Page 28 of Claimed By the Mothman

He felt it gathering like a fold pulling tight. The end of her.The version that laughed and fretted and burned bright. The Lustrum would make her into something perfect, and in doing so, unmake what she was.

He had to act, even if it meant stealing her from fate itself.

“I CLAIM HER!”The ragged howl ripped from his chest.

The Lustrum turned.

“I CLAIM HER!”Sig roared again, pushing through the press of ritual and resonance, through a thousand voices whisperingyou are not allowed.

The space tightened. Reality shrank. The ground below him folded like wet paper. The air squeezed like a fist.

You were not invited,the Lustrum hissed.She is already ours. Leave, or be undone.

Sig’s wings flared, and he declared it one last time.“I CLAIM HER!”

The bond caught like a snare. A raw stitch, half-formed and blazing with demand, jerked through his flesh and soul, lancing towards her and attaching.

—

She didn’t see him move, but she felt the roar tear through the space and envelop her. A jolt lanced through her skin and caught on something deep in her chest.

The Lustrumscreamed,a sound that scraped across the skin of the not-place, high and skinned-raw, threaded with syllables that had never belonged in mouths, human or otherwise.

She felt herself being ripped free like a seam torn open, threads popping one by one. The ground gave a final, furious shudder and then—released her.

Silence descended.

Nellwas on her knees, collapsed against the carpet of one of Greymarket’s hallways. She couldn’t speak, butthere was movement behind her. She looked up weakly.

Sig Samora towered over her, wings spread behind him, shimmering with iridescent fire, every vein of them pulsing like stained glass lit from within. Symbols glowed along his throat and chest.

He said something. Or maybe he didn’t. Her vision blurred, and the world went white.

-–

She was in his arms. Unconscious, warm, alive, andin his arms.

Her shape was here, yes, but her selfwas shifting, still folding back into her body.

His hands shook as he held her closely to him. He had not intended to claim her, but when he saw the Lustrum reaching for her, it had torn from him with an instinct woven deep into his marrow.

She breathed. Her wrist lay across his shoulder, limp. But every faint, steady pulse sent something through him.

His wings slowly folded around her. He had broken a pattern older than gods. His people would exile him if they knew. But her heartbeat thudded against his and it feltright.

And Sig Samora, Harbinger, realized as he held the small woman to his chest, that she was already worth whatever the cost would be.

Chapter 6

The first thing that awoke was her breath. Shallow, sharp, dragged through lungs that felt out of practice. As if she’d surfaced from too far down and hadn’t yet remembered how to be a creature of air.

Then, her eyes. One, then the other, each peeling open with the resistance of old paint lifting from wood.

The light was dim, but strange. Soft-edged and greenish, but not like sunlight through leaves. She blinked hard and the light remained, pale and pulsing.

Her body came last.

She was lying on her side, curled in on herself, limbs heavy and unfamiliar. Slowly, carefully, Nell pushed herself upright with one shaking arm, bracing her palm against something that gave slightly beneath her weight. It was soft, like moss, but smoother.