Page 9 of Demon Daddy’s Nanny (Demon Daddies #3)

9

EVA

T he morning sun streams through the tall windows of the study as I help Annalise with her arithmetic. She hunches over her desk, platinum hair falling like a curtain around her face while she scribbles numbers across the page. I lean against the wall nearby, watching her progress.

A shadow crosses the doorway. Ridwan stands there, his massive wings folded against his back, their golden feathers catching the light. His presence fills the room, making the air feel thicker. Heavier.

"Father." Annalise doesn't look up from her work. "Did you need something?"

"Just checking your progress." His deep voice rumbles through the space between us.

I feel his gaze slide over to me, lingering like a physical touch. My skin prickles with awareness. When I glance up, his golden eyes are already moving away, but there's a tension in his jaw that wasn't there before.

This has been happening more lately. These loaded moments where time seems to stretch and bend. Where his stoic mask slips just enough for me to catch glimpses of something else underneath.

"I'm almost finished," Annalise says, her tone carrying that edge of defiance she reserves for him.

Ridwan doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he takes a few steps into the room, his movements carrying the fluid grace of a predator. I press my back harder against the wall, trying to make myself smaller as he approaches his daughter's desk. But even as he looks down at her work, I feel his attention split - part of it always remaining with me.

"Good." He straightens, and though he's facing Annalise, his body angles slightly in my direction. "Continue."

He turns to leave, and I catch the way his fingers flex at his sides, like he's restraining himself from reaching out. The scar on his cheek catches the light, making him look dangerous and untouchable. But there's something in the set of his shoulders, in the careful way he holds himself apart, that speaks of control rather than indifference.

As he passes through the doorway, his wing brushes the frame - an unusual slip for someone usually so precise in his movements. The gesture feels almost deliberate, like he's reminding us both of his physical presence. Of his power.

Long after he's gone, I can still feel the weight of his unspoken attention pressing against my skin.

The study's tense atmosphere lingers through dinner, but by morning I've made up my mind. I can't keep tiptoeing around whatever this is between us. I’ve felt it brewing in the weeks I’ve been here, and since that night that I found him in the training room, there’s been tension between us. Like we’re circling one another.

I arrive early to the dining room, before Annalise's usual appearance. Ridwan sits at the head of the long table, papers spread before him as he picks at his breakfast. His dark waves fall across his forehead as he reads, and I notice the way his brow furrows in concentration.

"Those must be fascinating reports." I slide a fresh plate of sweet rolls onto the table. "Your eggs are getting cold while you devour all that riveting paperwork."

His head snaps up, golden eyes narrowing. But there's something else there too - a flicker of surprise at my boldness.

"The trade agreements won't review themselves." His voice carries its usual commanding tone, but lacks its typical edge.

"No, but they might be easier to digest with actual food." I reach across him to move a stack of papers, deliberately letting my arm brush his. The contact sends a thrill dancing across my skin. "Unless xaphan sustain themselves on diplomatic correspondence these days?"

His lips twitch, just slightly, fighting against the smile I can see trying to break free. The scar on his cheek pulls with the movement, softening his severe features for just a moment.

"Careful." The word comes out low, rough. "Some might consider such familiarity inappropriate."

"Some might." I straighten, meeting his gaze directly. "But you've never struck me as someone who cares much for others' considerations."

This time the twitch is more pronounced, a ghost of amusement dancing across his face before he schools his features back to neutrality. His wings shift behind him, the golden feathers catching the morning light in a way that makes my breath catch.

"You're unusually bold this morning." He sets down his papers, giving me his full attention.

"Perhaps I'm tired of pretending I don't notice things." I push his plate closer. "Like how you haven't eaten a proper breakfast in days."

A door scrapes against the floor, and I turn to find Annalise standing in the doorway, her silver eyes dancing with mischief. She glides into the room with that ethereal grace she inherited from her father, though her smirk is all her own.

"Good morning." She drops into her usual seat, her golden wings settling behind her. Her gaze flicks between Ridwan and me, that knowing smile growing wider. "Am I interrupting something?"

My cheeks burn, but I focus on arranging the breakfast plates. "Just trying to convince your father that sustenance isn't optional."

"Oh?" She props her chin on her hand, platinum hair spilling over her shoulder. "And how's that working out?"

Ridwan's jaw tightens. He picks up his fork with deliberate precision, as if to prove a point. "Your arithmetic still needs work."

"Does it?" Annalise's tone drips with false innocence. "I thought Eva said I was improving."

"She did." His golden eyes find mine again. "She seems to have opinions about many things lately."

My stomach does a slow roll, but I lift my chin. "Someone has to."

