Page 26 of Demon Daddy’s Secret Twins (Demon Daddies #2)

26

MAZAN

I stir as sunlight filters through the woven branches of Loxley's treehouse. Her scent lingers on the sheets but the warmth of her body is missing. My wings stretch against the mattress, a satisfied ache in my muscles as memories of last night flood back.

The empty space beside me speaks volumes. After all these years, I know Loxley well enough to expect this. She's never been one to stay, to risk the vulnerability of morning-after moments. But this time feels different. The walls she built so carefully have finally started to crack.

I rise from the bed, my horns barely clearing the arched ceiling of her bedroom. The room reflects her perfectly - practical, minimal, yet touched with hidden beauty. Dried flowers hang in delicate bunches near the window. A worn book lies open on the nightstand, its pages marked with pressed leaves.

My bare feet pad across the smooth wooden floor as I approach the window. From here, I can see the entire village sprawling through the canopy, connected by swaying rope bridges and wooden walkways. The morning mist still clings to the treetops, painting everything in soft greys and greens.

I’m sure I know where she's gone. The same place she always retreats to when emotions threaten to overwhelm her - the hidden waterfall paths that wind through the jungle. Part of me wants to follow, to prove I won't disappear again. But I understand her need for space. Trust, for Loxley, comes in small steps.

A smile tugs at my lips as I notice her discarded shirt from last night, carefully folded on a nearby chair. Even in retreat, she maintains order. It's these little details about her that I've missed most during our years apart - the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's thinking, how she always arranges everything just so, the quiet strength in every careful movement.

My wings flex unconsciously, remembering how they wrapped around us both. After so long apart, the barrier between us has finally begun to crumble. She let me in - truly in - for the first time since I returned. It's more progress than I dared hope for.

I pause mid-stretch as voices drift through the wooden walls. The sound feels wrong in Loxley's sanctuary - she never brings visitors here. My copper-red eyes narrow, focusing on the murmur of conversation from the main room.

The floorboards whisper beneath my feet as I cross to the door. My wings fold tight against my back, an instinctive response to potential threats. Each step is measured, silent so no one else will hear.

The door's hinges protest softly as I ease it open a crack. Morning light streams through the gaps in the woven branches, casting dappled shadows across the empty hallway. The voices grow clearer - a woman's gentle tone, followed by another's response.

My hand rests on the doorframe, claws ghosting over the smooth wood. Loxley's home has always been a place of solitude. The entire time I’ve known her, she's never welcomed anyone inside, let alone at dawn.

Maybe she didn’t leave. Maybe I don’t know her so well anymore.

The conversation continues, too muffled to make out words. My horns nearly brush the ceiling as I lean closer, trying to catch any hint of who would dare intrude on Loxley's carefully guarded privacy. The scent of fresh bread and something sweeter wafts through the air - unusual for her sparse kitchen.

A laugh rings out, bright and unexpected. The sound is jarring in this space where silence usually reigns. My muscles tense, ready to move at the first sign of danger. Not that anyone on Aurelius would harm her, but old instincts die hard.

I edge the door open wider, careful to avoid the one creaky board I discovered last night. The hallway opens into her main living space, though from this angle I can only see the corner of her reading nook, sunlight streaming through the leaves beyond.

Through the doorway, I spot June perched on one of Loxley's wooden stools, her bright red hair a splash of color against the muted browns of the kitchen. She's setting out fresh bread and what looks like honey, while Loxley?—

My thoughts scatter as movement catches my eye. Two small figures dart past the kitchen table, their laughter echoing off the walls. Bronze skin, wild dark hair that shifts between auburn and black. One leads while the other follows, their feet pattering against the wooden floor in perfect rhythm.

The air leaves my lungs.

The first child turns, copper-gold eyes flashing with mischief as he tugs his brother along. Tiny horns curve from his forehead, barely visible but unmistakable. His smaller companion hesitates, studying the room with mismatched eyes - one golden-brown, one deep red.

My red. They both have my eyes.

Their features strike me like physical blows. The shape of their eyes, the set of their jaws, the way they move with an innate grace that seems impossible for children so young. Everything about them mirrors pieces of myself, mixed with...

The smaller one's golden-brown eye is exactly like Loxley's. The other’s auburn hair matches her.

Three years. It's been three years since that night before the xaphan took me. Three years since I left without explanation. Three years...

My claws dig into the doorframe as pieces start falling into place, but my mind refuses to complete the picture. It can't be. It's impossible. And yet...

The bolder one shields his brother as they pass near the window, positioning himself between the smaller child and the perceived exposure. It's such a familiar gesture - one that has my mind stuttering to a stop.

They're still running, still laughing, completely unaware of my presence. Unaware that they've just shattered every certainty I thought I had.

I push the door all the way open, my wings brushing the frame as I step into the main room. The floorboards creak beneath my weight, breaking the spell of laughter.

Loxley whirls toward the sound. Her golden-brown eyes lock with mine, and the color drains from her face. Her hand grips the edge of the counter, knuckles white against the wood. In that split second of raw panic, I see the truth written across her features.

The boys dart around another corner, their footsteps fading down the hall, still lost in their game. They haven't noticed me. But I can't tear my gaze from their mother - the woman I left behind three years ago, the woman who's been raising my sons alone.

My sons.

The words echo in my head, foreign yet undeniable. Their copper-red eyes, the curve of their horns, the shape of their faces and their darkened skin - every detail screams of my bloodline. Of a legacy I never knew existed.

June slides off her stool, heading down the hall to where the boys have gone. I didn’t even notice it last night but there must be another room on that side of the house. One I’ve never seen.

I barely register her exit. My focus narrows to Loxley, who hasn't moved from her spot by the counter. Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths. The morning light catches the auburn in her braids, highlighting the slight tremor in her hands as she crosses her arms.

Questions crowd my throat, fighting to break free. But the raw fear in her eyes holds them back. I know that look - it's the same one she wore when we first met, when every shadow held a potential threat.

The boys' laughter echoes from somewhere in the house, oblivious to how their very existence has just shaken my world to its core. My wings flex unconsciously, an instinctive response to emotional turmoil.

Just how much has changed?