Page 21 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

My chest tightens. I don't know how to handle this. Fighting and running - those I understand. This warmth spreading through me, this urge to burrow closer instead of flee... it's foreign. Dangerous.

Because the closer I let him, the more it will destroy me when he leaves.

The faint glow from his markings casts shadows across his face, softening the harsh angles. In sleep, the ever-present tension in his jaw melts away. His navy hair falls across his forehead, tangling with the base of his horns.

I reach up, hesitating before brushing the strands back. His skin radiates heat like a forge, warming my fingertips. The copper-red of his eyes remains hidden behind closed lids, and for once I can study him without meeting that intense gaze that seems to see straight through me.

His massive wing shifts, adjusting its protective cover as he pulls me closer in his sleep. The leathery membrane catches thestarlight, midnight blue scales gleaming. Even unconscious, he keeps me sheltered.

My hand drops to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my palm. The golden lines pulse in sync, like molten metal flowing beneath his obsidian skin. Such raw power contained in this frame that dwarfs mine, yet he cradles me as if I'm made of glass.

"Stay," he murmurs in his sleep, the word rumbling through his chest.

My throat tightens. I want to believe him. Want to trust that this gentleness isn't a facade, that he won't tire of handling me with care. But experience has taught me that soft touches turn to cruel grips. That safety is an illusion.

His arm tightens fractionally around my waist, and I force myself not to stiffen. This is different, I tell myself. He's different. The way he looked at me last night, like I was precious rather than prey. The way he stopped at my slightest flinch, waiting for permission before each touch.

But the whispers of doubt persist. How long until he grows frustrated with my fears? Until he decides I'm not worth the patience?

I slip from beneath Mazan's wing with practiced stealth, the cold air hitting my skin. My feet touch the wooden floor silently - years of escaping have taught me how to move without sound. Each piece of clothing I grab feels like armor going back on, protecting me from the vulnerability of last night.

The door is only steps away when his deep voice cuts through the silence. "Leaving already?"

My fingers freeze on the handle. I don't turn, can't bear to see if disappointment or anger clouds those copper-red eyes. The golden-brown threads in my hair catch the starlight as I bow my head.

"I need to think." The words come out barely above a whisper.

The bed creaks as he shifts. "Look at me, Lox."

There’s no demand in his voice. It’s gentle and concerned in a way that makes my chest ache. Against my better judgment, I turn.

Mazan sits upright, the sheet pooled around his waist. His obsidian skin gleams in the dim light, those golden lines still pulsing softly. His navy hair is mussed from sleep, curling around his horns. But it's his expression that catches me - no anger, no frustration. Just patient understanding that makes my throat tight.

"You don't have to run." He extends one hand, palm up. An offer, not a demand. "We can talk about this."

My back presses against the door. The handle digs into my spine, grounding me in reality. "I don't know how."

"Then we'll figure it out together." His wings shift, adjusting to his seated position. "But running won't solve anything."

He's right, and that knowledge burns in my chest. But the urge to flee, to protect myself before he can hurt me, screams through every nerve.

His words pierce the armor I've built around myself. The handle bites deeper into my spine as I press back, caught between flight and the magnetic pull drawing me toward him. My fingers tremble against the wood.

The early morning light filtering through the canopy casts shadows across Mazan's face, but those copper-red eyes glow with an inner fire. His massive frame remains perfectly still, wings folded loosely against his back. Waiting. Patient.

My feet move before my mind decides, one hesitant step after another. The floorboards don't creak - they never do in these treehouses - but each step feels like thunder in my ears.

Mazan's arms remain open, a shelter rather than a cage. The golden lines across his obsidian skin pulse steadily, matching the calm rhythm of his breathing. No demands. No expectations. Just space for me to choose.

I stop at the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tight around myself. My loose hair falls forward, shielding my face like a curtain. The urge to run still screams through my blood, but something stronger holds me here - the memory of his gentleness, the warmth of his protection.

"I don't know how to stay," I whisper, the words scraping my throat raw. "I don't know how to trust this."

His wing extends slightly, creating a dark canopy overhead without touching me. "Then we learn together. One moment at a time."

His understanding breaks something loose in my chest. I sink onto the bed, not quite touching him but close enough to feel his heat. My hands clench in my lap, fighting the urge to reach for him.

Mazan remains motionless except for his steady breathing, letting me set the pace. His presence wraps around me like his wing had earlier - protective without confining.

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