Page 1 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)

Chapter One

D ante

The problem with breaking into a high-security research facility isn’t the guards. Or the cameras. It’s ignoring the searing pain in my injured wing while trying to pull off this rescue.

The wing brace helps, but each movement sends fresh pain jolting through my body. The toxin spreading through the membrane ensures it won’t heal properly without specialized treatment. Not that I can tell anyone. I’ll keep the source of that secret to my grave.

“Considering how much they spend on security, you’d think they’d invest in better coffee.” I wrinkle my nose at the bitter scent wafting from the break room. “Though I suppose when your business model revolves around torturing sentient beings, quality control standards probably slip elsewhere too.”

My attempt at humor falls flat as memories of our last rescue attempt flash through my mind—Dr. Andrews crumpling mid-stride outside the camouflaged entrance to Apex ’s facility, which is buried deep in an old mountain mine.

Dr. Andrews is an employee, or was an employee, of Apex who contacted us that she had information on what Apex was doing to the cryptids that were captured.

I’ll never forget the black-clad security guards who rushed her with weapons drawn, the flash of light that took her down before we could get to her, or the thumb drive she managed to drop, knowing we’d retrieve it.

It revealed everything: Apex Evolution Technologies’ torture chambers, their twisted experiments, and their heinous plans for the future of my kind—cryptids.

She risked everything for us. Now she’s at their mercy. We won’t fail her again.

I can’t help but wonder if Chelsea and her team are having better luck with their mission tonight.

We’ve all broken into Apex’s facility. Unlike me, Chelsea has a personal stake in retrieving Riven—something about a mate bond, though I’m not sure humans and cryptids can actually develop a true mate bond.

“Doctor’s location confirmed,” Volt’s static-laced whisper crackles in my earpiece. “East wing. Third floor. Two guards at the checkpoint.”

“Only two? I’m almost insulted.” The quip helps mask how my injured wing throbs inside its brace. “Guess quality evil minions are hard to find these days.”

“Focus, Dante.” Volt’s electricity makes my horns tingle even through the comm.

“We’ve only got one shot at this. Riven’s location is being handled by his mate Chelsea and the others, but Dr. Andrews is our responsibility.

The sprites re port movement near the loading docks. We may be running out of time.”

I move forward on silent hooves, keeping to the shadows. The data Dr. Andrews smuggled out before her capture exposed military contracts worth billions—all aimed at turning cryptid powers into weapons. The thought makes my skin shift from crimson to obsidian.

A soft scrape—a boot sole on concrete.

I freeze, wings tucked tight, every muscle coiled. A guard turns the corner ahead, walking a lazy patrol with a rifle slung low. He’s not alert, just going through the motions. Still, he’s close enough that I could reach out and end this with one silent swipe of my claws.

But stealth is everything. Bloodshed brings attention. And the sanctuary can’t afford that—not tonight.

“Security cameras looping on my mark,” Volt rumbles. “Checkpoint clear in three… two…”

The lights flicker as his electricity disrupts the systems. I move fast, my hooves somehow silent on the polished floor. The checkpoint doors slide open with a soft hiss, revealing sterile white corridors and the smell of antiseptic and fear.

“East wing secured.” Volt’s voice is tense, reflecting the danger inherent in this mission.

Although sarcasm is my default emotion, I shouldn’t be so flippant. I’m rescuing the woman who risked her life to get us intel that could save us all.

“We’ve got movement in the labs. They’re about to start another ‘treatment’ session.”

My tail lashes at his words. The surveillance footage Dr. Andrews leaked to us showed exactly what those “treatments” entail. Torture is the correct word. Just thinking about it makes my fangs ache with the need to tear something apart.

“Almost there, Doc,” I mutter, though she can’t hear me. “Just hold on.”

The interrogation wing tries too hard to look medical rather than menacing. But I know what happens behind these doors. The scents of pain and terror linger despite the industrial cleaners.

Cell 23B. The lock doesn’t stand a chance against Volt’s precise electrical burst. Inside, harsh fluorescent light illuminates a scene that makes my skin crawl with rage.

Dr. Andrews—Blair, according to her personnel file—looks smaller than I remember.

Pale and still, with long strands of silver and lavender hair falling across her face.

The unique coloring seems dulled under the harsh fluorescent light, but even in this state, it’s striking against her pale skin.

Dried tear tracks on her cheeks make something hot and violent explode in my chest.

“Found her.” I say through clenched teeth, not even trying to hide the rage in my voice. Moving quickly, I grip her wrist while my tail whips against the floor. “Pulse is steady but slow. They’ve got her on something heavy.”

Her eyes flutter at my touch, struggling to focus. “Nottelling…” The words slur together. “Won’t let you…”

“E asy, Doc.” Carefully, I remove the leads connecting her to the monitors that aren’t turned on.

That’s the first bit of good news. If they were actively monitoring her, either turning off the monitor or removing the leads would have triggered an alarm.

I keep my voice light despite the fury swirling in my gut. “Rescue party of one, at your service.”

A crease appears between her brows as her eyes blink several times, then focus on me. “You’re… a Jersey Devil?”

“What gave it away? The devilishly handsome looks or the timely rescue?” My fangs flash in what I hope is a reassuring grin.

Her quiet laugh turns into a cough. “Sarcasm… matches reports…”

“My reputation precedes me.” Her attempt at humor, despite obvious fear, sparks unexpected warmth. “Think you can hold on if I carry you?”

She manages a tiny nod before her eyes roll back. Right. Time to go.

Gathering her carefully against my chest, I try not to notice how perfectly she fits.

Or how her fingers curl into my shirt as though seeking safety even while unconscious.

My wings curve forward instinctively, creating a protective shelter around her slight form despite the sharp pain in my injured right wing.

“Package secured.” Speaking quietly into my comm. “Exit route clear?”

“Two guards approaching via west stairs.” Volt’s warning carries urgency. “Take the maintenance shaft. And Dante? More company just arrived at the loading docks. Hurry.”

“Hear that, Doc? Looks li ke we’re taking the service entrance.” Adjusting my grip on the unconscious scientist. “Less glamorous, but I’ll try to make it memorable.”

No response. Her breathing stays steady but shallow against my chest. Whatever they gave her, it’s strong enough to keep her unconscious despite being jostled against me as I run.

My injured wing protests as we navigate the narrow maintenance shaft, but I barely notice the pain.

Not when Blair burrows closer, seeking warmth or safety or both.

Something protective and fierce expands in my chest—an instinct I’ll examine later. Much later. For now, there’s a brilliant, mysterious woman to rescue. And if the price of success is enduring a little more pain, keeping a few more secrets?

Well, that’s a bargain this devil is willing to make.