Page 23 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

Even if I hate the concept of being so far from her.

My wings spread slightly in frustration as I return to my chambers to gather what I need. The thought of her waiting, wondering, makes my chest tight. But I've spent years protecting Aurelius's secret. One wrong move now could destroy everything.

I gather my travel gear with practiced efficiency, each movement precise despite my inner turmoil. Two sets of formal armor, spelled scrolls for communication, and a selection of defensive runes - just in case. My fingers brush against the small pouch of dried aracin blossoms I'd collected for Loxley last week. The delicate purple petals mock me from their silk wrapping.

It will only be a few days, I tell myself, securing the last buckle on my travel pack. I know I can’t portal to the King’shome directly. So I’ll have to arrive at the edge of Ikoth and travel the rest. Still, it won’t be long.

But something cold settles in my gut, a weight heavier than my armor. In all my years serving Asmodeus, I've learned to trust these instincts. I don’t like having to go to Aerasak, but I have no option. My copper-red eyes narrow as I study my reflection, checking my formal attire one final time.

The gold lines beneath my obsidian skin pulse faster than usual, responding to my unease. My wings shift restlessly, leather membranes catching the crimson light. Everything about this feels wrong.

I touch the rock that opens a portal to Aurelius, my magic reaching out of habit. But I pull back before activating it. Even a quick message risks too much. One unexplained delay at the wrong moment, one curious guard, and Aurelius's sanctuary would shatter. I've protected Lamain's secret too long to compromise it now.

Loxley's face flashes in my mind - the way she looked this morning, vulnerable yet trying so hard to appear strong. I will go to her as soon as I return. She’s expecting me in a week. I intend for it to be less.

I grab my pack with more force than necessary, my claws leaving slight marks in the leather. I'll explain everything when I return. But this knot in my chest, this creeping dread... I've survived countless battles by heeding such warnings. Something about this mission feels like walking into a trap, and I hate that I'm leaving Aurelius exposed.

17

LOXLEY

The morning sun filters through my treehouse windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Another day. Another week. Three of them now, to be exact, since Mazan left.

I pace the length of my home, my fingers absently tracing the smooth wooden walls. The routine is familiar - wake up, tell myself I don't care, fail at not caring, repeat. My shoes click against the hardwood as I move from window to window, scanning the sky for massive midnight-blue wings.

Nothing. Just like yesterday. And the day before.

"He's busy." The words taste hollow. "The King probably has him doing something important."

My reflection catches in the window - auburn braids messy from running my hands through them too many times, golden-brown eyes dark with lack of sleep. I turn away, unable to face the truth written across my face.

The bed remains perfectly made, hardly touched since that night. Since I let him in - really let him in. His scent still clings to the sheets, a reminder I can't bring myself to wash away.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days of nothing.

I grab my pack, needing to escape these walls that feel like they're closing in. The familiar path to the waterfall beckons. At least there, the rushing water might drown out the voice in my head that keeps whispering,I told you so.

My fingers brush the scar along my ribs as I walk - a reminder of why I don't do this. Why I don't let people close. Those golden lines that trace his obsidian skin, the way his copper-red eyes had looked at me like I was something precious - it had all felt so real.

The jungle path offers no answers, just the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant crash of waves. Each step takes me further from the village, from watchful eyes that might notice how I scan the horizon every few minutes.

"You're an idiot," I mutter, kicking a stone off the path. "What did you expect? That one demon would be different?"

But he had been different. Patient. Gentle. Until he wasn't here at all.

The waterfall comes into view, its steady roar a welcome distraction. I settle onto my usual rock, legs dangling over the crystal-clear pool below. The mist cools my skin, but does nothing for the burning in my chest.

Someone must know something. Lamain or June would. All I’d have to do is ask. The words sit heavy on my tongue, but I swallow them back down. Speaking makes it real. Questions make it real.

My fingers work through my braids, unraveling them only to start again. The repetitive motion helps, gives my hands something to do besides shake. Three weeks ago, these same fingers traced those golden lines on his skin, watched them glow beneath my touch. Now they just feel empty.

A group of villagers passes on the nearby path. I catch fragments of their conversation - something about supply runs and demons. My body tenses, ready to spring up and demandanswers, but I force myself to stay still. To keep my eyes fixed on the water below.

The scar along my ribs aches, a phantom pain that always flares when I'm stressed. I press my palm against it, remembering how he'd traced it that night, how his touch had been so careful, so unlike anything I'd known before.

"Stop it," I whisper, but the words are lost in the waterfall's crash.

My treehouse feels more like a cage with each passing day. The village grows smaller, suffocating. Every flash of movement in the sky makes my heart leap, only to crash when it's just another bird. But I don't ask. I can't ask.

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