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

3

EVA

T he morning rush at the bakery keeps my hands busy, but my mind wanders. Steam rises from fresh loaves as I pull them from the oven, the familiar scent of yeast and warmth filling the air. Yet instead of finding comfort in the routine, I keep seeing flashes of golden wings and silver eyes.

My fingers knead the next batch of dough with more force than necessary. The girl - Annalise - had looked so lost yesterday, standing in her fine silks while clutching that package of pastries like a lifeline. Even with her sharp tongue and proud stance, something in those otherworldly eyes had screamed of loneliness.

"You're going to murder that dough." Madam Thea’s voice snaps me from my thoughts. I ease my grip, realizing I've nearly torn the elastic strands.

"Sorry." I shape the abused dough into rolls, trying to focus on the simple motions. But those wings keep haunting me - not the pure white or brilliant gold of the high-born xaphan, but a warm honey color that seemed almost too vibrant for someone so...hollow.

I dust flour from my hands and move to the front counter, grateful for the distraction of customers. Some are human like me, keeping their eyes down as they purchase their daily bread, usually for whatever xaphan they serve. Xaphan nobles drift through, their wings held high as they examine our goods with barely concealed disdain.

My chest tightens at their presence. I shouldn't care about one xaphan girl's troubles. Their kind sees us as little more than servants at best, slaves at worst. I'm lucky to even have this job, to not be bound in complete servitude like so many others.

But I can't shake the image of Annalise's face when she'd mentioned her father. The way her voice had cracked just slightly before that wall of ice slammed back into place. I've worn that same mask myself - that desperate need to appear strong when you're crumbling inside.

I catch myself staring out the window, searching the crowds for a flash of golden wings. This isn't my problem to solve. I have enough troubles of my own without getting involved in xaphan family drama.

But as I turn back to my work, I know I'm only lying to myself. That lost girl has already worked her way under my skin, and no amount of practical reasoning seems able to dig her out.

The bell chimes as I'm wiping down the counter, the rush finally having died down, and the air grows thick, heavy with an energy that makes my skin prickle. The conversations die. Footsteps halt mid-stride. I look up and my heart stutters.

Ridwan fills the doorway, his massive wings casting long shadows across the bakery floor. I recognized him instantly last night, but seeing him today, in the light and surrounded by so many xaphan who instantly bow to him, is different.

The scar on his cheek catches the light as he scans the room, those piercing golden eyes moving with predatory focus. His presence drowns out everything else - like a storm cloud blocking the sun. It’s no wonder he was once a great warrior, now in charge of the city’s guard and protection.

Madam Thea drops the tray she's holding, pastries scattering across the floor as she bows so low his nose nearly touches the ground. "Lord Ridwan, what an honor— We weren't expecting— I mean, how may we serve you?"

The warrior's jaw tightens at the display. His wings shift, the golden feathers rustling with barely contained irritation. The motion draws my gaze to his broad shoulders, the way his dark clothing stretches across muscle earned from actual combat rather than ceremonial training.

"Leave us." His voice cuts through the silence, deep and commanding.

The remaining customers scramble for the door, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to escape. Madam Thea backs away, still bowing, until she disappears into the kitchen. The sound of pots clattering suggests she's trying to make herself as scarce as possible.

I grip the counter's edge, my knuckles white. We're alone now, and the weight of his attention falls on me like a physical thing. He moves closer, each step deliberate, controlled. Power radiates from him in waves - not the manufactured authority of most noble xaphan, but something raw and dangerous.

His wings brush against a display case, sending a jar of cookies crashing to the floor. He doesn't even glance at the mess. Those golden eyes stay fixed on me, unblinking, intense enough to steal my breath.

"You gave pastries to my daughter. You taught her to bake instead of sending her back home."

Not a question. A statement that carries the weight of an accusation.

I force my spine straight, refusing to bow like the others. "I gave her something to eat. That's what bakeries do."

His presence overwhelms the small space, making it hard to breathe. The shattered jar lies forgotten between us, cookie crumbs scattered like broken promises across the floor.

"You will come work for me." The words drop like stones into still water.

My laugh catches in my throat before it can escape. The absolute audacity - as if I'm some possession to be claimed and moved at his whim. Heat rises in my cheeks.

"I already have a job." I gesture at the bakery around us, proud of how steady my voice remains despite the thunder of my pulse.

His wings flex, the golden feathers catching light. The motion draws my gaze to the breadth of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches with barely contained frustration. He's used to instant obedience, not resistance.

