Page 19 of Demon Daddy’s Hidden Daughter (Demon Daddies #8)
LENNY
T he rest of our day at the waterfall passes in a haze of laughter and stolen glances.
Rhyen builds elaborate stone towers with Ava while I float in the deeper section, letting the cold water numb my thoughts.
But every time I surface, I catch him watching me with that same intense look that makes my stomach flutter and my skin feel too warm despite the mountain water.
Not that I mind. I can't stop staring at him, either. Rhyen, shirtless with water dripping down his defined torso, is a sight to behold.
By the time we spread our picnic blanket on a patch of soft moss overlooking the falls, the sun has climbed high enough to chase away the morning chill.
I've packed simple fare—bread, cheese, dried fruit, and sweet cakes that Ava devours with messy enthusiasm.
She chatters between bites, recounting every moment of our swim as if we weren't there to witness it ourselves.
"And then Rhyen dove under the water like a sea dragon, and I thought he'd disappeared forever, but then he came up right next to us and scared me!" She waves a piece of bread for emphasis, crumbs scattering across the blanket.
"I did warn you I was going under," Rhyen points out, his voice warm with amusement. He's put his shirt back on, but it clings to his still-damp skin in ways that make it hard for me to focus on the conversation.
"But you didn't say you were going to pop up like that." Ava abandons her bread to crawl over to him, settling against his side with the casual trust that still takes my breath away. "Next time, warn me better."
"I'll be more specific in my warnings," he promises solemnly, and she beams at him like he's just sworn a sacred oath.
I watch them together—this massive, scarred warrior and my tiny daughter—and something in my chest grows so tight it's hard to breathe.
The way he adjusts his position so she's more comfortable.
The patience in his voice when she interrupts him mid-sentence to point out a thalivern dancing over the water.
The gentle way he brushes crumbs from her cheek.
No one has ever loved her like this except me. No one has ever treated her like she's precious instead of dangerous.
"Mama, are you crying?" Ava's concerned voice snaps me back to the present.
I swipe quickly at my eyes, forcing a smile. "Just happy tears, little star. I'm having a wonderful time."
Rhyen's gaze finds mine across the blanket, and the understanding in his celestial blue eyes nearly undoes me all over again. He sees everything—my gratitude, my fear, my desperate hope that this isn't all temporary. That maybe, somehow, we get to keep this.
"Good," Ava declares, apparently satisfied with my explanation. She yawns widely, the excitement of the day finally catching up with her. "Can we come back tomorrow?"
"Maybe not tomorrow," I tell her, smoothing her dark curls. "But we can definitely come back."
She curls closer to Rhyen, her eyelids growing heavy in the warm afternoon sun. Within minutes, her breathing evens out into the deep rhythm of sleep, one small hand fisted against his chest.
He doesn't move. Doesn't try to shift her to a more comfortable position.
Just sits perfectly still, one large hand resting protectively on her back, and lets her sleep against his chest like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Even when we decide to pack it up, he's careful to not move her too much as he stands, keeping her against his chest.
The walk home is quiet except for the soft sounds of the forest around us. Rhyen carries Ava the entire way, her small frame dwarfed against his broad chest, her feet barely reaching past his ribs. She doesn't stir once, completely trusting in his strength to keep her safe.
I carry the picnic basket and try not to stare at the picture they make together. Try not to let myself think about how right it looks, how perfectly they fit. Try not to imagine a future where this is just another ordinary day instead of a precious gift that could be taken away at any moment.
I like that Ava and Rhyen get along so well. But those fantasies tend to run away when it comes to me and him, and I can't let it.
The house comes into view as the sun begins its descent toward the mountains, casting everything in golden light. Lira meets us at the door, taking one look at our sleepy child and immediately moving to help.
"Had a good day at the falls, I see," she whispers, her eyes crinkling with fondness.
"The best," Rhyen murmurs as I set the basket aside and we head for the stairs. "She wore herself out completely."
