Page 19 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)
Chapter Sixteen
D ante
The memory of our night together hangs between us like a phantom—intense and undeniable, yet somehow fragile in the harsh light of day. Our bodies still remember every touch, every intimate discovery, every moment of perfect connection.
The mate bond vibrates with echoes of that closeness even as we go about our daily routines.
The laboratory feels different tonight—colder, despite the constant temperature maintained by the crystal formations.
Blair hunches over her workstation, mixing compounds with the precision that’s become familiar over our weeks together.
The mate bond pulses strongly between us, responsive to our proximity.
I can sense her deep affection, but overshadowing is a strong feeling of…
guilt? I’m filled with a feeling of foreboding.
“Your wing toxin shows peculiar mole cular patterns.” Her voice breaks the silence as I enter. “Specifically engineered to target flying cryptid physiology.”
“More impressive scientific deductions,” I drawl, settling against the doorframe. “Next, you’ll tell me it was designed to cause maximum pain with minimal immediate tissue damage.”
Her hands freeze above her equipment. “Actually, yes. How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.” My skin darkens as our eyes meet.
Something passes between us—an acknowledgment that we’ve reached a breaking point. Too many secrets, too many careful evasions.
“Dante—” she begins, but I cut her off.
“You know, I’ve been wondering about something. How does someone with a pharmaceutical background recognize hunter weapons so easily? How does she know exactly which poison is spreading through my wing without the lab equipment that would provide extensive analysis?”
The monitor bracelet on my wrist beeps a warning as my temperature spikes. Her eyes flick to it automatically, always the scientist tracking her subject’s responses.
“I told you; I studied cryptid physiology—”
“Stop.” The word emerges as a growl. “No more half-truths. No more careful deflections. My life is literally on the line here, Blair. What aren’t you telling me?”
For a moment, I think she ’ll retreat behind scientific terminology again. Instead, she sets down her equipment with deliberate care, shoulders slumping in what looks like defeat.
“My father.” The words come out barely above a whisper. “He… specialized in developing weapons designed to target specific cryptid species.”
The simple statement lands like a physical blow. My skin transitions to pure obsidian as implications cascade through my mind faster than I can absorb them.
“Your father.” My voice emerges unnaturally calm. “The biochemist.”
“The hunter .” Her correction comes with a quiet dignity that somehow makes it worse. “He’s been hunting cryptids for decades. After my mother was killed by a basilisk when I was four, my dad… changed.”
My wings pull tight against my back, defensive posture automatic as the revelation expands. “So, when you recognized the weapon signature in my wing—”
“It’s his work.” Her gaze doesn’t waver despite the tremor in her voice. “An improved version of something we were developing when I was still working with him. Before I understood what the consequences really meant.”
“ Working with him .” Each word feels torn from my throat. “You were a hunter, too. Did you hunt us? Kill one, or dozens of us?”
She doesn’t deny it. “I grew up in his laboratory.
By eight years old, I could identify fourteen different cryptid species by their biological markers alone.
I was proficient with all the weapons he used, but our hunts focused on tracking and intelligence gathering.
I never directly encountered a living cryptid i n the field until I was at Apex. I never killed any of you.
“All this time…” My voice breaks as realization crushes me. “Your spreadsheets. Your observations. Your tests. You were what, gathering intelligence? Studying our weaknesses?”
“No!” The anguish in her voice would be convincing if my world hadn’t just been turned upside down.
“That’s not it at all. I was taught that cryptids hunted humans, and it was our job to track their movements and develop countermeasures to protect humanity.
When I discovered what Apex was really doing—how they were treating sentient beings—I couldn’t be part of it anymore. ”
“Yet you kept it secret.” Betrayal burns hotter than the poison in my wing. “You let us believe you were just a scientist with a crisis of conscience.”
“Would you have trusted me if you’d known?” Her question carries no defensiveness, only sincere inquiry. “Would any of you have let me stay if I’d introduced myself as ‘Blair Andrews, daughter of William Andrews, whose life mission is hunting cryptids’?”
The truth of her assessment only fuels my anger. “So instead, you lied. Pretended to be something you’re not, while documenting our every weakness.”
“I never lied about what I am now.” Her chin lifts with unexpected defiance. “Yes, I was raised to hunt. Yes, I grew up believing cryptids were monsters. But everything changed when I actually met one of you.”
“When exactly?” My tail slashes the air, the plated end making a high whistling noise. “When did this miraculous conversion happen? Before or after you helped develop weapons to destroy us?”
Pain flashes across her face. “Three months into my position at Apex, they brought in a captured Sasquatch. For the first time, I was working with a living subject, not just samples or tales from my father.”
