Page 27 of Moth to Her Flame

“We should…” What? Pack? Run? Drag each other closer and run to the bed?

“We should finish packing.” His voice stays steady, but his wings betray how affected he is—their glow almost blinding now. “We need to leave soon.”

Right. Packing. Moving to his mountain. Where we’ll be in close quarters, surrounded by his family, dealing with deadly threats.

None of which explains why I can’t stop staring at his mouth.

“Chelsea?”

“Hmm?”

“You lost in thought?”

Yes. I’m imagining that probe doing wicked, wicked things to every inch of my skin. Wondering how it would feel against my—

“Right!” Standing too quickly makes my chair scrape against the floor. “Packing. Very important.”

His knowing chuckle follows me from the kitchen, along with the lingering scent of peaches and an impending autumn storm.

Later, I tell myself. We’ll deal with this… awareness… attraction… later.

But as I return to sorting files, all I can think about is that talented, facile tongue seeking inside me and finding all of my… sweet spots.

Some revelations change everything.

Some hunger can’t be satisfied with fruit.

And some cryptid appendages deserve their own damn fan club.

Chapter Twenty

Chelsea

“You’re listening to Nocturnal Transmissions, where the strange becomes familiar, and the familiar becomes… well, let’s just say nothing’s quite what it seems these days.” I fine-tune the controls before queuing up the next caller. “Line two, you’re live with Nocturna.”

“Hi, um, I think my vacuum cleaner is in love with my Roomba? It keeps following it around the house playing Barry White songs through its motor…”

A soft snort comes from behind me where Riven lounges on the couch as he pages through some of the files we pulled earlier today. His wings have lost some of their shine. I imagine he’ll come over to look at my soundboard soon and “accidentally”lean in close. Sometimes I wonder if the touch isn’t just necessary for him anymore. It seems I miss it if it’s been more than a few hours, although I haven’t mentioned my growing addiction to him.

“It started playing ‘Let’s Get It On’ while chasing my Roomba around the kitchen island! Now they’re both hiding under the couch making weird beeping noises…”

Something catches my eye as a massive shape appears at my window. Volt’s golden feathers gleam in the moonlight as he gives me a wing-wave that somehow manages to be both regal and sardonic.

“Well folks, sounds like true appliance love. Maybe try couples counseling? And now a word from our sponsors…”

My own voice fills the airwaves with a deliberately terrible jingle: “Is your cryptid getting cranky? Feeling a little supernatural stress? Try Bigfoot’s Bunion Balm—because even legendary creatures need self-care! Available wherever mysterious merchandise materializes…”

“That’s actually not bad,” rumbles a deep voice as the Sasquatch I assume is Cliff ducks through my door, followed by Dante. “Make a note. When it goes into production, I prefer eucalyptus to peppermint.”

Up close, Cliff is even more impressive than expected—seven feet of muscle and russet fur, with surprisingly kind eyes and perfect posture. Dante’s curved horns catch the studio lights ashe sets down a stack of moving boxes. He’s surprisingly spry considering his wing is still bandaged. That must have been a heck of a wolf attack.

“While you finish your program, we’ll pack all the equipment you’re not using right now,” he reports, tail swishing. “We’ll be ready for transport within minutes of your sign-off.”

“Your backup generator’s already good to go at the new location,” Volt adds through the window. “And, your highness…” he tosses a mock-irritated stare at Riven, “I set everything up according to your thorough instructions.”

Riven’s wings flutter in annoyance. “There’s no such thing as unnecessary perfectionism when it comes to broadcast equipment.”

The countdown screen tells me it’s time to return to my broadcast. “Line four, you’re live with Nocturna…”

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