Moth to Her Flame (Mated to the Monster: Season 3)

20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

C helsea

“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 as he 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…”

“I need to talk about the face I keep seeing in my shower tiles. At first, I thought it was just random patterns, but now it’s giving me stock market advice? And the weird thing is… its tips are actually making me money!”

The next hour passes in a blur of calls (some clearly spoofing me and some serious concerns), careful packing choreography, and cryptids moving my life into boxes. Between segments, Cliff shares terrible puns while Dante offers surprisingly sophisticated commentary on my book collection. Volt keeps watch from outside the open window, his occasional thunderous chuckles making the windows rattle.

Through it all, Riven stays close, his presence both steadying and electric. His wing curves around me during commercial breaks, golden light painting everything in warm amber tones that make even packing feel magical.

Finally, the last call ends. “Remember, truth seekers—sometimes the most important mysteries are the ones we carry within. This is Nocturna, signing off until tomorrow night.”

As I click off my soundboard, something catches in my throat. This little studio has been my sanctuary, my connection to the world, my way of speaking truth to strangeness.

“Ready?” Riven’s voice is filled with gentle understanding.

“No. Yes. Maybe?” Taking a deep breath, I stand. “How exactly are we doing this?”

“The others will handle the equipment and boxes,” he explains, wings spreading slightly. “You and I are taking the scenic route.”

“You mean…”

“Ever wanted to see your mountain from above?”

Heart pounding, I step closer. His arms wrap around me with infinite care, wings creating a cocoon of warmth and safety. The scent of lush, humid midnight fills my lungs.

“Trust me?” he whispers against my hair.

“Yes.”

He steps onto the porch, and one powerful downstroke launches us into the air. The ground falls away as we soar higher, my cabin becoming a toy house below. The cool mountain air rushes past, but his arms create a perfect shelter, his body heat keeping me warm despite the altitude. Each powerful wingbeat sends ripples of golden light across the night sky, his feathers catching moonlight and transforming it into our own private aurora.

My hands clutch his shoulders initially, face buried against his chest where his heartbeat thunders steady and strong. But slowly, wonder overcomes fear. His scent surrounds me—something wild and electric, like ozone before a storm—and the steady rhythm of his wings creates a gentle rocking motion that feels surprisingly natural.

“Look,” he murmurs, his low voice causing a tide of goosebumps to race across my skin.

Lifting my head cautiously, breath catches in my throat. Stars wheel overhead, closer than they’ve ever been, their light pure and untouched by earthly haze. Below, shadow-shapes move through the forest—my new family, carrying pieces of my old life toward something new. The perspective shifts something inside me—this view of the world makes everything seem both smaller and more magnificent.

His wings catch an updraft and we soar higher, the flight somehow both thrilling and peaceful, dangerous and safe. Like him. Like us.

“Thank you,” The words escape in an awestruck whisper, though for what exactly—the flight, the protection, the way he holds me like something precious—I’m not entirely sure.

His answering smile outshines the stars, and his wings curl slightly closer, creating a cocoon of warmth and golden light around us as we glide through the crystal-clear mountain air. In this moment, suspended between earth and sky, everything else falls away except the steady beat of his wings and the incredible feeling of flying in the arms of someone who would move heaven and earth to keep me safe.