Page 39 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
"I promise!" She launches herself at me for a hug that smells of sleep and innocence, her small arms squeezing tight around my waist. "And then I can show you everything I learned!"
"I can't wait," I tell her, smoothing down her sleep-mussed curls. The horns beneath are barely noticeable now—Rhyen'shousehold staff never stare, never make her feel like the monster others have called her.
Rhyen's gaze intensifies at my declaration, something fierce and protective flashing across his features. When he speaks, his voice carries quiet conviction. "I'll keep her safe while we're gone."
And I know he will.
An hour later, I stand in the doorway watching them disappear down the winding path toward the stable, Ava's hand trustingly clasped in Rhyen's much larger one. She skips beside him, chattering about everything and nothing, while his wings catch the breeze in casual elegance.
I'm shocked that there's no nerves jittering through me. Instead, I feel peaceful. Complete in a way I've never experienced.
When they vanish around the bend, I return to the kitchen but find myself unusually restless. Without my usual anxiety as company, the silence feels different—not oppressive, but expectant. Like the house itself is holding its breath.
I clean with more energy than necessary, scrubbing already spotless counters and reorganizing perfectly arranged pantry shelves. But my mind keeps drifting back to last night, to the reverent way Rhyen touched me, the hunger I saw in his eyes when I finally pulled away.
For the first time in five years, I let myself imagine staying somewhere. Not just hiding or surviving, but actually living. Building something real.
What would that look like? Mornings like this one, preparing meals for people who care about us. Evenings in the garden watching Rhyen teach Ava to fight, maybe one day use magic I'm sure she'll have. Nights...
My cheeks burn as my imagination ventures into dangerous territory. Nights spent in strong arms instead of alone with mynightmares. Waking beside someone who chooses me, who sees past the scars to whatever's left worth loving.
The fantasy feels impossible and terrifying and wonderful all at once. After so many years of running, of existing in the spaces between heartbeats, the thought of permanence makes me dizzy.
But maybe—maybe I could try. Maybe I could be brave enough to reach for something good.
The afternoon stretches ahead of me, quiet and full of possibility. I decide to make Ava's favorite honey cakes for when they return, something special to celebrate this new lightness growing in my chest.
I'm just measuring flour when I hear their voices echo from outside. Through the kitchen window, I watch Rhyen and Ava walking towards the house. She appears unharmed, still talking animatedly, but something in Rhyen's posture sets warning bells chiming in my head.
His shoulders are rigid beneath his riding jacket. His jaw is set in hard lines I haven't seen since those first days when he was all business and careful distance. Even from here, I can see the tension radiating from his tall frame.
They enter through the front rather than coming around to the kitchen, and I hear Ava's voice echoing cheerfully from the foyer as she regales Lira with tales of how she is the best fighter and Rhyen even said so. But there's no answering rumble from Rhyen, no warm laughter or patient questions.
My stomach clenches with familiar dread as heavy footsteps climb the stairs. A door closes with more force than necessary somewhere above.
The joy that carried me through the morning begins to curdle, replaced by the cold anxiety I know too well. What happened? What changed between this morning's heated glances and now?
I stand frozen in the kitchen, flour-dusted hands gripping the counter's edge as doubts swarm like carrion birds. My mind whirrs, trying to come up with reasons. Ava seems happy so it couldn't have been his class.
Did he regret kissing me? Realize what a mistake it was to get involved with damaged goods? Maybe seeing me in daylight reminded him of all the reasons why a decorated war hero shouldn't waste his time on a former slave with too much baggage and a half-demon child.
The worst part is how easily the self-doubt slides back into place, like slipping on clothes that still fit despite years of disuse. Of course he changed his mind. Of course whatever I thought I saw in his eyes was wishful thinking. Of course?—
"Mama!" Ava bursts into the kitchen like a miniature whirlwind, still glowing with excitement from her adventure. "I have to show you what I learned!" She reaches for my hand, pulling me toward the garden.
But even through her enthusiasm, I notice she keeps glancing toward the ceiling where Rhyen disappeared. Children pick up on tension faster than adults realize, and Ava's emotional intelligence has always been sharp.
"Where did Rhyen go, little star?" I ask carefully, trying to keep my voice light.
"He said he needed to wash up," she reports, but her small brow furrows with confusion. "He got really quiet on the way home. Did I do something wrong?"
"No, baby. You could never do anything wrong." The reassurance comes automatically, but my own certainty crumbles a little more with each passing minute of silence from upstairs.
Rhyen has never been like this before. But I'm worried that one of us did do something wrong…
I'm worriedIwas wrong.
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