Page 19 of Demon Daddy's Little Girl

I don't have an answer for him. It's a question that's been plaguing with me.

It's still lingering in the back of my mind when I join them for dinner. I watch Ada's hands shake as she carefully cuts Rose's meat into tiny, manageable pieces. Her movements are precise despite the tremors – a mother's practiced care warring with lingering fear.

"Mama, can I have more juice?" Rose bounces in her seat, violet eyes bright with enthusiasm.

"Of course, sweetheart." Ada reaches for the pitcher, but her fingers fumble.

I catch it before it can spill. "Allow me."

Ada's warm brown eyes meet mine for a brief moment before darting away. She draws back, pressing her hands flat against her simple brown skirt. The gesture strikes something deep in my chest – this instinctive retreat, this careful dance of maintaining distance.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

I pour Rose's juice, noting how the child shows no such hesitation. She beams up at me, tiny fangs peeking out as she grins.

"Your garden has the prettiest flowers, Captain Dez!" I smile at the way she shortens my name like the twins. Maybe she should just call me Dez because Captain is a struggle. "Can we plant some pink ones next?"

"If your mother approves." I set the pitcher down, fighting the urge to smooth her wild honey curls.

Ada methodically cuts her own food, though she's barely touched it. Her braid has started to come loose, wisps of blonde hair framing her face. The simple motion of serving dinner seems to drain what little energy she has left after today's market incident.

My fingers itch to reach across the table, to still those trembling hands. To offer comfort, protection – something more tangible than just shelter within these walls. But I recognize the careful boundaries she's drawn. Each slight flinch when I move too quickly, each measured step to keep space between us.

So I remain in my chair, cutting my own meat with precise movements, and pretend not to notice when she jumps at the sound of branches scratching against windows in the evening breeze.

After dinner, I go back to my study. Sitting with Rose, watching her play, only makes me that more adamant to protect the children that are being hunted - children like her.

A muffled cry pierces the late night silence. I'm on my feet before conscious thought takes hold, stalking through dark hallways toward Rose's room.

The sound of soft singing stops me at her doorway. Ada perches on the edge of Rose's bed, her honey-blonde hair loose around her shoulders. Moonlight streams through the window, casting mother and daughter in silver.

Rose's tiny fingers clutch her mother's sleeve. Tear tracks glisten on her cheeks. "The bad men were chasing us again."

"Shh." Ada strokes Rose's curls. "We're safe here. No one can hurt you."

My chest constricts. The same lullaby Raina used to hum, planning for a future we never got to have. I can almost feel the phantom weight of tiny kicks against my palm as we lay in bed, dreaming of our child.

"But what if they find us?" Rose's violet eyes shine with tears in the darkness.

"Then Captain Dezoth will protect us." Ada's words surprise me. "Remember how the day you met him? He protected you then."

Rose nods, hiccupping slightly. "He's really big and strong."

"That's right." Ada tucks the blanket around Rose's shoulders. Her hands tremble less when she's focused on her daughter. "Now close your eyes, little flower. Dream of thaliverns and pink roses."

But her eyes slide from her mother and straight to me. She stares at me in a way that feels like it's tearing my soul out.

"Will you both stay?" Rose's voice quivers. "Just until I fall asleep?"

I hesitate at the doorway, but those violet eyes pierce straight through my defenses. "Of course, little one."

Ada turns to see me, her wariness a little lighter as I move into the room. The oversized reading chair in the corner barely fits my frame, yet Rose's hopeful expression has me settling into it. Ada pauses, uncertainty flickering across her features.

"There's room," I murmur, keeping my voice low and steady.

She perches on the edge, trying to maintain space between us. The chair has other ideas. With each breath, she slides incrementally closer until our thighs press together. The warmth of her seeps through my clothes.

Rose burrows deeper under her blankets, a tiny smile playing at her lips. "Can you sing the star song again, Mama?"

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