In Ava's bedroom—which she has started to sleep in alone—he lays her down with the careful precision of someone who's done this before, easing her onto the soft mattress without jarring her awake.
Her room is bathed in warm afternoon light, the gauzy curtains filtering the sun into something soft and dreamlike.
I hover in the doorway, watching as he pulls a light blanket over her sleeping form, tucking it around her shoulders with gentle hands. She shifts slightly, mumbling something incoherent, and he freezes until she settles again.
The sight of this powerful man being so tender with my daughter makes my heart ache in the most wonderful way. Makes me want things I've never let myself want before.
"Thank you," I whisper as he joins me in the doorway. "She had a lot of fun today. We both had a lot of fun."
He pulls Ava's door almost closed, leaving just a crack so we can hear if she wakes, then turns to face me in the sitting room of the suite. The afternoon light from the window at the far end catches in his silver hair, making him look almost ethereal.
"That's all I ever want," he says simply. "For you both to be happy."
The sincerity in his voice, the quiet conviction, makes my chest tight. He means it. This isn't about duty or obligation or even desire—though I've seen that burning in his eyes too. It's about genuine care. About wanting our joy for its own sake.
"We are," I tell him, and it's the truth in ways that terrify me. "Happier than we've ever been."
Something shifts in his expression at that admission. Heat and tenderness and something deeper that makes my pulse skip. For a moment, I think he might reach for me, might close the small distance between us in this shadowed hallway.
Instead, he smiles—soft and warm and devastating in its restraint.
"Good," he murmurs, echoing Ava's earlier sentiment. "I'll let you get cleaned up and rest as well."
He turns and walks toward his own room, leaving me standing there with that gentle smile burned into my memory and my heart hammering against my ribs.
With Ava asleep, I'm soaking in the copper tub in the bathroom, letting the hot water ease muscles I didn't realize were tense. Steam rises around me, scented with the bath salts Lira insisted I try, and for the first time all day, I'm alone with my thoughts.
They're dangerous thoughts.
I can't stop thinking about the way Rhyen looked at me at the waterfall. How his eyes tracked the water droplets on my skin like he wanted to chase them with his tongue. The way his voice roughened when he spoke to me, like keeping his distance was costing him something.
He wants me. I saw it in every stolen glance, felt it in the careful way he kept himself just out of reach. The knowledge should terrify me—want has always meant pain in my experience. But instead, it sends heat spiraling through my belly, makes me restless in ways I've never allowed myself to be.
Why is he holding back?
The question has been circling my mind all evening, growing more insistent with each passing hour. Is it because of what I told him? Because he thinks I'm too broken, too damaged by what happened with my master?
Or is it because he's trying to be honorable? Trying not to pressure me into something he thinks I'm not ready for?
The thought makes me want to scream with frustration. I'm so tired of being afraid of good things. So tired of letting my past dictate my future. So tired of wondering what it would feel like to have those strong hands on my skin, those soft lips against mine.
I want him. The realization hits me with startling clarity as I run the washcloth over my arms, my shoulders, everywhere his eyes lingered today. I want Rhyen Sarenthil with an intensity that should probably frighten me.
It doesn't. For the first time in my life, wanting feels like freedom instead of weakness.
I climb out of the tub and dry off with quick, efficient movements, my decision crystallizing with each passing second. I'm done waiting. Done wondering. If he wants me—and I know he does—then maybe it's time to find out what happens when we stop fighting it.
The thin nightdress I pull on is one of several Lira bought for me, soft cotton that falls to just below my knees. It's modest by most standards, but it clings to my curves in ways that make me acutely aware of my body. Of what I'm about to do.
My bare feet make no sound on the polished stone floors as I pad down the hallway toward Rhyen's room. Nerves dance under my skin, making my hands shake slightly, but I don't stop. Can't stop.
For the first time in my life, I want something—someone—and I'm ready to ask for it.