Page 21 of Demon Daddy’s Hidden Daughter (Demon Daddies #8)
LENNY
I wake with sunlight streaming through the gauze curtains and something unfamiliar blooming in my chest—lightness. Pure, uncomplicated joy that makes me want to stretch like a cat in the warm sheets and smile at nothing.
The kiss. Gods, the kiss.
My fingers drift to my lips without conscious thought, tracing where Rhyen's mouth claimed mine with such devastating thoroughness. Even now, hours later, I can still taste mint and something uniquely him, still feel the careful way he held my face like I was precious instead of broken.
I've never been kissed like that. My master's touches were about ownership, dominance, taking what wasn't freely given. But Rhyen—he kissed me like he was drowning and I was air. Like he'd been waiting his whole life for that moment.
The memory sends warmth spiraling through me, pooling low in my belly in a way that should terrify me but doesn't. With Rhyen, even desire feels safe. Protected.
I slip from bed with energy I haven't felt in years, humming under my breath as I dress in one of the simple work dresses he'd bought me.
The fabric is soft cotton in deep green, nothing fancy, but it fits properly and makes me feel almost pretty.
The thought of seeing him this morning, of meeting those celestial blue eyes and remembering what happened between us, sends butterflies dancing through my stomach.
The kitchen welcomes me with familiar warmth, morning light painting the stone counters gold.
I move through my routine with unusual ease, practically floating as I prepare the morning meal.
Fresh bread from yesterday's baking fills the air with yeast and comfort.
Eggs from the estate's small flock sizzle in the iron pan, their edges crisping perfectly.
I slice fruit with care, arranging the colorful pieces in patterns that would make Ava giggle.
"Someone's in a good mood," Lira comments as she enters to start her own morning tasks. The half-earth nymph's knowing smile suggests she's noticed the humming, the way I can't seem to stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
"It's a beautiful morning," I deflect, but even I can hear the lightness in my voice. It sounds foreign after so many years of careful neutrality.
"Mmm-hmm." She begins arranging wildflowers in a small vase, her earth magic coaxing them to bloom brighter. "And I suppose it has nothing to do with certain late-night wanderings?"
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don't feel ashamed. Can't feel ashamed when happiness is still bubbling through me like champagne. "Mind your own business, nosy."
Her delighted laugh follows me as I carry the breakfast tray toward the dining room, where voices already drift from beyond the doorway—Rhyen's deep rumble mixing with Ava's bright chatter.
They sit at the polished wooden table, Ava perched on her usual cushion to reach properly while gesticulating wildly about something.
Rhyen listens with the patient attention he always gives her, but when I enter, his gaze immediately finds mine.
He's usually gone by now, but I'm glad he's stayed later.
The impact hits me square in the chest. Those crystalline blue eyes hold warmth and something deeper—a heat that makes my pulse skip and stumble. The corner of his mouth lifts in a small, private smile that's just for me, acknowledgment of what passed between us in the darkness of his room.
"Good morning," he murmurs, voice pitched low enough that Ava doesn't catch the intimacy threaded through it.
"Good morning." I set the tray down with hands that only tremble slightly, hyperaware of his presence in ways that should alarm me.
The breadth of his shoulders beneath a simple white shirt.
The way his silver hair catches the light.
How his fingers wrap around his mug with the same gentle strength that held my face last night.
"Mama, Rhyen says he could take me with him today!" Ava bounces in her seat, violet eyes sparkling with excitement. "He's teaching a class to kids! Please Mama, can I?"
The request should send anxiety skittering through me—it would have, just weeks ago.
Letting Ava out of my sight, trusting someone else with her safety, would have been impossible.
But looking at Rhyen now, seeing the genuine affection in his expression as he watches my daughter, I feel only warmth.
"That sounds wonderful, little star." The endearment slips out naturally, along with my consent. "But you listen to everything Rhyen tells you, understand? And be careful around the others." I know Rhyen won't let her get hurt, and I can only hope the other kids won't have such harsh words.
"I promise!" She launches herself at me for a hug that smells of sleep and innocence, her small arms squeezing tight around my waist. "And then I can show you everything I learned!"
"I can't wait," I tell her, smoothing down her sleep-mussed curls. The horns beneath are barely noticeable now—Rhyen's household staff never stare, never make her feel like the monster others have called her.
