Page 17 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

"They react to you," I say, voice low and steady. The evening shadows deepen around us, but I can see every detail of her face - the slight tremble of her lips, the way her golden-brown eyes widen at my words.

She reaches out again, this time with more purpose. Her fingertip traces one of the glowing lines, and my magic surges in response. The sensation is electric, but I lock my muscles in place. My wings ache to unfurl, to wrap around her small frame, but I keep them tightly furled.

"Why?" The question comes out barely above a whisper.

I let the silence stretch, giving her time to retreat if she needs to. But she stays, her touch growing more confident as she explores the patterns on my skin. "Magic recognizes intent," I explain. "It knows when something matters."

Her eyes dart to mine, then away. But her hand remains on my arm, warm and real and trembling slightly. I could crush stone with these hands, tear trees from the earth - but right now, all my strength goes into remaining perfectly still, letting her set the pace of this delicate dance.

A demon's patience is rarely tested - we take what we want, when we want it. But for her, I would wait centuries. Each small victory, each moment of trust freely given, is worth more than any swift conquest.

13

LOXLEY

Morning light filters through the woven branches of my treehouse walls, casting dappled shadows across the worn wooden floor. I trace my fingers along the smooth counter, organizing the few belongings I keep here - a curved blade, some dried herbs, a leather-bound journal. Everything in its place, controlled, just how I need it to be.

My reflection catches in the polished glass, and I pause. The same golden-brown eyes stare back, hard and guarded like always. But lately, something's different. A softness I don't recognize, don't trust.

"Damn it." I yank my auburn hair back, weaving it into its usual braids with quick, practiced motions.

Mazan's face flashes in my mind - those burning copper eyes that see too much, the way he moves with such careful grace despite his massive frame. The demon who brings our supplies but never demands anything in return. Who watches, listens, understands silence.

My hands falter on the braid. Trust is a luxury I've never been able to afford. How could I trust when being near another meantpain in the dark elf house, meant scars that still mark my ribs. Meant learning that there was no such thing as kindness.

But Mazan... he's different. The way he keeps his distance while still managing to be present. How he telegraphs every movement, ensuring I never feel trapped. The quiet strength in his massive wings when he lands, yet he folds them back so carefully to appear smaller.

I press my palm against the rough bark of my door frame, feeling the steady pulse of life beneath. "Maybe that's what real strength is," I whisper to myself. "Not walls, but knowing when to lower them."

The thought terrifies me. Makes me want to run to the waterfalls where I can hide in the mist and pretend these feelings don't exist. But for the first time in my life, I'm tired of running.

The worn path to the beach feels familiar under my bare feet. Each step draws me closer to where I know he'll be - where he always is when he visits. My heart quickens, but I force my breathing to stay even, measured.

Mazan sits cross-legged in the sand, his massive frame somehow making the beach feel smaller and safer at the same time. His obsidian skin catches the morning light, those faint gold lines shimmering like a promise. His wings - midnight blue and powerful enough to carry him between worlds - rest folded against his back.

I settle beside him, closer than I usually dare. Even though my head is a muddled mess, and I should keep my distance. The waves lap at the shore in a steady rhythm that matches my pulse.

"Morning, Lox." His voice rumbles low, gentle as always. He doesn't turn to look at me, doesn't press for more words. Just lets the greeting hang in the air between us.

I draw my knees up to my chest, studying him from the corner of my eye. His hands rest on his knees, steady and sure - hands that could crush stone but have never once made meflinch. His horns catch the light, curved and deadly, yet I've never felt threatened by them. No, instead I am attracted to him and I don’t know what to do about it.

“Good morning.”

His wings twitch slightly - that small tell I've learned means he's deep in thought. The movement draws my attention to how carefully he holds them, always conscious of their span, always making himself smaller for my comfort.

Here, beside this demon warrior who could break me without effort, I feel... safe. He never looms, never uses his height to intimidate. Never makes me feel small or weak or less. Just sits, solid as the mountains of his floating island, patient as the tide.

But how long can that last?

I turn to face him, my heart thundering against my ribs as I decide to take my first real leap with him. "Are you tired of waiting?"

The words slip out before I can catch them, hanging in the salt-tinged air between us. Mazan remains still, those copper-red eyes fixed on the horizon where sea meets sky. His wings shift, adjusting their fold against his broad back - that telltale sign he's processing my question carefully.

The gold lines across his obsidian skin catch the morning light, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. His massive frame could intimidate, could dominate this entire stretch of beach, yet he sits with such measured control. Every movement calculated to make me feel at ease.

He turns his head, those burning eyes meeting mine. No demand lives in his gaze, no pressure or expectation. Just that same patient understanding that's been there since the first day he landed on our shores. His dark navy hair ruffles in the breeze, wild and untamed against the rigid control he maintains over the rest of himself.

My fingers dig into the sand, anchoring me as his expression softens. The hard edges of his warrior's face gentle, his curved horns catching the light like polished onyx. That look - it starts to melt something inside me, some final barrier I've kept frozen since escaping the dark elves.

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