Page 26 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
And something else. Something deeper and more dangerous.
I fall a little bit more every time I see them together like this. Every shared laugh, every moment of perfect understanding, every instance where he treats her not like an obligation or an inconvenience but like the extraordinary gift she is. It chips away at walls I built to keep my heart safe, leaves me more exposed and vulnerable than enemy armies ever could.
He's treating her like she's his own child. Like she belongs to him and he belongs to her, and the bond between them is as natural as breathing. And she responds to it completely, basking in the kind of unconditional acceptance she's never had from anyone but me.
The sight sends something warm and terrifying spiraling through my chest. What happens when this ends? Because it will end—it has to end. Men like Rhyen don't keep women like me. They don't build lives around half-demon children and their damaged mothers.
But watching him hold my daughter against the pale dawn sky, both of them laughing like they've discovered the secret to eternal happiness, I can almost pretend that fairy tales are real. That sometimes the knight really does rescue the princess. That sometimes love is enough to overcome all the practical reasons why something can't work.
They spiral lower, coming in for a gentle landing near where I stand on the path. Ava spots me immediately, her face lighting up with the special smile reserved for moments when both her favorite people are in sight.
"Mama! Did you see? Did you see me flying? I fought dragons and everything!"
My heart does something complicated in my chest. She looks so happy, so utterly content in Rhyen's arms. Her violet eyes are bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed pink from the cool morning air and pure joy.
"I saw," I manage, my voice steadier than I expected. "You were very brave."
Rhyen sets her down carefully, his hands steady on her shoulders until he's sure she has her balance. His own breathing is slightly elevated from the flight, but there's something peaceful in his expression—a contentment that makes him look younger and more relaxed than I've ever seen him.
"Go wash up for breakfast," I tell Ava, trying to inject some maternal authority into my tone. "You're covered in grass stains and you're still in your nightgown."
She glances down at herself as if just noticing her state of dishevelment, then shrugs with four-year-old logic. "I like grass stains. They're like battle scars."
"Battle scars can be cleaned before meals," I counter. "Go on."
She throws her arms around Rhyen's waist in a quick hug, presses a kiss to my cheek, then races past me toward the estate. Her giggling voice carries back to us as she disappears through the garden doors, probably composing extremely detailed stories about her aerial dragon battles to share with anyone who'll listen.
The silence she leaves behind feels different than the comfortable quiet of last night. More charged somehow, heavy with unspoken things that hover just beneath the surface.
Rhyen approaches me slowly, and I'm suddenly aware that I'm still in my sleeping dress with only a shawl thrown over my shoulders. My hair is loose around my face, probably wildfrom sleep, and I haven't bothered with shoes. I must look like something that crawled out of bed and wandered into the garden—which, to be fair, is exactly what I did.
But the way he's looking at me doesn't suggest he finds my appearance lacking. There's something warm in his celestial blue eyes, something that makes my pulse skip in ways that have nothing to do with fear and everything to do with possibility.
He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can see the faint sheen of exertion on his bronze skin, close enough to catch his scent—something clean and masculine with an underlying hint of wind and sky that must come from flying.
His hand rises slowly, as if he's giving me time to object or step away. When I don't move, his fingers brush against my cheek with devastating gentleness. His touch is warm despite the cool morning air, rough with calluses from years of sword work but careful in a way that makes my breath catch.
"You look so beautiful when you smile," he says quietly.
I'm not sure what I expected him to say, but it was not that. Not soft words that he didn't even seem to mean to whisper that nearly make my heart stop. Not because they're particularly eloquent or original, but because of the way he says them. Like he means them completely. Like he's been thinking about my smile and decided it was worth commenting on.
My heart does something acrobatic in my chest, and I'm suddenly aware of all the places our bodies almost connect—his hand still curved against my cheek, the bare inch of space between us that feels charged with electricity.
He holds my gaze for a moment that stretches between us like a bridge I'm not sure I'm brave enough to cross. Then he steps back, his hand falling away from my face, leaving my skin feeling cold despite the growing warmth of the morning.
"I should change for training," he says, his voice rougher than usual.
I nod, not trusting my voice to work properly.
He walks away across the garden, his wings folding tight against his back, leaving me standing beside the path with my heart hammering against my ribs and a thousand confusing feelings chasing each other through my mind.
12
RHYEN
I've found purpose outside of my work—something I never knew I was missing. All in a little girl and her mom.
This afternoon finds us in the garden's heart, where the white-blooming vines create natural walls around a small clearing. Ava has commandeered the stone bench and transformed it into her royal throne, complete with cushions pilfered from the sitting room and a crown made of twisted flower stems that sits askew on her dark curls.
