Page 8 of Moth to Her Flame

“Probably.” Electricity dances along his feathers, surprisingly gentle. “But terrible ideas are kind of our specialty. Besides…” His voice softens to a distant rumble. “Sometimes people need a little thunder to clear the air.”

Her cabin appears on the horizon, and my heart kicks painfully in my chest. Volt’s grip tightens, either in comfort or to prevent escape.

“Ready or not, radio girl,” he mutters as we begin our descent. “Time to meet the extended family.”

Chapter Seven

Chelsea

Thunder rumbles overhead. I look out the front window as a massive golden creature lands on my porch, his wingspan threatening to block out the sun. Lightning crackles between his feathers, and his voice carries the bass of an approaching storm.

“The gun really isn’t necessary.” He sounds almost amused, which only makes him more terrifying. “Though your grip is excellent. Military training?”

“YouTube tutorials.” Despite hours of prep and practice, my hand shakes as I aim at his broad chest. “What are you?”

“Thunderbird, obviously.” He shifts the burden in his arms, and I realize he’s carrying the Mothman from last night. Who looks…awful. His wings hang limp, their golden sheen dulled to a sickly bronze. “But we can do proper introductions later. Right now, we need to talk about your mate-bond.”

“Mywhat?”In the morning sun, I see every disturbing feature of the Mothman that I couldn’t see in the dark. The way that leonine hair frames unnaturally citrine eyes. The thick, insectoid antennae that twitch with each breath. The coarse hair that runs down his chest like some bizarre—and disgusting—evolutionary mistake.

“May we come in?” The Thunderbird—because apparently that’s a thing now—takes a step forward.

“Stop!” But he moves with liquid grace, plucking the gun from my trembling fingers and tossing it gently into the grass.

“You’ll want that later.” His voice is soft, kind. “But right now, we need to focus on keeping this idiot alive.”

“I’m fine,” the Mothman mumbles unconvincingly as his antennae flutter, then wilt against his head.

“You’re about as fine as a Windows update.” The enormous creature rumbles, sounding like thunder despite the clear sky. “Now, Miss Nocturna—”

“Chelsea.”

“Chelsea. What my friend here failed to mention last night, before you understandably threatened to shoot him, is that he’s now bound to you. Physically bound. As in, if he stays away too long—” Weak as he is, the Mothman elbows him so hard the Thunderbird doesn’t finish his sentence.

A hysterical laugh bubbles up. “Mothmen… Thunderbirds… beingboundto someone… All completely normal.” I need a seat, or a stiff drink, or to teleport somewhere—anywhere—else. Perhaps all three at once. “Anything else? Does he need to drink my blood, too? Maybe harvest my dreams? Or my organs?” Other, baser, more disgusting ideas flit through my mind, but I don’t voice them.

“Just… proximity.” The Mothman’s voice comes out strained. “And eventually… touch.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not like that!” His antennae twitch in what might be embarrassment. “Just contact. Physical contact. I’ve read—”

“You’veread?”My hysteria edges closer to fury. “In what,The Mothman’s Guide to Harassing Women?”

The Thunderbird sighs, electricity arcing between his feathers. “Riven, you’re not helping. Chelsea, I understand this is a lot, but—”

“A lot? This is insane! You expect me to believe that this… this…” I wave my hand at the Mothman’s—Riven’s—slumpedform. “That he’s ill because he needs my touch? That physical proximity cures his weakness?”

“Would you like a demonstration?” Something dangerous edges into Thunderbird’s voice. He sets the Mothman on his feet and says, “Riven, walk away.”

“Volt—”

“Do it.”

Riven’s knees sag as he struggles to maintain his footing, wings dragging. He manages three steps before his knees buckle and he crumples to the wood-planked floor.

“Still think we’re joking?” The Thunderbird’s—he’s called Volt evidently—expression softens at whatever he sees on my face. “Look, we’re not asking you to marry him. Just… let him stay close enough to remain vertical while we figure this out.”

“And if I say no?”

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