Page 12 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

He doesn't speak—he doesn't have to. The gentle pressure of his hand, the soft silver of his eyes, communicate more than words could. There's a promise there, unspoken but clear.

"Thank you," I whisper, unsure if I'm thanking him for returning Sephy to me or for something larger, something neither of us has put into words.

Rolfo nods, retreating a step from the bedside. His eyes remain fixed on Sephy, something protective hardening his features.

"She has your eyes," he observes quietly. "Shape, at least. Color's different."

I glance down at Sephy, whose eyes have briefly fluttered open—that newborn, unfocused gaze taking in nothing but sensing everything. "Pale violet," I murmur. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Means she's special," Ada comments from across the room where she's sorting through her herbs. "Children with unusual eyes often are."

Rolfo's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly at Ada's words, but his expression remains gentle when he looks back at Sephy. "Get some rest," he says to me. "We'll be here."

We. Such a simple word, yet it floods me with an emotion I can't name—something between relief and terror. I've been alone for so long, carrying this burden by myself, that the thought of having someone else to share it seems almost too much to hope for.

6

AURELIE

Morning light filters into the room, casting gentle shadows across the bed where I lie with Sephy nestled against my chest. My muscles ache with an unfamiliar hollowness, my body still raw and empty after bringing her into the world. Every small movement sends ripples of discomfort through me, but I wouldn't trade the weight of her tiny form against my skin for anything.

The door creaks open and I tense instantly, my arms tightening around Sephy before I can even process the thought. My heart leaps into my throat, muscles coiling with the instinct to flee—but it's only Ada slipping in, a steaming bowl in her hands and a soft smile on her tired face.

"You're awake," she whispers, careful not to disturb Sephy who sleeps with her tiny lips parted, silvery-blonde wisps of hair catching the sunlight. "I brought broth."

I nod, still stiff despite recognizing her. Four months of running has carved wariness into my bones. Even here, in this moment of relative safety, my body doesn't remember how to truly relax.

Ada approaches slowly, setting the bowl on the small table beside the bed. Steam curls upward, carrying the scent of dreelk and brimbark. My stomach gives an involuntary growl.

"You need to eat," Ada says, not a suggestion but a gentle command. She helps me shift into a more upright position, arranging pillows behind my back with practiced efficiency. Her movements are quick but careful, minimizing my discomfort with an expertise that speaks of having done this many times before. I can only imagine what it was like for her and her daughter.

I accept the bowl with a nod of thanks, balancing it carefully while keeping Sephy secure against me with my other arm. The first sip of broth spreads warmth through my hollow center.

"Where's Rolfo?" I ask, surprised by the question even as it leaves my lips. I shouldn't care where the demon is, shouldn't feel this strange absence at his not being here.

Ada sits at the foot of the bed, her hands automatically reaching for a small pile of cloths. She begins folding them with methodical precision, her fingers working while her eyes stay fixed on Sephy and me.

"Securing the perimeter," she answers, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "He does it every morning, if he's anything like Dezoth. Old habits." I've learned she's married to the City Guard Captain, a close friend of Rolfo's.

I take another sip of broth before asking, "How long have you known him?"

"Long enough to trust him with my daughter's life," she says simply. The statement hangs between us, weighted with meaning. Ada doesn't strike me as someone who gives trust easily. "He's the only one Dezoth would trust near me, too." Which is evident by the way she stayed last night so I wouldn't feel so alone.

Sephy stirs against me, her tiny face scrunching before relaxing again. I marvel at her delicate features—the perfect bow of her lips, the gentle curve of her cheek, the way her eyelashes cast tiny shadows.

"She's beautiful," Ada murmurs, pausing in her folding to look at my daughter with a softness that momentarily transforms her face, smoothing the lines of wariness that match my own.

"She is," I agree, my voice cracking slightly. "I keep worrying this is all a dream. That I'll wake up back in his house, still..." I trail off, unable to finish the thought.

Ada's hands resume their methodical folding, creating neat squares from the soft cloths. "That feeling fades," she says. "Eventually."

"Does it?" I can't keep the doubt from my voice.

She meets my eyes, her warm brown gaze steady and unflinching. "The fear never disappears completely. But it becomes... manageable. Something you carry rather than something that carries you."

I consider her words while sipping more broth, letting the nourishment seep into my depleted body. "How did you do it? Raise a child while running?"

Ada's lips twist into something between a smile and a grimace. "One day at a time. Some days, one hour at a time." She sets aside a folded cloth and reaches for another. "But I had help. Not at first, but eventually."

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