Page 11 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

Sephy's cries soften as I hold her against my skin. Her tiny fist uncurls, five perfect fingers splayed against my bare chest. In this moment, despite the exhaustion dragging at me, despite knowing Kaelith still hunts us both, I feel a fierce joy unlike anything I've known before.

"Hello, little one," I whisper, pressing my lips to her downy head with its wisps of silvery-blonde hair. "We made it."

The room falls quiet except for Sephy's occasional newborn sounds—those small, vulnerable whimpers and sighs that somehow fill the entire space. I'm drifting between consciousness and something deeper, my body utterly spent. Every muscle aches, every breath requires effort, but I fight to keep my eyes open, unwilling to miss a single moment with my daughter.

"You should sleep," Ada says, her hands still moving efficiently as she cleans up. "Your body needs rest to recover."

I want to argue, but exhaustion makes my thoughts fuzzy, disconnected. Before I can form a response, I see Ada gesture to Rolfo.

"Rolfo step back while I clean Aurelie up a bit," she says.

Panic flutters in my chest. "No, I can?—"

"You can barely keep your eyes open," Ada cuts me off, her tone kind but firm. "Just for a moment. She'll be right here."

Reluctantly, I watch as he takes a step back, still looking so hesitant in the way he holds her that

"Like this," Ada murmurs, showing Rolfo how to support Sephy's head as she transfers my daughter to his massive hands.

He takes her with such hesitation that I almost laugh despite my exhaustion. This fierce demon warrior—a man who probably has more blood on his hands than I want to imagine—looks positively terrified of this tiny, helpless infant.

"I'll break her," he mutters, his silver eyes wide with concern.

"You won't," Ada assures him, adjusting his grip. "There. See? She fits perfectly."

And somehow, she does. Sephy looks impossibly small cradled against Rolfo's broad chest, her entire body not much bigger than his palms. He holds her stiffly at first, muscles tense as if bracing for an attack rather than holding a newborn.

"Relax your arms a little," Ada instructs as she turns back to me with a damp cloth. "Babies can sense tension."

While Ada helps me clean up, changing the soiled sheets beneath me with practiced efficiency, I watch Rolfo with my daughter. Gradually, the rigid set of his shoulders eases. His expression transforms from one of guarded wariness to something I can't quite name—wonder, perhaps, or awe.

Sephy squirms slightly in his grasp, her tiny face scrunching. For a moment, panic flashes across his features.

"What did I do?" he asks, looking between Ada and me.

"Nothing," I murmur, my voice hoarse. "That's just what babies do."

His attention returns to Sephy, studying her with an intensity that would be unnerving if it weren't so gentle. His rough fingertip traces the curve of her cheek with such delicacy it makes my heart clench.

"She has a mark," he says softly. "Here." His finger hovers over her chest, not quite touching.

"What kind of mark?" I try to sit up, ignoring the protest of my aching body.

"Stay still," Ada chides, pressing a hand to my shoulder. "I'll look in a moment."

But Rolfo is already shaking his head. "It's not bad. Just a birthmark. Crescent shape." His lips twitch into what might almost be a smile. "Like a moon."

Relief washes through me, followed quickly by a fresh wave of exhaustion. Ada finishes her ministrations, helping me into a clean dress she must have brought before stepping back.

"There. That should feel better."

It does, marginally. I still feel as though I've been trampled by a herd of rono, but at least I'm clean. My eyelids grow heavier with each passing second, but I fight to stay awake, unwilling to take my gaze from my daughter.

Rolfo cradles Sephy awkwardly, staring at the infant as if she might disappear. I watch him, barely able to keep my eyes open. His silver eyes soften in a way I wouldn't have thought possible for such a hardened warrior. There's a tenderness there, a vulnerability that seems at odds with everything else about him.

Slowly, he moves closer to the bed, careful not to jostle Sephy. "She should be with her mother," he says, his deep voice rumbling softly.

He sets Sephy in my arms with surprising care, helping me adjust the blankets around her tiny form. Our hands brush during the transfer, and the unexpected warmth of his skin against mine sends a jolt through my exhausted body. For a brief moment, his fingers linger over mine, steadying them as I cradle Sephy's head.

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