Page 14 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

"So I've been told." Something about his presence makes me want to draw myself up straighter despite my weakness.

He crosses to the sink, washing his hands with brisk efficiency. "Hungry?"

The question is so practical, so ordinary, that it catches me off-guard. "I... yes."

He nods, as if this is the only acceptable answer. "Ada makes a zynthra soup that does wonders." His eyes flick to her. "If you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not." Ada rises, moving to the cooking area with the familiarity of someone who's done so many times before.

Rolfo dries his hands, then turns to face me fully. "You can stay as long as you need." The statement is delivered matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument. "Until you're strong enough to decide what comes next."

I should resist, should question his motives, should fear this arrangement. But my body thrums with exhaustion, my daughter sleeps peacefully in the next room, and for the first time in years, I've woken without dread coiling in my stomach.

"Thank you," I manage, the words inadequate but all I have to offer. I nod, swallowing back the questions and suspicions that hover on my tongue.

I'm in no condition to do anything but accept this sanctuary, temporary as it might be. And though the thought should terrify me—being at the mercy of yet another demon—I find myself too tired to sustain the fear.

I only hope my trust won't get us both killed.

Night falls, bringing with it the unfamiliar sounds of Rolfo's home—the soft creaking of wood settling, the distant call of nocturnal creatures, the gentle whisper of wind through trees. The room is bathed in shadows, broken only by silvery moonlight streaming through the half-open curtains. I lie awake, my body exhausted but my mind racing endlessly.

Across the room, Rolfo sleeps upright in a chair that seems too small for his large frame. His arms are folded across his broad chest, chin tucked down, silver eyes hidden behind closed lids. Even in sleep, there's something vigilant about his posture—like a predator resting but never truly defenseless. The moonlight catches on the scar across his right eyebrow, making it appear almost white against his skin.

Ada sleeps on a cot near my bed, her honey-blonde braid loosened from the day's activities, her breathing deep and even. Her face in repose looks younger, the ever-present wariness momentarily erased by exhaustion.

And between us all, Sephy sleeps in her makeshift cradle, tiny chest rising and falling with each breath, silvery-blonde curls splayed against the pillow. I keep my hand resting lightly on her back, needing the physical connection, the constant reassurance of her warmth, her realness.

The ceiling above me bears water stains in patterns that remind me of clouds—or perhaps beasts. My mind traces their outlines, reconstructing them into familiar shapes then dissolving them again. Anything to keep thoughts of Kaelith at bay, to prevent myself from imagining his rage upon discovering my absence.

Four months carrying his child while planning my escape. Another four of running before collapsing in an alleyway where Rolfo found me. Now here, in this strange limbo—not quite free, not quite safe, but somehow... protected.

Sephy stirs beneath my palm, her tiny body tensing before she makes a soft mewling sound that might transform into a cry. Before I can even push myself upright, Rolfo's eyes snap open, instantly alert. He crosses the room in two silent strides, looming over the cradle with surprising grace for someone his size.

My heart leaps into my throat—an instinctual reaction I can't suppress. But instead of reaching for my daughter, he pauses, his mercury eyes finding mine in the darkness.

"May I?" His voice is barely a rumble.

The question startles me. Permission—something I've rarely been granted, much less asked for. I nod, unable to form words around the tightness in my throat.

With movements so gentle they seem impossible from hands that could so easily destroy, he adjusts Sephy's swaddling cloth, which has come loose around her arms. His fingers look massive next to her tiny form, yet he handles her with a precision that speaks of practice or instinct—perhaps both.

Sephy settles immediately, releasing a tiny sigh before slipping back into deeper sleep. Rolfo watches her for a moment longer, something unreadable passing across his face.

"Her coloring," he says quietly, "mixed blood marks her."

"I know." The words taste bitter. It's what made her valuable to Kaelith—a half-demon child, a possession to control. "It's why he'll never stop looking."

Rolfo's eyes lift to mine, something fierce flashing in their depths. "Let him look."

Three simple words, delivered with such absolute certainty that for a moment, I almost believe them. Almost believe that this demon guard with his scarred hands and silent movements could stand between us and the world.

"You make it sound so simple," I whisper, conscious of Ada's sleeping form nearby.

"Protection isn't complicated." He straightens, moonlight catching the angles of his face. "The reasons behind it might be. But the act itself is instinct."

He returns to his chair, folding himself back into the same position, though his eyes remain on me a moment longer.

"Why?" The question escapes before I can contain it. He never really answered it before and I find myself wanting to understand this demon. "Why help us?"

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