Page 5 of Demon Daddy’s Hidden Daughter (Demon Daddies #8)
LENNY
I stay several paces behind Rhyen as we approach his estate, my hand never straying far from my knife. I feel uneasy about him holding Ava, but she's fallen asleep in his arms, and I don't dare wake her.
The narrow path winds through tall evergreens that tower overhead, their branches creating a natural canopy that filters the late afternoon light into dappled patterns across the stone walkway.
Wild gardens sprawl on either side—not the manicured perfection of noble estates, but something wilder, more alive.
Nightlilies bloom in impossible clusters, their silver petals catching what light penetrates the green shadows.
The house emerges gradually through the trees, and my breath catches despite myself.
Two stories of warm sandstone and pale gray stone rise from the valley floor, built in a gentle crescent that seems to embrace the landscape rather than dominate it.
Silver veins run through the archways like captured lightning, and the windows—actual glass, not the oiled parchment I've grown accustomed to—seem to glow with their own inner light.
This isn't just wealth. This is old money, established power, the kind of security I stopped believing in years ago.
Above the treeline, I catch sight of a narrow flight path carved through the air—a shimmering distortion that marks the aerial approach to the estate.
My stomach clenches. Xaphan territory through and through.
If enemies came looking for us here, they'd be flying straight into a stronghold designed to repel airborne threats.
Part of me wants to run. The old instincts scream that places this beautiful, this protected, always come with prices I can't afford to pay. Nothing in my life has ever been this easy, this straightforward. There has to be a catch.
But Ava sleeps peacefully in Rhyen's arms, her small face relaxed in a way I haven't seen since... I can't remember when. And the exhaustion in my bones runs so deep that even the promise of a few days' rest is enough to keep my feet moving forward.
The front entrance opens before we reach it, revealing a broad-shouldered xaphan with shoulder-length black hair tied back and fierce green eyes that miss nothing.
His wings are a deep blue-gray, the color of storm clouds, and he moves with the controlled precision of someone who's seen combat.
Despite the slight limp in his left leg, there's no weakness in his stance.
"Garent," Rhyen nods to the man. "This is Lenny and her daughter Ava. They'll be staying in the family wing. Lenny, Garent is my daytime and head guard."
Garent's green eyes flick to me, taking in everything—my worn clothes, my defensive posture, the way my hand hovers near my weapon.
But there's no judgment in his assessment, only the professional evaluation of a guard noting potential threats.
He gives me a respectful nod that somehow manages to convey both acknowledgment and reassurance.
"Ma'am. The wing's been kept ready." His voice is gravelly but not unkind. "I'll have Lira prepare the adjoining rooms."
I memorize the exits I can see—the front door we just entered through, an archway leading deeper into the house, what looks like a side passage toward the back.
The front hall stretches up into vaulted ceilings that make me feel small and exposed, but the polished stone floors are worn smooth in the centers, speaking of years of daily use rather than ceremonial grandeur.
"Lira!" Garent calls, and moments later a woman appears from the archway.
She's shorter than me, maybe mid-forties, with the slightly pointed ears and earth-brown skin that mark her as part nymph.
Her graying hair is braided with small flowers, and her brown eyes light up immediately when she sees Ava.
"Oh, what a darling little one," she coos, but keeps her voice soft so as not to wake the sleeping child. "I'm Lira, sweet girl. I keep this big house running properly." She shoots a meaningful look at Rhyen that suggests she thinks more than the house needs proper management. "How old is she?"
"Almost four," I answer quietly, still cataloguing escape routes. The side passage, yes, and probably a kitchen entrance somewhere. Places this size always have service doors.
"Perfect age for getting into everything." Lira's smile is genuine, laugh lines creasing around her eyes. "We'll have to zarryn-proof the stables when she's awake. Tovren will want to show her the foals, but those creatures have no sense around children."
A young woman hurries down what must be the main staircase—human, maybe twenty, with bright auburn hair escaping from a hasty braid and stormy gray eyes wide with curiosity. She trips slightly on the bottom step, catches herself with a little laugh, and smooths down her skirts.
"This is Merrin," Rhyen says as the girl approaches. "She'll help you get settled if you need anything."
"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 wide hallway 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."