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“I’ve synthesized the first dose of antidote,” Cliff announces, approaching with two injection devices. “According to Andrews’ notes, we’ll need multiple treatments over the next twelve hours to fully neutralize the toxin.”

The first injection burns like liquid fire, drawing a hiss through my clenched teeth. Beside me, Blair flinches as she receives her dose, her fingers tightening around mine. Through our bond, I feel the antidote beginning its work—fighting the poison molecule by molecule, the battle itself causing fresh waves of pain.

“Rest,” Cliff instructs us both. “The antidote needs time to circulate. We’ll administer the next dose in two hours.”

As the Sasquatch and Water Sprite retreat to monitor our conditions from a respectful distance, Blair’s scientific mind continues working despite her weakness.

“His weapon was specifically calibrated for Jersey Devil physiology,” she murmurs, eyes finding mine with effort. “When I saw it hit you, I lost my mind.”

“Your beautiful scientific mind,” I pause to grab a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose you because you jumped in front of a weapon meant for me.”

Her quiet laugh turns into a pained cough. “The mate bond has impacted our decision-making processes by 41.8 percent.”

“Is that your scientific way of saying love makes us do crazy things?” My tail tightens around her wrist.

“Perhaps.” Her eyes hold mine with unexpected intensity, despite the pain evident in her expression. “Though ‘love’ seems an inadequate term for a neurobiological connection of this magnitude.”

That statement is so perfectly her that warmth spreads through my chest, momentarily dullingthe toxin’s burn.

“Rest now,” I murmur, fighting my own exhaustion. “Scientific terminology can wait until we’re both conscious enough to appreciate it properly.”

As the antidote continues its work, we drift in and out of consciousness, always maintaining physical contact. The mate bond is like a living thing between us, creating a shared resistance that the monitoring devices register with increasing optimism. Each time we wake, the pain has receded slightly, the toxin’s hold weakening against the combined force of the antidote and our connection.

Hours later, after the third dose of antidote, Volt returns with news that makes my skin color flicker with surprise.

“William Andrews has withdrawn all hunter forces from sanctuary proximity,” he reports. “No surveillance equipment detected within monitoring range. It appears his daughter’s injury has… altered his tactical priorities.”

“He chose her,” I realize aloud, understanding dawning despite lingering suspicion. “When forced to choose between his obsession and his daughter, he chose her.”

Blair’s expression shifts with complex emotions. “Paternal connection overriding scientific obsession,” she murmurs, analytical framing providing emotional distance. “A fascinating prioritization shift.”

“He loves you,” I translate, my tail finding her wrist with practiced ease. “Enough to save our lives and let you go, at least for now.”

As night deepens around us, the sanctuary quiets to a peaceful hum. The antidote continues its work, each dose bringing increased relief from the toxin’s grip. Though recovery will take days, the immediate danger has passed.

In this moment of fragile peace, I find myself watching Blair as she sleeps, her face relaxed despite what we’ve endured. She stepped between me and certain death without hesitation, risking everything to protect someone she was raised to hunt. The courage of that choice—the love it represents—humbles me in ways I’m still learning to understand.

Whatever challenges lie ahead—whether renewed threats from Apex or the uncertain future of her relationship with her father—we will face them together. The hunter’sdaughter and the Jersey Devil, bound by a connection neither of us expected but both now fight to protect.

Some bonds prove themselves through fire rather than breaking under pressure. Ours has emerged from this trial stronger than before, tempered by sacrifice and sealed with shared survival.

As sleep claims me once more, my wing extends just enough to shelter her sleeping form, an instinct as natural as breathing. Whatever comes next, we will heal together.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Blair

The memorial garden takes shape beneath my hands as I carefully position the final crystal in the central formation. Three weeks have passed since I intercepted the dart meant for Dante—three weeks of healing, planning, and creating this space that honors memory while celebrating connection.

“The alignment is perfect,” I murmur, stepping back to assess the geometric precision of the arrangement. “When morning light strikes the primary crystal at precisely 7:42 AM, it should create the wing pattern across the eastern wall.”

Dante’s skin shifts to appreciative crimson as he surveys our work. “Scientific precision meets artistic vision. Very us.”

The simple observation makes warmth bloom in my chest. The garden combines both our strengths—his understanding of Jersey Devil habitats and symbolism, paired with my knowledge of crystalline structures and light refraction. Together, we’ve created something neither could have managed alone.

The space nestles against the eastern ridge of the sanctuary mountain, partially sheltered by natural stone formations but open to the rising sun. Native plants from the pine barrens of New Jersey—carefully transplanted and nurtured by Cliff’s gentle hands—cluster around natural pathways. Small pools shimmer with crystal-purified water, Marina’s contribution to the memorial. Throughout the garden, crystalline formations pulse with subtle energy that responds to visitors, particularly those with Jersey Devil signatures.

But the heart of the memorial waits at its center—a beautifully carved stone pedestal where Kieran’s broken horn will finally rest. Not hidden away in shame, but honored in light.