Page 24 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Son
I feel him move closer, feel the warm presence of him just inches away, but he doesn't touch me. Doesn't crowd me when I'm clearly struggling. The restraint in that simple gesture—the way he holds himself back when every line of his body screams that he wants to reach for me—speaks to a knowledge of me that goes bone-deep.
"Go inside." His voice is gentle now, carefully modulated to not add to my distress. Those magnificent wings fold back against his shoulders, making him appear smaller, less threatening. "You're pushing too hard. We'll... we'll talk again soon."
The kindness in his tone nearly undoes me. This stranger who claims to know me, who says my son is his son, who looked ready to tear Lake apart with his bare hands—he's backing down because I'm in pain. Because he can see that forcing this conversation will only hurt me more.
"Domiel, I?—"
"Go." But there's no harshness in the command, only infinite patience. Only the voice of someone who's learned to wait, even when waiting feels like dying. "I'm not going anywhere, Kaleen. I'll be here when you're ready."
My body vibrates with the need to stay and talk to him, to finallyunderstand. But I'm barely holding it together and it's so much to process so I force myself to turn and walk away when everything in me is screaming to stay.
And I can't make sense of that either.
14
DOMIEL
Iwatch her disappear through the cottage door, my chest constricting with every step that takes her further from me. Two years. Two fucking years of searching every village, every trade route, every gods-damned path she might have taken. And now I've found her, only to discover she doesn't know me at all.
The rain starts again as I make my way up the hillside that overlooks Veylowe, settling beneath an ancient tree whose sprawling branches provide some shelter. From here, I can see the warm glow spilling from her cottage windows, can watch the shadows moving behind the curtains. Can torture myself with glimpses of the life she's built without me.
Without any memory of us.
My wings fold tight against my back as I sink down against the tree trunk, the rough bark biting through my shirt. The cold seeps through my clothes, through my skin, but I barely notice. All I can think about is the way she looked at me—polite confusion where there should have been recognition. Wariness where there should have been joy.
And that bastard's hands on her. The casual intimacy of his kiss, the protective way he angled himself between us. Like he has any right to touch what's mine.
My son.
The knowledge hits me again like a physical blow, stealing what's left of my breath. I have a son. Braylon—that beautiful, bright-eyed boy with my bone structure and Kaleen's stubborn chin. He treated that human male like family. Like the father he believes him to be.
My hands clench into fists, silver rings biting into my fingers as fury and grief war within my chest. That should be me. I should have been there when Braylon took his first steps, spoke his first words. Should have been there to hold Kaleen through the long nights of pregnancy, to feel our son's first kicks beneath her skin.
I never even knew she was pregnant.
And now, some faceless human has stepped into my place. Has claimed my family while I've spent two years going slowly insane with worry and loss.
The rain intensifies, turning the ground beneath me to mud, but I don't move. Can't move. Every instinct I have screams to march back down that hill, to tear that cottage apart until I find answers. To demand Kaleen remember me, remember us, remember the love that nearly destroyed me when I lost it.
But the pain in her eyes when she tried to remember—that genuine agony as she pressed her palms to her temples—that stops me cold. Whatever happened to her, whatever stole her memories, it left damage. Pushing too hard will only hurt her more.
And I'd rather die than hurt her.
A movement in the cottage window draws my attention, and my breath catches. Kaleen's silhouette appears, backlit by the warm glow of lamplight. She's holding Braylon, rocking himgently as she moves about the room. Even from this distance, I can see the tender way she cradles him, the love in every careful gesture.
She's a mother. My fierce, brilliant Kaleen is a mother, and she's magnificent at it.
The human appears beside her, and I watch him slide an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest as they both look down at our son. The casual domesticity of it makes my vision blur with rage and something dangerously close to despair.
This is what she knows. This quiet life with this steady man who probably never leaves her wondering where she stands, never disappears for weeks on end because of work deadlines. Someone uncomplicated, dependable.
Everything I'm not.
My wings rustle against the tree trunk as I shift position, trying to ease the hollow ache in my chest. The movement sends water cascading from the branches above, soaking through my already-damp shirt. I should leave. Should find an inn in the village, get dry, plan my next move with some semblance of rationality.
But I can't. Can't put any more distance between myself and the family I've been searching for. Can't risk waking up to find this has all been some cruel dream, that Kaleen is still lost and Braylon is still unknown to me.
The cottage door opens, and the human steps out onto the covered porch. Even through the rain and darkness, I can feel his eyes scanning the hillside. Looking for me. His posture radiates protective tension, the careful alertness of a man guarding what he considers his.
