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

26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

C helsea

The coffee mug rattles against the table as Riven's hand shakes uncontrollably. Fear claws up my throat—after hours of intimate contact during last night's show, he shouldn't look this fragile. This wrong. He shouldn’t have shadows under his eyes that are so dark they make my heart clench.

Without hesitation, my thigh presses against his under the massive stone table. His wing immediately curves around me, its usual golden brilliance faded to a dull antique bronze. Dante raises an eyebrow at the casual intimacy but focuses on the tablet in his clawed hands.

“My contact at Apex came through with more info,” Dante announces, tail twitching with agitation. “It’s… not good.”

“Define ‘not good.’” My fingers find Riven’s under the table, and his answering squeeze lacks its usual strength.

“My contact finally gave me her name—Dr. Andrews. She has access to a lot of information. The doctor says they’re not just studying cryptids anymore.” Dante’s claws click against the screen. “She confirmed my hypothesis that they’re trying to extract and transfer abilities. The experiments…” His voice catches. “They’re fatal. Every time.”

The massive cavern seems to grow colder despite the natural heat vents. Riven’s wing tightens around me protectively, but it trembles with effort.

“The doc has proof,” Dante continues, “but security’s too tight to get it out. Says we need to help her smuggle the info out before they realize how much she knows and shut down her access.”

Cypher materializes from the shadows, his feline ears stiff with tension. “Can we trust her?”

“Everything certainly looks legit. It wouldn’t be easy to fake blueprints or longitudinal studies. Besides, Apex isn’t playing softball. I imagine they’ll harm her if they find out she’s leaking info to us. She’s legit—and terrified.”

“Terrified, but she must have balls of steel,” Cliff’s deep voice is filled with admiration. “She’s risking more than any of us. She has to work with them, see them every day.”

“Time is of the essence,” Dante says, his lips drawn so tight the ends of his fangs poke between them. “I’ll gather enough intel to see if we can extract her. Do you all agree?”

It’s silent for a moment, everyone seeming to parse through the information in order to come to their own conclusions.

“Yes.” Volt says, nodding as electricity crackles between his feathers.

“I agree.” Cypher’s black, feline tail lashes close to the floor.

After everyone unanimously weighs in, although I don’t say a thing because I feel I don’t have a vote, I notice Riven’s energy seems more sapped than usual.

“If we’re done for the night…” Standing abruptly, I tug Riven’s hand. “You need rest.”

For once, he doesn’t argue. That, more than anything else, terrifies me.

In his chamber, he sinks onto the bed as though his legs can’t hold him anymore. Crystal light shows the exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

“This is wrong.” Sitting beside him, my hands frame his face. “Last night should have helped. All that touching, those kisses…”

“It did help.” His antenna brush my wrists as he layers butterfly kisses to my palm. “But each time… the effect fades faster.”

“Then we’ll do more.” The words come out fierce. “Whatever you need—”

“No!” Even barely able to sit up, his voice carries steel. “Not like this. Not from fear or guilt.”

“You think that’s what this is?” Shock makes my tone sharper than intended. “After last night? After what you did to me during my radio show?”

His wings glint briefly brighter at the memory. “That was…” A shudder runs through him. “Perfect. But this is different. The bond needs… more, though what we shared was incredible. But Chelsea, you’re not ready.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” Standing, hands on hips, I glare down at him. “Stop being so damn noble about dying.”

“Chelsea… listen.” He reaches for me, and the way his hand shakes squeezes my heart.

“No. You listen.” I ease onto the bed, straddling his lap, which brings us eye to eye. “I’m not letting you fade away while I figure out my feelings. We’ll find a way to stabilize you in a manner we’re both comfortable with.”

His probe emerges to wet his lips again, and heat floods my core at the memory of watching him eat that peach. Of imagining that talented tongue doing other things…

“For now,” my voice is husky with passion, “just let me hold you. Please?”

His response is to wrap his wings around me, creating a cocoon of dim golden light. As he relaxes against me, his antennae droop with exhaustion.

We ease down onto the bed, my fingers tracing patterns on his chest, his breath evening out against my neck. Outside our private sanctuary, dangers circle and shadows deepen. But here, in this moment, I can at least give him this small comfort.

Even if it’s not enough. Even if nothing will be enough until I’m ready to give everything.

His wings dim, and I hold him tighter. We’ll figure this out. We have to.

Because watching him suffer like this? It’s becoming its own kind of torture.