Page 32 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

D ante

Consciousness returns to me in waves, each one bringing a fresh surge of burning pain.

The toxin my wing absorbed was designed to destroy Jersey Devil physiology, and it’s doing its job with ruthless efficiency.

Through blurred vision, I make out the infirmary ceiling, the soft blue lights pulsing in rhythm with my labored breathing.

“He’s waking up again,” Cliff’s voice rumbles nearby. The Sasquatch appears in my field of vision, his massive form bent over me with surprising gentleness.

“Blair,” I try to say, but my throat feels scorched. The memory of her stepping between me and her father’s weapon sends a jolt of panic through me. “Where is she?”

“Next bed,” Marina answers, her blue eyes narrowed with concern as she glides into view. “The toxin affected her differently. It was designed for your physiology, not human systems.”

Struggling against the burn ing in my limbs, I force myself to turn my head. There she lies, just feet away, her face pale but chest rising with steady breaths. The sight of her sends relief washing through me, momentarily dulling the pain of the toxin.

“How long?” I manage to ask.

“Eight hours since the attack,” Cliff tells me, checking some monitoring device with a worried frown. “The toxin is spreading faster in your system than hers. Your body is the blueprint it was designed to destroy.”

My tail flicks weakly with the effort of moving. “Need to be closer to her.”

Marina and Cliff exchange a concerned glance. “You’re both in critical condition,” Marina explains. “Moving either of you could accelerate the toxin’s spread.”

The rational part of my mind understands their caution, but something deeper—the mate bond—pulses with desperate certainty. “The bond… strengthens healing,” I insist, each word a struggle against the fire in my veins. “Need proximity.”

“Blair’s been documenting that evidence for weeks. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it before,” Marina says.

Before they can move me, alarms suddenly blare throughout the sanctuary. Volt’s voice thunders through the communication system: “Priority message intercepted! Medical protocols incoming!”

Within moments, the Thunderbird bursts into the infirmary, electricity crackling around his golden feathers with unusual agitation.

“William Andrews has sent complete toxin formulations and antidote compounds,” he announces.

“Transmission received just minutes ago with explicit delivery instructions.”

“Her father sent the antidote?” I struggle to comprehend this turn of events. The man who has hunted cryptids for decades, who engineered the very poison now burning through our bodies, has offered salvation.

“Not just sent it,” Volt confirms, his electricity dancing with excitement.

“Included detailed synthesis protocols specifically calibrated for both Jersey Devil and human physiologies. He must have worked on it immediately after the attack. The instructions are to make the antidote and administer it within ten minutes for maximum efficacy.”

As Cliff rushes to analyze the data and prepare the antidote, Marina and Riven shift my bed next to Blair’s.

The instant we’re close enough, I extend my trembling hand to find hers.

When our skin connects, the bond flares with sudden strength, a current of energy flowing between us that momentarily dulls the poison’s burn.

“Your vital signs are stabilizing with physical contact,” Marina observes with amazement. “The mate bond is creating some kind of shared resistance.”

Through our connection, I feel Blair’s consciousness stirring. Her fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around mine, and her eyelids flutter with the effort of waking.

“Dante?” Her voice emerges as barely a whisper.

“I’m here.” My tail manages to curl weakly around her wrist, the familiar gesture bringing comfort to us both. “Your father sent the antidote.”

A small furrow appears betw een her brows as she processes this information. “Statistically… unexpected,” she mumbles, scientific terminology asserting itself even through the haze of toxin.

Despite everything, a rough laugh escapes me. “Always the scientist.”

Her lips curve into the faintest smile before pain clouds her expression again. “The toxin… spreading patterns indicate accelerated neural pathway degradation. You must be experiencing significantly worse effects.”

Even dying, she’s analyzing data. The thought fills me with a fierce tenderness that temporarily overcomes the burning in my veins.

“I’ve synthesized the first dose of antidote,” Cliff announces, approaching with two injection devices. “According to Andrews’ notes, we’ll need multiple treatments over the next twelve hours to fully neutralize the toxin.”

The first injection burns like liquid fire, drawing a hiss through my clenched teeth.

Beside me, Blair flinches as she receives her dose, her fingers tightening around mine.

Through our bond, I feel the antidote beginning its work—fighting the poison molecule by molecule, the battle itself causing fresh waves of pain.

“Rest,” Cliff instructs us both. “The antidote needs time to circulate. We’ll administer the next dose in two hours.”

As the Sasquatch and Water Sprite retreat to monitor our conditions from a respectful distance, Blair’s scientific mind continues working despite her weakness.

“His weapon was specifica lly calibrated for Jersey Devil physiology,” she murmurs, eyes finding mine with effort. “When I saw it hit you, I lost my mind.”

“Your beautiful scientific mind,” I pause to grab a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose you because you jumped in front of a weapon meant for me.”

Her quiet laugh turns into a pained cough. “The mate bond has impacted our decision-making processes by 41.8 percent.”

“Is that your scientific way of saying love makes us do crazy things?” My tail tightens around her wrist.

“Perhaps.” Her eyes hold mine with unexpected intensity, despite the pain evident in her expression. “Though ‘love’ seems an inadequate term for a neurobiological connection of this magnitude.”

That statement is so perfectly her that warmth spreads through my chest, momentarily dulling the toxin’s burn.

“Rest now,” I murmur, fighting my own exhaustion. “Scientific terminology can wait until we’re both conscious enough to appreciate it properly.”

As the antidote continues its work, we drift in and out of consciousness, always maintaining physical contact.

The mate bond is like a living thing between us, creating a shared resistance that the monitoring devices register with increasing optimism.

Each time we wake, the pain has receded slightly, the toxin’s hold weakening against the combined force of the antidote and our connection.

Hours later, after the thir d dose of antidote, Volt returns with news that makes my skin color flicker with surprise.

“William Andrews has withdrawn all hunter forces from sanctuary proximity,” he reports. “No surveillance equipment detected within monitoring range. It appears his daughter’s injury has… altered his tactical priorities.”

“He chose her,” I realize aloud, understanding dawning despite lingering suspicion. “When forced to choose between his obsession and his daughter, he chose her.”

Blair’s expression shifts with complex emotions. “Paternal connection overriding scientific obsession,” she murmurs, analytical framing providing emotional distance. “A fascinating prioritization shift.”

“He loves you,” I translate, my tail finding her wrist with practiced ease. “Enough to save our lives and let you go, at least for now.”

As night deepens around us, the sanctuary quiets to a peaceful hum. The antidote continues its work, each dose bringing increased relief from the toxin’s grip. Though recovery will take days, the immediate danger has passed.

In this moment of fragile peace, I find myself watching Blair as she sleeps, her face relaxed despite what we’ve endured.

She stepped between me and certain death without hesitation, risking everything to protect someone she was raised to hunt.

The courage of that choice—the love it represents—humbles me in ways I’m still learning to understand.

Whatever challenges lie ahead—whether renewed threats from Apex or the uncertain future of her relationship with her father—we will face them together. The hunter’s daughter and the Jersey Devil, bound by a connection neither of us expected but both now fight to protect.

Some bonds prove themselves through fire rather than breaking under pressure. Ours has emerged from this trial stronger than before, tempered by sacrifice and sealed with shared survival.

As sleep claims me once more, my wing extends just enough to shelter her sleeping form, an instinct as natural as breathing. Whatever comes next, we will heal together.