Page 29 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

B lair

The western valley spreads before me, bathed in midday light that does nothing to warm the chill in my bones. Behind me, concealed among the rocks and trees, sanctuary defenders maintain silent watch. Somewhere among them, Dante waits—close enough to intervene, but hidden from view.

The monitoring device beneath my clothes transmits vital signs while a crystal earpiece connects me to Volt.

William Andrews approaches with measured precision—each step deliberate, calculating. His silver-streaked hair catches the sunlight, and the lines around his eyes have deepened since I last saw him.

“Blair.” My father stops several meters away, his analytical gaze sweeping the terrain. “They let you come. Apex told me you had a mental breakdown, and they were treating you when the cryptids captured you.”

“Apex was torturing me fo r information. I wasn’t captured. I was rescued.” Keeping my voice steady requires more effort than I anticipated. “I’m here of my own free will.”

“You’re not alone, I presume.” He gestures vaguely toward the ridgeline. “Your… friends… are watching.”

“Basic tactical precaution.”

He ignores my comment about Apex entirely. Denial? Or does he think I’m lying?

His lips twitch slightly. “Still thinking in scientific frameworks, I see. Some things don’t change.”

“Many things have.” Meeting his gaze directly feels like a small victory. “That’s why I’m here.”

He studies me with the same intensity he once applied to specimen samples. “You look… different.”

“I am different.” The simple truth emerges easier than expected. “Not the person you trained me to be.”

“Because of them.” Not a question—an accusation tinged with genuine bewilderment. “Because of the cryptids you’ve chosen over your own kind.”

“I haven’t chosen one species over another.” Scientific precision helps me maintain composure. “I’ve chosen compassion over prejudice. Connection over isolation. Truth over comfortable lies.”

My father’s expression tightens. “Truth? You think living among monsters represents truth?”

“They’re not monsters. ” The words emerge with quiet certainty. “They’re people with different evolutionary paths. Different adaptations. But no less deserving of respect than humans.”

“They killed your mother.” His voice drops, harsh with old grief that never properly healed. “Have you forgotten Eleanor? What that basilisk did to her?”

The familiar ache rises, but it no longer carries the burning rage he stoked for decades. “I remember her every day. But one basilisk’s actions don’t define an entire class of beings. Just as one human’s cruelty doesn’t make all humanity evil.”

His hands clench and unclench, agitation breaking through his controlled demeanor. “This isn’t the daughter I raised. My Blair understood the threat these creatures pose. She helped develop methods to contain them, to study them, to ensure humanity’s protection.”

“Your Blair was a child following her father’s lead.” The blunt assessment makes him flinch. “A girl so desperate for connection after losing her mother that she’d believe anything if it meant keeping you close.”

His steps falter. “I taught you to think critically. To follow evidence.”

“Yes. And that’s exactly what led me here.”

“They’ve manipulated you.” His scientist’s certainty remains unshaken. “The more advanced species use pheromones, electromagnetic influences—”

“Like the Jersey Devil?” The question slips out quietly.

Somet hing shifts in his gaze—calculation mixed with what might be genuine concern. “The male specimen exhibits particularly dangerous adaptation capabilities. His influence over you is especially concerning given the physiological bond that’s forming.”

Ice floods my veins. “How do you know about that?”

“I’m still a scientist, Blair.” Professional pride colors his tone. “There’s been a Jersey Devil seen flying these mountains. I’ve researched everything we know about them. The symptoms are distinctive for anyone who knows what to look for.”

“The bond isn’t what you think.” Choosing words carefully. “It’s not manipulation or control. It’s connection. Mutual recognition.”

“It’s dangerous.” My father steps closer, genuine concern breaking through scientific detachment. “You’ve been in close proximity to a Jersey male—his pheromones are potent. The neurological alterations are likely already affecting your cognitive function.”

“Or perhaps it’s allowing me to understand another being in ways traditional science never could.” The calm certainty in my voice seems to unsettle him.

“Listen to yourself.” Frustration edges his words. “This isn’t scientific reasoning. This is emotional justification.”

“Maybe both are necessary for true understanding.” Meeting his gaze directly. “Maybe that’s what your research has been missing—recognition that empirical observation without empathic connection provides incomplete data.”

His expression hardens. “You sound like her.”

The simple statement hits w ith unexpected force. “Mom?”

“Eleanor believed in connection, too.” Old grief shadows his features. “Insisted that understanding cryptids required approaching them with openness rather than defensive protocols. Said we could learn from them as equals rather than subjects.”

New understanding dawns with startling clarity. “That’s why she was alone that day. Without security measures.”

His silence confirms my realization. My mother hadn’t been killed because she was careless—she’d been implementing her own research methodology, attempting connection rather than capture. The approach I’ve independently rediscovered decades later.

“She was wrong.” His voice hardens with conviction built on decades of grief. “Her openness got her killed. And now you’re making the same mistake.”

“Or finishing what she started.” The possibility creates unexpected warmth. “Finding the truth she never had the chance to document.”

“Come home, Blair. Let me help you. Whatever neurological alterations the male is attempting to create, we can reverse them. Return your mind to proper function.”

“My mind functions perfectly.” Calm reply. “It’s my perspective that’s changed, not my cognitive ability.”

“Because of him.” The realization crystallizes as he speaks. “The Jersey Devil specimen. He’s the focal point of the bond.”

In my ear, Volt warns, “Your heart rate’s elevated. Maintain distance.”

