Page 10 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

"You said that hours ago." A watery laugh escapes me, surprising us both.

"And I was right then too." She offers a rare smile, wiping my face with the damp cloth again. "Time works differently in birth. It stretches and contracts like your body."

I close my eyes, trying to gather what little strength remains. "Tell me about your daughter again. Tell me something good."

Ada's hands continue their work, preparing for what's to come, but her voice softens. "Rose has her father's laugh. Sometimes I hear it when she doesn't know I'm listening, and for a moment, it's like he's still here."

The tenderness in her voice gives me courage. If she survived losing the one she loved and still found joy in their child, perhaps I can too. I can forget who fathered her and just love my child.

Another wave of agony crashes over me, stronger than all the ones before. My vision swims, reality fragmenting at the edges as my body pushes beyond what I thought possible. I'm vaguely aware of movement in the room, of Ada's steady voice calling out instructions, but everything feels distant, as if I'm underwater.

"Aurelie, I need you to focus." Ada's voice cuts through the haze. "Your baby is coming. I can see the head."

The words register dimly. My baby. Coming. After months of terror and running, of nightmares where Kaelith finds us both, the moment is finally here.

"Open your eyes," a deeper voice commands, closer than before.

I force my heavy eyelids up to find Rolfo kneeling beside the bed, his silver eyes intense and focused. When did he move from the doorway? His presence has shifted from sentinel to something more immediate, more involved. Ada must have beckoned him closer.

"You're doing it," he says, his gruff voice softened to something almost gentle. "Keep going."

His hands hover uncertainly near mine, like he wants to offer comfort but doesn't know how. I grab one of them, needing something to anchor me as another contraction builds. His skin is hot against my palm, demon-warm, and I cling to him as the pain crests.

"Push now," Ada instructs. "Hard as you can."

I bear down with what little strength remains. The pressure building between my legs is unbearable, a burning stretch that tears a primal sound from my throat. Through half-lidded eyes, I see Rolfo's face, the stunned wonder there.

"The head is crowning," Ada announces. "One more push, Aurelie."

But my body feels hollow, emptied of all reserves. My grip on Rolfo's hand loosens as darkness edges my vision.

"Stay with us," Rolfo growls, squeezing my fingers. His other hand brushes sweat-soaked hair from my forehead with surprising tenderness. "Don't you dare fade now."

Something in his tone rouses me—not just concern, but an unexpected fierceness, as if my survival matters to him personally. I drag in a ragged breath and summon the last dregs of my strength.

"Now!" Ada commands.

I push with everything I have left, a strangled cry tearing from my raw throat. The pressure peaks, then suddenly releases in a rush of fluid and sensation. A tiny, indignant wail fills the room.

"A girl," Ada says, her voice thick with emotion. "A perfect little girl."

I collapse against the pillows, consciousness flickering like a candle flame in the wind. Through the gray haze, I see Ada working efficiently, wrapping my daughter—mydaughterjust like I had thought—in a clean cloth.

"Rolfo," Ada says, nodding toward something beside the bed. "Cut the cord."

His hands are trembling as he takes the knife Ada offers. Despite his intimidating size and warrior's build, he handles the task with unexpected delicacy, severing the physical connection between my body and my child's.

"She's so small," he murmurs, staring at the squalling bundle Ada now cradles.

I want to reach for her, but my arms feel leaden, my entire body hollow and spent. Still, a fierce, protective love surges through me as Ada places my daughter on my chest. She's impossibly tiny, her skin mottled and red, face scrunched in furious protest at being thrust into this cold, bright world.

But she's beautiful. Perfect. Mine.

"Sephy," I whisper, my voice thread-thin but determined. My finger traces the curve of her cheek, marveling at the silky softness of her skin. "Her name is Serephine."

Rolfo leans closer, his silver eyes fixed on the tiny infant. "Serephine," he repeats, testing the name on his tongue.

"A good name," Ada says, still working between my legs to deliver the afterbirth. "Strong."

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