Page 23 of Demon Daddy's Nanny

I lie in my bed,staring at the shadowed ceiling as moonlight filters through gauzy curtains. The manor creaks and settles around me, but all I can think about is the way Ridwan's eyes darkened when they fell to my mouth.

My fingers drift to my lips, tracing their outline. If I'd been braver, if I'd just leaned in those few inches that separated us in the hallway... Would he have pushed me away? Or would his control have finally snapped?

Heat pools in my belly at the thought of those strong hands gripping my waist, of being pressed against the wall by all that contained power. I imagine his wings creating a golden cage around us, blocking out the world until there was nothing but his mouth on mine.

The wanting aches, sharp and hollow in my chest. I shouldn't desire him like this. He's not just any xaphan - he's a lord, myemployer, Annalise's father. The divide between us might as well be an ocean.

But I can't stop remembering how gentle his touch became when I guided his hands through the dough. How the hard lines of his face softened for just a moment. The way his breath caught when our fingers brushed.

I roll onto my side, curling around the emptiness in my bed. My lips tingle where his gaze lingered, and I press my fingers there harder, as if I could somehow capture the phantom sensation of a kiss that never happened.

The worst part is knowing he feels it too. For all his cold words and careful distance, his wings give him away every time. They reach for me even when he steps back, spreading wide like they want to draw me closer.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only makes the wanting worse. Now all I can picture is how his lips might feel - warm and demanding, maybe with just an edge of teeth. Would he taste like spice and leather, like he smells? Would his stubble scrape against my skin as he...

"Stop it," I whisper into the darkness. But my treacherous mind keeps spinning possibilities, each one more tempting than the last.

12

RIDWAN

The sharp snap of wings cuts through the morning air. I lift my gaze from the reports scattered across my desk, sensing the familiar presence of one of our messengers approaching. Standing, I roll my shoulders back, my own golden wings flexing with the movement.

Outside, the cool breeze carries the scent of morning dew. A young xaphan descends, his gray-speckled wings spreading wide to slow his landing. His boots touch the ground with practiced grace, though his posture stiffens when he spots me.

"Lord Ridwan." He bows, fumbling with the leather satchel at his hip. "Reports from the city guard and training grounds, sir."

I extend my hand, and he places several rolled parchments in my palm. The seal of New Solas glints gold in the early light – routine reports, nothing urgent. Still, duty demands attention to every detail.

"Any disturbances?" My voice carries the weight of authority I've spent decades cultivating.

The messenger's wings twitch. "Nothing significant, my lord. Though Captain Merial requests your input on the new guard rotation schedules."

I break the first seal, scanning the neat rows of text. Training numbers remain steady. Three minor incidents in the merchant district – petty theft, a drunken brawl. Nothing requiring immediate intervention.

"And the eastern district?"

"Quiet, sir. The increased patrols have deterred the recent string of break-ins."

I nod, already absorbed in the reports. The familiar rhythm of administration fills my thoughts – numbers, schedules, resource allocation. It's a far cry from the battlefield, but no less crucial to maintaining order.

I scan another report, mind already drifting to the next task, when the messenger shifts his weight.

"Strange sight this morning." His wings ruffle. "You let your human pet get close to your daughter?"

The parchment crumples in my grip. My wings snap outward, golden feathers catching the light as I rise to my full height. The temperature in the room plummets.

The messenger's face drains of color. His own wings fold tight against his back, gray feathers trembling. Smart – showing submission might save his hide.

Blood pounds in my ears. The warrior part of me, the part I've buried beneath years of bureaucracy and leadership, surges forth. Eva is not some pet. She's–

I crush that thought before it can form. But the rage remains, a slow-burning coal in my chest. The messenger's words strike too close to the prejudices I've fought against, the whispers that follow Eva through the halls of New Solas.

My jaw clenches. One step forward and the messenger stumbles back, his wings bumping against the wall. Fear rolls off him in waves.

I could remind him of his place. Could show him why even retired warriors command respect. My fingers itch to grab his collar, to–

No. I'm not that man anymore.

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