Page 54 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

With a desperate surge, Rolfo feints left then drives forward, tackling Kaelith to the ground. They grapple viciously, Kaelith's magic sputtering as Rolfo pins his arms.

"Aurelie, now!" Rolfo shouts, muscles straining to hold the thrashing demon.

My eyes land on a jagged blade that must have belonged to one of the guards. I snatch it up, the weight of it heavy in my hand. Kneeling beside them, I meet Kaelith's eyes—those pale gold orbs that haunted my nightmares for years. They widen in disbelief as I raise the blade.

"You never owned me," I say, driving the jagged metal through his heart with every ounce of strength I have left. I twist the blade, watching the life drain from his eyes, feeling nothing but cold relief wash over me.

When the light leaves Kaelith's eyes, I remain frozen, blade still embedded in his chest. The weight of years—of ownership, pain, and fear—lifts from me with each drop of his blood that pools beneath us. My hands shake uncontrollably, sticky and hot with crimson.

Rolfo's voice breaks through the fog. "Aurelie."

I blink, reality rushing back. The corridor smells of sulfur and copper, and distant shouts echo from elsewhere in the mansion. My gaze snaps to his, sudden urgency flooding through me.

"We need to go!" I scramble to my feet, wincing as pain shoots through my ribs. "The guards will come. There will be more."

Rolfo rises in one fluid motion despite his wounds, silver eyes scanning the hallway. "This way."

I take one unsteady step, then another, my bare feet slipping in blood. From some distant part of the estate, I hear the thundering of boots, the raised voices of Kaelith's personal guard discovering their fallen comrades.

"Faster," I rasp, pushing myself toward the stairway that leads down to the main level. Every muscle screams in protest. The image of Sephy's face flashes in my mind, giving me strength to push forward.

Before I can take another step, strong arms sweep beneath me. Rolfo lifts me against his chest in one smooth movement, cradling me as though I weigh nothing.

"I'm faster," he says simply, his heartbeat steady against my ear.

I don't protest—can't, really—as he takes the stairs two at a time, his movements sure despite carrying me. I curl my fingers into the torn fabric of his shirt, holding tight as we descend.

The grand hallway of Shadowfall Estate stretches before us, a monument to Kaelith's twisted dominance. Tapestries depicting ancient demon conquests line walls I once polished on hands and knees. Crystal chandeliers I once dusted throw fractured light across marble floors I scrubbed until my fingers bled.

Rolfo doesn't hesitate. He charges through the main hall toward the servants' exit, a path I know intimately from years of silent, obedient passage.

"Left at the next corridor," I whisper against his neck. "There's a side door the guards rarely watch."

He follows without question, trusting me. The weight of that trust settles in my chest, warm and unfamiliar.

As we pass a row of oil lamps, Rolfo reaches out with one hand, knocking them from their perches without breaking stride. The flames spill across antique carpets and climb up heavy drapes.

"Hold tight," he murmurs, and I feel the shift in his body—the subtle gathering of power.

He exhales sharply, and the scattered flames respond, leaping higher, spreading faster than natural fire should. The heat swells behind us as Rolfo's magic feeds the blaze, coaxing it into a roaring inferno that devours everything in its path.

We burst through the side door into the cool night air. I gasp, filling my lungs deeply for what feels like the first time in days. The stars wheel overhead, impossibly bright.

Behind us, orange light spills from windows as the estate burns. The home that had been my prison for so many years disappearing in cleansing fire.

"Fitting," I whisper.

Rolfo doesn't slow, carrying me across the grounds toward where his zarryn waits, tethered to an ancient tree. The silver-coated beast snorts nervously at our approach, its twin tails lashing at the scent of blood and smoke.

"Easy," Rolfo soothes, approaching steadily despite our battered state.

He swings up onto the zarryn's back with me still cradled against his chest, arranging me carefully across his lap rather than setting me down. I should protest—should insist I can ride on my own—but the solid warmth of his body against mine quiets any objection.

We thunder away from the burning estate, the night wind cool against my face. Neither of us speaks; there's nothing left to say that matters in this moment. All that exists is the rhythmic gallop of the zarryn, the steady beat of Rolfo's heart beneath my ear, and the knowledge that Sephy waits for us.

The sky gradually lightens, night giving way to dawn. Golden light breaks across the horizon, painting the world anew. I watch it through half-lidded eyes, feeling each breath drawing me closer to home—to my daughter—to a life I never dared imagine was possible.

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