"My daughter needs a companion. Someone to ensure she maintains her studies and stays where she belongs." His eyes narrow. "You've caught her attention. That makes you useful."

"I'm not a servant to be ordered around." The words slip out before I can stop them.

He moves closer, each step measured and precise. The counter between us feels like paper-thin protection. "No. You're not. Which is precisely why I'm offering you a position in my household. Full pay. Private quarters. Better than..." His gaze sweeps over the modest bakery with its flour-dusted surfaces and simple furnishings.

The implied insult stings. I've worked hard for everything I have, fought against the prejudices that come with being human in New Solas. I’m lucky to have a job at all, and I do love to bake. I’m in no mood to be ordered around by some xaphan.

Crossing my arms, I level Ridwan with a glare that most would never dare. "Your daughter needs a father, not a glorified babysitter."

The temperature seems to drop. His wings go rigid, feathers bristling like drawn blades. For a moment, I wonder if I've pushed too far.

His jaw tightens at my words, a muscle twitching beneath the scar on his cheek. The temperature drops further, and I swear I can feel static crackling in the air around his wings. Part of me wants to step back, to bow and scrape like everyone else does.

But I plant my feet. "I won't be another wall between you and your daughter."

His golden eyes flash, and for a moment raw pain crosses his features before it's buried beneath that mask of control. The feathers of his wings settle, no longer bristling with anger but drooping slightly, like a weight has settled across his shoulders.

"Think about it." His voice comes out rougher than before, almost quiet. “It would be beneficial to you, I assure you, and if nothing else…It would mean everything to Annalise.”

He turns, those massive wings folding close to his body as he strides toward the door.

The bell chimes his exit, and I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My hands shake as I grip the counter, the adrenaline leaving me in a rush that makes my knees weak. The shattered jar still lies at my feet, forgotten cookies crushed to crumbs in his wake.

I should feel relieved. I stood up to one of the most powerful xaphan in New Solas and lived to tell about it. But all I can see is that flash of pain in his eyes, the way his wings had dropped when I mentioned being a father. There was a story there, buried beneath all that controlled power and cold command.

But it's not my story to uncover. Not my broken family to fix.

I grab the broom and start sweeping up the mess, trying to ignore how the air still feels charged with his lingering presence. But his words, his eyes, everything about him, sticks with me through the rest of the night.

The morning after Ridwan's visit drags by in a haze of kneading and baking. My muscles ache from the tension I'm carrying, memories of golden wings and piercing eyes haunting every quiet moment.

The bell chimes just before noon. I look up from arranging pastries to find Annalise slipping through the door, her shoulders hunched despite her fine silk dress. Her silver eyes dart around the nearly empty bakery before landing on me.

“Annalise.” Worry eats at me instantly. “What are you doing here?”

"Please." Her voice cracks on the word, those otherworldly eyes going wide with desperation. "I just... I don't want to be alone anymore."

I swallow hard, trying to find the words. “Annalise?—”

“He doesn’t have to know. I’ll only stay a few hours.” She crosses the barkery to where I am. “I just wanted to…see you again.”

The mask of cold pride she usually wears has crumbled, leaving something raw and vulnerable in its place. Her golden wings droop, the feathers dull and unkempt compared to yesterday. Dark circles shadow her eyes, making her pale skin look almost translucent.

My chest tightens. This isn't the sharp-tongued girl who rebels against her father. This is a child reaching out the only way she knows how.

I wipe my flour-covered hands on my apron. "Come on." I lift the counter divider. "You can help me with the afternoon batch."

Her eyes widen. "I don't know how to?—"

"I'll teach you." I grab a spare apron, holding it out like a peace offering. “You were doing well last night.”

A spark of that familiar defiance flashes in her silver eyes. She snatches the apron, fumbling with the ties until I step behind her to help. Her wings twitch at my proximity, but she doesn't pull away.

"Your father came by yesterday," I say softly, testing the waters.

Her whole body goes rigid. "Did he try to order you around? He does that to everyone."

"He did." I move to the work table, pulling out fresh dough. "But I'm not very good at following orders."

A startled laugh escapes her, quickly muffled behind her hand. But some of the tension eases from her shoulders as she watches me shape the dough.

"Here." I gesture her closer. "Put your hands like this. Gentle pressure, don't force it."

She copies my movements, her graceful fingers pressing tentatively into the soft dough. For a moment, she looks like any other fourteen-year-old girl, focused and curious, the weight of expectations temporarily lifted from her shoulders.

It kills me to see her like this. And I know her father will be furious when he realizes she's here so I'll need to send her home soon.

But this xaphan…she might have just stolen my heart.