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

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

R iven

Dawn ignites the mountain’s crystals, painting the corridor outside Chelsea’s room in pale gold that can’t compare to the lingering memory of last night’s wing-glow. My antennae still tingle faintly from the electrical charge of that kiss, though the rest of me feels… off. Heavy. Like moving through deep water.

“You look like something the chupacabra dragged in.” Marina’s melodic voice carries concern beneath its usual playful tone. She coils her serpentine form into a more comfortable position, scales catching the early light. “When’s the last time you actually slept?”

“I rest.” The words come out slightly slurred, which is… concerning.

“Sure. Standing up like a horse.” Her webbed fingers gesture toward the great hall. “Go. I’ll watch over your radio girl. She’s still running on night-owl time, I imagine.”

The thought of leaving, even with Marina on guard, makes my wings twitch weakly. But she’s right—Chelsea won’t be up for hours. And the growing fog in my head suggests I need… something. Food maybe. Or just to sit before I fall down.

Marina’s knowing look follows me down the corridor. The walk to the great hall takes more effort than it should, each step requiring conscious thought. When did the floor get so uneven?

“Whoa.” Dante’s clawed hands steady me before I can stumble into the stone table. “You’re looking rough, even for you.”

“Thanks for your concern. I’m fine.” But the room tilts alarmingly as I try to straighten.

“Yeah, and I’m the Easter Bunny, though with all the cryptids I’ve met in my travels, I’ve never met one of those.”

Volt’s massive form emerges from the south wing, electricity crackling with agitation. “Sit down before you face-plant into breakfast.”

Someone—probably one of the younger Sasquatches—guides me to a chair. My wings drag limply, their usual golden sheen dulled to sickly bronze. Even the simple act of falling into a heap in the chair feels like a monumental task.

“This has gone far enough.” Volt’s voice rumbles like distant thunder. “Look at your wings, Riven. When’s the last time you checked a mirror?”

“It’s temporary.” The words feel thick on my tongue. “Just need rest.”

“Rest won’t fix this.” Dante’s spade-tipped tail lashes with barely contained frustration. “You know what the texts say about incomplete mate bonds. About what happens when—”

“When what?” Cliff’s deep voice joins the intervention. “When he fades away because he’s too high-minded to tell his mate the truth?”

“She kissed me.” The memory brings a brief surge of warmth, but it fades quickly. “Last night. Things are progressing naturally.”

“Naturally?” Volt’s wings spread so wide it’s as though they fill half the hall. “There’s nothing natural about the way you’re killing yourself! One kiss won’t stabilize a mate bond that’s been straining for weeks.”

My head drops into my hands, the room spinning lazily. The feeling would be almost fun—if it didn’t make me feel like hurling. “What do you want me to do? Force her? Demand more than she’s ready to give?”

“We want you to tell her the truth.” Dante’s voice gentles. “All of it. About what happens if the bond isn’t completed. About how each temporary fix becomes less effective over time.”

“About how you’ll die .” Cliff doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Slowly. Painfully. While she watches, not knowing she could have prevented it if she’d known.”

The truth of his words hits like a physical blow. My antenna press flat against my hair, a telltale sign of distress I can’t conceal. “She’s already given up so much. Her home. Her independence. I can’t ask for more.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Volt’s electricity fills the air with static. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re making choices for her without giving her all the information. How is that respect?”

“She deserves to choose.” The words scrape my throat raw. “Without feeling coerced by my… condition.”

“And you think watching you waste away won’t be coercive?” Dante’s devilish tail whips sharply as he points a clawed finger at my face. “You think that won’t destroy her? If you two kissed last night, she must have feelings for you. And last night we all saw how often she reached to touch you. She’s not as repulsed and reluctant as you think.”

The room spins faster, crystal lights blurring into streaks. “I’ll figure something out.”

“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 they should .

“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.