Page 13 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

"Dezoth?"

She nods. "Among others. There are people—humans and demons alike—who understand what it means to need a fresh start."

I glance down at Sephy, at her impossibly small hands with their perfect fingernails. "I never thought I'd be grateful to a demon."

"Life has a way of challenging our certainties," Ada says. The calmness of her presence speaks more than her words, offering a quiet reassurance that seeps into me like the broth's warmth.

The silence between us grows comfortable as I finish eating. Ada continues folding, the repetitive motion somehow soothing to watch. Outside, birds—black pitters, perhaps—call to each other, their songs filtering through the window along with the gentle breeze.

Later, sunlight streams through the window, painting gold lines across my bed as I doze in and out of consciousness. Sephy sleeps in a makeshift cradle fashioned from a drawer lined with fresh linens—Ada's handiwork. My body still aches, but some faint whisper of strength has returned, enough that restlessness now battles with exhaustion.

I push myself up, wincing as my body protests. The room stops spinning after a moment, and I take a deep breath before swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The wooden floor feels cool beneath my bare feet.

Looking around properly for the first time, I study Rolfo's home with curious eyes. The room is sparse—a bed, a small table, a wooden chair in the corner—but surprisingly tidy. No dust gathers in corners; the sheets smell of sunlight and herbs. Not what I expected from a demon bachelor's quarters.

Taking a tentative step, I steady myself against the wall. My legs tremble like a newborn zarryn’s, but they hold. Another step. Then another.

I pause at a framed drawing hanging on the wall—childish scrawls of color depicting what might be people standing in front of a house. The figures hold hands: one tall, one small. A child's drawing, preserved and displayed with care. Rose's, perhaps? The thought stops me. Why would a demon guard keep a human child's drawing?

Making my way into the main living space, I find it just as orderly. Clean dishes stacked neatly. Bookshelves with well-worn spines. A pair of boots by the door, placed just so. Everything has its place. Nothing extravagant, nothing wasted. It's... lived-in. Comfortable even.

My gaze drifts to the kitchen window, and through it, I catch sight of Rolfo in the yard. His broad back faces me, shoulders flexing as he swings an axe, splitting logs with practiced efficiency. The muscles in his arms bunch and release with each swing, his movements economical, purposeful. And for a moment I feel a flash of…appreciation. He's handsome in a way I never would let myself see before.

He sets aside the split wood, then moves to repair a section of fence, his large hands surprisingly deft as they work with the tools.

"He's been at it since dawn."

I startle, turning too quickly. My knees buckle, but Ada's there instantly, steadying me with a firm grip.

"Careful now," she murmurs, leading me to a chair at the kitchen table. "You shouldn't be up yet."

"I couldn't lie still anymore." My voice sounds strange to my own ears—raspy from disuse and screaming through labor.

Ada nods, understanding in her eyes. She pours water from a pitcher into a cup and places it before me. "Small sips," she instructs, then takes the seat opposite.

I obey, grateful for the cool liquid. Outside, Rolfo continues working, unaware of our observation. There's something hypnotic about watching him—this creature of such obvious power engaged in such mundane tasks.

"Not what you expected?" Ada asks, following my gaze.

I shake my head slightly. "Nothing about this is what I expected."

For a moment, we sit in silence, watching Rolfo through the window. He finishes with the fence and steps back, surveying his work with critical eyes before nodding to himself in satisfaction. There's something almost endearing about the gesture.

"I know what it's like," Ada says suddenly, her voice soft. "To wake each morning and wonder if you're truly free. To flinch at shadows and footsteps. To wait for the nightmare to return."

I meet her eyes, finding no pity there—only recognition. "Does it ever stop?"

"The fear?" She considers this, gaze drifting back to the window. "It changes. Becomes less cutting. Some days you might forget it entirely." A small smile touches her lips. "And then your shift focuses to something else."

The way she glances toward Rolfo is significant, weighted with history I don't yet understand.

"He seems..." I struggle to find words that don't sound naïve.

"Dangerous? He is." Ada's honesty is refreshing. "But not to those under his protection."

The back door opens, and Rolfo steps inside, bringing with him the scent of fresh air and wood. He pauses when he sees me, surprise flickering across his features before he schools them back to careful neutrality.

"You shouldn't be up," he says, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. There's no anger in it, just factual observation.

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