Page 39 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

"Couldn't what?" Mazan's wings snap tight against his back. "Tell them who their father is?"

"I needed to sort things out between us first." I press my palm flat against the counter behind me, steadying myself. "Youshow up after three years, and I'm supposed to just upend their entire world?"

The gold lines across his obsidian skin pulse faster. "Their world is already upended. They're half-demon children being raised by a human mother. They deserve to know where they come from."

"I know that." My fingers curl against the smooth wood. "But I had to think about what was best for them."

Mazan goes still, that dangerous kind of stillness I remember from when he'd face a threat. His copper-red eyes lock onto mine, and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

"What's best for them?" His voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Knowing their father would have been best for them."

The words hit like physical blows. I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He's right. Of course he's right. But the fear of losing them, of watching him disappear with our sons like he disappeared that morning, had paralyzed me.

Mazan turns away, his massive frame blocking out the sunlight streaming through my windows. His wings unfurl, and without another word, he strides through my door. It closes behind him with a soft click that echoes in the sudden silence.

I slide down the counter until I hit the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees. The guilt and sadness and grief I've carried for three years crashes over me in waves, joined by fresh shame.

He’s right. I should have told him. I should have listened. Instead, I did what I do best - I pushed him away.

28

MAZAN

The jungle canopy stretches above me, branches swaying in patterns that would normally bring peace. Not today. My wings twitch with the urge to take flight, to escape into the air where thoughts might make more sense. But I remain rooted to the fallen log, my claws digging grooves into the weathered bark.

Sons. The word echoes in my mind, refusing to settle. Two small lives I never knew existed. The anger burns hot in my chest, making my markings flare gold against my obsidian skin. How could she keep this from me?

My fingers curl into fists. The rational part of my mind whispers that I abandoned her first, even if it wasn't by choice. Those three years in xaphan captivity cost me more than I realized. But the demon in me, the part that demands control and knowledge of all things, rails against the secrecy.

The urge to storm back to her treehouse pulses through me. To demand answers, to see them with my own eyes again. But a lifetime of serving the palace has taught me the value of patience, even when it feels like molten lead in my veins. Meeting them while fury clouds my judgment would only cause harm.

A distant crash echoes through the jungle - likely one of the larger beasts moving through the underbrush. The familiar sound grounds me, pulls me back from the edge of my rage. I inhale deeply, letting the rich scents of soil and vegetation fill my lungs.

My wings settle against my back as I force the tension from my shoulders. I need time. Time to process, to understand. Time to be worthy of meeting them. These boys deserve better than a father's anger as their first memory of him.

The golden lines across my skin dim as my breathing steadies. Two years. They've lived over two years without me. A little more time won't matter, not if it means doing this right.

Rising from the log, I let my feet carry me toward the distant sound of waves. The beach has always been a place of clarity for me, even if most demons avoid water. The salt air fills my lungs as I emerge from the treeline.

Movement catches my eye. Two small figures dart across the sand, their laughter carried on the breeze. My heart stops.

I fade back into the shadows of a massive tree, my wings wrapping around me like a shield. But I can't tear my gaze away from them. My sons.

The bolder one - Kaelar, I remember Loxley saying - charges ahead, tiny horns catching the sunlight as he runs. He moves like I do, with that same fluid grace that marks our kind. His brother follows more cautiously, studying the ground before each step.

Sorien. Even from here, I see how he holds back, watching everything with those mismatched eyes. One gold-brown like his mother's, one red like mine. He reaches for his brother's hand when a wave crashes too close, and something in my chest constricts.

They're building something in the sand, their small hands working with focused determination as Loxley watches from a distance. Kaelar gestures wildly, explaining his vision whileSorien nods, adding careful details to whatever they're creating. The same way I plan battles, breaking down complex strategies into manageable pieces.

A laugh bubbles up from Kaelar - bright and fearless - and for a moment, I see myself at that age, though I was never as easy going as him. Sorien's smile is quieter, but no less joyful. They share the same bronze skin, the same wild dark hair that refuses to be tamed.

My claws dig into the tree bark. These boys are pieces of me, living and breathing and growing without knowing their father watches from the shadows. They don't know why they have horns, why their skin sometimes shimmers with power when they're excited. They don't know their heritage, their strength, their potential.

They don't know me.

The peaceful moment shatters as Kaelar races toward a towering banyan tree. My muscles tense as he spreads his small wings - barely more than stubs really - and attempts to launch himself at the lowest branch. His claws scrape against the bark as he slides back down.

"Watch me!" He calls to his brother, determination burning in those copper-gold eyes that mirror my own. Another attempt, another slide.

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