Page 6 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Son
"Nothing will happen to me." I squeeze his hands. "I'm good at this, remember? Taking care of business, managing difficult situations, coming home safe at the end of the day." I lift his hand to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to his ink-stained knuckles. "You can't leave, Domiel. We both know it."
He knows I'm right. I can see it in the way his shoulders settle, the reluctant acceptance that flickers across his features. Domiel built his career on reliability, on being the ethereal architect who never compromises, never cuts corners, never puts clients in the position of wondering if their investment was wise.
"I'll be careful," I continue, keeping my voice steady and sure. "No unnecessary risks, no shortcuts through questionable territory. Straight roads during daylight hours, established inns at night. I'll test every piece of lattice before I buy it, negotiate a fair price, and come home with exactly what you need."
His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin with that particular gentleness he reserves for quiet moments between us. "And if the quarry master tries to overcharge you? If the weather turns? If?—"
"Then I handle it." I lean into his touch, letting him see the confidence in my eyes. "The same way I handled supply negotiations for the syndicate, the same way I managed volatile shipments and difficult clients before you ever knew my name. This is what I'm good at, remember?"
The fight goes out of him all at once, that internal war between logic and protection finally resolving into reluctantacceptance. His wings shift restlessly behind him, white and gray feathers catching the light from the window.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" The words come out rough, tinged with frustration that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with circumstances beyond his control.
I shake my head slowly. "No. You don't."
For a moment, we just look at each other. The late afternoon sun streams through the windows, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. I can see the exact moment he stops fighting the inevitable, the precise instant when his shoulders relax and his breathing deepens.
Then he's kissing me.
Not the gentle, questioning kiss of uncertainty, but the fierce, claiming kiss of a man who needs to mark this moment, to seal something between us before letting go. His mouth moves against mine with hungry precision, one hand tangled in my hair while the other spans my waist. I taste the salt of his frustration, the sweetness of surrender, the dark edge of possession that always lurks beneath his careful control.
A surprised squeal escapes me as he breaks the kiss just long enough to sweep me up in his arms. The world tilts sideways as he lifts me like I weigh nothing, powerful arms supporting my back and knees while his wings spread slightly for balance.
"Domiel!" I laugh despite the breathless way my heart pounds, arms looping around his neck as he carries me from the sitting room. "What are you?—"
"Making the most of tonight." His voice carries that low, rough quality that sends heat spiraling through my chest. "Since you're so determined to leave me tomorrow."
The familiar hallways blur past as he navigates toward our bedroom with sure steps, muscles shifting under his shirt with each stride. I can feel the controlled strength in the way he holds me, the careful balance between gentleness and power that's soessentially him. His scent surrounds me—ink and stone dust and something indefinably warm that I've never been able to name.
"I'm coming back," I remind him, though my voice comes out breathier than intended.
"I know." He nudges our bedroom door open with his shoulder, carrying me across the threshold like I'm something precious to be protected. "But that doesn't mean I have to like letting you go."
4
DOMIEL
Iset her down carefully beside our bed, hands lingering at her waist as if I can somehow anchor her here through touch alone. The late afternoon light slants through the tall windows, painting amber streaks across the stone floor and catching the warm brown of her hair. She's looking at me with those knowing amber eyes, reading every flicker of emotion I'm trying to keep controlled.
The truth burns in my chest like hot metal: since the moment I first saw her sorting volatile runestone with steady hands and sharper wit, I've wanted nothing more than to keep her safe. To build walls around this life we've created, to ensure nothing and no one can threaten what we have. The thought of her riding mountain roads alone, negotiating with quarry masters I've never met, sleeping in inns where I can't watch over her—it makes something primitive and protective rear up in my chest.
But logic wars with instinct, and logic wins. Barely.
"I hate this," I say quietly, fingers tracing the line of her jaw. "I hate that I can't protect you from this. That I can't solve this problem without putting you at risk."
"It's not a risk." Her hands find the front of my shirt, fingers working at the buttons with practiced ease. "It's a solution. There's a difference."
I catch her hands, stilling them. "Is there?"
The question hangs between us like incense smoke, heavy and complex. Because we both know the real issue isn't the road to Kaerion or the quarry master's reputation. It's the fact that for the first time since she chose to stay, our carefully constructed world requires separation. Requires me to let her walk away and trust that she'll come back.
I put that trust into her hands once when I gave her her own contract. When I told her to make her own choice. And she chose me.
That doesn't mean I never fear she'll regret it.
"Yes," she says simply, and I hear the certainty in her voice that's gotten us through every other impossible situation. "There is."
I release her hands and she resumes unbuttoning my shirt, fingers brushing against my skin with each loosened button. The familiar touch sends warmth spreading through my chest, chasing away some of the cold fear that's been coiled there since this morning.
