Page 6 of Devilishly Hers (Monster Mountain Romance #1)

Chapter Six

B lair

“There’s something I want to show you.” Dante’s skin shifts between crimson and obsidian as he leads me down a passage I’ve never traveled before. His wing brace catches the crystal light, reminding me how much research I still need to do on his mysteriously slow-healing injury.

The carved stone corridor descends gradually, opening into what appears to be a natural cavern that’s been carefully modified. My breath catches at the sight.

Towering bookshelves line the walls, carved directly into the living rock.

Crystal formations cast a warm, ambient glow that feels almost deliberately placed, creating pools of perfect reading light between the stacks.

The air carries the familiar scent of old books mingled with something else—some kind of mineral tang that makes the space feel ancient and somehow sacred.

“The cryptid archive,” Dante explains, his voice dropping to that low register that definitely doesn’t affect my pulse rate. “Centuries of knowledge preserved by those who came before us.”

Ancient leather-bound tomes share space with modern research journals. Delicate scrolls rest in crystal-lined niches. A magnificent oak table dominates the center of the room, its surface etched with the same mysterious symbols I’ve seen throughout the mountain.

“This is incredible.” Moving closer to examine the nearest shelf, I find texts in languages I don’t recognize alongside technical manuals that look surprisingly recent. “How long have you been collecting these?”

“Generations of cryptids have contributed.” His tail curls gracefully as he watches me explore. “Some were rescued from private collectors. Others were donated by families seeking sanctuary.”

My fingers hover over a particularly ancient spine. “May I?” Heat floods my cheeks as our gazes meet and I notice for the first time how beautiful his eyes are, a color somewhere between garnet and ruby.

“Of course.” He moves closer, reaching past me to retrieve the volume.

His proximity sends another spike in his body temperature—something I’ve been noticing more frequently but haven’t yet properly documented.

“Though you might need help with the translation. It’s written in an old cryptid dialect. ”

He picks up a small device and a single earbud from a nearby table. “You can use this scanner and earbud. It will translate what you scan into English. If, after you’ve listened to it, you want to keep any of the translated text on your datapad, I’ll send you the app that will do that for you.”

The book’s leather bindin g feels butter-soft beneath my fingers.

When I open it, the scent of age and knowledge wafts up, making my scientist’s heart race.

Diagrams of various cryptid species fill the pages, annotated in flowing script.

For a moment, my knees actually feel weak at how special this moment feels, holding so much ancient wisdom in my hands.

“Over here.” He guides me to one of several reading nooks carved into the walls. Plush chairs that somehow perfectly combine comfort and academic dignity cluster around small tables. “This section is my usual workspace.”

The desk holds neat stacks of books and what appear to be research notes in his elegant handwriting.

A familiar glint catches my eye—a pen identical to the one I lost last week sits beside them.

Before I can examine it closer, movement draws my attention to where his tail is hastily sweeping something into a drawer.

“You study here often?” The question comes out more breathless than intended as another wave of heat rolls through me.

“It’s quiet.” His skin darkens as he settles into what is clearly his usual chair. He looks… perfect there. An almost monstrous Jersey Devil persona combined with classic professorial elegance. “Good place to think.”

Looking around his chosen corner, I notice other signs of regular use.

Well-worn books. A half-empty mug of what smells like coffee.

Small personal touches like a small green velvet pillow lodged in the chair for lumbar support and an interesting cluster of crystals that emit the most beautiful seafoam-green light.

It all makes this space feel lived-in, claimed.

“What do you research?” Moving closer to his desk, genuine curiosity about what captures a Jersey Devil’s scholarly interest burns through me.

“History mostly. Old texts about…” His voice trails off as I pick up one of his notebooks. “Cryptid lore. Legends. That sort of thing.”

The notes are meticulously organized, his handwriting precise despite his claws. Then I remember they retract, like cats, so they wouldn’t interfere with writing or typing. Why, I wonder, does a picture of those nails clutching my naked hips barge into my thoughts?

It takes long moments for me to register what the pages contain. References to temperature regulation and energy transfer catch my eye before he gently reclaims the notebook.

“There are some interesting medical texts over here.” He guides me toward another section, his wing curving around me. The gesture sends another surge of warmth through my system. “Ancient healing practices, crystal applications…”

“Anything about wing injuries?” I can’t help asking.

His skin ripples with color. “Always the scientist.”

“Someone has to be concerned, since you won’t properly document your own condition.”

“Maybe I prefer being a mystery.” But there’s something beneath the drawl, some emotion I can’t quite categorize despite my increasingly detailed notation system.

“Science thrives on solving mysteries.” Moving to examine the medical texts, I try to ignore how the temperature seems to spike whenever he stands close. “Though some s ubjects are more resistant to study than others.”

“Speaking of resistance…” His wings twitch at my choice of words.

“Perhaps some subjects deserve to be studied more… thoroughly.” He reaches past me to retrieve a book, his chest brushing my shoulder.

The contact sends electricity racing through my nerve endings.

“These texts discuss cryptid biology. Might help with your research.”

The book might be fascinating, but his proximity distracts me completely—the way his skin seems to darken and his temperature rises whenever our hands brush. My scientific mind itches to document these physiological responses.

“Thank you.” My voice is soft, almost breathy. “For sharing this place.”

His expression holds something I can’t quite read. “Knowledge should be shared. Even if some mysteries take time to unravel.”

The words remind me of my father’s lab, where knowledge was hoarded like weapons. Where I spent my childhood learning to identify cryptid vulnerabilities instead of playing with other children. The memory makes me turn away before Dante can see the shame in my eyes.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his tail curling with concern.

“Just… thinking about the past. Before Apex.” Forcing myself to meet his gaze. “My previous work wasn’t always… something I’m proud of.”

The words carry weight beyond their surface meaning, but before I can analyze them further, voices drift down from the main cavern.

“Duty calls.” His tail curls as he steps back. “Feel free to study here anytime. Just…” A slight hesitation. “Avoid the bottom drawer of my desk.”

The request sparks scientific curiosity, but his tone suggests this isn’t the time to press.

Now that bottom drawer is all I can focus on—what could he possibly be hiding that requires such specific mention?

Instead, I clutch my new research materials and try to ignore how the temperature seems to drop the moment he moves away.

Some libraries hold more than just books. Some secrets invite discovery despite better judgment. And some connections grow stronger with each shared moment, whether we’re ready for them or not.