Page 24 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

Because if I ask, someone might tell me he's not coming back. They might say he's done what every other person in my life has done. That he used me and abandoned me. That I was nothing but a body, a source of entertainment, something to be discarded after he was done. And as long as I don't hear those words, I can pretend this silence is temporary. That there's a reason. That I haven't made the same mistake again, letting someone close enough to break what little of me is left.

The path winds deeper into the jungle, each step automatic after months of walking this same route. My fingers trail along familiar tree trunks, their rough bark grounding me in the present. But my eyes keep drifting to the empty space beside me, to where he should be.

The first time Mazan joined me on this walk, his massive frame made the path feel smaller. Now the jungle stretches endless and vast around me, too big, too quiet. Each rustle of leaves sends my head snapping around, hoping to catch a glimpse of obsidian skin or copper-red eyes.

I kick off my boots, letting my feet sink into the cool sand as the path opens to the beach. The ocean stretches before me,endless blue meeting endless sky. Perfect for spotting incoming visitors. Perfect for torturing myself with false hope.

"This is what you wanted," I remind myself, voice sharp against the gentle lap of waves. "To be alone. Safe."

But safe feels hollow now. The solitude that once wrapped around me like a shield now cuts like the collar I wore in chains. My hand finds the scar along my ribs - a reminder of why I should know better. Of why letting anyone close is dangerous.

The beach stretches empty in both directions. No massive wings blocking the sun. No quiet footsteps matching mine in the sand. Just me and the waves and the screaming silence in my head.

I used to love these walks. They were my escape, my chance to breathe without the weight of others' eyes and expectations. Now each step feels like running from something I can't name. The very isolation I crafted so carefully has become its own kind of prison.

A bird calls overhead and my heart lurches before I can stop it. Not him. It's never him. The disappointment tastes bitter, familiar. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold together the pieces he somehow made whole without my permission.

The wind whips my loose braids across my face. I don't bother fixing them. What's the point? There's no one here to see me fall apart.

The ocean blurs as tears threaten to spill. I blink them back, refusing to give in to this weakness. My nails dig into my palms until they leave crescent marks - anything to focus on besides the hollow ache in my chest.

"You knew better." The words come out raw, scraping my throat. "You've always known better."

The memories flash unbidden - his gentle touch, those patient eyes, the way he never pushed when I flinched. All lies.They had to be lies. Just like every other false kindness I'd been shown before.

I sink to my knees in the sand, pressing my forehead to them as my body curls inward. The position is familiar - how many times had I hidden like this in dark corners, trying to make myself smaller, invisible? The scar along my ribs burns, a reminder of what trust brings.

My fingers trace patterns in the sand, anything to keep them from shaking. Three weeks. Twenty-one days of silence that scream louder than any rejection. Each sunrise without those midnight-blue wings dims something inside me that I didn't even know could still break.

The village feels too close suddenly, even from here. Too many eyes that might see through my carefully constructed walls. Too many whispers that might carry truth I'm not ready to hear. I retreat further down the beach, where the jungle grows thick and wild, where no one can witness how stupid I've been.

A laugh bubbles up - bitter, broken. Of course he's gone. Everyone leaves. That's the one truth I can count on. I was a fool to think a demon would be different, to let myself believe those copper-red eyes saw something worth staying for.

My chest constricts, each breath shorter than the last. The walls I've built so carefully over the years crack and crumble, leaving me exposed. Raw. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together, but they slip through my fingers like sand.

18

MAZAN

Pain pulses through my skull as consciousness creeps back. The familiar weight of my wings feels wrong - compressed, bound. Cold metal bites into my wrists, the chains rattling as I shift. Every breath sends sharp needles through my ribs. Definitely broken.

I force my eyes open, copper-red gaze scanning the dim chamber. Stone walls. Iron bars. The acrid stench of blood and sweat hangs heavy in the stale air. Three other demons lie unconscious nearby, similarly bound. Krenoth's obsidian horn is cracked, Vazral's wings are bent at unnatural angles. We were overwhelmed - I remember that much. Something went wrong when we stepped through the portal.

The King's missive... My hand instinctively tries to reach for the hidden pocket where I'd secured it, but the chains hold firm. I close my eyes, focusing inward. The faint golden lines etched in my skin remain dark, my magic suppressed by whatever enchantments they've worked into these bonds.

I breathe slowly, steadily, calming myself. Panic serves no purpose. Each detail could matter - the direction of light filtering through the high window, the echo patterns of distant footsteps,the composition of the stonework. I observe, I calculate, I plan. It's what's kept me alive this long.

The ambush had been well-coordinated. Though I’m not sure what a group of xaphan were doing on the demon content, given our current circumstances, it seems they were out for blood. And we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

My wings ache from being pinned, but I keep still, conserving energy. Patience has always been my strength, even when other demons rush headlong into conflict. I've learned that sometimes the wisest course is to wait, to watch, to understand before acting.

A groan from Krenoth draws my attention. His eyes flutter open, confusion quickly replaced by fury as he tests his bonds. I catch his gaze and give a slight shake of my head. Not yet. He subsides, trusting my judgment. I might just be a servant of the palace but we are all trained as warriors. We'll need that trust to survive whatever comes next.

Heavy boots echo down the corridor, accompanied by the whisper of feathers against stone. A xaphan steps into view, his pure white wings nearly brushing the cell bars. His presence fills the cramped space with an insufferable self-righteousness that makes my teeth clench.

"Well. I hope you’ll forgive my less than stellar welcome." His voice drips with false warmth. "But when I see a group of demons…I can’t help but want to play. Especially when you reek of foreign magic.”

I meet his gaze steadily, saying nothing. His wings may be pristine, but there's blood under his polished armor - our blood. The faint scorch marks on his gauntlets suggest he was one of the ones throwing fire during the ambush.

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