Page 5 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

"You don't have to keep following these detours," I say, ducking under a low branch.

His wings shift, adjusting to the narrow space. "I know."

That's all. No complaints about the difficult terrain. No suggestions for easier paths. Just those two words that say everything: I'm here because I choose to be.

I pause, studying him. In my experience, men - human, elf, or demon - always want something. They demand, they take, they control. But Mazan... he just walks beside me, matching my pace whether I run or crawl, letting me set every boundary.

Something tight in my chest loosens, just a fraction. Maybe that's why I keep testing him. Not to push him away, but to prove to myself that he'll let me choose. That for once, my path is truly my own.

A week later, I think I was wrong. The morning sun rises, but my path stays empty. No whisper of wings, no quiet footsteps matching mine. My chest tightens with each solitary step. He'sfinally given up. Finally realized I'm not worth the effort of these endless games.

I tell myself this is what I wanted. What I planned. Push hard enough and everyone leaves eventually.

The day stretches, hollow and long. When evening approaches, I find myself drawn to the waterfall - our waterfall. The setting sun paints the cascading water in shades of amber and gold.

My steps falter. Mazan sits at the edge of the pool, wings folded against his broad back, those copper-red eyes fixed on the horizon. He doesn't turn, doesn't acknowledge my presence, but I know he's aware of me. He's always aware.

The space beside him beckons. My feet move before my mind decides, carrying me closer. When I settle next to him, leaving inches between us, his wings shift slightly - adjusting their angle to shield me from the spray without touching.

Silence stretches between us, comfortable as a well-worn blanket. The waterfall's roar fills the space where words might go, and I'm grateful. What could I say? Sorry for testing you? Sorry for expecting you to fail?

The dying light catches those golden lines across his obsidian skin, making them glow like embers. His profile stays fixed on the horizon, giving me the freedom to study him without meeting that intense gaze. The curve of his horns, the way his dark navy hair falls across his forehead, the steady rise and fall of his chest - I've memorized it all without meaning to.

He doesn't ask why I'm here. Doesn't mention my absence this morning or the weeks of erratic behavior before it. He simply exists beside me, solid and unchanging as the stone beneath us, while the sun bleeds gold across the water.

4

MAZAN

The portal's magic fades, leaving me on the familiar path near the village center of Aurelius. Morning sunlight filters through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows across the worn dirt trail. My wings flex and settle against my back as I adjust to the humid air - so different from Galmoleth's perpetual twilight.

I spot her before she sees me. Loxley moves through the undergrowth with practiced ease, her auburn braids catching glints of sun. She freezes at the sound of my arrival, muscles tensing like a wild creature ready to bolt. Even after months of these weekly visits, her first instinct is still flight.

My chest tightens. Every interaction with her feels like trying to coax a wounded animal from its den. One wrong move, one step too quick, and she'll vanish into the jungle paths she knows better than anyone. I've spent so many years honing my patience - it's what makes me valuable to my King, Asmodeus, this ability to wait out any situation. But with Loxley, patience takes on new meaning.

I remain still, letting her process my presence. The golden lines across my skin pulse faintly, responding to the residualportal magic. Her golden-brown eyes track the movement, assessing, always assessing. Looking for threats where I pray she'll one day see safety.

"Loxley," I say, keeping my voice low and steady. The words come out deeper than intended, and I see her shoulders tighten. Too much, too soon. I force myself to take a step back, though everything in me wants to move closer.

The space between us feels charged with unspoken things. She's like a soap bubble in sunlight - beautiful, iridescent, but one wrong touch will destroy it completely. My hands itch to reach for her, to show her that not every touch brings pain. But I know better. Each small bit of trust she's given me has been hard-won, and I won't risk shattering it with impatience.

"Will you wait?"

She nods, a quick jerk of her chin. Progress - months ago she would have melted into the jungle at my first word.

As quickly as I can, I drop the supplies off with Lamain. He gives me a look at my rushed need to get back to the edge of the village's center, but he doesn't stop me. Not as I rush back to where I left Loxley.

I take our familiar path toward the falls, my steps measured to let her follow at her own pace. The crunch of leaves behind me tells me she's there, keeping the careful distance she always maintains.

The jungle parts around us, revealing glimpses of the morning sky through the thick canopy. My wings brush against broad leaves, sending droplets of dew scattering. The sound of rushing water grows stronger.

"The palace was chaos this morning," I say, keeping my eyes forward. Each visit, I test her a little more by talking. By moving just a little closer. I’ll never cross her limits, but I’m slowly nudging us into a safe friendship. "One of the noble’s children tried enchanting the fountains to flow with wine instead ofwater. Turned the whole courtyard purple." A smile tugs at my mouth, remembering her failed spell. "Asmodeus was livid. But the royal children that are often around were beside themselves with laughter.”

The path narrows, and I pause to let her choose - stay behind me or move ahead. She slides past, keeping to the far edge, but I catch the slight curve of her lips. These small stories seem to reach her in ways direct questions never could.

"I think Lamain would have thought it was funny. Many don’t know but he can have quite the sense of humor. In fact, Lamain has often provoked his siblings into pulling such pranks," I continue as we walk. "Once, one of his siblings set fire to the training grounds. But it got out of hand, and he took the blame, said he'd been practicing fire spells. Spent a month cleaning the stables as punishment." The memory surfaces clearly - Lamain cursing me between mucking stalls while I stood guard, making sure no one discovered the truth.

A branch snaps under my foot and Loxley tenses, but doesn't run. Her braids sway with each careful step, catching the dappled sunlight. She moves like water over stones, fluid and silent. I keep talking, letting my voice provide a steady rhythm to our walk, a counterpoint to the growing sound of the falls ahead.

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