Page 18 of Demon Daddy’s Secret Twins (Demon Daddies #2)

18

MAZAN

P ain pulses through my skull as consciousness creeps back. The familiar weight of my wings feels wrong - compressed, bound. Cold metal bites into my wrists, the chains rattling as I shift. Every breath sends sharp needles through my ribs. Definitely broken.

I force my eyes open, copper-red gaze scanning the dim chamber. Stone walls. Iron bars. The acrid stench of blood and sweat hangs heavy in the stale air. Three other demons lie unconscious nearby, similarly bound. Krenoth's obsidian horn is cracked, Vazral's wings are bent at unnatural angles. We were overwhelmed - I remember that much. Something went wrong when we stepped through the portal.

The King's missive... My hand instinctively tries to reach for the hidden pocket where I'd secured it, but the chains hold firm. I close my eyes, focusing inward. The faint golden lines etched in my skin remain dark, my magic suppressed by whatever enchantments they've worked into these bonds.

I breathe slowly, steadily, calming myself. Panic serves no purpose. Each detail could matter - the direction of light filtering through the high window, the echo patterns of distant footsteps, the composition of the stonework. I observe, I calculate, I plan. It's what's kept me alive this long.

The ambush had been well-coordinated. Though I’m not sure what a group of xaphan were doing on the demon content, given our current circumstances, it seems they were out for blood. And we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

My wings ache from being pinned, but I keep still, conserving energy. Patience has always been my strength, even when other demons rush headlong into conflict. I've learned that sometimes the wisest course is to wait, to watch, to understand before acting.

A groan from Krenoth draws my attention. His eyes flutter open, confusion quickly replaced by fury as he tests his bonds. I catch his gaze and give a slight shake of my head. Not yet. He subsides, trusting my judgment. I might just be a servant of the palace but we are all trained as warriors. We'll need that trust to survive whatever comes next.

Heavy boots echo down the corridor, accompanied by the whisper of feathers against stone. A xaphan steps into view, his pure white wings nearly brushing the cell bars. His presence fills the cramped space with an insufferable self-righteousness that makes my teeth clench.

"Well. I hope you’ll forgive my less than stellar welcome." His voice drips with false warmth. "But when I see a group of demons…I can’t help but want to play. Especially when you reek of foreign magic.”

I meet his gaze steadily, saying nothing. His wings may be pristine, but there's blood under his polished armor - our blood. The faint scorch marks on his gauntlets suggest he was one of the ones throwing fire during the ambush.

He circles the cell, studying us like specimens in a collection. "We were hunting deserters, you see. Imagine our surprise when we found you instead." He pauses, golden eyes narrowing. "Though perhaps it's not so surprising. Demons do love to meddle where they don't belong."

I keep my expression neutral, though my wings strain against their bonds. This one's a commander, judging by the intricate patterns on his armor and the way he carries himself. Not a Praexa - thank the Seven for small mercies - but high-ranking enough to be dangerous.

"Nothing to say?" He leans closer to the bars. "Your kind usually can't stop boasting about your supposed strength and fearsome qualities."

Krenoth snarls from behind me, but I remain silent. Let him talk. Every word reveals more about what they do and don't know. They weren't specifically looking for us - that's valuable information.

The xaphan's perfect features twist in annoyance at my continued silence. His wings flare slightly - a tell that betrays his frustration despite his controlled tone. "No matter. We'll have plenty of time to discuss why you were here and what you were doing on Aerasak."

Why the xaphan would want to know, I am not sure. I don’t pretend to understand the complexities of court life or if Galmoleth is a secret to all of Aerasak - though I imagine it is or there would be creatures upon our island. Upon Protheka. And I will never give that up.

Not when it could endanger Loxley.

The xaphan commander tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips that doesn't reach his cold eyes. "Your silence speaks volumes, demon. Perhaps you think yourself above conversing with beings of light?"

I track his movements as he paces, noting the way his right leg favors his left. Someone in our squad landed a hit before we went down. His pristine appearance can't hide that weakness.

"Or maybe..." He taps the cell bars with an armored finger. "You're simply too primitive to form coherent thoughts. I've heard some of your kind are little better than beasts."

My copper eyes follow him steadily. Each taunt reveals more of his character - arrogant, easily provoked by non-response, desperate to prove superiority. Typical xaphan weakness masked by false strength.

The golden lines etched in my obsidian skin remain dark, but I can feel my magic stirring beneath the surface, responding to my focused calm. Given enough time, I might be able to work through their weaknesses.

"Tell me, creature, do you understand the position you're in?" His wings flare wide, filling the corridor with blinding white feathers. A display meant to intimidate. "Your kind may think you are great warriors, but here, you're nothing."

I lean back against the cold stone wall, letting my chains rattle deliberately. The sound makes him twitch - another tell. He's unnerved by my lack of reaction, expecting the typical demon rage. But I've never seen the point in wasting energy on pointless displays.

The commander's perfect features contort. "Perhaps we should separate you from your squad. See how composed you remain when-"

A distant explosion cuts him off. His head snaps toward the sound, wings tensing. Perfect. Now I know which direction leads to the surface.

My gaze drifts to the window high above, tracking the angle of light. Combined with the echo patterns and that explosion, I'm building a mental map. Every detail matters when planning an escape.

Another explosion rocks the fortress, but my thoughts drift elsewhere - to a hidden island where golden-brown eyes watch the surf with careful wariness. To Loxley. The memory of her burns brighter than any holy fire these xaphan could summon.

Days blur together in this cell. I track time by the guards' rotations, by the shifting angle of light through that high window, by each failed attempt to reach through these enchanted bonds. But underneath every calculated observation, every patient assessment of our captors' weaknesses, she haunts me.

I wonder if she still walks those jungle paths alone each morning, bare feet silent on the damp earth. If she's noticed my absence yet. The thought of her waiting at our usual meeting spot by the falls, that guarded trust in her eyes slowly hardening back into suspicion, makes my wings strain against their bindings.

These xaphan speak of honor, yet they understand nothing of its true meaning. Honor is protecting what matters, no matter the cost. Honor is keeping secrets that aren't yours to tell. Honor is earning the trust of someone who's had every reason to stop trusting.

The others stir restlessly around me, but I remain still, conserving strength. Patience has always set me apart from other demons. It's what drew me to her - that shared understanding that sometimes waiting is its own kind of strength. But now, each passing day feels like a betrayal of the fragile connection we've built.

The golden lines in my skin may be dormant, but I can feel my magic responding to thoughts of her. To memories of subtle smiles barely hidden behind loose auburn braids. To the way she'd gradually stopped flinching at my approach. To all the words we never needed to speak.

I close my eyes, focusing on those memories. They fuel my resolve more surely than any battle rage. I will find my way back to Aurelius. Back to her. Not for glory or duty or even honor - but because somewhere between those quiet moments by the falls, she became my truth worth protecting.

The commander's boots echo down the corridor again. I settle deeper into my practiced stillness, watching, waiting. Every detail matters. Every weakness noted brings me one step closer to returning home. To her.