Page 13 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

The likar is gone, but neither of us moves. For the first time in years, I don't want to.

My hand trembles as I reach out, fingers hovering over his forearm. The obsidian skin there pulses with those strange golden lines, like lightning trapped beneath glass. I've never willingly touched anyone since escaping the dark elves, butsomething pulls me forward, past the wall of fear I've built around myself.

"Thank you," I whisper, my palm finally settling against his arm. The contact sends a jolt through me - not of fear, but of warmth. His skin burns like forge-fire beneath my touch, yet I don't pull away.

It’s the first time I’ve touched him. Actually touched him. Not because I was scared of being attacked or an accidental brush but because Iwantedto.

Mazan goes completely still. Those copper-red eyes widen, and the gold lines across his skin flare brighter. His wings, still partially curved around me, quiver with tension. But it's his expression that catches my breath - raw wonder, as if I've given him something precious instead of just a simple touch.

The hard lines of his face soften. His usual mask of careful control slips, revealing something vulnerable beneath. No one has ever looked at me like this - like I'm something to be cherished rather than possessed. My chest tightens as I realize what this small gesture means to him.

I should feel exposed under that intense gaze. Instead, I find myself drinking in every detail - the way his navy hair falls across his forehead, how his curved horns catch the dying light, the slight parting of his lips as he draws in a sharp breath. He doesn't move, letting me set the pace, letting me maintain control.

My fingers trace one of the golden lines on his arm, feeling the magic pulse beneath. "I've never..." The words stick in my throat, but his patient silence gives me courage. "I've never felt safe enough to touch anyone. Not since before."

His only response is a slight tilt of his head, those burning eyes never leaving mine. But I see it there - understanding, acceptance, and something deeper that makes my heart race for reasons that have nothing to do with fear.

10

MAZAN

The pull is impossible to resist. I find myself slipping away from Galmoleth more frequently, using any excuse to return to Aurelius. Supply runs become daily visits. Even Lamain has taken note - and made not so subtle jabs that the island doesn’t need that many supplies.

It’s early still as I use the portal. My day back at the palace was relatively clear and I’m more than eager to spend as much time as I can on Aurelius. I debate if I should go to the jungle path or head toward the beach where she’s pointed out her house is. But I don’t want to scare her.

Before I can make up my mind, I spot a flash of auburn between the leaves. Loxley moves with practiced ease through the undergrowth, her steps silent despite the carpet of fallen leaves. She pauses at a stream, kneeling to examine something in the water. Even from here, I catch the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she positions herself to watch her surroundings.

I shift my weight, and a twig snaps beneath my foot. Her head whips around, body coiled like a spring. When she spotsme, the tension eases fractionally. And that does something to me that I have never felt before. I nearly smile at the sight.

"You're early this week." Her voice carries up to my perch.

"The supplies couldn't wait." The lie slides off my tongue. There are no supplies today.

A slight curve touches her lips - not quite a smile, but close. Even though she’s given me some, they’re still harder to earn - but I can tell she’s been feeling lighter. Happier. More playful. To others she might seem reserved but I see all the difference.

She returns to examining the stream, but her posture remains open to where I stand. An invitation, of sorts.

I move closer until I’m nearly touching her. I can’t resist. Loxley doesn't look up, but she doesn't move away either. This close, I catch the scent of herbs from her hair - she must have been gathering in the high meadows earlier.

"The water's particularly clear today." Her words are soft, measured. "Good for spotting the rainbow fish."

I crouch beside her, careful to leave space between us. The sunlight filtering through the canopy catches the gold lines across my skin, making them shimmer. Loxley's eyes flick to the glow before returning to the water.

We sit in comfortable silence, watching the fish dart between stones. She doesn't ask why I'm really here. I don't offer explanations. But when she shifts slightly closer, her shoulder nearly brushing my arm, something in my chest tightens with an unfamiliar warmth.

The breeze shifts, carrying her scent - wild herbs and something uniquely her. I notice how she traces the edge of a broad leaf with her fingertips, lost in thought. Her movements are precise, deliberate, like everything else about her. Even in these quiet moments, she maintains that careful control.

A strand of auburn hair falls loose from her braid. She tucks it back without looking, the motion so practiced it's becomeinstinct. Her teeth catch her bottom lip as she studies the pattern of light on the water. The gesture draws my attention to the slight furrow between her brows - she's working through something in her mind.

"The fish are moving differently today." Her voice breaks the silence. She leans forward, bracing one hand against a moss-covered stone. The sleeve of her tunic slides up, revealing the delicate bones of her wrist. Everything about her is deceptively fragile-looking, but I've seen the strength in those hands.

She reaches out, fingers hovering just above the water's surface. The rainbow fish scatter, then slowly return, drawn to her stillness. Her expression softens fractionally - the closest thing to peace I've seen on her face.

A jungle bird calls overhead. Loxley's hand instinctively moves to the knife at her hip, but she catches herself. Her fingers drift instead to a broad-leafed plant beside her, running along its surface in that absent way she has. The tension bleeds from her shoulders gradually, like water soaking into earth.

I find myself cataloging these small details: how she angles her body slightly away from mine while still keeping me in her peripheral vision, the way she tests each stone before putting her weight on it, how her eyes never stop scanning our surroundings even as she appears absorbed in the fish. Every movement tells a story of survival, of learned vigilance.

But there are other things too - gentler things. The way she cups water in her palm for a curious fish to investigate. How her fingers dance across plant leaves as if greeting old friends. These brief moments when her guard slips just enough to reveal something softer underneath.

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