Page 13 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)

I withdraw a small object that was concealed in my lab coat pocket—one of his scales that had fallen loose during yesterday’s kiss. I’ve been carrying it, running my fingers over its smooth surface whenever I need to ground myself.

“You dropped this,” I explain, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. “During our… research session yesterday.”

His eyes widen as he recognizes the crimson scale resting in my palm, then narrow with something that sends delicious shivers down my spine. “And you’ve been carrying it around? For what purpose, Dr. Andrews? More data collection?”

“Initially, yes,” I admit, scientific honesty compelling me despite my embarrassment. “But then I found myself… taking it out when we were separated. When my headaches started during your absence, it seemed to help stabilize my temperature fluctuations.”

“The mate bond,” he breathes, his voice dropping to that register that makes my knees weak. “It’s stronger than I thought if you’re already experiencing separation symptoms.”

“The symptoms are quite pronounced,” I confirm, somehow maintaining scientific precision despite the way my heart races as he steps closer. “Headaches, temperature instabi lity, decreased concentration, persistent awareness of your location within the sanctuary…”

“And carrying a piece of me helps?” The wonder in his voice makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

“Statistically significant improvement in all measured parameters,” I report, then add more softly, “Though direct proximity…” I stop and breathe. “Being near you helps the most.”

His breath catches as I place the scale carefully in the drawer. “What are you doing?”

“Adding to our collection.” The word “our” makes his tail curl around my wrist, and I feel his temperature spike against my skin.

His skin lightens to that iridescent color I’ve only seen once before—during our toe-curling kiss. “Our collection,” he repeats, the possessive phrase clearly affecting him deeply.

“Yes,” I confirm, scientific certainty providing courage. “If we’re experiencing a mate bond, then logically, the collection belongs to both of us. As does the research into its effects.”

“Have you considered that mate bonds can be dangerous?” His voice is low as his wings shift with subtle tension. “For both parties.”

“Dangerous?” I echo, my analytical mind immediately seeking clarification.

“Hunters have always known that the surest way to capture a bonded cryptid is to threaten their mate.” His expression darkens, tail lashing with agitation.

The implications settle hea vily between us. For all my scientific fascination with the physiological aspects of our connection, I hadn’t fully considered the potential consequences.

“Does that scare you?” I ask, genuine curiosity overriding my usual caution. “Being… connected to me this way? Vulnerable?”

His tail stills, then curls toward me like it has a mind of its own. “Terrified,” he admits with surprising candor. “But not enough to fight it anymore.”

“That’s… not very scientific,” I observe, though a smile tugs at my lips.

“Neither is carrying my scale in your pocket,” he counters, closing the distance between us with a fluid grace that makes my breath catch. “Yet here we are, Dr. Andrews. Breaking all sorts of protocols.”

“Mmhmm.” Standing on tiptoe to brush my lips against his jaw, I catch the faintest tremor in his wings.

“I think we need much more data before drawing any conclusions. For instance, I haven’t properly documented the correlation between physical proximity and skin coloration.

Or mapped the exact temperature variations when I do this…

” My fingers find that sensitive spot at the base of his horns.

His growl of surrender vibrates through my bones as he pulls me close, his tail wrapping securely around my waist. “Your scientific method will be the death of me, Doc.”

“Not death,” I correct, delighting in the way his pulse quickens beneath my touch. “Just thorough experimentation.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” His drawl carries amusement tinged with something deeper.

“Frankly, I’d prefer less talking and more research,” he murmurs, his h and cupping my cheek with impossible gentleness, despite the sharpness of his claws.

“For a scientist, you sometimes overthink things.”

“Overthinking is a fundamental research requirement,” I inform him primly, though my voice catches as his thumb traces my lower lip.

“Then maybe we should move on to the next phase of your research, Doc.” His face lowers toward mine. “For science, of course.”

“For science,” I agree just before his lips find mine, and all scientific observation temporarily gives way to pure, unquantifiable experience.

As his wings curve around us, creating that private world that belongs only to us, I make mental notes for future documentation—the exact temperature increase when his tail tightens around my wrist, the precise shade of his skin when my fingers trace his horns, the specific frequency of the growl that vibrates through his chest when I press closer.

Some data can only be collected through direct participation.

Some connections defy standard classification systems.

And some experiments are worth conducting again and again, regardless of what the spreadsheets say.