Page 30 of Claimed By the Mothman (Greymarket Towers #1)

S he couldn’t sleep. She sat curled on the couch in a tangle of blankets and resentment, phone screen glowing beside her.

Elinore, with her breezy confidence and bullet-pointed charm. Elinore, who probably sent color-coded Google Calendar invites for foreplay. Elinore, who was living her perfect life in her perfect house that had been anything but perfect.

She should’ve cried harder. Should’ve felt gutted. But most of the pain wasn’t heartbreak.

It was shame. Shame that she didn’t miss him. That the worst ache inside her had nothing to do with what she’d lost.

Sig Samora. The Harbinger. The thing with wings and ruin in his voice.

She squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t help.

She could feel him in her bones. The way he’d looked at her at the potluck like she was made of light and riddles. The way he’d met her in the hallway, voice cracking like bark under strain, unmaking the bond between them one searing strand at a time.

And how she’d launched forward without thinking. Grabbed him. Clutched him like her body had decided for her. Not because she had decided (no, not yet) but because the idea of losing him had left her trembling.

She didn’t want what she used to want. And what she wanted now…she wasn’t ready to name.

A fresh wave of rage flushed through her. At herself. At Edward. At the godsdamned building. She was not the kind of woman who chased after monsters. She was not the kind of woman who needed to be claimed to be whole. She was—

On her feet.

She didn’t remember standing. Didn’t remember grabbing her keys. Only the cold rush of air as the hallway door closed behind her. Her bare feet whispered over the carpet.

She reached the elevator. Pressed the button. Her reflection stared back at her from the golden call box—hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes too wide. This is a mistake.

The elevator arrived. She stepped through. Pressed the button for floor 14.

She arrived on his floor and walked forward, each step steadier than the last. She stopped at his door.

Knocked. Then knocked again.

—

The unraveling had stopped, but the memory of it lingered in his body.

Had he held to this liminal space for too long? The space between a bond claimed and a bond accepted? He did not know. There were so few rejections that they were more a sense of myth and legend. Some individuals survived, bruised but not broken, while others became unmoored and lost.

The bond believed she had rejected him. And when she screamed it—that wild, broken “ I didn’t say no!” —it slammed back into place with such force that it echoed through his bones.

He could bear the ache. The slow erosion of self that came with her absence. But he had felt her pain, echoing through the bond like static in a wound. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not without her first choosing it. It was a violation of form, and it terrified him.

So he stood at the window and tried not to want. Tried not to imagine the shape of her breath on the other side of his silence. Tried not to listen for her footsteps in the hall. Tried—

A knock on his apartment door rang through his thoughts. Once, then twice, a nervous cadence that made his wings twitch.

His heart leapt. He could not do this. He must do this. He was caught between choices and didn’t know how to trust himself.

But he opened the door anyway.

There she was, standing in the hallway, arms crossed tight against her chest like she was trying to hold herself together.

Her eyes were puffy and red, like she had been crying silently and gave up all pretense halfway through.

Her soft hair, sparrow-brown, had been pulled up to expose the long line of her neck.

She was so beautiful it stole the breath from his lungs. He ached, not just with longing, but with the memory of her pain echoing in the hollows of his bones. He hadn’t known what had happened, only that she had been hurting, and he had tried to reach out. And he hadn’t been able to help.

She rubbed a fist into one eye. “Hi, Sig,” she said in a very quiet voice.

“Nell,” he breathed.

She sniffed. Shrugged her shoulders and bowed her head.

“I’m sorry about what happened today.” Her voice cracked around the edges. “I got some news that threw me for a fucking loop, and that’s not your fault, but I did something stupid anyway and you got hurt.”

She paused, swallowed hard, and shifted on her feet like she wasn’t sure if she should step closer or run.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” she whispered. “But I know that doesn’t change it.”

She glanced up and locked her gaze somewhere around his collarbone, like eye contact might undo her completely.

“I just wanted to check that you were okay,” she said in the tiniest possible voice, laced with a tiny shudder, as if she was holding on to her control by the very tiniest of threads.

She didn’t look at him until he shifted slightly, his wings rustling faintly as he stepped aside, one arm extended in silent invitation.

She hesitated for only a breath, then slipped past him, close enough that her shoulder brushed the edge of his hand.

The apartment had changed since she had last visited. The lights were dimmer, warmer. In the far corner, a vine he didn’t recognize had bloomed with wide white flowers. It hadn’t been there an hour before.

Nell stood near the center of the room, hands fidgeting at her sides, trying not to wring them. Her shoulders were tense. Her posture was drawn tight. Grief clung to her like smoke.

He looked at her. The curve of her spine. The slope of her neck. The way she seemed to exist in two places at once—still inside her pain, yet already halfway out of it.

“Do you require tea?” he asked at last, more for something to do than anything else.

She let out a short, broken laugh. “Gods, no. I’m floating away on tea already.” She sniffed again. “Wine, maybe.” A halfhearted attempt at humor.

He churred. “You wish for wine?”

“No.” Her voice collapsed inward on itself. “No. I just…”

After a moment, he crossed the room to stand beside her. She looked up at him fully, her eyes shining with held-back tears. Carefully, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His hand stayed where it was a moment, hovering, desperate to touch but unwilling to make the move.

“What can I do, Nell?” he whispered. “Please. Tell me how to help ease your heart. I cannot bear to see you hurting.”

