Page 14 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)
Chapter Thirteen
D ante
The first sign that something is wrong comes the next morning during patrol. Marina’s concerned glance at my wing lingers too long. Volt’s electricity crackles with barely suppressed worry. Even Cliff’s usually stoic Sasquatch expression shows alarm.
“Your wing.” Marina’s voice carries gentle concern. “That discoloration has spread past the membrane edge.”
Twisting to examine it shoots fresh pain through my body. The strange dark lines that had been confined to the injury site now sprawl like toxic spiderwebs across my wing. The sight makes my skin shift to obsidian.
“It’s nothing.” The lie tastes bitter. “Just needs more time to heal.”
Kieran’s warning cry echoes in my memory—hunters’ weapons firing as he tried to save me, the burning sensation when I was hit, the sickening realization that I’d escaped while he lost his life.
My stomach threatens to reb el when Volt interrupts. “This isn’t normal healing. Blair should look at it.”
The mention of her name makes my skin flash with heat. Last night’s interrupted wing treatment left us both frustrated and wanting more. But there are more urgent matters than my growing attraction to our resident scientist.
“Fine.” My tail flicks with barely contained tension. “But let’s not create unnecessary panic.”
Finding her proves easy. She’s in her lab-turned-infirmary, bent over test results with that adorable furrow between her brows. My quiet footsteps don’t startle her—she’s attuned to me, always seems to know when I’m near. The mate bond.
“Your breathing pattern is elevated.” She doesn’t look up from her work. “Your crystal bracelet indicates your temperature just spiked 2.1 degrees upon entering the room.”
“Maybe I just enjoy watching you work.” But my attempt at deflection dies when I try to shrug nonchalantly, and fresh pain blasts through my wing.
This time, she does look up, her expression shifting from scientific interest to alarm. “Your wing—the toxin spread patterns have accelerated significantly.” Moving quickly, she gestures to the examination table. “Let me see.”
Her touch is gentle but clinical as she examines the damage. The contrast between her professional demeanor and last night’s heated encounter makes my skin flush darker.
“This is…” Her voice catches as she traces one of the spreading lines. “The molecular structure must be evolving. Adapting to your system faster than your natural healing can combat it.”
“How bad?”
Instead of answering immediately, she grabs several vials and testing equipment. The efficiency of her movements can’t quite mask the tremor in her hands.
“The original infection site shows increased necrotic tissue.” Her voice stays steady through sheer force of will.
“And these new patterns are following your wing’s primary energy channels.
Almost like they were designed to—” She cuts herself off, but not before I catch the flash of recognition in her eyes.
“Designed to what?” My tail curls around her wrist, seeking connection even as suspicion prickles at my neck.
“I need to run more tests.” Pulling away, she mixes solutions with precise movements. “The spread rate suggests some kind of catalytic reaction, but the trigger mechanism…”
“Blair.” My voice comes out sharper than intended. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Her hands flutter so wildly now, she tucks them under her arms. For a moment, the only sound is the quiet hum of crystal formations and the thundering of our hearts.
“These molecular patterns… They’re not from Apex—their bioweapons leave different markers. This is…this is something different.” She stops herself and busies herself with an empty test tube.
“You seem very certain ab out that.” Watching her face carefully. “Were you that familiar with Apex’s weapons?”
The implications hang heavy between us. How would a biochemist know about classified weapons development? Unless…
Fresh pain lances through my wing before I can pursue that thought. I gasp as fire races along the toxic lines spreading across my membrane.
“Dante!” Her arms catch me as I sway, all professional distance forgotten. The fear in her voice makes my chest tight. “I have some ideas for treatment, but I need you to trust me. What I’m about to try… I’ve never synthesized this particular compound before, but the theoretical framework exists.”
“You’ve been treating the symptoms all this time.” Managing through gritted teeth. “Why wait until now to mention you might know how to actually fight it?”
Her fingers tremble slightly as she prepares compounds for the injection. “Because until this moment, I honestly didn’t have a clear idea of what I was dealing with. But at least I have a better working hypothesis now.”
Something’s off. She’s avoiding eye contact, and now that I’m sitting comfortably, she’s turned her back to me to fiddle with a microscope.
“I’ve been analyzing blood samples, running tests, trying to get a solid grasp of the problem before I risk making it worse.
This particular toxin…if you treat it wrong, it accelerates.
I needed to be sure.” The raw honesty in her voice makes me want to believe her, even as questions multiply in my mind.
“Do what you need to.” Gritting my teeth against another wave of pain. “But your behavior makes me think you’re keeping something from me.”
Her fingers tremble slightly as she combines solutions and prepares an injection. “Right now, we need to focus on stopping the spread before it reaches your primary nervous system. If these readings are accurate…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t need to. We both know what happens to cryptids who suffer catastrophic nervous system damage.
“Hey.” Nuzzling her with my face, my horns grazing her hair as I draw her closer despite the pain. “I don’t know what you’re hiding, but as crazy as it sounds… I trust you.”
There’s no explaining it—something in me believes her, all the way down to the bone. And I hope to hell I’m right, because my life’s on the line. The words seem to pierce her more deeply than any toxin. Her eyes fill with tears she quickly blinks away.
“I’m not sure you should.” The whisper is so quiet I almost miss it. Before I can respond, she straightens with renewed determination. “The first treatment will hurt.” I nod, then watch for the next hour as she prepares an injection, her attention fully focused on the compound she’s creating.
Finally, she asks, “Are you ready?”
Nodding, I let her position my wing for the injections. After the first needle slides home, her free hand finds mine. I clench it perhaps too tightly as liquid fire courses through my veins, sheathing my nails as I grip her more tightly.
“The antivenom should slo w the spread.” Her voice anchors me through the pain. “But we need to find the source. The exact composition. Without it…”
“Later.” I squeeze her hand as another wave hits. “Science later.”
Her quiet laugh holds more worry than humor. “Now who’s deflecting?”
As she works, I can’t help noticing how her hands shake whenever she traces the spreading lines. This isn’t the clinical uncertainty of a scientist facing an unknown compound. This is the trembling of someone forced to confront something they never wanted to see. Something personal.
The implications terrify me almost as much as the toxin racing through my system. Almost as much as the way she looks at me, her eyes hooded with a secret. Whatever her connection to this weapon is, I don’t think it’s through her work with Apex. And somehow, that makes it even more frightening.
Some poisons spread beneath the skin. Some secrets refuse to stay buried. And some truths hurt more than any venom.