Page 10 of Demon Daddy’s Nanny (Demon Daddies #3)

10

RIDWAN

I jolt awake, my wings rustling against silk sheets. Moonlight filters through the tall windows of my chambers, casting long shadows across the floor. Sleep eludes me again, replaced by thoughts of her - Eva.

Her image burns in my mind: chestnut hair falling loose from that messy ponytail she always wears, amber eyes that challenge mine without hesitation. No demure glances or rehearsed courtesies. Just raw honesty that cuts through the walls I've built.

I push off the bed, bare feet silent on cold stone as I pace. My wings flex and fold with each turn, a rhythmic movement that does nothing to calm the storm inside. The scar on my cheek tingles - a phantom reminder of battles fought and won. But this... this is a different kind of battle.

Eva doesn't bow or simper. She stands her ground, even when my temper flares. Yesterday in the kitchen, she dared to argue about Annalise's studies. Any other servant would have cowered, but she planted her feet and matched my glare. The memory of flour dusting her cheek, the flush of anger on her skin, the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides - it's all seared into my mind.

I shouldn't want her. She's human. She works for me. She's responsible for my daughter's welfare. Every logical reason piles up like the reports on my desk, and yet...

The distant city lights of New Solas glitter below, a sea of gold that reminds me of my position, my responsibilities. The weight of my lineage settles heavy across my shoulders. But even that can't drive away the memory of Eva's rare smile, the one she saves for Annalise, the one that makes my chest tight with an emotion I refuse to name.

I stalk through dark corridors, wings pulled tight against my back. The familiar path to the kitchen offers no distraction from my thoughts. At this hour, the manor sleeps—or should.

Warmth and light spill from beneath the kitchen door. The scent of vanilla and spices hits me before I push it open. Eva stands at the center island, hair escaping her ponytail in wild strands, hands deep in dough. Her sleeves are rolled to her elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with flour.

She looks up, those amber eyes widening. No fear - just surprise. "What brings you here?"

"Can't sleep." I move closer, drawn by the rhythm of her kneading. Her fingers press and fold with practiced ease. "You should be resting."

"So should you." She doesn't pause her work. "I bake when I can't sleep. The routine helps quiet my mind."

The kitchen feels smaller with both of us in it. Steam rises from cups of tea on the counter - she's been here a while. My wings brush a shelf as I shift, and bottles clink together.

"Careful with those wings." She shoots me a look that few would dare. "Some of us have to clean up after you."

"Watch your tone." But there's no heat in my words. The familiar dance of our exchanges settles something in my chest.

Eva snorts and shapes the dough into a loaf. Flour streaks her cheek, and my fingers itch to brush it away. "You're not exactly radiating authority in those sleeping clothes."

She's right. I'm standing in my kitchen in loose pants and an open shirt, wings half-spread like some restless fledgling. But her casual dismissal of my status - it should infuriate me. Instead, it loosens the knot between my shoulders.

The quiet domesticity of the moment strikes me. Eva moves through my kitchen with the same confidence she shows in everything, claiming the space as her own. She slides the loaf into the oven without looking at me, but a small smile plays at her lips.

I watch her pull another batch of dough from a covered bowl. Her movements are precise, practiced - nothing wasted. No noble grace here, just the earned efficiency of someone who's mastered their craft.

"Want to learn?" Eva glances up through escaped strands of hair. "Or are you just going to loom there all night?"

My first instinct is to turn away. I don't bake. I lead armies, command respect, broker deals that shape the future of New Solas. But something in her easy confidence holds me in place.

"Show me."

Eva's eyebrows lift, but she gestures me closer. "Wash your hands first. Thoroughly."

I bristle at being ordered around in my own kitchen, but comply. The warm water feels good against my skin, grounding.

"Here." She steps aside, making room at the counter. My wings brush her back as I take position, and she doesn't flinch - just reaches around me to dump flour onto the surface.

