Page 32 of Moth to Her Flame

“No.” Volt’s massive form blocks my view of the exit. “You’ll tell her today, or we will. Apex is getting bolder. Their drones are everywhere. We need you at full strength, not barely able to stand.”

“You wouldn’t dare tell her without my permission.” But even as I say it, I know they would. Know theyshould.

“Try us.” Cliff crosses his arms, fur bristling. “You’ve got until sunset. After that, we’re done watching you martyr yourself with all this misplaced nobility.”

“Some guardian you’ll be,” Dante adds quietly, “if you can’t even fly straight. Hell, you can’t even walk straight. What happens when she really needs protection?”

That hits harder than anything else—the thought of being too weak to defend her when Apex finally makes their move.

“Fine.” The word tastes like surrender. “I’ll tell her. But I do it my way.”

“As long as your way includes actual facts about mate bond progression and the consequences of denial.” Volt’s wings create a canopy of crackling energy above us. “No more minimizing. No more self-righteous suffering.”

“And if she runs?” The question escapes before I can catch it. “If knowing everything makes her leave?”

“Then at least it’s her choice.” Cliff’s expression softens. “But you’re not giving her enough credit. She chose to kiss you, didn’t she?”

The memory of her lips against mine sends a brief surge of warmth through my wings, but even that feels muted now. Fading. Like everything else.

“Sunset,” Volt reminds me, jabbing a finger toward my chest to drive his point home. “Or we start talking.”

They leave me alone with my thoughts, which are growing fuzzier by the minute. My wings hang limp, their glow barely visible even in the dim morning light. Every breath feels like trying to draw air through the eye of a needle.

They’re right. Of course, they’re right. But how do you tell someone that their touch isn’t just desired but necessary? That without it, without them, you’ll literally fade away?

How do you ask for everything while promising they still have a choice?

The crystal lights swim in my vision as I contemplate the impossible conversation ahead. Somewhere above, through layers of mountain stone, the sun climbs higher.

Time, like everything else, is running out.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chelsea

The tightness in Riven’s features as he leads me to the base of the waterfall sets off every journalistic instinct I possess. Something’s wrong. His wings, usually luminescent gold, have dulled to a sickly bronze, and his antennae droop in a way that makes my chest ache.

The thundering cascade creates a private alcove, mist cooling my heated skin. Crystal formations catch the water’s reflected light, turning our hidden corner into something out of a fairy tale. But there’s nothing whimsical about the way Riven leans against the rock wall, as if standing takes too much effort.

“Whatever you need to say,” my voice barely carries over the water’s roar, “just say it.”

His citrine eyes meet mine with that devastating honesty I’ve come to rely on. “I haven’t been entirely forthcoming about the mate bond.”

The words send ice through my veins despite the humid air. “What about it?”

“There are stages.” He speaks slowly, carefully, like someone mapping a minefield. “The initial connection—that first touch that made my wings glow—was just the beginning.”

“And the touching that helps now? The kisses?”

“Temporary solutions.” His wings flutter weakly. “Each time, the effect lessens. What once sustained me for days now barely lasts hours. The kiss last night that was sweeter than nectar? Look at me. All its effects are gone.”

Moving closer, close enough to feel the static electricity that always seems to dance between us. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“The bond requires… completion.” His antennae flatten against his hair—pure distress. “Full intimacy.” His gaze darts from mine. “Without it…”

“You’ll keep getting weaker.” The pieces snap into place, forming a terrible truth. “Until…”

“Yes.” That single syllable carries the weight of mortality.

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