Page 26 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)

Chapter Twenty-Thre e

B lair

The data on my tablet blurs as exhaustion finally catches up with me.

For hours, I’ve been analyzing the final calibrations of our defensive perimeter, ensuring every crystal array will respond properly when triggered.

Outside my lab window, night has long since fallen, the mountain wrapped in darkness, broken only by the soft glow of sanctuary crystals.

When I sense his presence, I glance up to see Dante standing in the entrance, holding a steaming mug and what appears to be a plate of what must be Cliff’s newest obsession, shortbread cookies.

“Working late again?” His voice carries that familiar drawl that never fails to warm me. “Some might consider that statistically significant evidence of workaholic tendencies.”

“Statistical significance requires properly established baseline parameters,” I counter, unable to suppress my smile as he approaches. “Besides, these defensive calculations won’t complete themselves.”

His tail curls with amuseme nt as he sets the provisions next to my workstation. “I thought scientists required adequate nutritional intake for optimal cognitive function.”

“Is that your scientific way of telling me to eat something?” I raise an eyebrow, though I’m already reaching for a cookie.

“Merely an observation based on empirical evidence.” His wings shift as he settles into the chair beside mine, and the proximity calms something inside me. “You function better when not experiencing hypoglycemia.”

The casual normalcy of our banter feels like slipping into familiar clothes after wearing something uncomfortable. The mate bond pulses between us, stronger now after our work on the ridge yesterday, after those first tentative steps toward rebuilding what secrecy and revelations had damaged.

“I’ve been thinking about Kieran,” he says suddenly, his skin darkening to that deep crimson that indicates emotional intensity.

I set down my tablet, giving him my full attention. “Tell me.”

His claws trace patterns on the table, careful movements that betray his inner turmoil. “I’ve been carrying his horn like a burden. A reminder of failure rather than… what he represented.”

“Which was?” I prompt gently when he falls silent.

“The possibility of connection.” His gaze meets mine, vulnerability evident in his gaze. “He was searching for others like himself, risking everything for the chance to not be alone. And I’ve been dishonoring that by hiding his memory away, by treating it as shame rather than courage.”

My hand reaches for his wit hout conscious thought. “What would honor him, then?”

“I want to create something.” His fingers turn, accepting my touch as his tail curls tentatively around my ankle. “A memorial garden, perhaps. Not hidden away, but somewhere beautiful. Something that celebrates what he was seeking rather than mourning what happened to him.”

The idea strikes me with its perfect rightness. “That’s… wonderful, Dante.”

“Would you help me design it?” The request comes with unexpected shyness. “Your scientific understanding of crystal properties could create something truly special.”

“Of course.” The simple agreement feels significant, a commitment to building something together beyond defensive systems and sanctuary protocols.

“Perhaps we could incorporate elements that create wing patterns in the morning light. Something that changes with the seasons, evolves rather than remains static.”

His skin shifts to that beautiful iridescent shade that indicates deep joy or connection. “Exactly that. Not a monument to what was lost, but a living space that celebrates possibility.”

The conversation flows naturally from there—ideas for the garden, crystal configurations that might create special effects, plants from Jersey Devil habitats that could thrive in the sanctuary’s unique environment.

Without discussing it directly, we both recognize this represents more than just a memorial for Kieran.

It’s Dante finding peace with his past, and us creating something meaningful together.

As we talk, the space betwe en us gradually diminishes. His wing brushes my shoulder, my knee presses against his leg, and our hands remain connected across the table. The mate bond pulses with every touch, strengthening with the closeness we’ve denied ourselves for far too long.

“I’ve missed this,” I admit during a natural pause in our planning. “Just talking with you. Working together on something that isn’t directly related to immediate survival.”

His tail tightens around my ankle. “I’ve missed you. All of you—your scientific precision, your analytical approach to everything, even your color-coded spreadsheets tracking my mood changes.”

The teasing reference to my research brings unexpected heat to my cheeks. “Those spreadsheets contain valuable data about mate bond manifestations.”

