Page 33 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

The wooden planks blur beneath me as I move faster, my braids coming loose in my haste. Past June's garden. Past the communal gathering space. Just... past.

My stomach lurches with each step. The morning heat presses against my skin, but I'm shivering. Three years of carefully constructed walls crumbling at the mere sight of him.

I climb quickly up to my house, trying to control my emotions. My hands shake so badly I miss the door handle twice before managing to wrench it open. Inside, the familiar space feels too small, too confining.

I pace the worn floorboards, my fingers twisting in my hair. The boys are with Sarah for their morning lessons. Safe. Away from him. But for how long?

A sob catches in my throat. I press my palm against my mouth, refusing to let it escape. Crying won't help. Crying never helps.

The scar along my ribs burns, phantom pain from old wounds - both physical and emotional. I'd learned young that trust was a luxury I couldn't afford. The dark elves who owned me had taught that lesson well. But Mazan... he'd slipped past those defenses like they were nothing.

And then he'd vanished.

My reflection catches in the window - wild golden-brown eyes, skin too pale, auburn braids half-undone. I look as unraveled as I feel.

Questions swarm like angry insects. Why is he here? What happened to him? The pain in his voice when he said he'd survived...

No. I can't do this. Can't let myself care. Can't risk the boys getting hurt when he leaves again. They're all I have. All that matters.

But my hands won't stop shaking, and my chest feels like it's being crushed under the weight of secrets and fear and things left unsaid.

24

MAZAN

Iadjust the leather straps across my chest, my wings shifting at my back. They’re still tender after everything. The familiar weight settles between my shoulder blades as I stare out the window of my treehouse. Dawn breaks over Aurelius, painting everything in soft gold - a stark contrast to Galmoleth's eternal twilight.

My claws tap against the wooden railing. Down below, a familiar figure moves through the jungle path. Loxley. Even from here, I catch the tension in her shoulders, the way she scans her surroundings before each step.

"Fuck." The word echoes in the empty space. Three days I've been here, and she still flinches when I get too close. Won't meet my eyes for more than a heartbeat.

I run a hand through my hair, my horns catching the morning light. The gold lines beneath my skin pulse with unspent magic - a reflection of my restlessness. Every instinct screams to go to her, to explain everything. But I've seen what happens when someone pushes her too hard. She retreats further into herself, builds those walls higher.

No. I need to be patient. Need to show her I'm not like the others who hurt her. That I'm still the same demon who spent those days talking with her by the waterfall, who learned every subtle shift in her expression, every quiet laugh she tried to hide.

My wings itch to spread, to take me to her. Instead, I close my eyes and breathe in the jungle air. Time. She needs time. And when she finally lets me explain about the xaphan, about those three years in Aerasak - she'll know it's the truth. Because I'll have proven that her trust isn't misplaced.

Not this time.

So, I head out into the village to help, to find a way to make Loxley see that I’m not going anywhere. I understand her past, but I still want to be her future.

The morning sun filters through the jungle canopy as I help rebuild one of the damaged treehouses. My wings flex and shift, maintaining perfect balance while I secure new support beams. The work gives me purpose, keeps my hands busy while my mind wanders to her.

Loxley thinks she's subtle, ducking behind fruit stands or slipping into shadows when I pass. But I catch glimpses - the flash of auburn braids, those golden-brown eyes that linger a moment too long. My demon senses pick up her scent, wild jasmine and rain, even when she's hidden.

"These joints need reinforcing." I demonstrate the technique to a young villager, my voice low and steady. The gold lines across my obsidian skin pulse faintly as I channel magic to test the structure's integrity.

Three years. Three years of captivity, of fighting to return. Now that I'm back, I won't rush her. Can't rush her. Trust comes harder to Loxley than anything, and I broke that trust, even if it wasn't by choice.

I spot her at the edge of the marketplace, pretending to examine dried herbs. When I shift slightly in her direction,she tenses like a startled animal. But she doesn't bolt - not immediately. Progress.

"The support beam goes here?" The villager's question pulls my attention back.

"Lower. Like this." I adjust his grip, my movements deliberate and calm. Everything about me must be calm now. Patient. Non-threatening. The village needs to see it, but more importantly, she needs to see it.

A flash of movement catches my eye. Loxley has moved closer, watching my hands as I work. When our eyes meet, she freezes. The moment stretches between us, copper-red gaze holding golden-brown. Then she's gone, disappearing into the maze of elevated walkways.

But she looked. She always looks. And each time, she stays a heartbeat longer before running.

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