Page 9 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
"Oh, hello!" Merrin's enthusiasm is immediate and unguarded. "I'm so glad you're here—the house feels too quiet sometimes with just all of us. Do you like tea? I know where Lira keeps the good stuff, not just the everyday leaves."
I study her face, looking for the calculation, the hidden agenda, the subtle cruelty that experience has taught me to expect from people who seem too friendly too fast. But Merrin just beams at me with the uncomplicated warmth of someone who hasn't learned yet that kindness can be weaponized.
"Merrin, dear, let them breathe first," Lira chides gently. "They've been traveling."
The sound of approaching footsteps draws my attention, and I turn to see another xaphan emerging from what might be the direction of the stables. This one is older, maybe sixty in human years, with grizzled silver hair and wings that have seen better days. His clothes are practical work gear, leather apron stained with what I hope is just zarryn feed, and his weathered hands speak of decades spent with animals.
"Tovren," Rhyen says. "Our new cook, Lenny, and her daughter, Ava."
Tovren's eyes immediately fix on Ava, and his entire expression softens. "Well now, there's a little angel if I ever saw one. Look at those tiny hands." He glances at me with the kind of respectful nod I'd expect from someone who understands that mothers are forces to be reckoned with. "Ma'am. The stables are always open if the little one wants to see the zarryn. They're gentle with children, mostly."
"Mostly?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"They're particular about their treats," Tovren chuckles. "Get demanding if they think someone might have sugar cubes. But they'd never hurt a child. Got too much sense for that."
I nod, still processing the easy way these people talk about Ava spending time in their spaces, around their animals. No one's mentioned half-demon blood or asked uncomfortable questions about her parentage. They're treating her like any child who might visit, as if the small horns barely visible through her dark curls are nothing worth remarking on.
A door opens somewhere deeper in the house, and another xaphan appears—younger than the others, maybe thirty, with warm brown skin and curly hair kept short. His wings are a rich indigo, and when he smiles, it transforms his entire face.
"That's Orris," Rhyen explains as the younger man approaches. "Night guard, but he keeps day hours often enough."
"Training runs," Orris says with a grin. "Rhyen's determined to make me worthy of the position." He peers at Ava with curious brown eyes. "Is she really sleeping through all this chatter? Children usually wake up when there are new voices around."
"She's exhausted," I say simply, and something in my tone must convey the deeper truth because Orris's expression grows more serious.
"Well, she'll sleep well here. The wards keep everything quiet at night—no unexpected noises to wake anyone."
Wards. Magical protections around the entire property. My pulse quickens with something that might be relief or might be panic. Protected, yes, but also contained.
"The family wing is this way," Lira says, gesturing toward the staircase. "Connected rooms with your own sitting area and bath. Windows overlook the gardens, nice morning light for the little one."
I follow her up the stairs, hyperaware of every detail. Rhyen walks beside me, still carrying Ava, while Merrin trails behind with obvious excitement. The second floor opens into a widehallway with more of those softly glowing windows, and Lira leads us to the far end where she opens a heavy wooden door.
"Here we are," she says warmly, stepping aside so I can see.
The rooms are beautiful. Not ostentatious, but comfortable in a way that speaks of real wealth—soft gold drapes that probably cost more than I've made in the last year, low fireplaces with enchanted flames that give off heat without smoke, and furniture that's both elegant and practical. The adjoining bedroom where Ava would sleep has a small bed with a hand-carved headboard and a window seat perfect for a child to curl up with a book.
"The bath is through here," Merrin says, opening another door to reveal a bathing room with actual running water and a tub large enough to soak in. "Hot water whenever you want it—the heating runes are always active."
I stand in the center of the main room, taking it all in. These people are treating me like a welcome guest, not a desperate refugee they found in the market. They're talking about Ava like she belongs here, like they expect to see her running through their halls and playing in their gardens.
It's everything I've dreamed of for her, everything I've told myself we could never have.
And that's exactly why I can't trust it.
"The grounds are yours to explore," Rhyen says, shifting Ava gently in his arms as she stirs slightly. "All of it—the gardens, the stables, the paths down to the waterfall. There are no restrictions."
I stare at him, waiting for the other boot to drop. The qualifier. The list of conditions. The explanation of what he expects in return for this unprecedented freedom.
It doesn't come.
"I don't understand." The words slip out before I can stop them, and I immediately curse my honesty. Never show confusion. Never admit weakness.
Rhyen's celestial blue eyes study my face with what looks like genuine puzzlement. "What's to understand? This is your home now. You don't need permission to walk in your own home."
Home. The word hits me like a physical blow, and I have to work to keep my expression neutral. I haven't had a home since I was sixteen. I've had hiding places, temporary shelters, safe houses that lasted a few days if I was lucky. But home suggests permanence, belonging, safety that doesn't come with a price tag attached.
"Nothing's free," I say quietly, hating how small my voice sounds. "There's always a cost."
