Page 57 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

"I know the feeling," I reply, earning a ghost of a smile. My heart pounds, begging me to tell her how I feel, to get her to promise to never leave.

Aurelie looks down, a tendril of damp hair falling across her face. My fingers itch to brush it back, but I stay perfectly still, afraid to break whatever spell has descended upon us.

"Your hand," she says suddenly, reaching for my wrist.

I look down, surprised to see blood crusted around my knuckles. Despite having bathed myself, the skin had cracked open again at some point, and I'd missed it in the chaos of getting them both settled. "It's nothing."

She clicks her tongue, her small fingers circling my larger wrist. "Typical. You take care of everyone but yourself."

There's no accusation in her tone—just a gentle observation that feels more intimate than it should.

Aurelie leads me back down the hallway to the bathroom, where she silently fills the basin with warm water. I watch, transfixed, as she dips a clean cloth into the water and brings it to my hand. Her touch is methodical but gentle, cleaning away the dried blood with careful precision.

When she finishes, I follow her back to the nursery, where she checks on Sephy one more time. Her hand lingers on the crib rail, unwilling to leave even as exhaustion threatens to topple her.

"She's safe," I promise from the doorway. "We both are. Because of you."

Aurelie's shoulders relax slightly at my words. She bends to place one final kiss on Sephy's forehead before stepping back, her eyes never leaving the sleeping infant.

I lean against the doorframe, watching her, memorizing every detail of this moment. The curve of her neck as she bends over the crib. The way her borrowed nightgown pools slightly at her feet. The gentle strength in her movements, even now, at the edge of collapse.

She finally turns to me, her face etched with bone-deep weariness. Not afraid—not uncertain. Just tired in a way sleep alone can't fix. Her eyes meet mine, a decision made.

"Come to bed," she says softly.

Two simple words that change everything between us. Not a request or an invitation—a decision. Her voice holds no trace of hesitation, only quiet certainty.

I push myself from the doorframe and follow her down the hallway.

I follow Aurelie into the bedroom, my bedroom—the one I've slept in alone for years. Tonight, it looks different somehow. The light casts a warm amber glow across the walls, turning the space into something else entirely. Not just mine anymore.

She slides beneath the blankets without hesitation, her movements deliberate despite her exhaustion. I hover at the edge, suddenly uncertain. After everything we've been through today, this feels like the most dangerous threshold to cross.

"I don't bite," she murmurs, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The joke breaks the tension, and I exhale a laugh that feels like my first real breath in hours.

I lower myself onto the bed beside her, leaving space between us. Not because I want to, but because I need to. The day has stripped everything bare, and I'm too raw to pretend anymore. If I touch her now, I might break completely.

The mattress dips beneath our combined weight, gravity tugging us slightly toward each other. The sheets smell like pine and woodsmoke—like me—but now there's the faint trace of lavender mingling with it. Our scents together. It does something primitive to my insides.

We lie curled under the blankets, knees brushing. For a while, neither speaks. The quiet is gentle, punctuated only by our breathing gradually falling into synchronization. Her eyes are wide open, staring at some middle distance, processing the day we've survived.

Then she says, "I thought I'd die there." Her voice is steady, matter-of-fact. Not seeking pity—simply acknowledging a truth she had accepted. "When he had me in that cell, I made peace with it. I just kept praying someone would save Sephy."

I turn toward her, breathing her in. The admission cuts through me like a blade. "I almost lost you," I answer. My voice drops to a rough whisper. "When I couldn't find you in the market, it was like... like the ground disappeared beneath me."

My fingers curl into the sheets between us, anchoring myself to something solid. The terror of those moments hits me again—the blind panic, the rage, the desperate need to find her. To fix what I'd failed to protect.

"I've lost people before," I continue, the words coming from somewhere deep and untouched. "But nothing felt like that. Nothing."

Aurelie's eyes find mine in the dim light. She doesn't look away, doesn't flinch from what she sees there. Instead, she waits, patient and steady, like she knows I'm struggling toward something important.

And then, finally, I whisper what's been clawing inside me since the day I found her collapsed in that alley. "I love you." The words hang between us, simple and enormous. "I love Sephy. I want to be her father."

My voice cracks, but I push through it. "I want to be your mate. Please stay."

I've never begged for anything in my life. Never needed to. But I'd kneel for this—for her—without hesitation.

Aurelie's hand finds mine beneath the covers. Her grip is firm, warm. The calluses on her palm speak of work and survival, of a strength that has nothing to do with physical power. "I don't want to leave," she says simply. No grand declarations. Just truth. "You're the first place that's felt safe."

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