Moth Manager (Cryptid Billionaires #2)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

PONTIUS

She’s here. Somewhere. I can smell her. My fated-mate.

The night is early but Moonshine is already crowded. It’s going to be difficult to pick her out from the other patrons. I know I smell her, even amongst all the other humans here tonight, her scent stands out. It’s far more intoxicating than the liquor in my hand. Driving me to find her, protect her, steal her, fly her back to my nest, bury myself in her pussy, and convince her to be with me forever. Marry me. Bear my Mothlings.

She will be mine.

If I can figure out who she is before the noise of human nightlife drives me from the bar.

I unfurl my proboscis tongue, dip it into my glass and take a long sip of bourbon. Hopefully the alcohol will dull the throb building in my head.

I love watching humans. I love their culture, their music, their movies, their activities. They are fascinating, lively, entertaining, and completely exhausting. When I bought Moonshine I tried to create a place where humans and cryptids could interact. Even here, in a business I own, it still gets so loud it bothers my sensitive antennae.

Any other evening I’d finish my drink and head home, where I can decompress alone. I can’t do that tonight. I have to manage my discomfort until I find the woman I am meant to spend the rest of my life with. She’s here, somewhere. Her scent tells me she’s human. Female. Perfect.

There are a couple dozen women spread through the room, and she could be any of them.

Any except the one sitting beside me.

“Don’t drink like that, Pontius. It’s gross.” Tiffany, my date, and sometimes girlfriend, glances up from her phone to advise.

“Sorry, Tiffany,” I say, pulling my tongue back into my mouth.

“No problem, babe.” Tiffany's always tried to help me blend in with humans. She pats my arm gently. Usually I enjoy her company, tonight it feels wrong.

“No, I mean—“ I pull away from her touch. “We have to end this.” I gesture between us.

This has her full attention. Tiffany’s eyes go wide.

“Are you serious?” Her brow furrows. We've dated, off-and-on, for almost two years. Before now, it was always her who initiated our splits. I knew she wasn’t my fated-mate. Spending time with her was better than being completely alone.

“Is this because I went out with that gargoyle last week?” she asks. “I told you baby, he didn’t mean anything.”

My antennae curve down. “I can’t see you again. I’ve found my mate.”

“Your mate? Where?” Tiffany gestures skeptically to the empty seats at our table.

“She’s…somewhere.” I scan the room.

From my private booth in the corner, I can observe the entire bar; while I was talking to Tiffany more humans arrived and spread amongst the tables. Disguising her scent even further.

The crowd’s attention is turned to a screen on one wall where we’re projecting our monthly 'Monster Love Movie Night’.

“You’re sure it’s not me?” Tiffany leans her breasts into my arm. She’s usually good at this sort of thing, flirting to make me feel more at ease, but now her touch feels wrong.

“It isn’t you.” I pull away from her again. It’d almost be easier if it were her. I’ve never had much luck with dating, human or otherwise.

Dating as a Mothman can be difficult. Most humans aren’t willing to see me almost exclusively after sunset, and asking a stranger you match on an app to meet a monster in a dark quiet place isn’t usually received well.

Tiffany sticks out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout—the way she does when she’s trying to get her way. It doesn't help tonight. She can’t compare to the perfect woman waiting somewhere in this room. Now that I’ve found my real mate, even Tiffany's smell is artificially saccharine.

“You’re serious? You are dropping me for someone you haven’t met yet?”

“Yes,” I hesitate before adding. “I’m sorry it’s so abrupt?—“

Tiffany interrupts me with a loud sigh and sinks back to her seat. “Am I still going to get the Burkin?”

“The bag? Sure.” What do I care about a bag?

She smirks and begins scrolling through her phone at lightning speed. I might expect a different person to cry or yell. I know Tiffany better at this point.

“Will you text me when it comes in? The associate has my number. It’s under your name on the list, so they might call you first.” Her expression changes to pity and her voice drops to a breathy whisper. “You know this doesn’t have to be the end, Pontius. You’re a real peach. An awkward, hairy peach with a lot of weird quirks that are hard for most humans to accept.”

