Page 87 of Claimed By the Mothman
“It was nervous,” he said, utterly serious. “You are quite intimidating.”
She wheezed. And then, blessedly, she heard his version of laughter, all soft clicks and chuffs fluttering in his chest.
“Oh, gods, I’m sorry,” she finally managed, wiping her eyes and catching her breath. “But you’re absolutely adorable. It’s okay, Sig. You don’t have to like tea. Really.”
“Truly?” he asked, concerned but visibly relieved.
“Truly.” She coughed, and then took a small sip from her cup. She met his eyes and winked. “More for me.”
The laughter lingered between them, still fizzing at the edges, but something quieter slipped in beneath it. A hush. A warmth.
Nell looked down at the tea, exhaled slowly, and moved to the table.
“Yes. Edward,” she said at last as she sat, finally answering Sig’s question. “We got divorced earlier this year. But honestly, the marriage was over long before that. Probably before it even began.”
She took a slow sip of her tea. “I think he married me because I made him feel good about himself. I was shiny. Bright. Polished enough to stand next to him without embarrassing him.”
Another sip. Her eyes strayed to the window.
“And then I stopped doing that. Or he stopped seeing it. What made him feel good turned into something like… contempt. I became… I don’t know, not sparkly enough to help him climb the ladder.”
She shrugged. “He wanted a show wife. Someone who was always on. Always the right kind of clever, the right kind of pretty, even when she woke up in the morning.”
Another sip. Cooler now. Easier to swallow. She gave a dry smile.
“And then one day I came home early and found him in bed with the sexy young intern. And, well. That was that.”
She let the words settle in the air, and for the first time, they didn’t sting.
Sig moved to her side and knelt. He placed a hand on her cheek and then brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. His eyes, glowing faintly with emotion, met hers.
“I shall find this Edward and throw him from this ladder,” he said solemnly “And then I will remove his limbs, one by one. Slowly. And then,” he added, almost thoughtfully, “I shall begin on this intern.”
Nell barked a laugh—startled, bright, and just a little horrified. “Sig, no. That’s really not necessary.”
“One limb, then,” he offered. “Just enough to make him bleed.”
“Still no.”
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a husky murmur. “A single digit. For disrespecting you.”
“Sig.” She reached up and covered the hand on her cheek with hers. “Please don’t kill my ex-husband. Really.”
He tilted his head, reluctantly mollified.
Nell brought his hand to her lips and pressed a soft kiss against the center of his palm. “You do realize,” she said gently, “that if he hadn’t done that—if he hadn’t cheated—I wouldn’t be here. Not at Greymarket. Not with you.”
For the first time since the divorce, that old platitude—everything happens for a reason—didn’t feel like sandpaper across a bruise. Because if she hadn’t come home early that day, she would still be there in that beige purgatory, disappearing by inches. Instead, she was here, with a winged cryptid who had worshipped at her body like it was a cathedral and looked at her like she was a miracle.
The opal on her finger pulsed, as if it was saying:yes. This. This is good. This is right. This is what you were meant for.
Sig tilted his head slightly, gaze falling to the ring’s soft glow.
“Your ring of tangled light is appeased,” he said at last, with the long-suffering tone of a creature denying himself sacred vengeance. “Thus, although I long to do so, I will refrain from dismembering this Edward-ex.”
Nell laughed. Really laughed. Big and loose and unburdened.
“You’re such a menace.”
