Page 11 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)

Chapter Eleve n

D ante

The scent of healing herbs fills the infirmary as Blair prepares another wing treatment. Her movements are precise, methodical—everything laid out in perfect order, just like the ancient journal she’s been studying since I gave it to her yesterday.

“The notations about cryptid healing patterns are fascinating.” She says without looking up when I enter the room. I wonder. Is she as attuned to me as I am to her?

With fascination, I watch as she measures ingredients with careful accuracy. “Though some of the terminology required cross-referencing with other texts in the library.”

My skin warms at her dedication. Of course, she’s already diving deep into research, probably creating new spreadsheets to track her findings.

“Your enthusiasm for dust y old books is showing, Doc.” My mock scold is gentle as my tail curls with fondness as she approaches with her supplies.

“These aren’t just books.” Her eyes light with that intellectual fire that makes my breath catch. “They’re centuries of accumulated knowledge. The scientific methodology alone—” She catches my amused expression and flushes slightly. “Right. Treatment first, waxing poetic about research later.”

The gentle brush of her fingers against my wing membrane sends electricity racing through me. Every touch feels magnified since that night she let me hold her through her nightmares. The memory of her trust, her vulnerability, haunts me.

“Thank you again for the journal.” Her voice stays professional despite the intimacy of her touch as she works the healing salve into my injured wing. “It’s helping me understand so much about cryptid physiology.”

“Figured you’d appreciate someone else’s analytical approach.” I release a small moan as her hands find a particularly sensitive spot. The moment I sit on the exam table, my tail wraps around her waist of its own accord.

She doesn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers trace the edge of my wing with devastating thoroughness. “These markings here…” Her breath catches as she discovers another scar. “This wasn’t from the initial injury.”

Darkness creeps across my skin. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Her touch gentles further, though her voice carries steel. “The strange purplish discoloration along the membrane’s edge concerns me more than the obvi ous wound. It’s unlike any bruising pattern I’ve seen in my research. Dante, what really happened?”

The concern in her expression makes my chest tight. If she knew the truth—about my failure, my shame—she wouldn’t look at me with such care. My knees tense as I prepare to retreat.

“Your skin is darkening again.” Her analytical observation somehow makes this moment more intimate rather than less. “And your temperature…” Her free hand brushes my face, then traces the curve of my horn in a gesture that steals my breath.

“Blair.” Her name emerges as a growl as I catch her wrist. “You shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?” Her pulse races beneath my fingers. “Shouldn’t care? Shouldn’t want to understand?”

“Shouldn’t want this.” Despite my words, my tail tightens around her waist, drawing her closer. “Want me.”

The room is silent long enough for my ardor to turn to terror. Did I overstep? Misunderstand what every part of me was beginning to believe? That she wants me? Not as much as I want her, perhaps, but her tells, her hints… have I imagined all of it?

Finally, her gaze collides with mine as she lifts her chin defiantly to ask, “Why not?” Her fingers continue their maddening exploration, trailing from my horn to my jaw. “Because you look different? Because you have secrets?”

“Because… I’m a monster.” The words scrape out of my throat. “A devil.”

“No!” The fierce certai nty in her voice makes me look up. “You’re beautiful.”

The sincerity in her expression undoes me. With a sound that’s half-growl, half-surrender, I pull her tighter. Connection blooms between us, urging closer contact, deeper connection. What I feel transcends anything I’ve felt before.

The first brush of my lips against hers is gentle, questioning.

She tastes like honey and herbs, a mix so uniquely her it makes me burn even hotter.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, carefully avoiding my horns as though she’s memorized exactly where they curve from my skull.

The delicate touch only inflames me further, especially when her fingertips graze the sensitive base where horn meets scalp.

When she sighs into the kiss, parting her lips, my control shatters. My wings curl around us both, creating a private world of shadow and sensation. The crystal lights filter through my wing membranes, casting her in a rosy glow that makes her look otherworldly.

Her quiet gasp as my tongue traces her lower lip sends fire racing through my veins. The sound she makes—somewhere between a whimper and a moan—nearly undoes me completely.