Rhyen's gaze intensifies at my declaration, something fierce and protective flashing across his features. When he speaks, his voice carries quiet conviction. "I'll keep her safe while we're gone."
And I know he will.
An hour later, I stand in the doorway watching them disappear down the winding path toward the stable, Ava's hand trustingly clasped in Rhyen's much larger one. She skips beside him, chattering about everything and nothing, while his wings catch the breeze in casual elegance.
I'm shocked that there's no nerves jittering through me. Instead, I feel peaceful. Complete in a way I've never experienced.
When they vanish around the bend, I return to the kitchen but find myself unusually restless. Without my usual anxiety as company, the silence feels different—not oppressive, but expectant. Like the house itself is holding its breath.
I clean with more energy than necessary, scrubbing already spotless counters and reorganizing perfectly arranged pantry shelves. But my mind keeps drifting back to last night, to the reverent way Rhyen touched me, the hunger I saw in his eyes when I finally pulled away.
For the first time in five years, I let myself imagine staying somewhere. Not just hiding or surviving, but actually living. Building something real.
What would that look like? Mornings like this one, preparing meals for people who care about us. Evenings in the garden watching Rhyen teach Ava to fight, maybe one day use magic I'm sure she'll have. Nights...
My cheeks burn as my imagination ventures into dangerous territory. Nights spent in strong arms instead of alone with my nightmares. Waking beside someone who chooses me, who sees past the scars to whatever's left worth loving.
The fantasy feels impossible and terrifying and wonderful all at once. After so many years of running, of existing in the spaces between heartbeats, the thought of permanence makes me dizzy.
But maybe—maybe I could try. Maybe I could be brave enough to reach for something good.
The afternoon stretches ahead of me, quiet and full of possibility. I decide to make Ava's favorite honey cakes for when they return, something special to celebrate this new lightness growing in my chest.
I'm just measuring flour when I hear their voices echo from outside. Through the kitchen window, I watch Rhyen and Ava walking towards the house. She appears unharmed, still talking animatedly, but something in Rhyen's posture sets warning bells chiming in my head.
His shoulders are rigid beneath his riding jacket. His jaw is set in hard lines I haven't seen since those first days when he was all business and careful distance. Even from here, I can see the tension radiating from his tall frame.
They enter through the front rather than coming around to the kitchen, and I hear Ava's voice echoing cheerfully from the foyer as she regales Lira with tales of how she is the best fighter and Rhyen even said so. But there's no answering rumble from Rhyen, no warm laughter or patient questions.
My stomach clenches with familiar dread as heavy footsteps climb the stairs. A door closes with more force than necessary somewhere above.
The joy that carried me through the morning begins to curdle, replaced by the cold anxiety I know too well. What happened? What changed between this morning's heated glances and now?
I stand frozen in the kitchen, flour-dusted hands gripping the counter's edge as doubts swarm like carrion birds. My mind whirrs, trying to come up with reasons. Ava seems happy so it couldn't have been his class.
Did he regret kissing me? Realize what a mistake it was to get involved with damaged goods? Maybe seeing me in daylight reminded him of all the reasons why a decorated war hero shouldn't waste his time on a former slave with too much baggage and a half-demon child.
The worst part is how easily the self-doubt slides back into place, like slipping on clothes that still fit despite years of disuse. Of course he changed his mind. Of course whatever I thought I saw in his eyes was wishful thinking. Of course?—
"Mama!" Ava bursts into the kitchen like a miniature whirlwind, still glowing with excitement from her adventure. "I have to show you what I learned!" She reaches for my hand, pulling me toward the garden.
But even through her enthusiasm, I notice she keeps glancing toward the ceiling where Rhyen disappeared. Children pick up on tension faster than adults realize, and Ava's emotional intelligence has always been sharp.
"Where did Rhyen go, little star?" I ask carefully, trying to keep my voice light.
"He said he needed to wash up," she reports, but her small brow furrows with confusion. "He got really quiet on the way home. Did I do something wrong?"
"No, baby. You could never do anything wrong." The reassurance comes automatically, but my own certainty crumbles a little more with each passing minute of silence from upstairs.
Rhyen has never been like this before. But I'm worried that one of us did do something wrong…
I'm worried I was wrong.