Page 26 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

I manage a tight nod but don't stop walking. Words feel like stones in my throat these days, too heavy to lift. The familiar path winds deeper into the jungle, away from the elevated walkways and treehouses of the village.

The waterfall comes into view, mist cooling my skin. I perch on my usual rock, legs pulled tight against my chest. Water crashes against stone, drowning out everything except the thoughts I can't escape.

Fool. Such a fool.

My ribs ache where the old scar tissue pulls tight. I press my hand against it, a reminder of why I should have known better. Trust is a luxury I can't afford. I thought I learned that lesson years ago in chains, yet here I am, burning from the inside out because I let myself believe...

No.

I spring to my feet, pacing the rocky outcrop. The golden-brown eyes reflecting in the pool below look wild, desperate. I barely recognize myself anymore.

Three months without a word. No explanation. No goodbye. Just silence where his steady presence used to be. The copper-red eyes that used to watch me with such patience are gone, along with all his promises of protection.

My throat closes around a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. I swallow it back. Demons lie. I knew that. I knew that and still let myself think Mazan was different.

The waterfall roars on, indifferent to my pain. I stand at its edge, letting the spray soak through my clothes until I'm shivering. Maybe if I stay here long enough, the water will wash away this ache. Maybe if I keep moving, keep breathing, eventually I'll remember how to be the person I was before him.

Maybe then I'll stop looking for midnight-blue wings against the sky.

The spray from the falls chills my skin, but something else sends a shiver down my spine. A nagging thought I've been pushing away surfaces, impossible to ignore any longer. Especially as my stomach cramps - and not for the reason I’d hope for.

I count the days in my head again. Then again. My hands clench into fists, nails biting into my palms.

No. No, no, no.

It’s been almost a month since it should have happened. It's happened before when I'm stressed. Nothing to panic about. Ipace the rocks, bare feet finding familiar grooves worn smooth by water. The mist clings to my skin, but it can't wash away the cold dread pooling in my stomach.

My morning routine of dried fruit sits untouched in my pack. The mere thought of eating makes my insides twist. That's stress too. Has to be.

But my breasts ache, tender in a way that has nothing to do with my monthly cycle. And yesterday, the smell of cooking fish from the village market - a smell I usually love - had me running for the treeline.

I sink down onto the rocks, pressing my forehead to my knees. The rough fabric of my pants scratches my suddenly too-sensitive skin.

"It's nothing," I whisper to myself, voice raw from disuse. "You're imagining things."

But my body feels different. Foreign. Like something inside me has shifted, rearranged itself without my permission. And I’ve ignored the signs for weeks now.

My hand drifts to my flat stomach before I snatch it away. I won't acknowledge this. Can't acknowledge this. Not when he's gone. Not when I'm alone again.

The waterfall thunders on, drowning out the sound of my ragged breathing. I force myself to stand, to keep moving. If I stay still too long, the reality I'm desperately avoiding might catch up to me.

I need to get back. Need to check my stores of herbs. There has to be something to explain this away. Something other than the impossible truth trying to take root in my mind.

I drag myself back along the village paths, feet heavy as lead. My treehouse feels too empty, too quiet. Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm climbing the steps to June's home instead. She’s the only one I’ve ever really talked to on the island.

She opens the door before I can knock, her bright red hair gleaming in the morning light. One look at my face and she pulls me inside.

"You look like hell." She guides me to sit at her kitchen table. "When's the last time you ate?"

I shake my head, words stuck in my throat. June's green eyes narrow as she studies me. "Something's wrong." She sets a cup of tea in front of me. "Talk to me, Lox."

The familiar nickname threatens to break me - because all I can hear ishim. "I think... I might be..." My hands tremble around the warm cup. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

June's eyes widen. She grabs my arm. "Come on. We're going to see Mira."

I let her pull me through the village to the healer's treehouse. The whole way there, my mind spins with denial. But Mira's gentle hands and knowing eyes confirm what I've been refusing to face.

"You're about ten weeks along. Maybe a little further," she says softly.

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