“She’ll like me,” I protest. I know humans are put off by my odd features: my large red eyes, my fur, my mandibles, my wings. So many parts of my appearance have been called ‘creepy’. My mate will be different. She has to be different.

“Of course she’ll like you. But being with a Mothman isn't easy. Not everyone is as open-minded as I am. Don’t be surprised if this new girl isn’t willing to indulge you the way I do.” She shifts her legs, drawing her skirt a little higher up her thigh. “You know, plenty of rich men don’t limit themselves to only one woman. I’m okay if you want to keep our relationship—private.”

“No!” I recoil instantly. Even if, like a lot of humans, she finds the idea of touching me appalling, I would never cheat on my mate.

“Well, if she rejects you, you know how to reach me.” Tiffany mimes holding a phone up to her ear.

“She won’t reject me,” I say, more to convince myself than Tiffany.

“Promise to text me when the Burkin is available?” She leans over and presses a very light kiss to my cheek.

My antennae fold back defensively, I lean away from her and scan the crowd again. I hope my mate didn’t see that; I don’t want her to think I’m in a relationship.

Tiffany stands. “At least it’s relatively early. My whole night isn’t a complete waste.” She’s already typing on her phone again. “I'm sure I’ll see you soon, Pontius.”

I barely acknowledge her exit, returning my focus to the crowd.

I was excited when the Decrypting first happened, when cryptids stopped hiding in the shadows and joined human society. Between shrinking habitats and satellite imagery it’d become more difficult to stay hidden. Leaders amongst the various cryptid species got together and decided to expose ourselves. I was seventeen and ready to go out and join human society, but it proved harder than I expected. Even now, fifteen years later it can still be difficult to find places I feel comfortable. A lot of human infrastructure doesn't make it easy for cryptids to be ourselves. Things have been improving, and I’ve been using my own resources to make it better.

Fresh out of college, I started a tech company with my two best friends. We've been successful, really successful. More than enough for me to invest in local community improvements. Like buying a large share of the Moonshine, so I could focus on creating an all-species bar. Trying to make a space that’s accessible to everyone.

Moonshine is doing well now too. There are a few obvious cryptids in tonight’s crowd. No other Mothmen. We're rarer than a lot of species, and even amongst our own kind we're solitary creatures. Despite my best efforts, it's hard to imagine another Mothman choosing to hang out somewhere this loud and crowded.

Still, I’m pleased with the great turn out tonight. The audience is split into small tables, they chat quietly over the noise of the movie. The combinations of sounds is already grating on my nerves. Tonight’s film is about a teenaged Denise Richards, falling in love with a robotic dinosaur.

My mate is watching.

Could I convince her to love a monster?

It’s all I’ve ever wanted, someone who will accept me no matter what I look like. Someone who won’t flinch away when they see my glowing red eyes, or my fur, or wings, or mandibles. I know Mothmen have taken human mates before, but I don’t understand how. I would never force myself on someone, and even Tiffany—who was more accommodating than most—set hard limits in our physical relationship. There are many things I haven’t had a chance to experience.

My mate will be different; she will understand me; she will let me touch her, hold her, be close to her. Marry her. Keep her in my nest. Fulfill every wish she’s ever desired.

I will do anything to make her like me, to make her mine.

As soon as I figure out who she is.

I can’t stay here much longer. I used to admire human nightlife from the outside, coveting their parties and social lives and music. It was disappointing to learn that, in person, these events are too much for me. I pay my tab and head into the cool September air.

I will wait.

My mate has to leave eventually. I’ll watch the door until the bar closes if I need to. Mothmen are nocturnal, it will be easy to wait.

Hours pass. The night stretches so thin that I spread my wings and fly up to perch on the roof of the building, where I can comfortably sit as I watch the door. Each patron who leaves the building briefly spikes my hope, until their smell reaches me. Everyone of them is wrong.

I tuck my wings a little tighter around my shoulders. No one seems to notice me; it’s easy to fade into the darkness when you are shaped like a large black shadow.

