Page 22 of Moth to Her Flame

“‘Garden Planning’?”

“Alien abductions. Crop circles, you know?”

His delighted laughter vibrates through his wing and into my bones. We spend the next hour exploring my filing system, his commentary growing increasingly creative.

Another drawer reveals more mysteries: “‘Cookie Recipes from Pinterest’—definitely about blood-drinking cryptids.”

“Actually, those are real cookie recipes.” At his surprised look, I grin. “Best place to hide a tree is in the forest.”

“Let me guess—’Aunt Mabel’s Bridge Club’ is actually about interdimensional portals?”

“Close! Secret government tunnels. Because where else would those ladies get their gossip?”

His answering smile crinkles the corners of his eyes in a way that makes my heart stutter. Speaking of bridges, I’ve definitely moved from being terrified and revolted by his appearance and moved to… finding him attractive. The wiry-looking hair on his neck and around his eyes is now beckoning me. I want to touch it. Maybe it won’t be so… repugnant after all.

When I return my attention to my files, I spot it—a folder labeled “Summer Camp Arts & Crafts.”

“That’s it!” The memory clicks. “I’ve seen that maze symbol before—it was in an article about corporate logos with occult meanings!”

Together, we spread the contents across my desk. His warmth at my back, wings creating a private space around us, feels natural now. Right.

“There.” His finger lands on a newspaper clipping. The maze symbol appears in the corner of an advertisement for a tech startup’s recruitment drive. The article dates back three years.

“‘Apex Evolution Technologies seeks innovative minds for groundbreaking research’,” I read aloud. “‘Competitive salary, excellent benefits, chance to reshape reality as we know it.’ Well, that’s not ominous at all.”

“Look at the location.” His breath stirs my hair, sending shivers down my spine.

“The same mountain range where you…” The implications sink in. “They’ve been planning this foryears.”

His wings pull tighter around us both. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We?” The word comes out softer than intended.

“Yes, we.” His hand finds mine again, the squeeze gently reassuring. “You’re not alone anymore.”

The declaration hangs between us, heavy with promise. His wing-light bathes us both in soft gold, and I realize I’m leaning against him, our fingers still intertwined.

When did this happen? When did his presence stop being something to endure? When did it morph into something I crave?

“Thank you.” The words encompass everything—his support, his protection, his unwavering belief in me.

His other arm slides around my waist, and my breath catches at the intimacy of being held like this. “For what?”

“For seeing me. The real me. Not the crazy conspiracy theorist or the failed journalist. Just… me.”

One of his antennae brushes my hair in such a slow, precise way I assume it has deep meaning in his species. “Thank you for seeing me, too. For looking past…”

“Past what?” Turning in his arms, I meet his gaze directly. “Past these?” My fingers trace one of his antennae gently, drawing a sharp inhale from him. “Or these?” My other hand strokes his wing where it curves around us.

His antennae is silken, featherlike, and his wing is the softest gossamer.

His eyes darken to molten gold, sparking with desire. “Chelsea…”

A knock at the front door shatters the moment. We spring apart like guilty teenagers, though his wings maintain their brilliant glow.

“That’ll be Dante.” His voice sounds as shaken as I feel. “He said he might stop by.”

My heart rabbits in my chest as I imagine men in black behind my front door. Riven must see my panic because he wiggles his antennae and adds, “I can tell his energy signature, Chelsea. It’s Dante. He’s cool and probably has news to share.”

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