Page 51

Through the communication crystal comes unexpected news—hunter forces retreating in disarray, coordinated assault transforming into tactical withdrawal. William Andrews reportedly ordered immediate disengagement after Blair’s injury.

As I lay her carefully on the examination table, our eyes meet with perfect understanding. In one desperate moment, she chose me over everything else—just as her father, faced with the consequences of his obsession, finally chose her.

Some bonds run deeper than science can explain.

Some loves prove stronger than any weapon can destroy.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dante

Consciousness returns to me in waves, each one bringing a fresh surge of burning pain. The toxin my wing absorbed was designed to destroy Jersey Devil physiology, and it’s doing its job with ruthless efficiency. Through blurred vision, I make out the infirmary ceiling, the soft blue lights pulsing in rhythm with my labored breathing.

“He’s waking up again,” Cliff’s voice rumbles nearby. The Sasquatch appears in my field of vision, his massive form bent over me with surprising gentleness.

“Blair,” I try to say, but my throat feels scorched. The memory of her stepping between me and her father’s weapon sends a jolt of panic through me. “Where is she?”

“Next bed,” Marina answers, her blue eyes narrowed with concern as she glides into view. “The toxin affected her differently. It was designed for your physiology, not human systems.”

Struggling against the burning in my limbs, I force myself to turn my head. There she lies, just feet away, her face pale but chest rising with steady breaths. The sight of her sends relief washing through me, momentarily dulling the pain of the toxin.

“How long?” I manage to ask.

“Eight hours since the attack,” Cliff tells me, checking some monitoring device with a worried frown. “The toxin is spreading faster in your system than hers. Your body is the blueprint it was designed to destroy.”

My tail flicks weakly with the effort of moving. “Need to be closer to her.”

Marina and Cliff exchange a concerned glance. “You’re both in critical condition,” Marina explains. “Moving either of you could accelerate the toxin’s spread.”

The rational part of my mind understands their caution, but something deeper—the mate bond—pulses with desperate certainty. “The bond… strengthens healing,” I insist, each word a struggle against the fire in my veins. “Need proximity.”

“Blair’s been documenting that evidence for weeks. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it before,” Marina says.

Before they can move me, alarms suddenly blare throughout the sanctuary. Volt’s voice thunders through the communication system: “Priority message intercepted! Medical protocols incoming!”

Within moments, the Thunderbird bursts into the infirmary, electricity crackling around his golden feathers with unusual agitation. “William Andrews has sent complete toxin formulations and antidote compounds,” he announces.“Transmission received just minutes ago with explicit delivery instructions.”

“Her father sent the antidote?” I struggle to comprehend this turn of events. The man who has hunted cryptids for decades, who engineered the very poison now burning through our bodies, has offered salvation.

“Not just sent it,” Volt confirms, his electricity dancing with excitement. “Included detailed synthesis protocols specifically calibrated for both Jersey Devil and human physiologies. He must have worked on it immediately after the attack. The instructions are to make the antidote and administer it within ten minutes for maximum efficacy.”

As Cliff rushes to analyze the data and prepare the antidote, Marina and Riven shift my bed next to Blair’s. The instant we’re close enough, I extend my trembling hand to find hers. When our skin connects, the bond flares with sudden strength, a current of energy flowing between us that momentarily dulls the poison’s burn.

“Your vital signs are stabilizing with physical contact,” Marina observes with amazement. “The mate bond is creating some kind of shared resistance.”

Through our connection, I feel Blair’s consciousness stirring. Her fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around mine, and her eyelids flutter with the effort of waking.

“Dante?” Her voice emerges as barely a whisper.

“I’m here.” My tail manages to curl weakly around her wrist, the familiar gesture bringing comfort to us both. “Your father sent the antidote.”

A small furrow appears between her brows as she processes this information. “Statistically… unexpected,” she mumbles, scientific terminology asserting itself even through the haze of toxin.

Despite everything, a rough laugh escapes me. “Always the scientist.”

Her lips curve into the faintest smile before pain clouds her expression again. “The toxin… spreading patterns indicate accelerated neural pathway degradation. You must be experiencing significantly worse effects.”

Even dying, she’s analyzing data. The thought fills me with a fierce tenderness that temporarily overcomes the burning in my veins.