Page 3 of Moth to Her Flame

“So busted, bro,” Dante says. He must have been paying more attention to us than the book he’s pretending to read. “You’ve been watching her? Not cool.”

“N-not watching her,” I insist. “Watchingoverher. She’s already lost everything once for telling the truth about the Sasquatchshe saw.” I give Cliff a pointed stare, as though he’s the culprit. Pacing the cool stone floor, I can’t keep the edge from my voice. “She deserves to know what’s coming.”

“Riven.” Volt’s voice gentles. “You don’t even know her.”

But I do. I know she likes to sit on her porch and drink coffee around three in the afternoon when she wakes up. I know one of her favorite ambient songs is “Darkstar” by John Carpenter; she plays it more than almost any other music. I know she keeps a gun in her desk drawer but prefers words as weapons.

And I know she might shoot me on sight.

“I could tell by her tone of voice. She’s not taking the threat seriously. I have to warn her.” My antennae twitch. “She deserves that much.”

“She’ll panic,” Dante warns. “Humans usually do when they see us. Volt’s humongous, and when his feathers ruffle with electricity, mere mortals cringe. Cliff is terrifying for other, shaggier reasons. Me? Between my horns and devilish tail, I doubt anyone thinks I’m a nice guy. And you…” He lets the sentence drop because he doesn’t have to describe me. I know that between my yellow eyes, painted wings, and moth-like hair, I’m not exactly Hollywood material.

“Not her. She won’t panic.” The certainty in my voice surprises even me. “She talks about cryptids all the time. She’d be cool with it.”

“Because you’re half in love with her voice?” Cliff’s tone is gentle despite the accusation in his words.

“Because she chose truth over safety once before.” My muscles tense, body coiled for action. “She deserves the chance to make that choice again.”

Volt sighs, electricity crackling around him. “At least wait until tomorrow. Plan it out. Don’t just—”

“Every minute we wait is another minute she’s vulnerable.” The thought of those corporate vultures circling closer while she sits unaware in that isolated cabin makes my antennae twitch. “I won’t risk her safety because I’m afraid of her reaction.”

The others exchange looks. They know that tone. It’s the same one I used when I found Dante wounded in a hunter’s trap, when I led Volt to that downed plane so he could help me drag the crash victims to safety while they were still unconscious.

“Fine.” Volt rises, impressive wingspan casting large shadows on the cavern’s walls. “But if you get shot, don’t come crying to me.”

“Technically, I’d come crying to Cliff. He’s our medic.”

“Just…” Dante closes his book, using one of his claws as a bookmark. “Be careful. And maybe don’t lead with ‘Hi, I’m the Mothman who’s been secretly watching you.’”

My nostrils flare in anger. “I don’t secretly watch—”

Cliff rolls his eyes, which is not a good look on a Sasquatch. His mumbled, “Your carved sculptures suggest otherwise, bro,” has no heat.

They’re right. This is probably a terrible idea. But as Nocturna’s voice fills our sanctuary, my decision crystallizes like the surrounding formations.

Sometimes protecting someone important means risking everything.

Even if she might hate me for it.

Chapter Three

Riven

Her cabin lights pierce the darkness like a beacon, drawing me closer with each wingbeat. The mountain air carries her voice—still broadcasting—straight to my sensitive antennae. Even from this distance, that husky tone pierces straight to the heart of me.

The cool air should clear my head. Instead, my thoughts spiral like autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind.

Just tell her the truth. Simple. Direct.

Right. Because “Hi, I’m a Mothman who listens to your show, and by the way, there’s an evil tech company hunting cryptids… and you,” is such a winning opener.

Banking left around a craggy peak, my antennae pick up the familiar electronic hum of her broadcasting equipment. Her cabin perches against the mountainside ahead, a defiant rectangle of warm light against the darkness. The sight of it sends my pulse racing faster than the flight here did.

Lead with the danger. That’s what matters.

But what if she doesn’t believe me? After what happened with her Sasquatch story, she might think this is someone’s idea of a cruel joke. The thought of her dismissing the warning—dismissing me—makes my wings stutter mid-flight.

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