Annalise's quiet laugh fills the space between us. She leans back in her chair, wings rustling as she watches us like we're putting on a show just for her. The morning light streaming through the windows catches her hair, creating a halo effect that does nothing to hide the devilish glint in her eyes.

"Don't let me stop you." She reaches for a sweet roll, her movements deliberately casual. "This is far more entertaining than my usual breakfast entertainment of watching Father glare at trade reports."

None of us comment on how that is a development of itself. At least Ridwan has been at breakfast every morning.

Ridwan's wings twitch - a tell I've come to recognize as annoyance. "Annalise."

"What?" She tears into the bread, still wearing that insufferable smirk. "I'm just appreciating Eva's... concern for your wellbeing."

I duck my head, and Ridwan glares at his daughter. But she just beams and grabs a roll, making me fight off a smile. He really does have his hands full with that one.

The afternoon sun beats down on the garden's stone benches where Annalise and I sit. She plucks petals from a flower, letting them scatter across her lap while we discuss her morning lessons.

"I still don't understand why I need to learn all these military formations." She drops the stripped stem. "It's not like I'll ever lead troops into battle."

"Your father thinks-"

Movement catches my eye. Ridwan strides across the garden path, his golden wings spread slightly to catch the breeze. My words die in my throat. In all my time here, he's never sought us out during our afternoon talks.

Annalise straightens, her own wings pulling tight against her back. "Father?"

He stops before us, blocking the sun. His shadow falls across my legs, and I fight the urge to shiver despite the heat. "Continue your discussion. Don't let me interrupt."

"You never join us." Annalise's voice carries that familiar edge of challenge.

Instead of responding, he settles onto the bench opposite us. His wings adjust to accommodate the space, and I catch myself staring at the way the light plays across his feathers. He's rolled up his sleeves, revealing corded forearms marked with old scars. Gorgeous. His presence makes the garden feel smaller somehow, more intimate.

"The military formations," he says, his deep voice resonating in my chest, "are about strategy. Leadership. Skills you'll need regardless of whether you ever see battle."

Annalise's mouth opens, then closes. For once, she seems at a loss for words.

I shift on the bench, hyperaware of his proximity. His scent reaches me - something sharp and clean, like ozone before a storm. When I dare to look at his face, I find his golden eyes already fixed on me, intense and unreadable.

"Eva has been helping me understand the theoretical aspects," Annalise says, recovering her voice. "Though she probably thinks I'm hopeless at it."

"You're not hopeless." I tear my gaze away from Ridwan. "You just need to approach it differently."

"Perhaps," Ridwan leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "you could benefit from hearing how these strategies apply in practice."

The casual pose does nothing to diminish his commanding presence. If anything, the relaxed posture only highlights the coiled power beneath his surface. His scar catches the sunlight, a reminder of battles fought and won.

Annalise leans forward, her silver eyes bright with interest as Ridwan begins explaining a flanking maneuver from his military days. I try to focus on his words, but my attention keeps drifting to the way his hands move as he speaks - strong, precise gestures that hint at contained power.

The garden air grows thick with his presence. My skin prickles every time he shifts, hyper-aware of each minute movement. The bench feels too small, too confining. I want to reach across the space between us, to trace the scar on his cheek, to feel if his skin is as warm as it looks in the sunlight.

The thought hits me like a physical blow. Heat crawls up my neck, and I curl my fingers into my skirts to keep them still. This is dangerous territory. He's not just my employer - he's a xaphan noble, a being of immense power and status. And I'm...human. Disposable.

But my body doesn't seem to care about those distinctions. When he laughs at something Annalise says - a rare, rich sound that makes my chest tight - I find myself swaying toward him like a flower seeking sun. His wing stretches across the back of his bench, and I imagine how it would feel to run my fingers through those golden feathers.

"Eva?" Annalise's voice snaps me back to reality. "You're being awfully quiet."

Ridwan's gaze locks onto mine, molten gold burning with an intensity that steals my breath. His nostrils flare slightly, as if catching my scent on the breeze, and something primal in me responds to that subtle display of predatory attention.

"Just...thinking about the strategies." My voice comes out rougher than intended. I clear my throat, trying to ignore how his eyes track the movement. "It's different, hearing about real applications versus theory."

His lips curve into something almost like a smile, and my heart stumbles in my chest. This close, I can see flecks of darker amber in his eyes, like trapped flames. The urge to close the distance between us grows stronger with each passing moment, terrifying in its intensity.

I need to leave. Now. Before I do something foolish, like reach for him across this garden that suddenly feels too small to contain whatever is building between us.