Page 25 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

"But I need to?—"

"Whatever it is, it can wait." He gestures toward Sephy. "She's not going anywhere for a while."

I hesitate, glancing back at my sleeping daughter. I've barely let her out of my sight since she was born.

"She's safe here," Rolfo adds, reading my thoughts with unnerving accuracy. "You both are."

The words hit me with unexpected force. I follow him into the hallway, leaving the nursery door cracked so I can hear if Sephy wakes.

"I don't know how to do this," I confess, the words spilling out of me. "I've never had..."

"Had what?" he prompts when I trail off.

"A safe place to land." My voice cracks on the last word. "Somewhere I can just... breathe without looking over my shoulder."

Rolfo's expression softens, the hard lines of his face rearranging into something I'm still getting used to—concern without expectation.

"You do now." He says it definitively, as if stating an obvious fact rather than making a promise. "For as long as you need it."

His silver eyes hold mine, unflinching and honest. There's no hidden meaning to decode, no trap to anticipate. Just the simple truth of his words hanging between us.

"Why?" I ask, the question that's been burning in me since I woke up in his home. "Why help us?"

Rolfo's jaw tightens momentarily, a flash of something darker crossing his features before he controls it.

"Because I couldn't—" He stops, recalibrates. "Because you deserve better than what happened to you. Both of you do."

Rolfo leads me into the main room, his large hand still barely touching my elbow as if afraid I'll bolt. I want to tell him I'm done running—my body still aches from months of desperate flight—but the words stick in my throat. The room glows with amber light from the fireplace, dancing shadows across the worn furniture that feels more like home than any gilded cage I've known.

Outside, thunder cracks across the sky like a whip—a sound that makes me flinch despite myself. Rolfo notices but doesn't comment as he gestures for me to take the overstuffed chair nearest the fire.

"Sit. I'll make tea."

Before I can protest, he's moved to the kitchen space. I pull my legs up beneath me, wrapping my arms around myself. The dress I'm wearing is one Ada brought over—simple, comfortable, the soft gray fabric falling to my ankles. I rub the material between my fingers, grounding myself in its texture while watching Rolfo move with surprising grace for someone his size.

He returns with two steaming mugs, handing me one before settling his massive frame onto the couch across from me. The cushions sink beneath his weight, but he somehow manages to look both relaxed and alert—a warrior at rest but never truly off guard. His silver eyes catch the firelight, making them look almost molten.

"Storm's getting worse," he observes, his gaze shifting to the window where rain lashes against the glass like tiny desperate fists.

"I like it," I admit softly. "The rain, I mean. Where—" I swallow hard. "Where he kept me, there were no windows."

Rolfo's knuckles whiten around his mug, but his face remains neutral. I've noticed this about him—the way he controls his reactions to my scattered revelations about life with Kaelith. Never pity, just a contained rage on my behalf that somehow doesn't frighten me.

We sit in silence for a while, the crackling fire and drumming rain filling the space between us. There's a tension in the air that has nothing to do with my past and everything to do with his proximity. I'm not blind—Rolfo is handsome in a rugged, dangerous way that should send me running. Instead, I find myself noticing the curve of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his black hair falls across his forehead when he's focused on something.

But attraction is a luxury I can't afford. Not with Kaelith still searching, not with Sephy depending on me, not with the scars still fresh beneath my skin.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the room in stark white for an instant. In that flash, I catch something in Rolfo's expression—a naked vulnerability quickly masked by the returning shadows.

He sets his mug down with deliberate care. "You said you didn't know I had a sister. I never talk about her."

I'm not sure what memories have brought her back up, but I have to admit I am curious. So I lean forward, listening.

His voice is tight but steady. "Her name was Mara."

Was. The past tense hits me like a physical blow. Even though I knew she was gone, there's so much pain in the words.

"She was younger than me by six years. Bright, stubborn." A ghost of a smile touches his lips before vanishing. "Like you, in some ways."

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