Page 18 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

"I don't know." She adjusts her robe, covering herself as Sephy settles. "Not someone who heats water for baby cloths and remembers Ada's instructions."

I give her a soft smile, something I rarely do. The corners of my mouth feel stiff with disuse, but it comes easier than expected. There's something about her honest assessment that disarms me. I'm not used to being seen as anything but the fearsome Steelclaw, the guardian who tracks down rogues and makes examples of them.

"Expectations rarely match reality," I say, turning back to stir the stew. "Food's ready."

I ladle the thick mixture into bowls, making sure hers has more vegetables and meat than mine. She'll need the strength. Sephy finishes feeding, and without asking, I extend my arms.

"I can lay her down while you eat."

Aurelie hesitates, but only for a moment. I've held her enough now, but Aurelie still doesn't give her up easily, even to Ada. Not that I blame her. Trust doesn't come easily to either of us.

"Your food will get cold," I add, keeping my voice neutral. Not pressing, just offering.

Forcing herself to relax a little, she carefully transfers the tiny bundle into my arms. I cradle Sephy with practiced ease—no longer feeling quite so fearsome over the small one.

Sephy settles against my chest, her tiny fist curling around my finger. Her eyes—violet with silver flecks, unmistakably marked by her demon heritage—flutter closed. She trusts me instinctively, in a way her mother can't yet.

I carry her to the makeshift crib Ada fashioned from a drawer, setting her down with care. She's so small that my hands look monstrous next to her, but they move with unexpected gentleness.

We eat in silence, but it's not uncomfortable. The stew is hearty—dreelk leaves and zynthra root with spiced broth. Nothing fancy, but filling. Aurelie eats slowly at first, then with increasing hunger, as if her body is finally remembering what it needs.

"This is good," she says between bites, surprise coloring her voice.

I grunt in acknowledgment. "Hard to mess up stew."

"You'd be surprised. Master Kaelith had six cooks, and none could—" She stops abruptly, her spoon frozen halfway to her mouth.

The air between us thickens. It's the first time she's mentioned him by name. I keep eating, letting the moment pass without comment. Some demons like to be called "Master"—especially the nobles. Makes them feel powerful. Important.

Makes me sick.

After we finish, she stands carefully, glancing toward the door. "Is it... would it be all right if I sat outside? Just for a little while?"

The question pulls at something in my chest. The fact that she has to ask permission to feel the afternoon sun on her face.

"It's your home now too," I say simply. "You don't need my permission."

Her eyes meet mine, searching. Finding what, I'm not sure. But after a moment, she nods and gathers Sephy from the crib, securing her in the wrap Ada showed her how to tie—fabric crisscrossing her body to hold the baby close to her heart.

I watch through the window as she settles on a chair on the porch. The evening sun bathes her in golden-red light, catching in her auburn hair. She tilts her face upward, eyes closing as the warmth touches her skin. Something about the sight draws me outside.

I grab a woolen blanket from the chest beside the door—nights get cool quickly here—and step onto the porch. Without a word, I drape it over her legs, careful not to disturb Sephy.

Aurelie startles slightly, then relaxes. "Thank you."

I settle a few feet away, giving her space. From my pocket, I pull out a small block of wood and my carving knife. The blade gleams as it slices through the pale surface, curls of wood falling to the porch floor.

"What are you making?" she asks after several minutes of silence.

I turn the half-formed shape in my hands. "Not sure yet. Sometimes the wood decides."

She nods as if this makes perfect sense, then closes her eyes again. The rhythmic sound of my knife against wood fills the quiet. In the distance, a black pitter bird calls to its mate.

I notice it gradually—the way her shoulders lower, her breathing deepens. The permanent tension she's carried since I found her in that alley begins to ease. For the first time in what must be months, her guard lowers, if only slightly.

I keep carving, pretending not to notice. But I catalog each sign of her relaxation, storing it away like something precious.

9

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