Page 48 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
"Ava." Her name tears from my throat, raw and desperate.
Rhyen's celestial eyes find mine across the distance, and something in his expression makes my chest tighten. Not just relief, but something deeper, more profound. Something that looks dangerously close to the fierce protectiveness I've only ever felt for my daughter.
"She's safe," he calls softly, his voice carrying that gravelly quality it gets when he's been holding back emotion. "She's sleeping."
But I can't wait for him to climb the steps. I fly down them, my feet barely touching stone as I close the distance between us. When I reach them, my hands hover over Ava's small form, afraid to touch her, afraid she might disappear if I blink.
"Let me see her." The words come out broken, pleading.
Rhyen shifts slightly, angling his body so I can see her face. She looks so peaceful, so utterly trusting in his arms, that something inside me just... breaks. All the terror I've been holding at bay, all the memories of every nightmare I've lived through, all the desperate love and bone-deep fear that comes with protecting someone more precious than your own life—it all crashes over me at once.
A sob tears from my chest before I can stop it. My legs give out, and I sink onto the steps, my whole body shaking as the adrenaline finally leaves my system. She's safe. She's home. She's alive and whole and sleeping peacefully in the arms of a man who moved heaven and earth to bring her back to me.
"Hey." Rhyen's voice is impossibly gentle as he settles beside me, careful not to wake Ava. His free hand finds my shoulder, warm and steadying. "She's okay, Lenny. She's perfect."
"I thought—" I can't finish the sentence. Can't voice the horror that's been eating me alive for hours. "I thought I'd lost her."
"Never." The word comes out fierce, final. "I will never let anything happen to her. Or to you."
I look up at him then, really look, and what I see in his face makes my breath catch. This isn't just kindness, just duty. This is something raw and claiming and utterly devoted. He's looking at Ava like she's his own child, like he'd burn the world down before he'd let harm come to her.
"Let's go in," he murmurs, heading up the steps, and I follow him. I desperately need my baby girl in my arms.
We settle onto the large cushioned sofa, and carefully, so carefully, Rhyen transfers Ava into my lap. She mumbles something unintelligible but doesn't wake, just burrows into my embrace with the boneless trust of a sleeping child. I wrap my arms around her, pressing my face to her curls, breathing her in.
"There were so many places he could have taken her," I whisper against her hair. "So many places I might never have found her."
"But I did find her." Rhyen's hand settles on my back, a warm weight that anchors me to the present. "And she was exactly where she should be—hiding, being smart, waiting for rescue like we taught her."
"We taught her." The words taste strange on my tongue. When did it become 'we'? When did this brilliant, powerful man become so integral to our lives that I can't imagine existing without him?
Ava stirs, her violet eyes fluttering open. For a moment she looks confused, then she sees me and her face breaks into a radiant smile.
"Mama." Her small hands reach for my face, patting my cheeks as if to make sure I'm real. "You're here."
"I'm here, baby." I kiss her forehead, her nose, her soft cheeks. "I'm always here."
She twists in my lap to look at Rhyen, who's still sitting close enough that his warmth radiates against my side. "Daddy saved me."
The word hits me like a physical blow. Not in a bad way—in a way that settles something deep in my chest that I didn't even realize was unsettled. She's claiming him, just as surely as he's claimed her.
"He did," I agree softly. "He brought you home."
He ruffles her curls. "Ready for breakfast?"
Her eyes light up. "Honey cakes?"
Rhyen chuckles. "I think we have some."
And despite the tension I still sense in Rhyen, that I still feel myself, he sheds it for our little girl. She's always the man she needs him to be.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of desperate tenderness. We don't talk about what happened, don't dissect the horror or plan for the future. Instead, we exist in this precious bubble of safety and togetherness.
Ava refuses to leave our sides, and neither Rhyen nor I have any desire to let her. We move through the house as a unit—to the kitchen where Lira fusses over all of us and insists on making Ava's favorite honey cakes, to the garden where we spread blankets and share an impromptu picnic in the afternoon and I watch them play.
When Ava suggests building a fort in the sitting room, Rhyen doesn't hesitate. He conjures cushions and blankets with casual magic, constructing an elaborate fortress complete with multiple rooms and secret passages. Ava squeals with delight, crawling through tunnels and proclaiming herself the queen of her castle.
"You're the dragon," she informs Rhyen solemnly. "But a good dragon. One that protects the princess."
