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“You should sleep,” he murmurs, his voice a vibration I feel more than hear. “Scientific brilliance requires adequate rest periods.”

“So does healing,” I counter, careful not to touch his injured wing. “Especially for cryptids with stubborn deflection patterns.”

In the quiet that follows, I feel the weight of everything unsaid between us—questions unanswered, truths unacknowledged. Yet for tonight, this connection is enough. Tomorrow will bring its complications, its necessary confrontations. But here, sheltered in his wings with his heartbeat as my lullaby, I allow myself to believe that some bridges can be rebuilt even after trust has been broken.

Chapter Fifteen

Blair

I wake up disoriented—this isn’t my chamber, these aren’t my blankets. Then awareness floods back as I register the warm weight draped across my body, the leathery wing creating a protective cocoon around me, the steady rhythm of Dante’s heart beneath my ear.

We fell asleep fully clothed, his protective instincts drawing me close even in slumber. Sometime during the night, our bodies sought deeper connection. My leg has slipped between his, my arm curled possessively around his waist. Heat pools low in my belly as his chest presses against my back, his masculine scent making my pulse flutter against my throat.

I should move away. Create appropriate distance. Reestablish proper boundaries after allowing emotional vulnerability to temporarily cloud my judgment. Yet my body refuses to comply with logical imperatives, instead pressing closer to his warmth.

Through the haze of half-sleep, I register a hardness against my hip that sends unexpected heat coursing through me. The mate bond pulses between us, amplifying awareness of every point where our bodies connect. Scientific curiosity mingles with something more primal as I catalog his body’s responses even while my own body betrays similar reactions.

His breathing changes, the steady rhythm of sleep giving way to something quicker, more deliberate. I feel the moment consciousness returns to him—the slight tensing of muscles, the careful stillness of someone trying not to disturb another’s rest.

“I know you’re awake,” I whisper into the darkness, my voice husky.

His tail, which had been curled loosely around my ankle, tightens. “So are you.” The words rumble through his chest beneath my ear, vibrations traveling directly to my core. “We should probably—”

Whatever suggestion of distance or propriety he might have offered dies as I shift against him, scientific methodology abandoned in favor of direct experimentation. The hard length pressing against me twitches in response, and his sharp intake of breath provides immediate data confirmation.

“Probably what?” I ask, emboldened by darkness and the lingering vulnerability of sleep. My hand moves before I make a conscious decision, fingers tracing the ridges of his abdomen through his shirt.

“Blair.” My name emerges as both warning and plea, the conflict in his voice mirroring the tension in his body. “You don’t… we shouldn’t…”

“Empirical evidence suggests otherwise.” My analytical framing doesn’t quite mask the desire beneath. “Physiological responses indicate mutual attraction despite recent conflicts.”

His quiet laugh vibrates against me. “Only you would analyze arousal patterns in scientific terminology.” But his tail winds more securely around my leg, betraying emotions his words try to control.

“Observable data provides a framework for understanding complex emotional variables,” I explain, fingers continuing their exploratory path across his chest. “For instance, your current temperature elevation and accelerated heart rate suggest—”

His movement surprises me—swift yet controlled as he shifts our positions, rolling until I find myself beneath him, his wings creating a private world that blocks out everything except us. The crystal light filtering through his wing membranes casts his features in an otherworldly glow, emphasizing both his inhuman beauty and the very human desire in his eyes.

“What does your data suggest now, Dr. Andrews?” His voice drops to that register that makes something molten pool low in my belly.

Scientific vocabulary momentarily deserts me as his proximity overwhelms my senses. His spicy, masculine scent fills my lungs. The weight of him above me, carefully balanced on his forearms to avoid crushing me, feels like sanctuary rather than confinement. His rigid cock is nestled between my legs. Without conscious decision, my thighs spread to garner more of his delicious pressure.

“Inconclusive results,” I manage finally. “Further investigation required.”

The curve of his mouth—predatory yet tender—sends electricity racing along my nerve endings. “Very thorough research methodology.”

When his lips finally meet mine, the contact feels inevitable—as though all our conversations, all our circling of truth and secrets, have been leading to this moment of surrender. His fangs graze my lower lip with exquisite care, the danger inherent in their sharpness only intensifying the connection between us.

My hands rise to trace the curves of his horns, finding that sensitive spot at the base that makes his skin shift to that beautiful iridescent shade I’ve documented so carefully in my research. His quiet growl vibrates against my lips, the sound more felt than heard as his kiss deepens from tentative exploration to something hungrier.

“We should stop,” he murmurs against my jaw, even as his mouth traces a burning path toward my neck. “Before this goes too far.”

“Probability of successful cessation approaching statistical impossibility,” I counter, arching into him as his fangs scrape gently along my throat. “Given current intensity of stimuli.”

His quiet laugh warms my skin. “Making scientific observations during seduction should not be this arousing.”

“All observational data indicates otherwise.” My fingers card through his hair, careful of his horns as I guide his mouth back to mine. “Though further testing would provide more conclusive results.”

The kiss that follows abandons tentative exploration for something deeper, more raw, more urgent. His hand slides beneath my shirt, claws carefully retracted as his palm burns against my bare skin. “I need you,” he growls against my lips. “It’s been too long since I’ve tasted you, touched you properly.” His other hand cups my breast through my shirt, thumb circling my nipple until it peaks beneath the fabric.