Page 31 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

I can see now that her walls have been rebuilt in my absence.

"You're alive." Her voice cracks on the words, and it takes everything in me not to close the distance between us. But I know her - know how she needs space when feeling cornered. And right now, she's looking at me like I'm a ghost come to haunt her.

She doesn't move, doesn't blink - just stares at me with those haunting eyes that have followed me through countless nightmares.

My wings twitch, wanting to fold around her, but the rigid set of her shoulders warns me away. The space between us stretches like an ocean. Three years ago, I would have known every flicker of emotion in those golden-brown depths. Now, her face is a fortress.

The wind whips her loose braids, carrying with it memories of that night - her skin against mine, whispered confessions in the dark, promises I was forced to break. But there's something else in the air now. Something that makes my demon senses prickle with unease.

Her scent has changed. Not just the surface notes, but something deeper. Something that tugs at ancient instincts I can't quite place. My copper-red eyes narrow, trying to piece together what's different about her.

She shifts her weight, and I catch a glimpse of fresh calluses on her hands - not from survival anymore, but from somethingelse. The way she stands has changed too. Still ready for flight, but with a new kind of strength behind it. Everything is different.

The silence between us crackles with unspoken accusations. Each breath she takes is measured, controlled - holding back words that could shatter whatever fragile moment this is. I recognize that look. It's the same one she wore when we first met, when she thought I was just another threat to guard against.

My magic pulses beneath my skin, responding to her presence, to the torrent of emotions I'm fighting to contain. The gold lines etched across my obsidian flesh glow faintly, betraying my struggle to remain still when every fiber of my being screams to cross the distance between us.

But something in her eyes - something cold and final - roots me to the spot. This isn't the reunion I dreamed of during those endless days in chains. This is something else entirely, and the realization fills me with a dread colder than any xaphan prison.

Out of desperation, I reach for her, my massive frame moving with an instinctive grace that betrays my nature. Just one touch - but she retreats. And I know I made a mistake as her eyes flash.

"You were dead to me." Her whisper slices through me deeper than any blade. Her voice shakes, the careful control she's maintained cracking. "And I had to live with that."

My outstretched hand falls to my side. The lines across my skin pulse with each thundering beat of my heart. Three years of xaphan torture were nothing compared to seeing her like this - watching her guard herself against me as if I'm just another threat she needs to survive.

The space between us feels like a chasm. Her golden-brown eyes, once so open to me, now hold shadows I put there. She wraps her arms around herself, a gesture so familiar it makes my wings ache. It's the same way she used to hold herself when speaking of her past with the dark elves.

My horns catch the sunlight as I lower my head, trying to appear less imposing. An impossible task when I tower over her at seven feet, but still I try. Always, with her, I try. The midnight blue of my wings dims, reflecting my inner turmoil as they fold tight against my back.

She takes another step away, her loose braids swaying with the movement. The motion carries her scent to me again, and that nagging sense that something's different intensifies. But I can't focus on that now, not when she's looking at me like I'm a ghost she needs to banish.

My fingers flex, remembering the trust it took for her to let me hold her that night. Now she eyes my hands like they might burn her. The gold lines in my skin fade to barely visible marks - my magic responding to my need to appear non-threatening, to not spook her further.

But it's too late. The fortress is back in her eyes, and the woman who once let me past her walls has sealed them shut against me.

The grief etched into her features hits me like a physical blow. I expected rage, expected her to scream and curse my name - would have welcomed it even. But this quiet devastation? It cleaves through my chest, leaving me raw.

"I mourned you." Her words drop like stones into the silence between us. "Every day for months, I..." She cuts herself off, that iron control slipping for just a moment.

My wings droop, the midnight blue membrane dulling further. The golden lines across my skin pulse erratically, betraying how her pain affects me. Three years of dreaming of her, of holding onto the memory of her smile during endless torture sessions, and now she looks at me like I'm worse than any dark elf who ever hurt her.

"Loxley, please." I take a step forward, but she mirrors it with one back. "I never meant-"

"To what?" Her voice cracks. "To make me think you'd abandoned me? To disappear without a word after..." She wraps her arms tighter around herself, and the gesture splits me open. "I trusted you."

Those three words gut me more effectively than any weapon. Because she had trusted me - this fierce, wounded woman who never trusted anyone. She'd let me in, let me see past her walls. And then I'd proven every fear she ever had about letting someone close. Not because I wanted to - but that doesn’t change that I did.

My hands clench at my sides, the need to touch her, to explain, burning through me like fever. But I remain still, knowing any movement will only drive her further away. The gold lines in my skin fade to almost nothing, responding to my despair.

23

LOXLEY

The waves lap at my feet, a rhythm that used to bring comfort but now only echoes the thundering of my heart. Mazan towers before me, his massive frame blocking the setting sun, casting long shadows across the white sand. Those copper-red eyes search my face, pain etching lines between his brows.

My fingers curl into fists. Three years. Three years of silence, of wondering, of building walls around the pieces he shattered. And now he stands here like no time has passed at all.

"Loxley." His deep voice rolls across the beach. The gold lines across his obsidian skin pulse with untamed magic. "I didn't expect-"

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