With a sigh, she closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and leaned ever so slightly into his palm.

“I don’t know,” she said.

What steadied him when his world tilted sideways? He made a clicking sound and shifted his feet.

“May I show you something?” he asked, delicately, almost afraid to speak.

She hesitated. Then nodded.

He tilted his head and clicked softly. “I will need to carry you.”

After a breath, she nodded again, smaller this time.

With as much gentleness as he could manage, he bent and oh, so delicately, lifted her in his arms.

She tensed, but only for a moment. Then, slowly, almost shyly, she wound her arms around his neck and leaned her cheek against his chest.

Sig stepped out onto the balcony, wings already pulling loose from his back, the velvet rustle as low and intimate as fabric sliding across skin.

She was in his arms. She was in his arms . His blood sang with it—thick and hot and ancient —and he felt like he could breathe more fully while not being able to get enough air at all.

She blinked against the night breeze. “Um…Sig? What are you doing?”

He stepped forward to the edge.

“ Sig. ”

He bent his legs. Flared his wings wide. And leapt.

“ No—! ” she shrieked, arms snapping tight around his neck in blind panic as the world dropped out from under them.

Air screamed past them. Her heartbeat pounded against his. He beat his wings. Hard.

They rose.

The sky above Bellwether was like a painting. Clouds peeled back like curtains. The moon hung low and gold over the skyline. Streetlights pulsed like heartbeat trails far below. The wind sang around them, cold and sharp and bracing.

Sig flew in wide arcs at first, letting her adjust. Her heart was hammering a rabbit’s rhythm against his chest. But her breath was coming in delighted gasps now, not panic.

Her arms loosened their terror, slipped down, one hand gripping the collar of his shirt while the other curled into his chest.

Without warning, she punched him. A soft thump against his sternum, barely more than a tap.

“You maniac, ” she choked, breathless with a mix of awe and indignation. “If you ever do something like that again, I swear to all gods, I will have Goldie curse you into next week.”

Her laugh wobbled, shaky and half-hysterical. He turned his head slightly, just enough for his voice to reach her.

“Understood.” But she was smiling now.

The city rose to meet them in soft, glowing layers.

He showed her the rooftops—flat and slanted, both the crumbling and the new.

Steam curled from old brick chimneys like offerings to the sky.

Greymarket’s rooftop garden came into view, its raised beds glowing faintly in the dark.

He could smell basil, rosemary, and the green tang of tomato plants.

A flock of moths stirred lazily around a lamppost as they passed, their wings glinting like coins in the moonlight.

He glanced down and saw her face, green eyes wide, strands of hair pulled loose and flickering around her face. An unfettered look of joy.

He banked sharply, once, just enough to startle her. She squeaked, instinctively clutching to him, burying her face against his chest. He very nearly did it as second time just to feel her grab him like that.

He flapped his wings and rose again, higher, past the reach of chimneys and into the night sky.

Nell laughed. “I’ve never—” she began, then shook her head, eyes shining. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this.”

He tightened his hold just slightly. “I am honored to be the one to help you feel it.”

For a time, there was nothing else. Just wind and wings and the woman in his arms. He could have flown all night. Flown forever, if it meant he could keep her there.

But finally, his wings started to ache. The weight of another being was not something they were built for, not for long. Regretfully, he turned back to Greymarket Towers. They landed gently back on his balcony, the wind curling around them one last time in a parting caress.

He set her down, hands lingering at her waist for half a heartbeat too long. The bond keened in longing as he let go.

She didn’t pull away. She stood close to him, wrapped in the scent of sky and wind. Still glowing faintly with the memory of wonder. The humming between them stretched and grew taut, wanting and yearning to close the distance.

He looked down at her, flight-mussed hair, cheeks flushed with cold, eyes wide. He could feel the longing in her. But she could also taste her confusion and grief.

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Her brows drew together with a tiny crease of pain.

And because he loved her— he loved her— the words burst from him before he could stop them.

“Even if you reject me,” he said softly, voice low and breaking, “I will protect you. I meant it from the beginning, Nell, but now I am sure of what I vow.”

He swallowed. Locked eyes with her startled green ones.

“I will protect you from the Lustrum’s claim if you do not choose mine. I will take you somewhere safe, where it cannot call, and you may break the bond then, if that is your will. I only—” his voice cracked, and he started again. “I only ask that you give me notice, so I may prepare.”

She made a small, wounded sound of protest and he raised a hand to silence her.

“I will bear the weight,” he said gently. “Because you are not mine to keep unless you choose to be. And I will not force you to choose.”

His chest rose and fell with the effort. The vow coiled through his bones, binding itself to marrow and instinct. Harbingers did not make promises lightly, no, especially not with a half-sealed bond pulsing like an open wound.

Nell stepped back. “I should go,” she said softly.

Her voice barely rose above the hush between them. Her eyes dropped from his—too fast, like she couldn’t bear to look at him any longer without giving something away.

He nodded. Didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides. She looked back up at him, her face unreadable. She stepped forward, barely, and raised her hand to graze against his cheek. “Thank you, Sig.” she whispered.

She stroked his cheek once more, and then turned, walking slowly from the balcony. He heard the click of the apartment door as it shut behind her.

The space she left behind ached.

He stayed on the balcony long after her scent had faded into the wind, until the bond dimmed from a song to a sob. Until the ache in his chest gave way to something quieter—

—something akin to hope.