Page 22 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Son
I close my eyes briefly, willing something to surface. Anything. A face, a voice, a moment that might explain why this stranger's presence makes my skin feel too tight, why my body wants to step closer even as my mind screams warnings.
But there's nothing. Just the same void that's haunted me for two years, and the growing pain behind my eyes that tells me I'm pushing too hard again.
When I open my eyes, he's still watching me with that careful blankness, but I catch the way his hands clench at his sides. The barely controlled tension in his shoulders. Whatever we were to each other, my lack of recognition is tearing him apart.
Before I can find words—apology or explanation or anything—the sound of running footsteps cuts through the misted quiet.Small feet pounding against packed earth, heading straight for us.
"Mama!"
Braylon's voice rings clear and bright through the afternoon air. I turn toward the sound with a smile already tugging at my lips, the tension in my shoulders easing automatically at his call. My boy, racing toward me with his dark hair flying and those unusual pale eyes bright with excitement.
But when I glance back at Domiel, he's gone completely still.
Not the careful stillness from before, but something deeper. Absolute. Predatory. His entire body has locked into perfect immobility, and those eyes are fixed on my approaching son with an intensity that raises every protective instinct I possess.
13
KALEEN
My heart slams against my ribs as I watch Braylon race toward us, his small feet splashing through puddles with careless joy. Behind him, Lake's taller frame follows at a more measured pace, that familiar easy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
But all I can see is the way Domiel has gone completely motionless beside me. The way those eyes track my son's approach with laser focus, drinking in every detail. And suddenly, with a clarity that makes my knees weak, I see what he sees.
The resemblance.
Braylon's face is still round with childhood softness, but the bone structure underneath—the sharp cheekbones, the determined set of his jaw, even the way his brow furrows in concentration—it's all there in Domiel's face. Older, sharper, but unmistakably similar. And those eyes. Braylon's pale silver gaze with its amber rings suddenly makes terrible sense when I see it reflected in this stranger's stare.
Silver-blue eyes.
How had I not realized before?
My mouth goes dry. The nagging sensation in my skull transforms into something rawer, more urgent. Not recognition exactly, but the horrible understanding that I'm standing at the edge of something that will shatter the life I've carefully built.
And a part of me—a large part if I'm being honest—wants that.
"Mama!" Braylon throws himself against my legs with the full enthusiasm of eighteen months, his small arms wrapping around my thighs. The top of his head barely reaches my hip, dark hair sticking up in impossible directions from whatever adventure he's been on. "Mama! Up! UP!"
His words wash over me, but I don't move. I can't do anything but stare between my son and the xaphan who claims to know me. The xaphan who's looking at Braylon like he's seeing a ghost.
"Braylon." My voice comes out strained, barely above a whisper. I smooth his wild hair with trembling fingers, needing the familiar comfort of his solid warmth against my legs. I need to take him inside, but I haven't moved.
"Hey there, little man." Lake's voice cuts through my stammered direction as he approaches, rough palm settling warm and familiar against my back. "You wore me out chasing after you."
The kiss he presses to my skin is soft, casual, the kind of absent affection that speaks to routine. To intimacy built over months of shared mornings and quiet evenings. It should comfort me. Should ground me in the reality of the life I know, the man who's been nothing but steady and kind.
Instead, the moment Lake's lips touch my temple, the air around us shifts.
Domiel's careful stillness explodes into something far more dangerous. The controlled mask he's been wearing since I failed to recognize him cracks completely, revealing somethingprimitive and territorial underneath. His dark eyes fix on the point where Lake's mouth meets my skin, and the temperature seems to drop ten degrees.
Those white and gray wings spread slightly—not fully, but enough to make him appear larger, more imposing. More threatening. The subtle glow that emanates from his bronze skin dims to something darker, more ominous, like storm clouds gathering before lightning strikes.
"Don't." The word falls from his lips quiet and sharp as a blade. Not quite a command, but close enough that every instinct I have screams danger.
Lake's hand stills against my back, though he doesn't pull away. His mossy green eyes narrow as he takes in Domiel's aggressive posture, the way those powerful wings cast shadows across the misted ground. I feel the shift in his body language—the subtle straightening of his shoulders, the protective way he angles himself slightly in front of both Braylon and me.
"And you are?" Lake's voice carries the steady competence that's gotten us through countless difficult moments over the past year. No fear, just quiet assessment of a potential threat.
But Domiel doesn't answer. He can't answer, maybe, because he's staring at Lake's hand on me like it's a personal insult. Like the casual intimacy between us is physically painful for him to witness.
