Page 10 of Demon Daddy’s Secret Twins (Demon Daddies #2)

10

MAZAN

T he pull is impossible to resist. I find myself slipping away from Galmoleth more frequently, using any excuse to return to Aurelius. Supply runs become daily visits. Even Lamain has taken note - and made not so subtle jabs that the island doesn’t need that many supplies.

It’s early still as I use the portal. My day back at the palace was relatively clear and I’m more than eager to spend as much time as I can on Aurelius. I debate if I should go to the jungle path or head toward the beach where she’s pointed out her house is. But I don’t want to scare her.

Before I can make up my mind, I spot a flash of auburn between the leaves. Loxley moves with practiced ease through the undergrowth, her steps silent despite the carpet of fallen leaves. She pauses at a stream, kneeling to examine something in the water. Even from here, I catch the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she positions herself to watch her surroundings.

I shift my weight, and a twig snaps beneath my foot. Her head whips around, body coiled like a spring. When she spots me, the tension eases fractionally. And that does something to me that I have never felt before. I nearly smile at the sight.

"You're early this week." Her voice carries up to my perch.

"The supplies couldn't wait." The lie slides off my tongue. There are no supplies today.

A slight curve touches her lips - not quite a smile, but close. Even though she’s given me some, they’re still harder to earn - but I can tell she’s been feeling lighter. Happier. More playful. To others she might seem reserved but I see all the difference.

She returns to examining the stream, but her posture remains open to where I stand. An invitation, of sorts.

I move closer until I’m nearly touching her. I can’t resist. Loxley doesn't look up, but she doesn't move away either. This close, I catch the scent of herbs from her hair - she must have been gathering in the high meadows earlier.

"The water's particularly clear today." Her words are soft, measured. "Good for spotting the rainbow fish."

I crouch beside her, careful to leave space between us. The sunlight filtering through the canopy catches the gold lines across my skin, making them shimmer. Loxley's eyes flick to the glow before returning to the water.

We sit in comfortable silence, watching the fish dart between stones. She doesn't ask why I'm really here. I don't offer explanations. But when she shifts slightly closer, her shoulder nearly brushing my arm, something in my chest tightens with an unfamiliar warmth.

The breeze shifts, carrying her scent - wild herbs and something uniquely her. I notice how she traces the edge of a broad leaf with her fingertips, lost in thought. Her movements are precise, deliberate, like everything else about her. Even in these quiet moments, she maintains that careful control.

A strand of auburn hair falls loose from her braid. She tucks it back without looking, the motion so practiced it's become instinct. Her teeth catch her bottom lip as she studies the pattern of light on the water. The gesture draws my attention to the slight furrow between her brows - she's working through something in her mind.

"The fish are moving differently today." Her voice breaks the silence. She leans forward, bracing one hand against a moss-covered stone. The sleeve of her tunic slides up, revealing the delicate bones of her wrist. Everything about her is deceptively fragile-looking, but I've seen the strength in those hands.

She reaches out, fingers hovering just above the water's surface. The rainbow fish scatter, then slowly return, drawn to her stillness. Her expression softens fractionally - the closest thing to peace I've seen on her face.

A jungle bird calls overhead. Loxley's hand instinctively moves to the knife at her hip, but she catches herself. Her fingers drift instead to a broad-leafed plant beside her, running along its surface in that absent way she has. The tension bleeds from her shoulders gradually, like water soaking into earth.

I find myself cataloging these small details: how she angles her body slightly away from mine while still keeping me in her peripheral vision, the way she tests each stone before putting her weight on it, how her eyes never stop scanning our surroundings even as she appears absorbed in the fish. Every movement tells a story of survival, of learned vigilance.

But there are other things too - gentler things. The way she cups water in her palm for a curious fish to investigate. How her fingers dance across plant leaves as if greeting old friends. These brief moments when her guard slips just enough to reveal something softer underneath.

The sunlight shifts through the canopy, casting dappled shadows across Loxley's face. She rises from her spot by the stream, moving with that fluid grace that speaks of years navigating these paths. Instead of continuing on as she usually does, she pauses at a fallen log a few paces away.

"You could sit. If you want." Her words come out measured, careful. She gestures to the space beside her, fingers curling against her palm before dropping to her side.

My chest tightens. In all our encounters, she's never directly invited me closer. I've learned to read her body language, to gauge how near I can be without making her retreat into herself. But this - this deliberate invitation - it shifts something fundamental between us.

I move slowly, each step calculated to telegraph my intentions. The log is wide enough for both of us with room to spare, but I settle at a distance that leaves her space to breathe. Her shoulders remain loose, no hint of that familiar tension that usually accompanies proximity to others.

A breeze stirs the leaves overhead. The gold lines across my skin catch the shifting light, and I notice her gaze track the glow before returning to the stream. Her fingers absently trace patterns in the moss covering the log, but she doesn't edge away.

Something settles in my chest, a weight I hadn't realized I was carrying until it lifted. This small gesture of trust feels more significant than any of our previous interactions. I keep my wings folded close, making myself as unimposing as possible despite my size.

She pulls her knees up, wrapping her arms around them in a pose that should seem defensive but somehow doesn't. Like I know she wouldn't do that unless she were relaxed. The silence between us feels different now - charged with unspoken meaning.

We spend the entire day out there, sometimes in silence and sometimes sharing stories. I even brought us lunch this time.

I’m growing far too addicted to this woman. I don’t want to leave, even as the sun dips lower, painting the jungle in amber and rose. Shadows lengthen between the trees, and the day's heat begins to fade. Loxley shifts beside me, her movements slow and deliberate. My breath catches as she edges closer to the trunk I'm leaning against.

She settles against the bark, her shoulder a whisper away from my arm. Close enough that I feel the warmth radiating from her skin, but not quite touching. And this time, it’s extended. Not a simple graze or touch of the arm. She’s staying close to me. The gold lines across my obsidian skin pulse faintly in response to her proximity, casting a gentle glow in the growing darkness.

Her auburn hair catches the last rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy. The loose strands that have escaped her braids frame her face, softening the usual sharp alertness of her features. Her golden-brown eyes remain fixed on the horizon, but there's something different in her posture now - a subtle yielding that wasn't there before.

I remain perfectly still, barely daring to breathe. Like coaxing a wild creature, I know any sudden movement could shatter this fragile moment. My wings stay folded tight against my back, though they itch to curl around her protectively.

She exhales slowly, some of the ever-present tension leaving her shoulders. Her head tilts back against the trunk, throat exposed - a gesture of trust that speaks volumes. The scar along her ribs is hidden beneath her clothes, but I know it's there, know it tells of why such trust comes at such a high price.

I say nothing, letting the jungle's evening sounds fill the space between us. This close, I catch the slight tremor in her hands as she fights her instinct to maintain distance. But she stays, choosing to remain in this shared space despite everything in her past screaming at her to run.

The moment stretches like honey, sweet and slow. My chest aches with the weight of what this means - this deliberate choice to let someone near. To let me near.