Page 4 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Son
I look at her standing there in the fading light, chin lifted with quiet determination, amber eyes steady on mine. Beautiful and stubborn and absolutely certain of what she's offering. My chest tightens with love and gratitude and something that might be fear.
"We'll discuss it," I finally say, which isn't agreement but isn't refusal either.
She smiles then, the first real smile I've seen from her since I returned. "We will. But first, you need food and rest. When was the last time you ate something that wasn't stale bread and cold tea?"
I try to remember and come up empty. "This morning? Yesterday? Time moves differently when I'm working."
"Of course it does." She takes my hand, tugging me toward the house. "Come on. I made that stew you like, with theherbs from the garden. We can figure out the rest after you've remembered you're mortal."
I let her lead me inside, where the soft glow of magelights creates pools of warmth against the gathering darkness. The familiar scents of home—herbs from the garden, the subtle spices Kaleen favors, the clean smell of well-maintained stone—wrap around me like a blessing.
Later, after dinner and wine and conversation that carefully skirts around the topic of mountain roads and quarries, we find ourselves on the rooftop terrace. The night air carries the promise of autumn, crisp and clean, and the stars spread overhead like scattered diamonds against black silk.
Kaleen stands at the stone railing, looking out over the city lights that twinkle in the distance. The wind plays with her hair, lifting the loose strands that frame her face. She's changed into a soft robe that flows around her like water, and the starlight catches on the gold necklace at her throat—the one I commissioned with her name engraved in flowing script.
I move behind her, my hands settling on her waist as I pull her back against my chest. She leans into me with a sigh that sounds like coming home, her head tilting to rest against my shoulder.
"The stars are bright tonight," she murmurs, her voice soft in the darkness.
"Not as bright as you." The words are out before I can stop them, honest and raw in a way that still catches me off-guard sometimes.
She turns in my arms, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. In the starlight, her skin seems to glow with its own inner radiance, and her eyes hold depths that rival the night sky itself.
"Domiel." My name on her lips sounds like a prayer.
I frame her face with my hands, thumbs brushing over the soft curves of her cheekbones. "I love you." The words carryweight tonight, urgency. "More than I've ever loved anything. More than I knew was possible."
"I know." Her smile is soft and sure. "I love you too."
I lean down and kiss her then, pouring everything I can't quite say into the connection between us. The kiss starts gentle, almost hesitant, but deepens as she responds with equal fervor. Her hands fist in the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer, and I'm lost in the taste of her, the warmth of her mouth, the way she fits against me like she was made for this moment.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against hers. The stars wheel overhead, eternal and distant, but here in this small circle of warmth and love, everything feels immediate and precious.
"Whatever happens with this project," I whisper against her lips, "this is what matters. You and me. This."
She kisses me again, softer this time, full of promise and understanding. "Always," she breathes. "No matter how far apart we might be, this is always home."
The words settle deep in my chest, a comfort against the uncertainty that the days might bring.
3
KALEEN
The late afternoon sun slants through the workshop windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor as I arrange Domiel's scattered papers into neat stacks. Ink stains mar several sheets where his stylus has dripped, and empty teacups sit abandoned between rolls of parchment like ceramic sentinels guarding his work.
He's been gone since before dawn, riding back to the Vaelthorne estate to attempt another solution to his stabilizer matrix problem. I've spent the day trying to occupy myself with household tasks, but my thoughts keep drifting to mountain roads and quarries, to the tension that's been radiating from his shoulders like heat from forge-heated metal.
The sound of zarryn hooves on cobblestone draws my attention to the window. Domiel guides his mount through the gates with mechanical precision, his posture telling the story before I even see his face. His shoulders curve inward like he's protecting himself from an invisible blow, and his head tilts at that particular angle that means he's been staring at calculations until his neck seized.
I set down the stack of papers and move toward the main entrance, reaching it just as he pushes through the door. Dark gold hair escapes from its metal clasps in disheveled waves, and there are fresh ink stains on his fingers that climb halfway up his forearms. The sharp angles of his face look carved from exhaustion, silver-blue eyes dulled with the particular frustration that comes from battering against an immovable problem.
"Any progress?" I keep my voice light, though we both know the answer from the way he moves.
"None." He sheds his riding cloak with jerky movements, hanging it on the hook beside the door without his usual care. "The alternate anchor configuration might work, but it's inelegant. Risky. The kind of solution that gets reviewed by the architectural council and deemed 'adequate but concerning.'"
I watch him scrub ink-stained hands through his hair, leaving faint smudges along his temple. The scar there catches the light, a thin white line that speaks of old accidents and hard-learned lessons. "Come sit. You look ready to collapse."
"I need to review the binding calculations again. There has to be something I'm missing, some way to?—"
