Page 31 of Demon Daddy’s Hidden Son (Demon Daddies #7)
DOMIEL
T hree mornings later, I wake to the soft sound of Kaleen shifting beside me. Dawn light filters through the small window, painting everything in pale gold. She's been quiet these past few days, thoughtful in a way that makes me wonder what's turning over in her mind.
I'm content to lie here watching her, memorizing the way the light catches in her chestnut hair and the peaceful curve of her lips. These stolen moments feel precious, fragile things I want to preserve forever.
Then she turns toward me, those warm amber eyes already alert and focused. There's something different in her expression this morning—a clarity that wasn't there before.
"Domiel," she says, her voice soft but certain. "Did we have a home together? Before?"
The question catches me off guard, though I suppose I should have expected it eventually. "Yes. We did."
She's quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the blanket between us. I can practically see the thoughts moving behind her eyes.
"I think..." she begins, then stops. Takes a breath and starts again. "I think I want to go back there. To our home."
Something fierce and bright flares in my chest—hope mixed with desperate relief. But I force myself to stay calm, to make sure this is truly what she wants.
"Are you certain?" I ask carefully. "Kaleen, you don't have to?—"
"I'm sure." Her interruption is gentle but firm. "I never felt at home here, Domiel. Not really. It's been better since you came, so much better, but I think this place was only ever meant to be temporary."
The conviction in her voice makes my heart race. She's not just saying what she thinks I want to hear—I can see the truth of it written across her features.
"The cottage, the village, even the people here... they've been kind to me, but they never felt like mine . Does that make sense?"
"It does." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Perfect sense."
She smiles then, bright and beautiful, and I have to kiss her. Just once, soft and quick, because the alternative is crushing her against me and never letting go.
When I pull back, she's still smiling. "How long will it take to get there?"
"A few days by carriage. Maybe a week if we take it slow."
"Then we should start preparing." There's excitement in her voice now, eagerness that makes her whole face light up. "I want to see our home."
Our home. The words hit me like a physical blow, sweet and devastating all at once.
I leave for the nearest trading city that morning, taking one of the village zarryn to make the journey faster.
The creature is as temperamental as its breed is known for, snorting and tossing its silver-maned head every time I adjust the reins.
But it's quick, and I need speed more than comfort right now.
The city is a bustling trade hub perched where three mountain roads converge. I find what I need at a transportation yard on the outskirts—a sturdy travel carriage with reinforced wheels and weather-resistant panels, plus a pair of zarryn bred for long-distance hauling.
The beasts are magnificent creatures, their silver coats gleaming in the afternoon sun and their dual tails switching with barely contained energy. The handler warns me they're moody, but they're also the strongest and fastest he has available.
"They'll get you where you need to go," he says, pocketing the handful of nodals I've given him. "Just don't expect them to be happy about it."
The negotiations take most of the day, but by evening I'm heading back to Veylowe with our transportation secured. The zarryn follow behind, their harness bells chiming softly with each step.
I return to find Kaleen has already begun packing.
She moves through the small cottage with methodical efficiency, sorting through the few possessions she's accumulated during her time here.
Most of it stays behind—simple village clothes, worn household items, things that belong to this life she's ready to leave.
"I kept this," she says, holding up a small wooden toy horse that I recognize as Braylon's favorite. "And a few of his clothes that still fit."
Our son is sitting on the floor nearby, playing with blocks that Callen carved for him. He seems oblivious to the significance of the packing, focused entirely on building an elaborate tower that defies all architectural logic.
"Papa fly?" he asks suddenly, looking up at me with those distinctive pale silver eyes ringed in amber.
"Soon," I tell him, ruffling his dark hair with its telltale gold glints. "We're going to take a trip first."
He considers this gravely, then returns to his blocks. At eighteen months, Braylon accepts change with the easy adaptability of the very young. As long as Kaleen and I are with him, he's content.
That night, as we lie together in the narrow bed one last time, Kaleen traces the line of my jaw with gentle fingers.