My tail tightens possessively around her waist as I deepen the kiss, drawing her fully against me until I can feel her heartbeat thundering in perfect counterpoint to my own.

Her clever fingers find the sensitive junction where my wings meet my shoulders, and I can’t suppress the growl that rumbles up from deep in my chest.

“Dante,” she breathes m y name against my lips, the single word carrying both wonder and desire. The sound of it ignites something primal within me, something I’ve kept carefully leashed until this moment.

My claws card through her unique hair, cradling her head as I angle her face to better claim her mouth.

She responds with unexpected boldness, her tongue meeting mine in a dance that sends electric currents arcing through me.

The crystal formations around us pulse with subtle light, responding to the energy crackling between us.

Her hands aren’t idle—they explore with scientific curiosity and unmistakable passion, mapping the texture of my skin where scales meet flesh, discovering places that make my breath catch and my tail curl tighter around her.

When her fingers graze the base of my horns, I shudder visibly, my skin shifting to that iridescent shade I’ve never shown anyone else.

She doesn’t flinch from my inhuman features—not my sharp teeth that I try so carefully to gentle, not wings that must feel alien against her softness, not even my clawed hands that cradle her face like she’s something precious and breakable.

Instead, she presses closer, her body arching into mine with a trust that steals my breath. I find the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck, drawing circles with my thumb until she melts against me, her scientific detachment completely abandoned.

The kiss transforms into something deeper, rawer—a communion of souls as much as bodies. Through half-lidded eyes, I watch her expression, memorizing every flutter of her eyelashes, the exact shade of peach that colors her cheeks.

The world beyond my wings c eases to exist; there is only this moment, only her mouth moving perfectly against mine, only the soft sounds of pleasure that escape her when I do something that lights her on fire.

My fangs graze her lower lip, carefully controlled yet unmistakably present—a reminder of what I am, what we are to each other.

Instead of fear, I feel her respond with a soft moan that vibrates against my mouth.

Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in slightly as if afraid I might pull away.

“You’re trembling,” I murmur against her jaw, trailing kisses toward her ear.

“Scientific… observation,” she manages, her voice deliciously breathless. “Elevated neural responses to… unprecedented stimuli.”

I can’t contain the quiet laugh that escapes me, warmth blooming in my chest at this quintessentially Blair response. Even now, with her pulse racing and her body pressed against mine, she reaches for scientific terminology like an anchor.

“Would you like more data points, Dr. Andrews?” I tease, my voice low as I press a kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear.

Her sharp intake of breath is answer enough, but she surprises me by capturing my face between her palms and bringing my mouth back to hers with newfound confidence.

This kiss is different—deliberate, exploring, her scientific mind clearly cataloguing exactly what makes my skin shift colors and my wings tremble.

Time loses meaning. There ’s only the silk of her hair against my palms, the sweet pressure of her mouth against mine, the way she trembles when my claws carefully scrape along her spine.

My injured wing aches from staying extended, but I barely notice the pain—not when she’s making those soft sounds of pleasure, not when she’s kissing me like she’s discovering something miraculous.

Finally, the need for air forces us apart. She looks dazed, her lips slightly swollen, her cheeks flushed. The sight makes something possessive clench in my chest.

“Your skin…” She touches my face with wondering fingers. “It’s iridescent. I’ve never seen that color before.”

Trust her to make scientific observations at a moment like this. But instead of breaking the mood, her analytical nature only endears her to me more.

“Must be a new variable for your spreadsheets.” My voice sounds as though I’ve swallowed gravel as I press my forehead to hers. The gesture is so intimate, she can’t suppress a shiver.

Her quiet laugh is a joyous sound I’ve never heard from her before. “I’ll need to develop entirely new classification systems.”

“Later.” I draw her close again, reveling in how perfectly she fits against me. “Science later. Kisses now. You taste like…” My mind is whirling in pleasure too swiftly to think of a word. I simply hum.

As our lips meet again, softer this time but no less intense, I know this changes everything. There’s no going back from this—not from the way she touches me without fear, n ot from how she sees past my monstrous appearance to something worth wanting.

Some kisses rewrite every hypothesis.

Some touches heal more than physical wounds.

And some moments of surrender mark the beginning rather than the end.