Page 9 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

She pulls a knee to her chest, resting her chin on it. Her golden-brown eyes find mine for a heartbeat before darting away. But in that brief connection, I see something new - not just wariness or calculation, but genuine interest. She's starting to see me as more than the demon who shadows her steps, more than just another potential threat to guard against.

The last rays of sunlight fade as Loxley rises from her perch. I’ve spent the entire day out here with her, and I don’t regret it. My wings shift, ready to give her the space she usually needs for a quick retreat. But she pauses, fingers twisting in the loose fabric of her shirt.

"I’ll bring lunch next time." Her voice is barely above a whisper, yet the words strike deep in my chest. The golden lines across my skin pulse brighter, betraying the surge of emotion I'm careful to keep from my face.

For months I've walked these paths with her, sharing her silence, watching her shoulders gradually lose their tension. Now she's asking me to return - not just accepting my presence but requesting it. The weight of that trust settles in my bones, precious as the secrets I keep for Lamain.

My copper-red eyes meet hers for a moment before she looks away. "I will," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the warmth spreading through my chest. She nods once, a quick jerky movement, then disappears down the jungle path.

I remain still, wings spread slightly to catch the evening breeze. The molten copper of my eyes reflects off the mist as I watch her go, memorizing this moment. Most demons would see this small exchange as nothing - they measure progress in blood and conquest. But I've learned to value these quiet victories, these tiny bridges built between two wounded souls.

My fingers trace the golden lines on my arm, still glowing with heightened magic. Tomorrow I'll return with another story, another piece of myself to offer. And maybe, just maybe, she'll share something of herself in return.

7

LOXLEY

Iwalk the familiar path through the jungle, my feet finding their usual rhythm against the packed earth. The morning sun filters through the canopy, casting dappled shadows that dance across my skin. My fingers absently trace the worn leather of my water flask - a habit I've developed since these walks began.

He's already waiting at our usual spot, his massive frame somehow managing to look both imposing and perfectly at home among the towering trees. Mazan's wings are folded against his back, the deep midnight blue catching hints of sunlight. Those copper-red eyes find mine, and my chest tightens in a way I refuse to examine too closely.

"You're early." My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

Mazan's response is a slight tilt of his head, those golden lines across his obsidian skin catching the light. He falls into step beside me, his presence both comforting and unsettling. I hate that I've memorized his gait, the way he shortens his stride to match mine, how he always positions himself between me and the denser parts of the jungle.

"I didn’t have anything I needed to take care of at the palace this time" His deep voice rumbles through the quiet morning.

I nod, keeping my eyes fixed on the path ahead. These walks have slowly become something that I don’t think either of us intended. They’re something that makes my hands clench and my heart race when I catch his scent on the breeze.

The worst part is how safe I feel. Seven feet of demon should terrify me. Instead, I find myself tracking the graceful way he moves, how his strength lies quiet beneath his skin. He never pushes, never crowds. Just walks beside me, his silence more comfortable than any conversation I've had in years.

I tell myself it's just routine. Just the quiet. Just the predictable pattern of footsteps and shared silence. But when his wing brushes my shoulder as he moves to clear a fallen branch from our path, my breath catches, and I know I'm lying to myself.

Because it wasn’t fear I felt at that gentle brush.

And it wasn’t bad memories that my mind drudged up.

We reach the shoreline, where the jungle gives way to white sand. Without discussion, we settle into our usual spot - him sitting cross-legged, me perched on a smooth piece of driftwood. The waves roll in with a steady rhythm that matches my heartbeat. We tend to alternate between the beach and the waterfall, though I like the waterfall more.

I steal glances at him when I think he's not looking. The morning light catches those faint gold lines across his skin, making them shimmer like molten metal. His wings shift with each breath, adjusting to the sea breeze. He's removed his boots, letting his feet sink into the sand.

"The tide's higher today." My voice barely carries over the waves.

Mazan hums in agreement, his copper-red eyes fixed on the horizon. The sound vibrates through the air between us. I wrap my arms around my knees, fighting the urge to lean closer.

This shouldn't feel natural. Every instinct shaped by years of survival should be screaming at me to run from the demon warrior beside me. Instead, I find myself relaxing, my shoulders dropping from their usual tense position.

He moves his wing, creating a patch of shade that falls across my face. The gesture is so casual, so thoughtful, it makes my throat tight. I've spent years building walls, learning to read threats in every movement. But Mazan just... is. His presence settles around me like a familiar blanket.

"Thank you," I whisper, not specifying what for. For the shade. For walking with me. For never pushing when I flinch away from sudden movements.

His eyes meet mine, and that molten copper gaze holds something that makes my breath catch. He doesn't smile - I've never seen him smile - but there's a softening around his eyes that feels more genuine than any grin.

The waves continue their endless dance with the shore. A light breeze carries the salt spray, and I realize with a start that I've completely let my guard down. My knife is still in its sheath. My escape routes haven't been mapped. I'm just... here. Present. Content.

The revelation should terrify me. Instead, I find myself shifting slightly closer, letting the edge of his wing's shadow cover me completely.

The question burns in my throat, one I've held back for weeks. "Why don't you stay on Aurelius?"

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