Page 46 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
"Two."
"Stop this ridiculous?—"
Ava's muscles tense.
"One."
I move like lightning given form, like every storm that's ever torn across the sky. Magic erupts from my hands in a concentrated blast aimed at Thalor's left side—the side not holding my daughter. The force of it slams into him with enough power to crack the stone wall behind him, and his grip on Ava loosens as he staggers.
She doesn't hesitate. My brilliant, brave little girl twists free and bolts like a lunox escaping a predator, her small legs carrying her toward the doorway I came through. She disappearsaround the corner in a flash of dark curls and violet fabric, exactly as I'd hoped.
Now there's nothing between me and the bastard who dared to touch her.
Thalor recovers faster than I'd expected, whirling to face me with fury written across his perfect features. His own magic flares—ice-blue and cold as his bloodline, the power of old nobility and ruthless breeding.
"You've finally lost your mind," he snarls, ice crystallizing in the air around his hands. "Defending that demon spawn will only?—"
I don't let him finish. My fist connects with his jaw with enough force to snap his head back, and I feel the satisfying crack of bone beneath my knuckles. He stumbles but doesn't go down, bringing his hands up in a gesture that sends shards of ice flying toward my face.
I deflect them with a barrier of golden energy, then press forward with the relentless advance that once made enemy forces scatter before me. This isn't a duel between gentleman warriors. This is vengeance, pure and simple.
Thalor tries to create distance, backing down the corridor while weaving defensive spells. But I'm faster, stronger, and fueled by a father's rage. I grab him by the throat and slam him against the wall hard enough to crack the stone.
"She's four years old," I growl, my grip tightening until his pale skin begins to mottle. "A child who's never hurt anyone in her life."
He manages to get his hands up, sending another blast of magic into my chest. The impact drives me back a step, but I keep hold of him, my fingers digging into his throat.
"Demon—blood," he gasps, his perfect composure finally cracking. "Corrupting—everything?—"
I slam him against the wall again, and this time I hear his skull crack against the stone. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, but his pale green eyes still burn with hatred.
"She's mine," I snarl, pouring every ounce of love and protectiveness into those two words. "My daughter. And you put your hands on her."
The magic that erupts from me then is unlike anything I've ever channeled before. It's not the controlled power of a trained warrior, but something primal and devastating. Golden energy wraps around Thalor like chains of fire, burning through his defenses as if they were made of paper.
He screams—a high, thin sound that echoes off the corridor walls. His own magic flickers and dies as my power overwhelms him, cooking him from the inside out. I feel his ribs crack beneath my grip, feel his windpipe collapse under the pressure of my fingers.
And I feel nothing but cold satisfaction as the light fades from his pale green eyes.
Thalor Keshin drops to the floor like a discarded doll, his perfect features now slack and lifeless. Blood pools beneath his head where it struck the stone, and his chest doesn't rise.
I should feel something—regret, perhaps, or the weight of having killed a former colleague. Instead, I feel only the bone-deep certainty that justice has been served. He threatened my family. He terrified my daughter. He got exactly what he deserved.
But there's no time to savor the victory. I have someone far more important to find.
24
RHYEN
"Ava," I call, my voice echoing through the empty corridors. "It's safe now, sweetheart. Come to Daddy."
The silence that follows my call stretches too long. My heart hammers against my ribs as I move through the corridors, wings tucked tight against my back to avoid knocking anything over in my haste. Every shadow could hide her small form, every corner a potential refuge for a terrified child.
I force myself to slow down, to think like Ava. She's clever, observant, and when scared, she goes small and quiet. My eyes scan for the subtle signs only someone who's spent months watching her would recognize—a displaced cushion here, a slightly askew decorative vase there. She moves through the world like water, leaving barely a trace, but I've learned to read her disruptions.
There. A training mat, its edge flipped over like someone tripped on it in haste. I push through the door, my boots silent on the polished stone floor.
"Ava," I call softly, crouching down to scan the low hiding spots. "The bad man is gone. You're safe with me."
