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“Over here.” He guides me to one of several reading nooks carved into the walls. Plush chairs that somehow perfectly combine comfort and academic dignity cluster around small tables. “This section is my usual workspace.”

The desk holds neat stacks of books and what appear to be research notes in his elegant handwriting. A familiar glint catches my eye—a pen identical to the one I lost last week sits beside them. Before I can examine it closer, movement draws my attention to where his tail is hastily sweeping something into a drawer.

“You study here often?” The question comes out more breathless than intended as another wave of heat rolls through me.

“It’s quiet.” His skin darkens as he settles into what is clearly his usual chair. He looks… perfect there. An almost monstrous Jersey Devil persona combined with classic professorial elegance. “Good place to think.”

Looking around his chosen corner, I notice other signs of regular use. Well-worn books. A half-empty mug of what smells like coffee. Small personal touches like a small green velvet pillow lodged in the chair for lumbar support and an interesting cluster of crystals that emit the most beautiful seafoam-green light. It all makes this space feel lived-in, claimed.

“What do you research?”Moving closer to his desk, genuine curiosity about what captures a Jersey Devil’s scholarly interest burns through me.

“History mostly. Old texts about…” His voice trails off as I pick up one of his notebooks. “Cryptid lore. Legends. That sort of thing.”

The notes are meticulously organized, his handwriting precise despite his claws. Then I remember they retract, like cats, so they wouldn’t interfere with writing or typing. Why, I wonder, does a picture of those nails clutching my naked hips barge into my thoughts?

It takes long moments for me to register what the pages contain. References to temperature regulation and energy transfer catch my eye before he gently reclaims the notebook.

“There are some interesting medical texts over here.” He guides me toward another section, his wing curving around me. The gesture sends another surge of warmth through my system. “Ancient healing practices, crystal applications…”

“Anything about wing injuries?” I can’t help asking.

His skin ripples with color. “Always the scientist.”

“Someone has to be concerned, since you won’t properly document your own condition.”

“Maybe I prefer being a mystery.” But there’s something beneath the drawl, some emotion I can’t quite categorize despite my increasingly detailed notation system.

“Science thrives on solving mysteries.” Moving to examine the medical texts, I try to ignore how the temperature seems to spike whenever he stands close. “Though some subjects are more resistant to study than others.”

“Speaking of resistance…” His wings twitch at my choice of words. “Perhaps some subjects deserve to be studied more… thoroughly.” He reaches past me to retrieve a book, his chest brushing my shoulder. The contact sends electricity racing through my nerve endings. “These texts discuss cryptid biology. Might help with your research.”

The book might be fascinating, but his proximity distracts me completely—the way his skin seems to darken and his temperature rises whenever our hands brush. My scientific mind itches to document these physiological responses.

“Thank you.” My voice is soft, almost breathy. “For sharing this place.”

His expression holds something I can’t quite read. “Knowledge should be shared. Even if some mysteries take time to unravel.”

The words remind me of my father’s lab, where knowledge was hoarded like weapons. Where I spent my childhood learning to identify cryptid vulnerabilities instead of playing with other children. The memory makes me turn away before Dante can see the shame in my eyes.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his tail curling with concern.

“Just… thinking about the past. Before Apex.” Forcing myself to meet his gaze. “My previous work wasn’t always… something I’m proud of.”

The words carry weight beyond their surface meaning, but before I can analyze them further, voices drift down from the main cavern.

“Duty calls.” His tailcurls as he steps back. “Feel free to study here anytime. Just…” A slight hesitation. “Avoid the bottom drawer of my desk.”

The request sparks scientific curiosity, but his tone suggests this isn’t the time to press. Now that bottom drawer is all I can focus on—what could he possibly be hiding that requires such specific mention? Instead, I clutch my new research materials and try to ignore how the temperature seems to drop the moment he moves away.

Some libraries hold more than just books. Some secrets invite discovery despite better judgment. And some connections grow stronger with each shared moment, whether we’re ready for them or not.

Chapter Seven

Blair

My fingers trace the slim crystal bracelet on Dante’s wrist—a device of my own design that melds sanctuary crystals with modern biometrics. Holographic readouts stream constantly to my tablet, monitoring everything from his pulse to his body temperature.

“This monitoring device was necessary to track your healing,” I remind him, as the display flickers with new data. “Though your consistent attempts to remove it are quite revealing.”