The clinical terminology only heightens my disgust. “A subject. Is that what I am to you? Another fascinating specimen for your research?”
“No!” Her voice breaks on the single syllable. “You’re nothing like… Dante, everything between us has been real. Everything .”
The words twist the knife deeper, because despite my rage, the mate bond still pulses between us, still recognizes something genuine in what we’ve shared.
“And yet you never mentioned your hunter background.” My voice is dangerously quiet.
“Never thought it relevant to mention that your father creates weapons specifically designed to destroy us. Or to let it slip that you helped him for years, then willingly went to work for Apex after you got your degrees.”
“I was afraid,” she admits, the simple truth somehow more devastating than any excuse. “Afraid that if you knew, you’d only see the hunter’s daughter, not the person I’ve become. Not someone who would do anything to protect you and this sanctuary.”
My laugh holds no humor. “Protect us? With a father actively hunting cryptids? How convenient that hunter teams found our location so easily. Almost as if they had inside information.”
Her face pales. “You can ’t believe I’d betray the sanctuary. Not after everything—”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.” The admission costs me, revealing vulnerability when I want to stay angry. “I trusted you, Blair.” A broken laugh escapes me. “With my heart.”
The monitoring device shrieks. Fire races through my veins—the poison responding to my spiking pulse, my emotional chaos. Temperature climbing. Dangerous territory.
“Dante!” Alarm replaces everything else in her expression as she lunges forward with a scanner. “The toxin is accelerating. I need to administer the new treatment now.”
“Of course you do.” Bitterness coats every word. “Fix the problem your father created.”
“This isn’t about him right now.” Her voice turns clinical, the scientist asserting control over emotional chaos. “It’s about keeping you alive while we figure out the rest.”
“Is there a rest to figure out?” The question emerges raw with pain that has nothing to do with my poisoned wing.
Instead of answering, she moves to her workstation with grim efficiency, preparing injections with trembling hands. “The molecular binding patterns require immediate intervention. Without treatment, the toxin will reach your central nervous system within hours.”
“Just do what you have to.” The defeat in my voice surprises even me. “But understand something.” I meet her gaze, letting her see the full weight of my betrayal. “Afte r this? After you stop your father’s poison from killing me? You and I are done.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, rage and grief caught in her throat.
“How can you say that?” she breathes. “I come from a family of hunters. My father built the weapon that’s killing you.”
She takes a shuddering breath, voice cracking.
“I’ve lied. I’ve kept secrets. But the mate bond—”
“Is irrelevant.” The lie burns my throat, the mate bond howling in protest even as I speak the words. “Some betrayals can’t be overcome, no matter what biology demands.”
Fresh pain lances through my wing as she administers the first injection. Her free hand finds mine, as she offers the support and comfort I desperately crave and vehemently reject as I force myself to release her hand.
“I never meant to hurt you.” The words emerge broken with emotion I once would have treasured. “Everything between us—every touch, every kiss—was real, Dante. More real than anything in my life.”
“And now it’s over.” My voice remains steady despite the agony coursing through my body. “Save my life if you can, Doctor. It’s the least you owe me after everything.”
She works in silence then, tears falling freely as she completes the treatment. Each touch that once brought comfort now feels like another small betrayal. The mate bond pulses between us, a cruel reminder of the connection we’d shared last night.
When the treatment conclude s, I rise from the examination table with legs that threaten to buckle beneath me. The antivenom fights her father’s poison, creating a battlefield in my body.
“You need to rest.” Her professional mask slips back into place, though her eyes remain red-rimmed from crying. “The treatment requires at least eight hours to properly circulate through your system.”
“I’ll rest.” Already moving toward the door, each step requiring more effort than it should. “Far from you.”
“The mate bond strengthens the treatment’s effectiveness,” she calls after me, scientific certainty in her voice despite everything. “Proximity improves healing rates by nearly forty percent.”
“Then I guess I’ll settle for sixty percent effectiveness.” My hand finds the door frame, steadying myself against a wave of dizziness. “Since the alternative is trusting someone who’s been lying to me since the day we met.”
“I never lied about my feelings for you.” The words follow me into the corridor.
I pause without turning back, unable to leave without one final truth. “That’s the problem with secrets, Blair. Once discovered, they poison everything they touch. Even truth.”
The door closes behind me with quiet finality.
In the corridor beyond, my legs finally give way as poison and emotional devastation take their toll.
Leaning against the crystal wall, I feel the mate bond stretch painfully between us, protesting the separation with physical agony that matches my emotional state.
Some betrayals cut deeper t han poison.
Some bonds survive even broken trust.
And some loves hurt more than any weapon ever could.