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

2

MAZAN

I step out into the jungle of Aurelius silently, my wings folding against my back as I scan the dense canopy. The weekly supply run from Galmoleth weighs heavy in my pack, but my attention fixes on the figure moving through the winding path ahead.

Loxley.

It took too many attempts to get Lamain, once a great Prince of Galmoleth and now the demon that rules this island sanctuary, to tell me her name. I’ve yet to use it, though. I don’t want to push her - especially when he reminded me that all the people here are recovering from something. I assume she’s been through a lot, especially someone with her beauty living on Protheka.

I’m quick in dropping my pack off with June. She smiles at me brightly as I hand over the supplies. “Right on time as always.”

I nod, already looking toward the jungle path. “I’ll be back to ask what you need before next time.”

June only gives me a knowing grin, but I don’t answer. Not as I follow the way Loxley went, wanting to catch up to her without scaring her.

She walks with precise steps, each movement calculated. Her auburn braids catch the filtered sunlight as she glances over her shoulder - again. The tenth time in as many minutes. Her golden-brown eyes dart in my direction for a fraction of a second before they’re gone. She never looks directly at me, which only encourages me not to push her.

I maintain my distance, though every instinct screams to close the gap between us. To shield her from whatever shadows haunt her steps. An unfamiliar urge for a demon - we're meant to inspire fear, not soothe it away.

Her pace slows, just enough that I notice. Testing. Waiting. The path curves ahead through a cluster of massive tree trunks, and she hesitates at the bend. I could catch up in three strides, but I don't. The gold lines etched in my obsidian skin pulse with unspent magic as I force myself to remain still.

She's like a wounded jungle cat - beautiful, dangerous, and ready to bolt at the slightest wrong move. The way she holds herself speaks of old hurts, deeper than the physical. I've seen enough battles to recognize when someone carries invisible scars.

My wings twitch with the urge to wrap around her, to create a dark sanctuary where nothing can touch her. The thought startles me - demons don't protect. We conquer. We destroy. And yet...

She checks over her shoulder once more, those fierce eyes lingering on me longer this time. But still not looking quite at me. Something in my chest tightens. For the first time in years, I find myself wanting to earn trust rather than demand it.

But I have to break through this barrier between us to do that.

I move a little closer, closer than I’ve ever dared, but still leaving her with plenty of room. Loxley's fingers twist in the loose fabric of her shirt. Her stance shifts - ready to run, but she stays. Those golden-brown eyes track every minute movement of my wings, my hands.

"I'm Mazan." I lower myself to one knee, reducing my height. The gesture feels foreign - demons don't bow to humans. But something about her demands a different approach.

"I know who you are." Her voice carries strength despite its softness. "You bring the supplies every week."

"And you're always here on the path." I dare a tiny step forward. "But we've never spoken."

She takes a half-step back, then catches herself. "I prefer it that way."

"Yet you haven't left." The observation slips out before I can stop it.

A flash of defiance crosses her face. She’s probably used to having to fight people off. "Maybe I'm tired of changing my route because someone's following me."

My wings pull tight against my back. "I wasn't-"

"You were." She crosses her arms, chin lifting. "For weeks now."

"Fair point." I remain still as a statue, letting her control the space between us. "I should have introduced myself sooner."

Something shifts in her expression - surprise at the admission, perhaps. She studies me with those penetrating eyes, and I force myself to accept the scrutiny without bristling. My copper-red gaze meets hers steadily.

"Most demons wouldn't admit that." Her words carry a question.

"I'm not most demons."

A ghost of a smile touches her lips before vanishing. "No, you're not."

She doesn't run. Doesn't retreat. Just stands there, wary but present, and something in my chest unclenches at this small victory.

In fact, she starts walking again, seemingly unbothered when I follow. And I’m shocked when she actually speaks again.

“There’s been storms along the west side of the island.” Her voice is so soft. So timid. “So some of the trees are down and blocking paths.”

"The seasons change faster here than up there." I gesture toward the storm-shrouded island floating above.

"Everything changes here." Her fingers brush a leaf as she speaks, and the simple grace of the movement catches my eye.

Then she looks up.

Those golden-brown eyes lock with mine, no darting away this time, and my breath catches. The sunlight filtering through the canopy paints copper highlights in her auburn braids, but it's the fierce intelligence in her gaze that holds me transfixed. She carries herself like someone who's survived battles - not with weapons, but with will alone. Her lean frame speaks of strength earned through necessity rather than training.

My wings spread slightly of their own accord, responding to some primal instinct I can't name. The gold lines in my skin pulse with magic, reacting to her proximity. She doesn't flinch at the display, but she does eye them. Almost with curiosity. She’s smart, always cataloguing information. That much I have noticed.

She's beautiful. Small and lean with golden brown skin and even warmer eyes. A part of me wonders what it would look like if she let her hair out of those braids, how the auburn strands would look shining under the sun.

I’ve never been so mesmerized.

A leaf spirals down between us, and she catches it with reflexes that surprise me. Her fingers are calloused but gentle as they trace its edges. Everything about her is a contradiction - soft and hard, fearful and brave, wounded but unbroken.

I want to know her story. Want to understand what forged someone who can stand before a demon without trembling, yet startles at sudden movements. But I recognize the walls in her eyes, the careful distance she maintains. Some truths must be earned.

For now, I'm content to stand in her presence, memorizing how the jungle light plays across her skin and the way her voice carries quiet strength.

The leaf trembles in her fingers before she releases it back to the jungle breeze. Her shoulders tense, and I recognize the subtle shift in her stance - she's preparing to leave. Every instinct demands I follow, to ensure she reaches her destination safely, but I force my wings to remain still.

"I should go." Her words come soft but firm. "And I’m sure you have…other things to take care of."

I nod, knowing I need to go check in on the actual supply list that will have been prepared for me. "Lamain will be waiting."

She takes three steps backward before turning, maintaining sight of me until the last possible moment. But there at the curve of the path, she pauses. Her fingers brush the rough bark of a massive tree trunk, and she glances back. The hesitation in her movement speaks volumes - this isn't her usual swift retreat.

Something electric passes between us as our eyes meet. The gold lines across my skin pulse brighter, responding to whatever this is. She feels it too - I see it in the slight catch of her breath, the way her free hand presses against her ribs as if containing something wild beneath.

Then she's gone, disappearing around the bend with silent steps that barely disturb the fallen leaves. I remain frozen, watching the space where she stood, allowing her scent of sun- warmed leaves and ocean spray to fade naturally rather than tracking it.

I finally stand, stretching wings that ache from holding them still for so long. Lamain will be waiting to speak with me, but for a moment longer I stare down the empty path, memorizing how the sunlight dapples the spot where she last stood.

She felt it too. That knowledge burns in my chest like molten copper, fierce and bright as my eyes. It gives me hope.

For what, I’m not sure. But if it involves her, I’m excited.