Page 13 of Demon Daddy’s Secret Twins (Demon Daddies #2)

13

LOXLEY

M orning light filters through the woven branches of my treehouse walls, casting dappled shadows across the worn wooden floor. I trace my fingers along the smooth counter, organizing the few belongings I keep here - a curved blade, some dried herbs, a leather-bound journal. Everything in its place, controlled, just how I need it to be.

My reflection catches in the polished glass, and I pause. The same golden-brown eyes stare back, hard and guarded like always. But lately, something's different. A softness I don't recognize, don't trust.

"Damn it." I yank my auburn hair back, weaving it into its usual braids with quick, practiced motions.

Mazan's face flashes in my mind - those burning copper eyes that see too much, the way he moves with such careful grace despite his massive frame. The demon who brings our supplies but never demands anything in return. Who watches, listens, understands silence.

My hands falter on the braid. Trust is a luxury I've never been able to afford. How could I trust when being near another meant pain in the dark elf house, meant scars that still mark my ribs. Meant learning that there was no such thing as kindness.

But Mazan... he's different. The way he keeps his distance while still managing to be present. How he telegraphs every movement, ensuring I never feel trapped. The quiet strength in his massive wings when he lands, yet he folds them back so carefully to appear smaller.

I press my palm against the rough bark of my door frame, feeling the steady pulse of life beneath. "Maybe that's what real strength is," I whisper to myself. "Not walls, but knowing when to lower them."

The thought terrifies me. Makes me want to run to the waterfalls where I can hide in the mist and pretend these feelings don't exist. But for the first time in my life, I'm tired of running.

The worn path to the beach feels familiar under my bare feet. Each step draws me closer to where I know he'll be - where he always is when he visits. My heart quickens, but I force my breathing to stay even, measured.

Mazan sits cross-legged in the sand, his massive frame somehow making the beach feel smaller and safer at the same time. His obsidian skin catches the morning light, those faint gold lines shimmering like a promise. His wings - midnight blue and powerful enough to carry him between worlds - rest folded against his back.

I settle beside him, closer than I usually dare. Even though my head is a muddled mess, and I should keep my distance. The waves lap at the shore in a steady rhythm that matches my pulse.

"Morning, Lox." His voice rumbles low, gentle as always. He doesn't turn to look at me, doesn't press for more words. Just lets the greeting hang in the air between us.

I draw my knees up to my chest, studying him from the corner of my eye. His hands rest on his knees, steady and sure - hands that could crush stone but have never once made me flinch. His horns catch the light, curved and deadly, yet I've never felt threatened by them. No, instead I am attracted to him and I don’t know what to do about it.

“Good morning.”

His wings twitch slightly - that small tell I've learned means he's deep in thought. The movement draws my attention to how carefully he holds them, always conscious of their span, always making himself smaller for my comfort.

Here, beside this demon warrior who could break me without effort, I feel... safe. He never looms, never uses his height to intimidate. Never makes me feel small or weak or less. Just sits, solid as the mountains of his floating island, patient as the tide.

But how long can that last?

I turn to face him, my heart thundering against my ribs as I decide to take my first real leap with him. "Are you tired of waiting?"

The words slip out before I can catch them, hanging in the salt-tinged air between us. Mazan remains still, those copper-red eyes fixed on the horizon where sea meets sky. His wings shift, adjusting their fold against his broad back - that telltale sign he's processing my question carefully.

The gold lines across his obsidian skin catch the morning light, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. His massive frame could intimidate, could dominate this entire stretch of beach, yet he sits with such measured control. Every movement calculated to make me feel at ease.

He turns his head, those burning eyes meeting mine. No demand lives in his gaze, no pressure or expectation. Just that same patient understanding that's been there since the first day he landed on our shores. His dark navy hair ruffles in the breeze, wild and untamed against the rigid control he maintains over the rest of himself.

My fingers dig into the sand, anchoring me as his expression softens. The hard edges of his warrior's face gentle, his curved horns catching the light like polished onyx. That look - it starts to melt something inside me, some final barrier I've kept frozen since escaping the dark elves.

He doesn't reach for me, doesn't try to close the careful distance between us. Just watches and a part of me is afraid of what he sees.

His voice flows like warm honey, deep and rich. "I'm not waiting for anything, Loxley."

My name on his lips makes my skin tingle. The way he says it - like it's something precious, something worth protecting.

"I simply enjoy being here. With you." Those copper-red eyes hold mine, unflinching yet gentle. No hidden agenda lurks in their depths, no predatory gleam like I'd grown accustomed to seeing in the dark elves who'd owned me.

My chest tightens. The honesty in his words strips away my defenses, leaving me raw and exposed. But for once, that vulnerability doesn't feel like weakness.

His wings shift, adjusting their midnight-blue span to block the harsh morning glare from my eyes - such a small gesture, yet it speaks volumes. Even now, he thinks of my comfort first.

"Why?" The question slips out, barely a whisper above the lapping waves.

Mazan's gold markings pulse softly across his obsidian skin and his lips tug into a soft smile. "Because you're strong." His massive frame remains perfectly still, giving me space. "Interesting. You can be funny when you want to be. I enjoy your company.”

Emotion swirls in me, and I’m certain he can see it on my face. But I refuse to look away from his steady gaze. For the first time, the urge to flee doesn't come. Instead, something warm unfurls in my chest - fragile as a new leaf, yet stronger than I expected.

"I see you," he continues, his voice dropping lower. "Not what they tried to make you, not what they did to you. Just you, Loxley. And that's worth every moment."

The sincerity in his words wraps around me like a blanket. My hands tremble in the sand, but I don't try to hide it. Not from him. Not anymore.