Page 53 of Claimed By the Mothman

Sig’s eyes flicked briefly to Nell’s plate. Her fork. Her hands. To her face.

Nell dropped her eyes and pretended to find something fascinating in her napkin. She picked at her couscous like it might reveal an escape hatch if she nudged it hard enough.

“Are you going to eat that or just seduce it slowly?” Goldie whispered.

Nell shook her head.

Goldie—bless her and damn her—started eating directly off Nell’s plate without breaking stride.

Across the table, Ezra flashed her a smile that could’ve melted glaciers. “Are you always this charming,” he asked smoothly, “or is it just the lamb bringing out your best behavior?”

Goldie winked. “Wait ‘til we get to dessert.”

Carol and Dev valiantly tried to keep conversation flowing—weather, leyline shifts, something about haunted rental rates in the Old Quarter—but Nell barely tracked a word of it.

Sig still hadn’t spoken to her. His gaze kept drifting back, soft but unrelenting. Watching.

Nell inhaled. Braced herself.Be brave, dummy.She leaned forward, voice bright with forced casualness. “So…you brought a salad?”

A small smile crossed Sig’s inhuman face. “Yes. It is traditional. Much like your human... chocolate-covered strawberries?”

She made a strangled noise that might have been a laugh. “But… um… why is it moving?”

Said salad currently was stirring like the death throes of something that probably once had legs.

Sig glanced at it. “It is meant to encourage inner sight,” he said simply.

“Hollis,” Goldie said brightly, leaping in with the subtlety of a brass band.“this glaze on the lamb? Blood orange? Becausewow.”

“Sure,” Hollis said in a voice that suggested he was slowly dying inside.

With a whisper of wings, Sig leaned in slightly. “You are beautiful tonight, Nell,” he said softly, almost reverently.

Nell drew in a stuttering breath. “Oh. I—” Her brain scrambled. Every word she’d ever known went running for the exits.

“I am sorry.” Sig’s expression flickered. “Was that not the right thing to say?”

“No—I mean—” Nell swallowed. “It’s just—I don’t know what to do with it.”

His gaze flicked to the shimmering scarf draped across her shoulder. She fought the urge to clutch it tighter, pull it up like armor, and disappear beneath it.

Sig looked down at his hands and folded them carefully at the edge of the table. “I apologize. I did not know it would be like this, beginning a bond without trust. This is… not easy for me, either.”

Goldie, ever the escape hatch, flashed a grin at Ezra that was all teeth and sunshine. “So, tell me—do you always show up to dinner parties looking like trouble, or is that just forus?”

Ezra’s answering smile was slow and sinful. “Only when I hope to stay for dessert.”

Dev leaned toward Carol, whispered something low. She snorted into her wine, elbowed him hard enough to make his glass slosh, then reached for her napkin, eyes still sparkling.

It was a perfect dinner party, if you ignored the fact that Nell was two seconds away from either combusting or sobbing directly into her half-eaten-by-Goldie lamb.

She set down her fork with surgical precision. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice almost steady. “I’ll—I'll be right back.”

She stood too fast. The room tilted, and she fled toward the bathroom.

—

The bathroom was warm, dim, and smelled like rose soap. One of the wall sconces was flickering faintly—a normal flicker, Nell was relieved to see. She gripped the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection. Her lipstick was still perfect, the dress still devastating. Her green eyes were glassy.