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Trust her to make scientific observations at a moment like this. But instead of breaking the mood, her analytical nature only endears her to me more.

“Must be a new variable for your spreadsheets.” My voice sounds as though I’ve swallowed gravel as I press my forehead to hers. The gesture is so intimate, she can’t suppress a shiver.

Her quiet laugh is a joyous sound I’ve never heard from her before. “I’ll need to develop entirely new classification systems.”

“Later.” I draw her close again, reveling in how perfectly she fits against me. “Science later. Kisses now. You taste like…” My mind is whirling in pleasure too swiftly to think of a word. I simply hum.

As our lips meet again, softer this time but no less intense, I know this changes everything. There’s no going back from this—not from the way she touches me without fear, not from how she sees past my monstrous appearance to something worth wanting.

Some kisses rewrite every hypothesis.

Some touches heal more than physical wounds.

And some moments of surrender mark the beginning rather than the end.

Chapter Twelve

Blair

The library feels different now. Maybe it’s the way the crystal formations cast their soft light across ancient texts, or how the air still carries that mineral tang that makes the space feel sacred. Or maybe it’s because I can’t focus on anything except yesterday’s kiss in the infirmary—how Dante’s tail curled so tightly around my waist, how his temperature spiked under my fingers, how he tasted wild and slightly dangerous when he finally pressed his lips to mine. Even now, my skin tingles at the memory of being wrapped in his wings, sheltered from the world in our own private sanctuary.

Focus, Blair. I’m here for research, not daydreaming about a Jersey Devil’s kiss.

But the ancient text before me only makes matters worse. My finger traces over a passage about cryptid bonding behaviors that’s making my heart race in a most unscientific manner:

“When the rare connectionforms between compatible souls, physical responses manifest beyond conscious control—shared temperature fluctuations, heightened awareness of proximity, instinctive collection of items carrying the other’s essence…”

Collection of items. The phrase catches me like a hook. Suddenly, all those missing possessions over the past weeks form a pattern I can’t ignore—hair ties vanishing from my workstation, my favorite pen disappearing, a lab coat I was certain I’d hung by the door. Things I’d attributed to my own absentmindedness during intense research sessions.

It takes a moment for an even more thunderous awareness to strike me. Is that why I picked up one of his shed scales? It couldn’t be possible that this otherworldly… connection could go both ways? Could it?

“These ancient texts contain fascinating references to physiological connections between certain cryptids,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady as Dante reaches past me to retrieve another volume. His chest brushes my shoulder, sending electricity racing through my nerve endings. “Though many of the terms seem deliberately obscure.”

“These older dialects often obscure their meaning.” That rough edge to his voice makes my pulse quicken. It’s the same tone he used when he spoke during our kiss. “Particularly around more… sensitive subjects.”

“Like why some beings might experience unusual physical responses around specific individuals?” The words emerge more breathless than intended as his tail brushes my ankle.

“Perhaps.” His skin darkens beautifully. “Or why certain… compelling behaviors might manifest between them.”

My scientific mind whirs with connections forming too rapidly to dismiss. “Like your temperature rising precisely 2.3 degrees whenever you’re within three feet of me? Or how we both always seem to know when the other is approaching, even before any audible cues?”

His tail freezes mid-motion, then curls tightly against his leg. “You’ve been measuring that?”

“Of course I have,” I reply, unable to suppress a small smile at his surprise. “I measure everything. It’s what I do.”

“And what other… measurements have you been collecting, Doc?” His attempt at casual curiosity fails spectacularly as his skin shifts through deepening crimson shades.

“Physiological responses to proximity. Sleep quality metrics in relation to distance. Healing rates of your wing in direct correlation to duration of contact during treatment.” I tick off the data points on my fingers. “The patterns are statistically significant and consistent enough to warrant further investigation.”

His wing twitches slightly. “Just scientific curiosity?”

“Initially,” I admit, surprising myself with my candor. “But science requires following evidence wherever it leads, even when the conclusions are… unexpected.”

His movements falter as I examine the ancient text, his tail suddenly stilling against the floor. When I look up, I catch his expression—a revealing mixture of guilt and defiance that connects several puzzling dots in my mind.

“You’ve been collectingthings that belong to me, haven’t you?” I ask, moving toward his desk with deliberate casualness as my heart races with realization. “My missing pens, that lab coat that disappeared after you walked me to dinner last Thursday… all the little items I thought I’d misplaced.”

His tail lashes with such sudden force it knocks a book from the nearby shelf. “I don’t know what you’re—” The lie dies on his lips as my eyebrow arches in perfect scientific skepticism. “Fine. Yes.”