Moth (Dragon Triad Duet Book 1), page 23
My gaze falls over his arm and the flames licking down the length of it—but I don’t see a dragon’s fire in the design for once. I see a little boy breathing out his rage in a world that ignored him. That hardened him, turning him into a monster who snarls at those around him with his teeth bared and guard up.
Anything to protect himself.
His art speaks for him in ways my writing never could, put on display for everyone to witness.
“What tattoo would you put on me?” I ask him, eyeing my bruised and battered limbs. “A rabbit?”
“No.” He eyes me with an odd expression, pursing his lips in deep thought. “Roll over.”
I do gingerly as he rises onto his knees beside me. Warm fingers lift his borrowed shirt and prod between my shoulder blades, testing out the quality of his canvas. Softly, he traces a path down to my hip, sketching an invisible design.
“I don’t think I’ll tell you, bunny,” he decides, returning to my side and drawing me close. “You’ll just have to find out.”
“When?” I ask.
“When you don’t have to hide it,” he replies.
But that’s not what he really means.
When you can stop hiding from him.
“I can’t go back.” It sounds so desperate when said out loud. So final. “I can’t.”
He nods as if unsurprised. “You got a place lined up?”
I shake my head. “There’s nowhere to go.”
He doesn’t challenge that. He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t taunt. He lets me lie beside him, still stroking through my tangled hair. Then he stands, drawing the sheets over me before he heads for the door.
“I’ll be back,” he says.
Which leaves an unspoken invitation in the air. Stay.
I don’t move, listening to him exit through the door and descend the steps. I sense rather than hear him leave the building entirely a moment later, but it feels so surreal. So strange to be here without him.
I can observe this room, invading his sacred spaces the way he’s already invaded mine. For all his taunts about my décor, his is relatively just as plain. No posters on the walls. No drawings. No hanging photos.
The only picture I find sits framed in black wood on his nightstand. A smiling little boy with beautiful almond eyes and his arms wrapped around a dark-skinned woman who looks at him as though he’s the only thing in the world that matters. Her sun. Her reason for living.
His mother? He has her mouth and her beautiful bone structure.
The mocking glare and cold eyes he must get from his father, but I don’t find any pictures of anyone else, at least in here.
He keeps his room clean, much like his shop. It betrays a level of perfectionism I suspect he hides behind the gruff attitude and swagger. He likes things orderly. Neat.
He likes his sheets to smell faintly of fabric softener, devoid of any other scents that might intrude into his thoughts while he’s lying here.
He likes to keep his private world empty, choosing not to display even his art. I can’t resist wondering why. Does it make it easier for him to come here at night after everything he’s done?
Or does the stark utilitarianism just betray how little he must stay here?
I can’t decide by the time I hear steps ascending in the stairwell. By the time he enters the apartment, I’ve hobbled from his room, creeping to the mouth of the living room.
A peculiar smell reaches my nose first. Food? Almost in slow motion, I spot the brown bag clutched in one of his hands. The other is supporting a cardboard box propped against his hip. He sets it down, and it’s already open, giving me a glimpse of the items inside.
“The rest of your stuff is in my car,” he says.
Stuff. The yellow bedsheets folded with care. The random assortment of clothing. The shoebox. The camera…
“This is mine,” I blurt out, sinking into a crouch to better peer through the items. “You got them from my apartment.”
He turns away to set the food onto the counter. “Were you lying when you said you couldn’t go back?” His wary tone deepens.
“N-No.” I can barely speak. “Thank you…”
I run my fingers over the rest of my things, overwhelmed by the emotion swelling in my chest. Terror? Gratitude?
But my hand keeps going back to one item in particular. Puzzled, I lift it, observing it in full. It’s the same model of camera that Branden kept above my TV, only…it’s unbroken. Newer, lacking any scratches or dents.
“Where did you find this?” Had Branden replaced his old one already?
“In your room,” Rafe says. “You take your security fucking serious, bunny—what’s wrong?”
I can’t breathe. Can’t speak.
In my room. Positioned near the bed?
Watching everything.
“Is it broken or something…” He breaks off, his head cocked. “Shit.”
From down below, I hear a door open and slam loudly enough to rattle the entire building. Loud, a gruff voice calls out, “Rafael!”
“Stay here.” He’s gone in an instant, and not even a minute later, his voice drifts from below. “Uncle. What’s wrong?”
“They found the Wen girl,” a man declares. “Dead. In our territory. You know what that means?”
