Page 25 of Demon Daddy's Nanny

A gust of wind sweeps across the courtyard, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers from the gardens below. I wrap my arms around myself, but the chill isn't what makes me shiver. It's the memory of how close we'd been, how his wings had started to curl forward, as if to shield us both from the world.

I press my fingers to my lips, remembering the almost-kiss that haunts my dreams. The smart thing would be to forget it, to focus on my duties to Annalise. But every time I see him, every accidental brush in the hallway, every loaded glance across the dining table - it all pulls at something deep in my chest, something that terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.

The night offers no answers, only the distant sound of wing beats as xaphan patrol the city below.

The chill seeps deeper into my bones, and I wrap my arms tighter around myself. Stupid. I should have grabbed something warmer before coming out here to wallow in memories that lead nowhere. My thin dress offers little protection against the night air.

Before I can turn to retreat inside, something heavy and warm drapes across my shoulders. The fabric carries his scent - amber and thunderstorms. My heart stutters as warmth radiates through me, but it's not from the cloak.

"You'll catch your death out here." Ridwan's deep voice cuts through the silence.

I grip the edges of his cloak, pulling it closer. The material is rich beneath my fingers, finely woven and edged with gold thread. It drowns my smaller frame, the hem pooling at my feet.

"I didn't hear you come out." My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

He moves to stand beside me, his massive wings folded tight against his back. Moonlight catches the golden feathers, making them gleam. His presence fills the balcony, making the space feel smaller, more intimate.

The air feels loaded with everything he's not saying. His eyes fix on where my fingers clutch his cloak, and something flashes across his face - possessiveness, hunger, fear - before his expression smooths back to careful neutrality.

I should thank him and leave. But my feet remain rooted as he shifts closer, until his wing brushes against the cloak. The contact sends adrenaline rushing through me.

I startle at his closeness, my breath catching as I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. His expression remains unreadable, but his eyes burn like molten gold in the darkness. The height difference between us feels more pronounced with him standing this near - I barely reach his chest. His wings create a dark backdrop against the starlit sky, the golden feathers rustling softly in the night breeze.

Ridwan's hands linger at the edges of the cloak, his fingers brushing against my collarbones through the fabric. The touch sends sparks across my skin, and I fight the urge to lean into his warmth. Each breath brings his scent - amber and storms and something distinctly male that makes my head spin.

He steps back, breaking the moment. "You shouldn't be out here dressed like that."

The loss of his proximity hits like a physical blow. I remain frozen, caught between the desire to close the distance and the knowledge that I should maintain it. The thin silk of my dress suddenly feels inadequate under his scrutiny, though his cloak shields me from both the cold and his gaze.

My fingers tighten in the rich fabric, seeking an anchor against the storm of emotions his presence stirs. The gold thread catches the moonlight, creating patterns that dance across myskin like trapped lightning. His wings shift, betraying tension that his face refuses to show.

The space between us crackles with unspoken words and half-formed desires. I open my mouth to respond, but my voice fails me. The weight of his stare pins me in place, heavy with something that makes my pulse race and my skin flush despite the cool night air.

I clutch the cloak tighter, drawing it around my shoulders like armor. His scent wraps around me - thunderstorms and amber and something wild that makes my heart race. The fine material whispers against my skin, a reminder of the vast differences between us. A servant shouldn't wear something so fine, shouldn't breathe in the scent of her employer like she's drowning.

But I'm tired of dancing around this thing between us, tired of pretending I don't see the way his wings flex when I enter a room, how his eyes track my movements.

"I didn't think you cared." The words slip out before I can stop them, deliberately light despite the weight behind them. A test, a challenge, a step into dangerous territory.

His golden eyes catch the starlight, burning with something that makes my breath catch. Shadows play across the scar on his cheek, deepening the mark. His wings shift, the movement drawing my gaze to the powerful curves of muscle beneath bronze skin.

The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words. His jaw clenches, a muscle jumping beneath skin. Those piercing eyes rake over me, lingering on where his cloak drapes across my shoulders, and heat blooms in my chest at the possessive gleam I catch there.

Still, he doesn't answer. The weight of his stare pins me in place, heavy with something that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. I fight the urge to step back, to retreat from theintensity rolling off him in waves. His wings cast shadows across the balcony, creating a pocket of darkness around us that feels intimate, dangerous.

The night air carries the scent of his power - ozone and lightning waiting to strike. My fingers tremble where they grip his cloak, but I lift my chin, refusing to look away from that burning gaze.

The silence stretches until it feels like a physical weight. His wings shift, casting new shadows across the balcony stones. The starlight catches his profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. For a moment, I think he'll speak - his lips part, and my heart leaps into my throat.

But he only gives a sharp nod, turning on his heel. The movement is crisp, military, a reminder of the soldier he used to be. His wings fold tight against his back as he strides away, but I catch the way his hands curl into fists at his sides. The tendons stand out on his forearms, betraying the rigid control he maintains.

The shadows swallow him whole, leaving me alone with his cloak and the ghost of his presence. The rich fabric still carries his warmth, his scent wrapping around me like an embrace I shouldn't want. My fingers dig into the material, seeking an anchor against the storm of emotions his retreat stirs.

His footsteps fade down the hallway, measured and even despite the tension I'd seen in his frame. Each step feels like another wall being built between us, another reminder of all the reasons this - whatever this is - can't happen.

But I can't forget how his hands had clenched, like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out. The memory of that small tell burns brighter than the stars above, a crack in his perfect control that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

I press my face into the soft material of his cloak, breathing in the scent of thunderstorms and amber. My skin still tingleswhere his fingers had brushed my collarbones, and I know sleep will be impossible tonight. Not with the weight of his gaze still burning in my memory, heavy with things left unsaid.

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