"Like this." Eva's hands cover mine, smaller but stronger than I expected. She guides my fingers into the dough, showing me how to press and fold. Her chest presses against my arm as she leans in. "You need to feel the texture change. Too rough and you'll make it tough."

The dough is alive under my hands, responding to each push and pull. Eva's breath warms my shoulder as she watches my technique. Her proximity sets my nerves on fire, but I force myself to focus on the task.

"Harder than it looks, isn't it?" She smirks when I tear the dough. "The mighty Ridwan, defeated by bread."

"Watch yourself," I growl, but there's no real threat in it. Her laugh, low and genuine, stirs something in my chest.

She steps closer, adjusting my grip. "Like this. Let the weight of your hands do the work." Her fingers slide between mine, demonstrating the motion. The casual intimacy of it sends a thrill through me.

The dough takes shape under our joined hands, smooth and elastic. Eva's presence at my side feels dangerous and necessary, like the edge of a blade against skin.

The kitchen falls silent except for our breathing and the soft sounds of dough against . Eva's hands remain tangled with mine, guiding each movement. Her back presses against my chest, fitting perfectly between my wings. The scent of vanilla and spices mingles with something uniquely her - warm skin and summer herbs.

My thumbs brush her wrists with each press into the dough. Her pulse jumps beneath my touch. The kitchen suddenly feels too warm, too small, too intimate.

"Eva." Her name escapes before I can stop it, rough and low.

She stills but doesn't pull away. "Yes?"

The word ghosts across my collarbone. I close my eyes, fighting for control. When did this human slip past my defenses? She's brought color back into my world - laughter in the halls, warmth in forgotten corners. Even Annalise smiles more now, her sharp edges softening under Eva's patient care.

My wings curl forward instinctively, creating a golden canopy around us both. Eva's breath catches. Her fingers tighten against mine in the dough.

"Look at me." The words come out as a command.

She turns in the circle of my arms, face tilted up. Flour streaks her cheek, and this time I give in to the urge to brush it away. My thumb leaves a trail of heat across her skin.

"You've changed things here." I trace the line of her jaw. "Made this place feel like home again."

Eva's eyes darken, pupils wide in the dim light. No fear in her gaze - only challenge and something deeper that makes my blood burn. "Someone had to."

The words strike true. Before her, these halls echoed with silence. Annalise and I circled each other like wounded animals, neither knowing how to bridge the gap. But Eva stepped between us, fearless and determined, refusing to let us hide behind our walls.

My hand slides into her hair, loosening what remains of her ponytail. Dark strands spill over my fingers like silk. Eva's breath hitches, her hands coming to rest against my chest. The touch sears through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"Ridwan." My name on her lips sounds like a prayer and a warning.

The world narrows to this moment - her amber eyes reflecting lamplight, the warmth of her body against mine, the slight tremble in her fingers where they press against my chest. Nothing exists beyond the circle of my wings, beyond the electric current crackling between us.

Eva's lips part, soft and inviting. The sight pulls at something primal inside me. Her pulse races beneath my palm where it cradles her jaw. She tilts her face up, and I find myself bending down, drawn by an invisible force I can't fight.

A heartbeat away from tasting her, reality crashes back. The weight of my position, my duties, my failures - they slam into me like physical blows. Sera's face flashes through my mind, followed by Annalise's. I can't do this. Can't risk destroying another life with my poison.

My hands curl into fists as I wrench away. The loss of contact feels like tearing open a wound. Eva makes a small sound - hurt or protest, I don't know. Don't let myself look to find out.

"This was a mistake." The words scrape my throat raw.

I turn, wings snapping tight against my back. The kitchen suddenly feels like a trap, the warm domestic scene twisted into mockery. My feet carry me to the door in long strides while my chest constricts with each step.

The dark corridor beckons - familiar, safe, empty. I don't look back. Can't bear to see the expression on her face. The door closes behind me with devastating finality.

The sound of my boots on echoes through the sleeping manor as I flee like a coward from the one thing that's made me feel alive in years.