"Are you happy?" she asks. "About leaving, I mean. Going back."
"More than happy," I murmur against her palm. "I've been waiting two years to take you both home."
Her smile in response is radiant, full of anticipation and something that looks remarkably like joy.
The morning of our departure dawns clear and bright.
The zarryn stamp impatiently as I secure the last of our things in the carriage, their breath forming silver clouds in the cool air.
The vehicle is well-appointed but practical—cushioned seats, storage compartments, and heavy curtains to block wind and weather.
One by one, the villagers gather to say goodbye. Marnai comes first, her iron-gray braids neat despite the early hour. She embraces Kaleen with surprising warmth, whispering something I can't hear that makes Kaleen's eyes bright with unshed tears.
Tolle appears next, gruff and uncomfortable as always but carrying a small pouch of herbs "for the journey." He nods curtly at me, still clearly uncertain about my presence but no longer actively hostile.
Derri arrives with a leather-bound journal, pressing it into Kaleen's hands. "Stories," she says simply. "Ones I thought you might want to remember."
Even Jorren Thorne shows up, though he keeps his distance from me and focuses his attention entirely on Kaleen and Braylon.
The few words he speaks are kind but stiff, like a man fulfilling an obligation he's not entirely comfortable with.
Though I suppose for a little while, Kaleen and Braylon were a part of his family with how close his son was to them.
But it's Pez and Nomi who affect Braylon most. The siblings appear at the last minute, both looking unusually subdued. Braylon immediately abandons the wooden blocks he's been playing with and toddles toward them with outstretched arms.
"Up!" he demands, and Nomi obliges, lifting him easily despite her slight frame.
"You be good for your mama and papa," she tells him seriously, her usual knife-edge wariness softened into something almost tender. "And don't forget us, yeah?"
Pez reaches over to ruffle Braylon's hair, his gap-toothed grin more subdued than usual. "We'll miss you, little prince."
Braylon wraps his small arms around both of them in turn, babbling something that might be words of farewell or might just be happy sounds. When Nomi finally sets him down, he looks between the villagers with bright curiosity but no apparent distress.
I watch Kaleen as she makes her rounds, accepting hugs and well-wishes with genuine warmth.
But there's no hesitation in her movements, no backward looks filled with regret.
She moves through these farewells with the grace of someone completing a necessary ritual, not someone leaving her heart behind.
When Lake finally appears, walking slowly from the direction of his father's brewery, I tense despite myself. But Kaleen's greeting is friendly without being intimate—the kind of warmth she'd show any good friend.
"Take care of yourself," she tells him, and there's real affection in her voice. But it's the affection of fondness, not love. "Thank you for everything you've done for us."
He nods, his expression carefully neutral. "Safe travels, Kaleen. You too, little man," he adds, reaching down to touch Braylon's cheek gently.
The moment is bittersweet but not painful. Whatever complicated feelings might exist between them have been resolved, or at least set aside. Lake steps back with dignity intact, and I find myself respecting him for it.
Finally, it's time to go. I help Kaleen into the carriage, then lift Braylon up beside her. He immediately presses his face to the window, fascinated by this new adventure.
As I take the reins and signal the zarryn forward, I glance back at Kaleen one more time.
She's looking out the window too, but her expression isn't one of loss or longing.
Instead, she looks eager, excited, like someone finally heading toward something they've been searching for without knowing it.
The wheels begin to turn, carrying us away from Veylowe and toward the life we built together once before—the life I'm desperate to rebuild with her now.
The familiar silhouette of my estate emerges from the mountain mist like something conjured from memory itself.
Carved from dark stone and nestled into the hillside, it rises in elegant terraces that follow the natural curve of the land.
Crystalline windows catch the afternoon light, throwing fractured rainbows across the weathered walls.
The zarryn sense home before we do, their pace quickening as we approach the wrought-iron gates. They swing open at my approach—the recognition wards still remember me after two years of absence. The sound of metal on stone echoes through the courtyard like a welcoming song.