Finally, a perfect beauty steps onto the street. I know, as soon as I lay eyes on a mess of red hair, that I've found her. I feel it in my nose, in my chest, in every atom of my body. The driving urge to swoop down and claim her for myself. Pluck her up and take her back to my nest.

It’s her. My mate.

Her red hair is piled high on her head in a perfectly messy bun, a wide smile shows off perfectly crooked front teeth, a pair of thick glasses rest on her perfectly freckled nose, her mouth opens and produces a perfectly infectious laugh. Everything about her is perfect.

Except she’s hanging onto a man. She’s smiling, laughing, and touching someone else.

The bastard.

Jealousy roils in my stomach. That isn’t fair. She should be with me. I'm sure I'd make her happier than he'll ever be able to.

I spent my adolescent years surreptitiously watching humans. Before the Decrypting, that was all I had. I coveted so many things humans had and I didn’t.

Nothing has ever spiked this type of red-raw jealousy before.

She is meant for me. She is mine .

It’s easy to follow her movements. Her red hair practically glows in the darkness. Like a flame drawing me closer. The couple turn left from the bar. Her bright yellow sneakers wobble on the uneven pavement, a hint of intoxication in her steps. Her drunken laugh echoes loudly into the night. The man shushes her before urging her forward with slight irritation in his voice.

My antennae flutter. My vision flashes red briefly. He had better not be forcing my mate to do anything against her will.

She doesn’t seem concerned. She laughs and speeds up, grabbing his wrist and tugging him along. I spread my wings and catch the wind. A small jump, and I’m airborne.

I follow my mate, and her date, through the neighborhood. His expression doesn’t lighten the entire trip. He grumbles, and she giggles. I can’t hear the whole conversation from above them, but I do catch her laugh again. Loud, light, and expressive. Like a mating call.

They don’t walk far, maybe fifteen minutes. Turning down three or four side streets before they finally stop at a house.

My territory. My mate.

I land on the rooftop across the street from them. She pulls the man in close for a long kiss. His sour expression finally breaks and his shoulders relax. My hands clench tight into fists. It isn't fair that he has her.

I should be under her lips, receiving her kiss. This human man doesn't deserve to touch her, he doesn't deserve the smile she brings to his lips.

My mate says something I can't hear, making herself laugh again, before stumbling up the front stairs of a brownstone, pulling her date after her. She fumbles with the keys for a moment before the man pulls out his own set and unlocks the door. Her apartment. Or possibly their shared space.

I tighten my fist. That isn’t right. She should be living with me. In our nest.

My mate is giggling as she pulls her date in for another kiss before leading him into the apartment.

How sad would she be if he disappeared? If she never heard from him again? If I snatched him from the street, flew three miles out to sea, and dropped him into the ocean.

The night air is chill so I tuck my wings around my shoulder for extra warmth while I watch the windows. It’s easy to track the couple’s path as lights turn on and off throughout the apartment. Until finally, silhouettes are highlighted through sheer curtains on the second story. I can see enough to know it is their bedroom, and enough to know they are about to participate in bedroom activities.

It's wrong to watch. I know I shouldn't be here. I should leave now, go home alone, with only my memories of her.

I spread my wings and flit down to her front step.

Eventually she'll realize that human man is wrong for her. She will come to her senses and leave him.

A tiny peek through her front window won't hurt anyone.

The glass on the front door is textured, but there's a sliver of clear window that provides an unobstructed view into her home. A set of stairs leads up to the second story on the right side of a long narrow hallway. The left side is filled with moving boxes. In the rear the kitchen is cast in a warm homey glow.

Headlights pass on the street behind me and I flinch at the engine noise.

I can’t get caught here. I shouldn't be spying into her house. But I need to be ready for her when it happens. I need to know everything I can about her. Learn what she likes, what she wants. I need to be waiting to give her...everything.

A flutter of movement catches my eye, a flier hanging from her mailbox catches the wind. I shouldn't look. It's illegal, and invasive. I pull it out, a piece of junk mail, it won’t be missed. And now I know my mate’s name.

Piper.

Piper Hamilton.