Page 6 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

The roar of the falls grows louder as we near the clearing. Loxley's steps slow, and I match her pace without thought. The morning light streams stronger here where the canopy breaks, casting her in gold. She keeps her eyes down, fingers twisting together - a tell I've learned means she's working through something in her mind.

"Why do you keep coming back?"

Her voice is so soft I almost miss it beneath the water's thunder. The words come out raw, uncertain. My breath catches. In all these months, she's never asked me anything. Never initiated conversation beyond necessary responses.

I want to move closer, to show her with actions what my words can't fully convey. But I plant my feet, give her the space she needs. The golden lines across my skin pulse with my heartbeat, betraying my own nervousness.

"Because I want to."

Simple truth. No elaborate explanations or promises she's not ready to hear. Just the core of it - that something in me recognized something in her that first day. That every glimpse of her, every shared silence, every tiny step forward only strengthens that pull.

Her eyes lift to mine for a heartbeat, molten amber meeting burning copper. The vulnerability there steals my breath. I keep my body loose, non-threatening, though my wings itch to curl forward, to shelter her from whatever shadows still haunt her steps.

The moment stretches like spun glass - beautiful and breakable. I don't move, barely breathe, letting her process my words at her own pace. A gentle breeze stirs her braids, carrying the sweet scent of jungle flowers. Her shoulders remain tense, but she hasn't run. Hasn't hidden behind her usual walls.

Trust, I've learned, is like the black glass flowers of Galmoleth - precious, fragile, requiring infinite care to cultivate. I'll wait as long as it takes for this delicate bloom to open.

The tension in my chest eases as Loxley's small nod breaks through the silence. No sharp words, no retreat into the jungle's shadows. My wings relax against my back, the leathery membrane no longer pulled taut with anxiety. The golden lines across my obsidian skin dim their glow, matching my settling emotions.

She shifts her weight, auburn braids sliding over her shoulder as she turns slightly toward the falls. Not away from me. The difference pulls at something deep in my chest. Aftermonths of watching her guard herself like a cornered animal, this tiny movement feels monumental.

"The falls are nice today." Her voice barely carries over the rushing water, but I catch every word. She's never offered casual observations before, only terse responses when directly addressed.

I roll my shoulders, fighting the urge to move closer. My copper-red eyes track her movements, noting how her hands have stopped their nervous twisting. The scar along her ribs is visible through her thin shirt as she breathes - a reminder of why patience matters more than my instincts to protect.

"They are." I keep my voice steady, measured. Like approaching a wild creature - no sudden movements, no loud sounds. The morning light catches in her golden-brown eyes as she darts another glance my way.

My heart pounds against my ribs. This is progress - real progress. Not just her tolerating my presence, but choosing to engage. The warrior in me wants to celebrate the victory, but my training keeps my expression neutral. One wrong move could shatter this fragile moment.

The air between us feels different. Still charged, but no longer with the sharp edge of fear. Something softer, something that makes my wings quiver with the need to shelter her. But I remain still, letting her set the pace of this delicate dance.

5

LOXLEY

The storm howls outside my treehouse window, rain pelting against the glass in angry sheets. Lightning splits the dark sky, illuminating the twisted branches of the massive trees surrounding my home. I curl deeper into the window seat, wrapping my arms around my knees as thunder rattles the walls.

Supply day. The thought sits heavy in my chest. Mazan should have been here hours ago, and I wonder if he will drop it and go. He’s told me he portals here so I doubt the storm will change his scheduled days.

I shouldn’t care. In fact, the only reason I do is because I’m stuck inside. At least that’s what I tell myself.

My daily walks through the jungle paths have become a ritual - a way to breathe, to remember I'm free. But today, nature has other plans. The paths will be flooded, branches scattered everywhere. The waterfall I visit each morning will be a raging torrent by now.

Another crack of thunder makes me flinch. I press my forehead against the cool glass, watching raindrops race down the pane. My fingers trace the jagged scar along my ribs - an old habit when I'm unsettled.

"Stupid," I mutter to myself. "It's just one day."

But it's not just that. These past months, my carefully constructed walls have developed hairline cracks. Mazan's steady presence, his quiet strength - it's become something I look forward to. The way he keeps his distance without making me feel trapped. How he always announces himself before getting too close. And actually talking to someone has been nice.

I close my eyes, remembering the slight glow of those golden lines across his obsidian skin when he uses magic to unload supplies. The way his copper-red eyes catch the light. How his massive wings fold so carefully against his back, making himself smaller despite his intimidating height.

The storm rages harder, and I pull my knees closer. Tomorrow, the jungle paths will be different - altered by wind and rain. But they'll still be there. Like Mazan will be here next week, patient and unchanging.

My chest tightens at the thought. When did I start counting on anyone's presence? When did I start missing someone?

The rain lasts through the night, leaving in the early morning. I find myself restless as the sun finally rises, and I’m eager to get out of the house.

Not that he’ll be there. Not that I want him to.

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