“It’s a threat,” Rafe suspects, but his voice is deeper than I’ve ever heard it, betraying a rare hint of emotion. Rage? Despair? Guilt?
“No,” the older man says, his uncle. “It is a declaration of war. And you are going to dictate our response to it.”
“How?” Rafe asks.
“In the only language these animals will understand,” Shen replies. “You failed to react once to a direct challenge. I know you won’t make that mistake again. The same way I know that the rumors circling about you are false.”
A deliberate pause leaves Rafe no choice but to reply. “What rumors?”
“Rumors that say you’ve been running from fights rather than finishing them more often than not,” Shen says coldly. “That you’ve been taking it upon yourself to clear debts you have no business clearing. That you’re too busy playing with your little toys rather than upholding the mantle of everything this family stands for.”
Rafe scoffs. “I’m not—”
“I know,” the older man says over him. “They’re only rumors, right? Not worth wasting time entertaining. Now come.”
Heavy footsteps retreat from the building, but the charged atmosphere remains, suffocating in its intensity. This time, Rafe doesn’t pace, wracked with some internal dilemma.
He lurks below in utter silence, and it’s like my body feeds off his tension. His anger manifests as nervous energy in me, and I find myself rummaging through my meager box of belongings.
At the very bottom, I discover my shoebox. I open it out of habit, reaching in for the assorted items inside. Nail polish. ChapStick…
A pang of alarm runs through me as I belatedly realize what wasn’t there, lying on top of the other items—the newspaper clipping. And it’s not the only thing missing. When I feel for the bracelet, I don’t find its familiar round shape. Something sharp nudges my fingertip instead, and I look down, startled to find a different object glaringly out of place.
Small and silver, the hairpin is beautifully crafted.
One I recognize with an overwhelming sense of horror that strikes like a punch to the chest.
One in the shape of a delicate butterfly.
~ The duet continues with Flame! ~
Origin Story
Thank you for reading Moth. Moth started as a rewrite of a previously published story Dragonfly. But as I started the rewrite, Moth took on a life of its own. Now Moth is a new story, but has a few similar scenes to Dragonfly. As such, I’ve removed Dragonfly from publication, and am providing it as a free download to my fans who purchase Moth.
You can grab your copy here.
A Word from the Author
Hey there!
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed the story, please leave a review and recommend the book to any friend you think would love this twisted world. You’d have my eternal gratitude. Even a short sentence goes a long way!
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About the Author
Lana Sky is a reclusive writer in the United States who spends most of her time daydreaming about complex male characters and legless cats. She writes mostly paranormal romance, in between watching reruns of Ab Fab and drinking iced tea. Only iced tea.
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No good deed goes unpunished, after all.
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CLUB XXX
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In this dark mafia romance: she assumed he was just another client--but this vicious billionaire doesn't just play the game.
He makes the rules.
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CLUB XXX
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Under the dangerous Maxim Koslov's spell, Frankie Marconi finds herself falling deeper and deeper into a world of violence and sin. But the rabbit hole of chaos can only go so far. When cruel reality threatens her cocoon of pain, can she rely on Maxim to help her withstand the onslaught?
Or will she goad him into finally ending their twisted game...
Once and for all.
CLUB XXX
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In the final round of their twisted game, Francesca and Maxim have the ultimate choice to make: surrender to their dangerous attraction, or succumb to the many dangers driving them apart.
With her heart at stake, Francesca must weigh her family’s safety over her own, and trust that Maxim can truly triumph over his past trauma…
Or it will be game over for them both.
CLUB XXX
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A desperate divorcee on the hunt for some no-strings kinky fun.
A brooding, sexy billionaire with a penchant for manipulation and mind games...
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Will the obsessive Vadim maintain the upper hand or will the reckless Tiffany turn his world upside down?
CLUB XXX
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CLUB XXX
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With no end to his paranoia in sight, Tiffany is forced to decide once and for all whether to conquer their shared demons together...
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MAFIA ROMANCE
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Crescendo
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You don't become the fiancé of one of the most powerful mafia bosses in the city without understanding exactly how gritty and depraved the world truly is... and how to thrive in the inferno.
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BEAUTIFUL MONSTERS
Refrain
Some demons have angelic intentions...
Caught in the middle of a vicious gang war, Espi Vialle is torn between helping a woman with a twisted past or escaping a world of crime he’s ashamed to be a part of.
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TRIAD ROMANCE
