Page 52 of Claimed By the Mothman

“I have brought a salad,” Sig intoned, holding out the bowl.

The mark between Nell’s thighs pulsed in a very unhelpful suggestion and her body suddenly rememberedeverything:his mouth, his hands, the way he’d thrust into her with a hunger so raw she could taste it.

Was her lipstick smudged? Did it matter? Why did she care if it mattered?

She hated him. She wanted him. She wanted to crawl under the table and scream into a napkin.

His eyes locked to hers, and the faintest flare flickered before he blinked it back to dull.

Jem and Hollis burst back into the room—Jem visibly delighted, Hollis looking like he’d aged ten years in ten seconds.

“Sig! How wonderful that you were able to make it,” Jem chirped, sweeping forward to take the bowl from Sig’s hands. “We needed something…oh.”

Her hands shifted ever so slightly, like the bowl had changed weight in her grasp. Then, with the bright, brittle confidence of someone determined to survive her own dinner party, she carried it to the table and set it down just a little too carefully.

“There we go,” she said, voice a half-octave higher than before. “Centerpiece material!”

It was the worst salad Nell had ever seen. Long, pale stalks curled in a way that suggested sentience. Something glossy and violet glistened beneath them, and a single sprig of green perched on top like a garnish or a warning. One of the stalks let out a soft sigh.

“Lovely,” Hollis said in a strangled tone.

“Very…seasonal,” Jem offered.

Sig turned toward their hosts. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said with solemn grace, inclining his head. “It is an honor to be invited.”

Then he moved to the table, pulled out the chair directly across from Nell, and sat.

Their eyes met again—just for a breath—and her heart tried to beat out of her body. She tore her gaze away and stared hard at her plate. Then at Goldie, who caught her gaze instantly, still flushed from flirtation but now absolutelythrivingon the drama.

Trade places with me?Nell mouthed, barely moving her lips.

Goldie raised her wineglass in mock salute.Not a chance,she mouthed back.

At the head of the table, Jem raised her eyebrows meaningfully, practically vibrating with matchmaking triumph. Hollis, at the other end, looked like he’d bitten into a lemon and wasn’t allowed to spit it out.

“Shall we?” Jem said, lifting her fork like a baton.

The dinner resumed like a train being forced back onto its tracks.

Sig was silent across from her. He shifted slightly and his wings rustled faintly, so soft Nell almost convinced herself she imagined it. He didn’t eat, but merely observed the others around him, his eyes swinging back to lock on Nell more than was comfortable.

Jem, ever the gracious host and social airbag, jumped in with a too-bright smile. “So, Sig! This salad…it’s fascinating! Is it traditional?”

Sig inclined his head. “It is a courtship dish.”

Nell inhaled wine.

Ezra coughed dramatically into his napkin, shoulders shaking.

Carol, clearly sensing the slow-motion disaster, leaned in with a warm smile. “Oh, I remember now—Dev and I met Sig at that panel on spiritual anomalies, didn’t we, darling?”

Dev lit up. “That’s right! You were the guest observer who corrected the speaker on the properties of soul-fractured ley currents in an incredibly polite way.”

“Yes,” Sig said gravely. “He was about to trigger a recursive harmonic collapse. I thought it would be discourteous to let him die in front of his peers.”

Ezra grinned. “Oh, Ilikehim,” he stage-whispered to Goldie. “He’s got bite.”

Hollis took a long sip of wine, stared into the middle distance like he was praying to be removed from his own home.