“I’m sure they do.” His claw gently traces patterns on my wrist that send electricity racing through my system. “Though I wonder if they capture everything.”

“What do you mean?” My breath catches as his touch becomes more deliberate.

“Certain… variables might be difficult to document through conventional observation methods.” His voice drops to that lower register that always makes my pulse quicken. “Emotional responses, for instance. Or… physical reactions.”

The heat in his gaze makes my scientific composure crumble completely. “I need you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I’ve been aching for you, Dante. The separation—it’s been torture.”

His skin flushes deep crims on, and I see his pupils dilate with desire. “Blair,” he breathes, my name sounding like a prayer on his lips. “Are you sure? After everything—”

“I’m sure if you are.” I stand, closing the distance between us until I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. “There isn’t a doubt in my mind.”

His wings spread slightly, an unconscious display of his arousal that makes my breath catch. When I reach up to trace the curve of his horn, he shudders visibly, his skin shifting to that beautiful iridescent shade I’ve documented so carefully in my research.

“Your touch,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need. “It sets me on fire.”

“Then let me burn with you,” I whisper, my hands moving to the fastenings of his shirt. “Let me feel that fire.”

His claws carefully help me with the buttons, each brush of his fingers against my skin sending electricity racing through my nervous system.

When my shirt falls away, his gaze travels over my exposed skin with such reverence that I feel beautiful, desired, perfect in ways no scientific measurement could quantify.

“You’re stunning,” he breathes, his skin shifting to deeper crimson. “Every inch of you.”

His wings curve around us, creating a private world that blocks out everything except the heat building between us. The mate bond pulses with increasing intensity, urging us closer, demanding deeper connection.

“I need to taste you,” I whisper. “I need to feel you on my tongue, taste your essence.”

His breath catches, and I feel his cock harden against my hip. “Blair,” he warns, his voice strained. “If you keep talking like that…”

“What?” I challenge, emboldened by the effect I’m having on him. “You’ll lose control? Show me what you really are beneath all that careful restraint?”

Something wild flashes in his eyes, and suddenly I’m pressed against the lab wall, his mouth claiming mine with desperate hunger. His fangs graze my lips with exquisite care, the danger inherent in their sharpness only intensifying the fire building within me.

“You want to see what I really am?” he growls against my neck, his fangs scraping along my pulse point. “You want to know what it’s like to be claimed by a Jersey Devil?”

“Yes,” I gasp, my body arching into his touch. “Show me. Claim me. Make me yours completely.”

His tail winds around my waist, lifting me effortlessly as his wings spread to their full impressive span. The display of his inhuman strength and power sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with desire.

“My chamber,” he growls, his gravelly voice pure Jersey Devil now. “I’m going to worship every inch of your body until you scream my name.”

He carries me through crystal-lit corridors with inhuman speed, his wings creating shifting shadows that dance across the walls. Other sanctuary residents we pass gi ve us knowing looks—apparently our desperate need for each other is obvious to everyone.

Inside his chamber, he sets me down with surprising gentleness, his wings creating a canopy above us that filters the crystal light into beautiful patterns across our skin.

But there’s nothing gentle about the hunger in his eyes as he slowly circles me, his hooves clacking against the rocky floor as he takes in every detail of my form.

The space feels alive with anticipation—crystal formations casting gentle illumination across walls lined with books and artifacts collected over centuries.

The large bed nestled against the far wall looks exactly as I remember, but tonight feels different.

Tonight feels like crossing a threshold we’ve approached but never passed.

“Strip,” he commands softly, his voice carrying an authority that makes my knees weak. “I want to see all of you. Every beautiful inch.”

My hands tremble slightly as I comply, scientific precision abandoned in favor of pure sensation. Each piece of clothing that falls away reveals more skin to his heated gaze, and his skin darkens with arousal as more of me is exposed.

When I’m finally naked before him, he makes a sound that’s half-growl, half-purr. “Perfect,” he breathes, his claws carefully tracing the air just above my skin without quite touching. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Your turn,” I whisper, my voice husky with need. “I want to see you, too. All of you.”