

The woman was dangerous, in more ways than one.

Leon quietly gazed at her saliva-slick lips before chuckling.

Veronica, her face flushed and dazed, asked, “…Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing.” He wiped the saliva from her lips with his thumb, replying, “Just looking at you, it seems like your life is bound to be difficult too.”

What had happened to her that she ended up here, left with only two options: death or mingling her breath with a stranger’s? God might burden those He loved with trials, but to place such a weight on someone who had just come of age was cruel.

“Are you still thirsty?”

Veronica stared up at him, dazed, before shaking her head slightly.

So, you’re okay now. But will you remember this when you wake up tomorrow?

He stared at her flushed cheeks. Her slender neck stretched out delicately below. The moment he realized he wanted to touch it, his mood darkened.

I’m no better than a dog in heat. With that self-assessment, Leon straightened up.

“Don’t go.”

At that moment, she grabbed onto his clothing again, and Leon froze.

“Don’t leave me alone.”

Her desperate plea made his Adam’s apple bob slowly. There was something about this woman that unnerved him.

After a moment of hesitation, the calloused hand he had used to wield his sword rose slowly, brushing against her tear-streaked eyes.

In a low murmur, he replied, “I won’t go.”

They had only one sleeping bag between them, just big enough for two if they pressed close together.

He had no intention of lying beside her. He had never doubted his self-control before, but tonight was different.

So he stood by her until she closed her eyes and began to softly snore, then rose from his spot.

Tossing a log into the fire, he tilted his head back as if suppressing something. A long breath escaped his parted lips.

You mustn’t give a single drop of wine to a thirsty man. The danger lies not in the drop of alcohol he tastes, but in the thirst that will inevitably follow.

It was a pitch-black night without a moon.

***

Veronica blinked. The sky was tinged blue. Dawn was approaching.

She lay on a vast plain, wrapped in a warm leather sleeping bag. In front of her, the flickering shadows of a fire danced on the ground. She could see a horse tethered to a nearby tree. Slowly, she sat up and noticed the large man sitting by the fire with a copper kettle.

Where am I?

Her mind was blank for a moment. Then, as the cold wind crept through her thin clothes, her memories resurfaced.

Her father, headless. Benjamin, who had begged her to escape with him. The burning buildings, collapsed one by one.

Bayern was gone. The beautiful, radiant city by the sea had been reduced to ashes.

She turned her head and saw the faint outline of the harbor city, now a pile of rubble in the pale light of dawn. It stood in the middle of the snowfield, abandoned.

This can’t be real. But it is.

She didn’t cry. She only felt empty. Veronica opened her mouth as if to speak but then clamped her teeth together so hard that her jaw ached.

She hugged herself tightly, pressing her arms against her body as if to hold herself together. She had survived, but that was all. Her entire life had been swept away.

The alleyways where she had run and played, laughing and crying. Her friends, with whom she had shared her small worries. Her father, distant but still her only family. And the grand plans she had for singing with the theater troupe next month. Her dreams.

All of it—her past and her future—was gone.

It was like someone had blown out a candle. She could hardly believe it, but the charred wick smoldering in front of her made it impossible to deny reality.

What are you supposed to do in a situation like this? No one ever taught me how to handle this. When everything is taken away, what am I supposed to…

She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, over and over. Just then, a blanket was draped over her shoulders, and a wooden cup appeared in front of her.

“Drink.”

She looked up, startled, to see the man’s expressionless face watching her. His red hair was tousled, backlit by the dawn sky. It was the man who had pulled her from that hell.

Startled, she accepted the cup, and the man casually sat beside her. She could smell the strong, biting scent of alcohol even before raising the cup to her lips.

When she looked up at him with wide eyes, he muttered, “It won’t kill you. It’ll warm your stomach and keep you from freezing to death.”

“…I’ve never had alcohol before.”

“Good. Now’s your chance.”

His indifferent reply made her feel foolish. The liquid in the cup swirled almost mockingly.

Fine, whatever.

She took a sip, letting the bitter liquid slide down her throat, warming her insides as it went.

Why do people drink this stuff?

She grimaced and turned to look at him, only to find him staring at her. She realized, suddenly, that he was disturbingly handsome. His half-lidded eyes, his straight nose, the masculine line of his neck—everything about him looked like it had been carefully sculpted by God.

The only flaw was the scar running down his right eye, but even that added to his dangerous charm, enhancing his fierce presence.

Why does he look so familiar?

Just as that thought crossed her mind, his lips curled into a slight smirk. Staring at her intently, he asked, “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday… you mean when I asked for help?”

“No. When you whined and cried about being thirsty.”

Veronica, who had been staring up at him in confusion, slowly widened her eyes as memories came flooding back.

She froze in place, her body stiffening with shock. The memories that replayed in her mind were too vivid, too overwhelming.

Why didn’t I remember this as soon as I woke up?

“More… Give me more…”

“It hurts… it feels weird…”

“Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”

Her face turned bright red. Her mind was flooded with the sounds and sensations of last night—the low voice, the heated breaths, the way her body had responded so vividly to his touch. She could still feel the warmth of his body enveloping her.

Last night… I kissed him. And I didn’t just kiss him… I clung to him.

The pleasure she had felt surged back in sharp clarity. She could remember his large hands, his hot, probing tongue.

Veronica couldn’t comprehend it. Why, at that moment, had she wanted so badly to connect with him, even if just for a brief, insane second? In that white, snowy field, she had longed to be buried in the warmth of his embrace, and—though it might sound poetic—she had even wanted to become the corpse he would bury afterward.

The only conclusion she could come to, in the end, was this:

“This doesn’t make sense.”

“It happened, though,” the man answered with a teasing tone, watching her closely. He murmured, “You blush so easily.”

His fingers hovered in the air, as if to brush her flushed cheek, but he hesitated. When she held her breath and flinched, his hand stopped in midair.

“What… what did you do to me last night?”

“I saved you. I stopped your head from exploding.”

His sharp gaze trailed down her face, lingering on her lips. His dark pupils were both vivid and clouded, making her feel strangely unsettled.

“You assimilated with a Bahamut yesterday, just before I saved you,” he said in a dry tone, as if he were simply reporting the weather that morning.

The word “assimilated” stopped her thoughts cold. Veronica reflexively glanced at the surface of the drink in her cup.

Her eyes reflected back at her—large, and bright red. Like a rabbit in the snow.

Like a Bahamut.

“You’ve already been assimilated.”

“The only reason you’re still alive is because I poured my holy power into you.”

The cold winter wind whipped through her hair. Overwhelmed by the flood of memories and information, Veronica felt as though she were suffocating.

He poured holy power into me?

Why? And more importantly, who is he?

She opened her mouth to ask but found herself unable to speak.

Red hair, a scar, black armor, holy power…

There was only one man who fit that description, the only one she knew of.

“…The Bahamut Hunter.”