Page 16 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

But today something's different. Her golden-brown eyes meet mine for longer than usual before darting away. Her fingers twist in the fabric of her clothes, a nervous tell I've come to understand.

"How long have you been out here?" My voice is deliberately soft, measured. I keep my wings tucked close, making myself as non-threatening as seven feet of demon can manage.

Loxley takes a half-step forward, then catches herself. "Since sunrise." The words come out barely above a whisper, but they're weighted with unspoken meaning. “I…I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

I remain still as she wrestles with whatever war rages behind those expressive eyes. Her gaze traces the gold lines along my skin, lingers on my face, then drops to the ground. Each time shelooks at me, I see a flash of yearning quickly buried under layers of fear and doubt.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I keep my hands visible, my posture open.

Each time I see her, she seems to get a little closer. More touching. More open with her words. Less distance. Less fear. And I am savoring every step because with Loxley, I want every tiny drop she’s willing to give me. Just watching from a distance was worth it, but getting to know her? To learn who she really is?

I never expected my interest to jump up into a need for her. A need to protect her. To see her. To be at her side. I can’t even explain how deeply rooted my feelings have become for her.

She shakes her head, but I can see the simple offer seems to strike something deep within her. She lifts her chin, and for a moment, her walls crack just enough for me to glimpse the raw hope beneath - hope immediately chased by terror. Her fingers brush unconsciously over the scar at her ribs, visible through her thin shirt.

The gesture makes my jaw clench, but I force my expression to remain gentle. Every instinct screams to move closer, to shield her from whatever memories haunt her steps. But I know better. Trust, like any wild thing, can't be forced or rushed.

"You don't have to run from me," I say, keeping my voice soft as I watch her. "I'll never be something you have to fear."

Loxley freezes. Her pulse jumps at her throat, visible even from where I stand. My wings itch to unfurl, to wrap around her trembling form, but I lock them tighter against my back. I wonder if I’ve pushed her too far, calling her out on emotion she might not have realized she was showing me. She might not be ready to.

"There’s a reason to fear everyone." Her words carry the weight of past betrayals. She takes a step back, feet findingpurchase on the mossy stones without looking. Always aware of her escape route.

I remain motionless, though my copper-red eyes track her movement. "I'm not everyone."

A bitter laugh escapes her. "No. You're a demon. That should frighten me more."

"Should it?" I let my gaze drift to the waterfall, giving her space to breathe. "June isn't afraid."

"June..." Loxley's voice catches. "June found her mate. She got lucky."

"Is that what you think? Luck?" My gold markings pulse faintly with contained emotion. "Or maybe she found someone who proved himself worthy of her trust?"

Her golden-brown eyes snap to mine, something fierce and wounded in their depths. "Trust gets women killed."

"So does fear." The words come out gentler than I intend. "This island - it's a sanctuary. June told me what brings most here. I can reason what brought you here."

She wraps her arms around herself, but her chin lifts in defiance. "Then you know why I can't-"

"I know why you think you can't." I risk a single step forward, movements slow and deliberate as flowing water. "But you're safe here. Safe with me."

The rays of sunlight catch in her auburn braids, highlighting the strength in her stance even as she trembles. Her walls are up, but there are cracks now - tiny fissures where hope bleeds through. They’ve been gouging deeper, spreading, with every one of my visits and I’m trying to crack them open.

My breath catches as her small hand reaches toward mine. The motion is hesitant, like a bird testing broken wings. Her fingertips brush my obsidian skin, tracing one of the golden lines that mark my forearm. The contact sends sparks through my magic, making the markings pulse with a soft glow.

Her touch is feather-light, questioning. I remain perfectly still, afraid the slightest movement will shatter this fragile moment. Her fingers tremble as they explore the texture of my skin - so different from her own. The evening breeze carries her scent closer, wild berries mixing with the mist from the falls.

My copper-red eyes track every minute expression that crosses her face. Wonder. Fear. Curiosity. Her golden-brown gaze stays fixed on where our skin meets, as if she can't quite believe her own daring. A single water droplet falls from her auburn braid, landing on our joined hands.

The contact lasts mere seconds before she pulls back, wrapping her arms around herself once more. But those precious moments of trust burn themselves into my memory. Never has she willingly reached for me. Never has she initiated contact.

My wings shift slightly, betraying my carefully controlled reaction. The leathery membrane catches the dying light, casting blue-tinged shadows across the mossy ground between us. I want to tell her how much that simple touch means, but I know words would only make her retreat further.

Instead, I keep my hand where she left it, palm up and open. An invitation without pressure. A promise without demands.

The warmth of her touch lingers, though I keep my expression neutral. Every instinct screams to close my fingers around hers, to pull her closer, but I know better. Trust, once broken, is like shattered glass - attempting to force the pieces back together only leads to more pain.

So I remain still, my palm up and open. The gold lines beneath my obsidian skin pulse with barely contained energy, responding to her proximity. My copper-red eyes track her movements as she studies my hand, noting how her breathing quickens when the markings glow.

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