Page 36 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

And there are so many new scars. Ones I will spend the entire night kissing, which I could atone for what I’ve done when I never should have pushed him away.

“Lox,” he murmurs, his voice rough, and I look up to meet his gaze. There’s so much there - pain, longing, love - and it makes my chest ache. I step closer, my hands sliding up to his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the way his body trembles under my touch.

“I need you,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I need to feel you. To know you’re real.”

His hands come up to cup my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “I’m here,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak, and I pull him down to me, my lips crashing against his. The kiss is desperate, hungry, and I can feel the years of longing in the way he kisses me back - deep, slow, and full of emotion. His hands slide down my back, pulling me closer, and I can feel the heat of his body against mine, the way his heart pounds in his chest.

When he lays me down on the bed, his movements are slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. His hands are gentle as they explore my body, his touch burning against my skin. I arch into him, craving more, needing to feel every inch of him. His lips follow the path of his hands, trailing kisses down my neck, my collarbone, my chest. Each kiss feels like a brand, marking me as his, erasing every doubt, every fear, every moment of pain.

When he finally enters me, it’s slow, deep, and I can feel every inch of him as he fills me. My breath catches, and I cling to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He pauses, his forehead resting against mine, his breath hot against my skin.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and I open my eyes to meet his gaze. There’s so much there - love, pain, longing - and it makes my chest ache. “I’m here,” he says again, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not leaving you again.”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak, and he begins to move, slow and deep, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. I cling to him, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him. His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as he moves, his breath hot against my skin.

The pleasure builds slowly, coiling tight in my stomach, and I can feel the way his body trembles against mine, the way his breath hitches with each thrust. When I finally come, it’s with a cry, my body arching against his, and I can feel him follow me over the edge, his body shuddering as he spills inside me.

He collapses on top of me, his breath hot against my neck, and I wrap my arms around him, holding him close. His wingscurl around us, cocooning us in darkness, and I can feel the way his heart pounds in his chest, the way his body trembles against mine.

“I’m here,” he murmurs again, his voice rough with emotion, and I nod, my fingers tracing the golden lines beneath his skin.

“I know,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I know.”

I never should have doubted him. But I have never been more glad to be so wrong.

26

MAZAN

Istir as sunlight filters through the woven branches of Loxley's treehouse. Her scent lingers on the sheets but the warmth of her body is missing. My wings stretch against the mattress, a satisfied ache in my muscles as memories of last night flood back.

The empty space beside me speaks volumes. After all these years, I know Loxley well enough to expect this. She's never been one to stay, to risk the vulnerability of morning-after moments. But this time feels different. The walls she built so carefully have finally started to crack.

I rise from the bed, my horns barely clearing the arched ceiling of her bedroom. The room reflects her perfectly - practical, minimal, yet touched with hidden beauty. Dried flowers hang in delicate bunches near the window. A worn book lies open on the nightstand, its pages marked with pressed leaves.

My bare feet pad across the smooth wooden floor as I approach the window. From here, I can see the entire village sprawling through the canopy, connected by swaying ropebridges and wooden walkways. The morning mist still clings to the treetops, painting everything in soft greys and greens.

I’m sure I know where she's gone. The same place she always retreats to when emotions threaten to overwhelm her - the hidden waterfall paths that wind through the jungle. Part of me wants to follow, to prove I won't disappear again. But I understand her need for space. Trust, for Loxley, comes in small steps.

A smile tugs at my lips as I notice her discarded shirt from last night, carefully folded on a nearby chair. Even in retreat, she maintains order. It's these little details about her that I've missed most during our years apart - the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's thinking, how she always arranges everything just so, the quiet strength in every careful movement.

My wings flex unconsciously, remembering how they wrapped around us both. After so long apart, the barrier between us has finally begun to crumble. She let me in - truly in - for the first time since I returned. It's more progress than I dared hope for.

I pause mid-stretch as voices drift through the wooden walls. The sound feels wrong in Loxley's sanctuary - she never brings visitors here. My copper-red eyes narrow, focusing on the murmur of conversation from the main room.

The floorboards whisper beneath my feet as I cross to the door. My wings fold tight against my back, an instinctive response to potential threats. Each step is measured, silent so no one else will hear.

The door's hinges protest softly as I ease it open a crack. Morning light streams through the gaps in the woven branches, casting dappled shadows across the empty hallway. The voices grow clearer - a woman's gentle tone, followed by another's response.

My hand rests on the doorframe, claws ghosting over the smooth wood. Loxley's home has always been a place of solitude. The entire time I’ve known her, she's never welcomed anyone inside, let alone at dawn.

Maybe she didn’t leave. Maybe I don’t know her so well anymore.

The conversation continues, too muffled to make out words. My horns nearly brush the ceiling as I lean closer, trying to catch any hint of who would dare intrude on Loxley's carefully guarded privacy. The scent of fresh bread and something sweeter wafts through the air - unusual for her sparse kitchen.

A laugh rings out, bright and unexpected. The sound is jarring in this space where silence usually reigns. My muscles tense, ready to move at the first sign of danger. Not that anyone on Aurelius would harm her, but old instincts die hard.

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