Page 30 of Demon Daddy’s Hidden Son (Demon Daddies #7)

KALEEN

W e lie tangled together in the aftermath, our breathing slowly returning to normal.

The blankets are twisted around us, creating a warm cocoon that feels separate from the rest of the world.

Domiel's arms encircle me, one hand tracing lazy patterns across my bare shoulder while the other rests at the small of my back.

The firelight from the main room casts shifting shadows on the bedroom walls, and I can hear the soft whistle of wind outside. But here, wrapped in his warmth with his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, everything feels perfectly still.

"Domiel," I whisper, just to feel his name on my lips. It comes out soft and content, a sound of pure satisfaction.

His response is immediate—a gentle kiss pressed to the crown of my head, his lips lingering in my hair. The gesture is so tender it makes my chest tighten with emotion I can't quite name.

I shift slightly, tilting my head up to look at him.

In the dim light, his features are all sharp angles and gentle curves.

His silver-blue eyes are soft now, the fierce hunger from before replaced by something warmer, deeper.

The careful mask he usually wears has been completely abandoned, leaving him open and vulnerable in a way that steals my breath.

"Can you tell me about us?" The words come out quieter than I intended, but he hears them clearly enough. "Before, I mean. About who we were together."

Something flickers across his expression—surprise, maybe, or uncertainty. His hand stills against my skin.

"Kaleen—"

"I wasn't ready before," I say quickly, meeting his gaze steadily. I know I've shied away from when he mentions things and he's been careful. But I am so godsdamned tired of careful. "But I am now. I want to know everything."

For a long moment, he just looks at me, those perceptive eyes searching my face like he's trying to read something written there. Then he takes a breath, and I feel the subtle shift as he makes his decision.

"You used to work for a stoneweaving syndicate," he begins, his voice low and careful.

"You were working under an indentured contract, sorting magical materials for one of my projects.

The first time I saw you, you were delivering to my house, sorting the pieces with such expertise I was stunned.

But not as much as I was by your beauty. "

His fingers resume their gentle movement across my shoulder, and I wonder if he even realizes he's doing it.

"You looked up when I approached you, and I swear the world stopped moving.

" A hint of wonder creeps into his tone, like he's still amazed by the memory.

"You didn't bow or avert your eyes the way most humans did around xaphan.

You just looked at me like you were trying to figure out whether I was worth your time. "

Something deep in my chest responds to his words—not a memory exactly, but an echo of feeling. Like hearing a song I'd forgotten I once knew.

"I started to request you to deliver my items. And over time, you grew even bolder.

I'd always watch you when you came in, unable to take my eyes off you, and one day, you asked me why I was staring," he continues, and there's the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"No one had ever called me on that before.

Most people were too intimidated or too polite. "

"What did you say?"

"That I was wondering if you'd noticed the stone you were handling was starting to resonate.

" His thumb traces along my collarbone. "You looked down at it, then back at me, and said 'I know exactly what this stone is doing.

The question is whether you trust me enough to let me finish sorting it before it destabilizes your whole shipment. '"

The pride in his voice makes something warm unfurl in my chest. Even without remembering, I can picture the scene—can almost feel the defiance that must have driven me to speak that way to someone so clearly above my station.

"So I had you start coming every week. Most of the time, I didn't even need what I was ordering, but I didn't know how else to see you."

His hand slides up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin with infinite tenderness.

"We talked during those visits. About everything and nothing. You challenged every assumption I'd ever made about the world, about myself. Made me laugh when I'd forgotten I could. You were brilliant and stubborn and so fucking beautiful it hurt to look at you sometimes."

The ache in his voice tells me there's more to this story, something painful he's building toward. I wait, giving him the space to continue at his own pace.

"Your contract had three years left on it," he says finally. "I couldn't stand the thought of you bound to that life, treated like property. So I bought out the remainder and had the papers drawn up for your freedom."

My breath catches. "You freed me?"

"I gave you the contract itself. Your freedom, legally documented. No conditions, no expectations." His eyes search mine. "I told you that you could go anywhere you wanted, do anything you chose. Be free."

"But I stayed," I say, somehow knowing it's true even before he nods.

"You stayed." His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Not because you had to, but because you wanted to. Because we'd already started falling for each other, even if neither of us had said it out loud yet."

The emotions he's describing hit me like physical blows—recognition without true memory, feelings that resonate somewhere deep in my bones. I can feel the truth of it even if I can't grasp the actual experiences.

"How long were we together?"

"Two years before you went to Kaerion." Pain flashes across his features. "Two years of the best life I'd ever known. You moved into my estate officially as my household manager, but really you were so much more. My partner in everything. The other half of my soul."

His admission hangs between us, heavy with longing and loss. I can see the cost of those two years of searching in the lines around his eyes, the careful way he holds himself even now like he's afraid I might disappear again.

"Tell me about falling in love," I whisper.

This time his smile is real, transforming his entire face.

"It happened slowly, then all at once. You'd bring me tea while I worked late, and somehow those few minutes became the best part of my day.

You'd argue with me about my designs, push me to be better, remind me that beauty without function was just vanity. "

His fingers tangle in my hair, the gesture achingly familiar despite my lack of memory.

"The first time you fell asleep reading in my study, curled up in the chair by the fire, I knew I was lost. I think I knew the first day I met you, actually, but that was when I finally admitted it.

I watched you sleep for an hour, just cataloging the way the light fell across your face, the sound of your breathing.

When you woke up and caught me staring, you didn't seem embarrassed.

You just smiled and asked if I'd figured out whatever I was working on. "

"When did you know you loved me?"

The question comes out barely audible, but his response is immediate and unwavering.

"The moment I saw you. And I never stopped."

The simple certainty in his voice breaks something open inside me. I feel tears prick at my eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of a love I can't remember but can somehow feel echoing through every cell of my body.

"Did I love you?" The words come out small and uncertain, like I'm afraid of the answer.

He swallows hard, his throat working visibly. When he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion.

"Yes. Very much."

I lift myself up on my elbow, looking down at him in the dim light. His silver-blue eyes are bright with unshed tears, his expression vulnerable in a way that makes my heart clench.

And I feel it. I feel everything he says, even if I can't remember it. I feel that our souls are intertwined and he was meant for me. I feel he was the one I was looking for this whole time.

Tonight, I'm feeling brave. I suppose I'm feeling like myself. And I decide not to hold back.

"I might not remember everything," I tell him, my voice steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm me. "I might not remember the woman who fell in love with you before. But we did make new memories. And I've fallen in love with you again."

Emotion flares in his eyes, so intense it takes my breath away. He looks like he's barely breathing, like my words have stolen the air from his lungs.

Leaning down, I bring my lips close to his ear, letting my breath ghost across his skin.

"I love you," I whisper against his ear, and then I'm kissing him. Soft and gentle at first, then deeper as he responds with desperate hunger.

His arms come around me, pulling me tight against him like I'm everything he's ever wanted, everything he's ever needed. And maybe to him, I am.

When we break apart, his hands frame my face, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling.

"I love you too," he breathes. "More than I have words for. More than I thought possible."

And I feel that, too. Deep into my soul.