Page 49 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
"And what's your mama?" he asks, settling cross-legged beside our fortress.
Ava considers this with the gravity of someone making a life-altering decision. "Mama's the princess. The brave one who saves people."
My throat tightens at the simple description. In Ava's eyes, I'm not a broken thing, not damaged goods, not a victim. I'm brave. I'm someone who saves people.
"And we all live in the castle together?" Rhyen asks.
"Forever and always," Ava declares with the certainty only children possess.
When exhaustion finally claims her, we carry her upstairs together. Rhyen lifts her from the fort while I gather the little wooden thalivern that he bought her at the market weeks ago, and we climb the stairs in perfect synchronization. In her room, we move around each other like we've done this a thousand times before—Rhyen settling her into bed while I fetch her nightgown, me tucking her in while he dims the enchanted lights.
"Story," Ava mumbles, already half-asleep.
"Which one?" I ask, smoothing her curls back from her forehead.
"About the family that finds each other."
I freeze. We don't have a story about that. But Rhyen settles into the chair beside her bed without missing a beat.
"Once upon a time," he begins, his deep voice soft and hypnotic, "there was a brave princess and her little princess daughter who traveled all across the kingdom looking for the best castle to call home."
Ava's eyes drift closed as he weaves a tale of wandering and searching, of a kind dragon who opened his castle to them, of how they discovered that sometimes family isn't about blood—it's about choice, about love, about the people who would move mountains to keep you safe.
"And they lived happily ever after?" Ava whispers.
"They're still living it," Rhyen says quietly. "Every day."
When she's finally asleep, we stand there for a long moment, watching her chest rise and fall. The soft glow of the enchanted nightlight plays across her peaceful features, and I'm struck again by how young she is, how much trust she places in us.
"She called you Daddy," I say again, because I need to understand this shift, this claiming that's happened between them.
"She did." Rhyen's hand finds mine in the darkness. "And I realized I would die before I let anything happen to her."
"That's what being a parent feels like," I whisper. "Like your heart is walking around outside your body, completely vulnerable."
His fingers tighten around mine. "I never thought I'd want this. A family. But looking at her, at you..." He trails off, shaking his head. "You've changed everything in my life, Lenny. Both of you have."
We slip from the room together, but before he can lead me to his room, I stop Rhyen. In the hallway, I turn to face him fully, taking in the exhaustion around his eyes, the tension still coiled in his massive shoulders.
"Thank you," I breathe. "For bringing her home. For being what we needed."
There's so much more I want to say, but I don't know how. I don't know what it's like to care for someone, to express that.
"Lenny." My name sounds different in his mouth now, rougher, more possessive. "I need you to understand something."
I wait, my heart stuttering in my chest.
"I'm not letting you run again," he says quietly. "Not from this. Not from me. What happened today proved something I should have realized already—you're mine. Both of you. And I protect what's mine."
The words should terrify me. Should send me spiraling back into the familiar patterns of fear and flight. Instead, they settle into my chest like a key finding its lock.
"I don't want to run," I admit. "For the first time in my life, I want to stay."
The words hang between us in the dimly lit hallway, heavy with promise and possibility. Rhyen's celestial eyes search my face, and I can see the exact moment something fundamentalshifts in his expression—when careful restraint gives way to raw need.
"Say it again," he breathes, his free hand coming up to cup my face.
"I want to stay." The words come easier this time, more certain. "With you. Here. Home."
