Page 15 of Moth to Her Flame

A rush of movement catches my attention—too controlled to be wildlife, too quiet to be human. My antennae detect Dante’s distinct energy signature seconds before the Jersey Devil materializes from the shadows.

“Got a minute?” His usual sardonic tone carries an edge tonight.

We slip into the old Ford where I’ve been sleeping. Dante pulls a tablet from his worn leather messenger bag and pulls up a series of encrypted files.

“My contact at Apex Technologies finally got back to me.” His claws tap against the screen with unsettling speed. “Still locked out of their main servers, but what we’ve uncovered so far… it’s bad.” He shakes his shaggy head, tension tightening his jaw.

He scrolls through files too swiftly for me to read them, but evidently he’s already pored over the contents.

“Apex is definitely interested in cryptids.” Dante’s voice drops lower. “And something tells me they’re not interested in improving our quality of life. My source says they have plans. Big ones. Just waiting on confirmation of exactly what they’re up to, although I have some suspicions, and all of them are awful.”

A faint whine cuts through the night. My antennae vibrate with warning.

“Drone.” Dante kills the tablet’s display as we sink lower in the seats. “My prediction? This is only going to get worse. With the rise in prices for cryptids for the collector’s market.”

Through the windshield, a sleek black shape passes overhead. Nothing obviously military grade, but definitely more sophisticated than civilian gear.

“This might have something to do with that caller mentioning their symbol.” Dante pulls up a signal analysis. “That probablytriggered their robo-monitoring systems. Maybe they think Chelsea’s connected to some underground cryptid network.”

“But she’s not—”

“Doesn’t matter what’s true. Matters what they believe.” He shows me fragments of internal communications. Nothing definitive, but enough to set my teeth on edge. “My source promises to get us more info soon, then we’ll know more about whatever they’re planning. My hunch? This is serious, bro.”

Turning swiftly causes a wave of dizziness—it’s been too long since any contact with Chelsea. “What can we do?”

Dante’s bag yields some basic security equipment: motion sensors and signal jammers. “Not much yet. But this should help us track their movements, give early warning if they try anything.”

The next hour passes as we set up a rudimentary defense grid, staying in the shadows while placing sensors at key points. Each device we activate shows as a green dot on Dante’s tablet.

“You can’t keep this up forever.” Dante steadies me as another wave of weakness hits. “The mate bond—”

“Isn’t her problem.” The words scrape my throat raw. “She didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No one asks for their destiny. Doesn’t make it less real.” His tail lashes with frustration. “You’re literally killing yourself trying to protect someone who doesn’t even admit she needs protection.”

Back in the old Ford, I watch through her window as Chelsea pulls off her headphones, stretches, and rubs the back of her neck. Even at this distance, I feel the connection. My wings shimmer with faint light, betraying my need.

The drone returns, higher but still monitoring. It can’t see us in the car, or it would have swooped in on us by now.

“Tell her.” Dante packs up. “Not everything—not yet. But she needs to know someone’s watching. That there’s danger.”

The thought of burdening her with more of my complications makes my chest ache. But as she turns off her studio lights, blissfully unaware of the shadow circling her home, the choice crystallizes.

I burn with the need to go to her, to let my wings flare wide and wrap her in their protection. Instead, I force myself to stay here as I lower the seatback and grab the blanket Cliff brought me on his last visit.

Some instincts can’t be followed. Some desires have to be denied. Some threats require careful handling.

But as Dante melts back into the darkness, leaving me to my vigil, one truth burns brighter than my glowing wings: I can survive her rejection. I can endure the mate bond’s pain.

But I cannot—will not—let them hurt her.

Chapter Fourteen

Chelsea

The two a.m. hour wraps around my little broadcast room like a familiar blanket, equipment lights blinking in the darkness beyond my desk lamp’s warm circle. Through the window, a crescent moon hangs above snow-capped peaks. It’s the perfect atmosphere for tonight’s open-line segment.

“Welcome back, night owls… and other creatures of the night.” My voice drops into its signature smoky tone. “Time for your calls, your stories, your brushes with the unknown. Line three, you’re live with Nocturna. What’s keeping you up tonight?”

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