“His name is Dante,” I say quietly but firmly. “And yes, we share a connection neither of us expected nor sought. But it’s real and valuable and genuine.”

“You can’t possibly—” He stops, something like horror dawning. “You have intimate relations with this creature?”

The disgust in his voice should hurt more than it does. Instead, I find unexpected strength.

“I love him.” The simple declaration emerges without scientific qualification. “Not because of pheromones or neurological manipulation, but because of who he is. His courage. His humor. His capacity for growth and change and compassion.”

“This is worse than I thought.” My father runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “The neurological alterations must have progressed further than preliminary analysis indicated.”

“There are no ‘alterations’.” My frustration breaks through scientific detachment. “Just growth. Just recognition of the truth your grief hasn’t let you see.”

The accusation hits its mark. His composure cracks further. “Don’t you dare invoke grief as though you understand—”

“I understand perfectly.” Standing straighter, I feel Dante’s presence through the mate bond, giving me strength. “You lost Mom, and instead of processing that loss, you channeled everything into hunting cryptids. Into teaching me to fear and hate them. Into building weapons instead of bridges.”

“I protected you!” His raised voice echoes across the clearing.

“And I love you for wanti ng to protect me.” The truth surprises us both. “But I don’t need protection from Dante or the sanctuary residents. I need you to see them as I do—as people deserving of respect and dignity. As the family I’ve chosen.”

The word “family” makes something shift in his expression. “Family. You consider these creatures your family now?”

“Yes.”

His shoulders straighten with resignation. “Then I’ve truly lost you.”

“Not lost.” Taking a careful step forward. “Just watching me become someone different than you expected. Someone who carries your scientific precision and analytical mind, but applies those gifts to building understanding rather than weapons.”

For a moment, conflict wars in his expression—the scientist recognizing logical argument versus the father who can’t accept his daughter’s choices. Then his face hardens into familiar resolve.

“This conversation is over.” He steps back, hand reaching toward his coat pocket. “I see now that direct dialogue won’t be effective.”

The gesture triggers immediate alarm. In my ear, Volt’s voice comes sharp with warning: “Defensive positions. Possible concealed weapon.”

“Dad.” My voice carries both warning and plea. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Blair.” And he does look genuinely sorry, which somehow makes it worse. “But sometimes protection requires difficult measures.”

As his hand emerges with a small device, movement explodes from the tree line—Dante landing between us with wings fully extended, his normally crimson skin pure obs idian with protective rage. My father stumbles back, momentarily shocked.

“That’s far enough,” Dante growls, tail lashing with barely contained fury. “Whatever you’re planning stops now.”

“The specimen himself.” My father’s scientific assessment returns, eyes narrowing. “Fascinating territorial display. Exactly as the research predicted.”

“His name is Dante,” I say again, moving to stand beside him rather than behind his protective wings. “And this isn’t territory he’s defending. It’s partnership. I’m his mate. By choice, not biological imperative.”

“We’re not your research subjects.” Dante’s voice carries controlled rage that ripples across his skin in waves of darkness. “And whatever weapon you’re reaching for won’t work this time.”

“Not a weapon.” My father holds up a small crystal device. “A recording device. Evidence of what I’ve observed here for further analysis.”

I recognize the lie immediately. “Crystal harmonics disruptor. Designed to temporarily incapacitate cryptids through nervous system interference. But it won’t work, Dad.”

I produce a small black box from my pocket—something Volt and I created in anticipation of this exact scenario. Pointing it at his crystal, I activate my disruptor, rendering his device inactive.

Surprise flickers across his face before professional admiration replaces it. “Very good, Blair. Your observational skills remain impressive despite neurological alterations.”

“And your tactical approa ches remain predictable despite decades of field experience.” Stepping fully beside Dante, I make my position unmistakably clear. “This meeting is over.”

Around us, sanctuary defenders emerge from concealed positions—a show of force without direct aggression.

My father calculates odds he’ll find unfavorable. The scientist in him recognizes defeat even as the father in him rebels against it.

“This isn’t finished,” he says finally, pocketing the device as he steps back. “Whatever you think you’ve found here—whatever connection you believe you’ve formed—it isn’t real. It isn’t sustainable.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” My hand finds Dante’s, fingers intertwining despite the claws he’s carefully retracted. “What I’ve found is more real than anything I experienced in your laboratories. More sustainable than a life built on fear and revenge. I love him, Dad, and he loves me.”

Pain flashes across his features before scientific detachment reclaims him. “When you come to your senses, Blair, I’ll be waiting.”

“I have full control of my senses.” My words are quiet, forceful. “More than I’ve ever had. Goodbye, Dad.”

As he retreats toward the tree line, Dante’s wing curves protectively around my shoulders. The crystal monitoring device confirms what the mate bond already tells him—my elevated heart rate, the adrenaline flooding my system, the emotional turmoil beneath my calm exterior.

“Are you alright?” His voice drops to that register meant only for me, concern overriding the protective rage that still darkens his skin.

“I will be.” The honest y comes easier than expected. “He’s not ready to hear me. Maybe he never will be.”

“But you said what you needed to say.” His tail curls gently around my wrist, grounding me in the present moment. “You stood in your truth without apology or compromise.”

Looking up at him—at crimson skin slowly returning from protective obsidian, at garnet eyes that see me completely, at wings that shelter without confining—I feel certainty settle bone-deep within me.

“I chose well,” I say simply.

His skin shifts to that iridescent beauty that affirms his love. “We both did.”