Page 46 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

We continue forward, the crowd thickening as we approach what must be the central square. I stay close, fingers lightly holding onto Rolfo's coat. The leather is worn soft at the edges, just like the man himself—rough exterior, unexpected gentleness beneath.

A stall to my right catches my eye—glass beads that catch the light, throwing rainbows against the dark stone buildings. Just for a moment, I pause, drawn by their simple beauty.

"These are lovely," I say to the merchant, picking up a strand of beads in deep amber that remind me of autumn on worlds I've never seen.

The merchant launches into a story about how they're made, each one blown individually over open flame. I listen, momentarily captivated, my fingers tracing their smooth surfaces.

"What do you think of—" I turn, question dying on my lips.

Rolfo is gone.

My heart stops, then hammers against my ribs. Sephy is gone too. The space where they stood moments before now filled with unfamiliar bodies, pressing, moving.

"Excuse me," I say, voice thin as I push back toward where we were standing. "Excuse me, please."

The crowd seems to swell suddenly, bodies pressing from all sides. Banners that seemed festive moments ago now wave like warnings. The music turns discordant in my ears.

"Rolfo!" I call, rising to my tiptoes, scanning above heads. His height should make him visible, but there are too many people, too much movement. "Rolfo!"

My fingers clutch the basket handle so hard it might snap. Panic rises, thick and choking. Without him, without Sephy in my arms—I'm exposed. Vulnerable. The scar on my arm where Kaelith marked me seems to burn anew.

"My daughter," I say to someone, anyone. "My daughter?—"

But no one stops. No one listens. I'm invisible again, but not in the way that keeps me safe.

I spin in place, desperately searching each face, each form. Where could they have gone? Did something happen? Did someone take them—take Sephy?

Or did Rolfo simply decide this arrangement had run its course?

No. He wouldn't. Not with Sephy.

The thought of my daughter—my miracle, my reason—lost in this crowd, or worse, sends ice through my veins.

"Rolfo!" I call again, louder, not caring who hears, who might recognize me. "ROLFO!"

I spin wildly, my heart hammering against my ribs as I scan the sea of faces. Nothing. No Rolfo. No Sephy. Just strangers pressing in from all sides, their celebrations continuing as my world collapses.

"Please," I beg, grabbing the arm of a passing demon woman. "Have you seen a tall demon with black hair? Carrying a baby?"

She shrugs me off with a scowl, and I stumble backward. My basket slips from my fingers, clattering to the ground. No one notices. No one cares.

The crowd shifts, opening momentarily, and I catch a glimpse of an alleyway to my right. Something pulls me toward it—instinct, desperation, I don't know. I push through bodies, mumbling apologies that fall on deaf ears.

"Rolfo!" I call one last time, voice cracking.

The alley is darker, cooler, the festival noise dulling as I step between buildings. I catch my breath, trying to think clearly, when a shadow detaches from the wall. Something in me recognizes him before my eyes do—like prey sensing a predator.

My blood freezes in my veins.

Kaelith stands before me in simple clothes, not his usual finery—dark trousers and a plain shirt, his ice-blonde hair tucked beneath a cap. But the disguise is meaningless. I'd know him anywhere. Those pale gold eyes with their fiery inner ring. That slight curl at the corner of his mouth. The way he holds himself, like the world belongs to him.

Like I belong to him.

"Aurelie," he says, my name on his lips a violation. "What a happy coincidence."

I back away, my throat closing up. "Stay back," I manage.

He laughs, and it's the same laugh that once echoed through his chambers while I cowered. "Is that any way to greet your master? After all this time?"

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