Page 4 of Demon Daddy’s Secret Twins (Demon Daddies #2)

4

MAZAN

T he portal's magic fades, leaving me on the familiar path near the village center of Aurelius. Morning sunlight filters through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows across the worn dirt trail. My wings flex and settle against my back as I adjust to the humid air - so different from Galmoleth's perpetual twilight.

I spot her before she sees me. Loxley moves through the undergrowth with practiced ease, her auburn braids catching glints of sun. She freezes at the sound of my arrival, muscles tensing like a wild creature ready to bolt. Even after months of these weekly visits, her first instinct is still flight.

My chest tightens. Every interaction with her feels like trying to coax a wounded animal from its den. One wrong move, one step too quick, and she'll vanish into the jungle paths she knows better than anyone. I've spent so many years honing my patience - it's what makes me valuable to my King, Asmodeus, this ability to wait out any situation. But with Loxley, patience takes on new meaning.

I remain still, letting her process my presence. The golden lines across my skin pulse faintly, responding to the residual portal magic. Her golden-brown eyes track the movement, assessing, always assessing. Looking for threats where I pray she'll one day see safety.

"Loxley," I say, keeping my voice low and steady. The words come out deeper than intended, and I see her shoulders tighten. Too much, too soon. I force myself to take a step back, though everything in me wants to move closer.

The space between us feels charged with unspoken things. She's like a soap bubble in sunlight - beautiful, iridescent, but one wrong touch will destroy it completely. My hands itch to reach for her, to show her that not every touch brings pain. But I know better. Each small bit of trust she's given me has been hard-won, and I won't risk shattering it with impatience.

"Will you wait?"

She nods, a quick jerk of her chin. Progress - months ago she would have melted into the jungle at my first word.

As quickly as I can, I drop the supplies off with Lamain. He gives me a look at my rushed need to get back to the edge of the village's center, but he doesn't stop me. Not as I rush back to where I left Loxley.

I take our familiar path toward the falls, my steps measured to let her follow at her own pace. The crunch of leaves behind me tells me she's there, keeping the careful distance she always maintains.

The jungle parts around us, revealing glimpses of the morning sky through the thick canopy. My wings brush against broad leaves, sending droplets of dew scattering. The sound of rushing water grows stronger.

"The palace was chaos this morning," I say, keeping my eyes forward. Each visit, I test her a little more by talking. By moving just a little closer. I’ll never cross her limits, but I’m slowly nudging us into a safe friendship. "One of the noble’s children tried enchanting the fountains to flow with wine instead of water. Turned the whole courtyard purple." A smile tugs at my mouth, remembering her failed spell. "Asmodeus was livid. But the royal children that are often around were beside themselves with laughter.”

The path narrows, and I pause to let her choose - stay behind me or move ahead. She slides past, keeping to the far edge, but I catch the slight curve of her lips. These small stories seem to reach her in ways direct questions never could.

"I think Lamain would have thought it was funny. Many don’t know but he can have quite the sense of humor. In fact, Lamain has often provoked his siblings into pulling such pranks," I continue as we walk. "Once, one of his siblings set fire to the training grounds. But it got out of hand, and he took the blame, said he'd been practicing fire spells. Spent a month cleaning the stables as punishment." The memory surfaces clearly - Lamain cursing me between mucking stalls while I stood guard, making sure no one discovered the truth.

A branch snaps under my foot and Loxley tenses, but doesn't run. Her braids sway with each careful step, catching the dappled sunlight. She moves like water over stones, fluid and silent. I keep talking, letting my voice provide a steady rhythm to our walk, a counterpoint to the growing sound of the falls ahead.

The roar of the falls grows louder as we near the clearing. Loxley's steps slow, and I match her pace without thought. The morning light streams stronger here where the canopy breaks, casting her in gold. She keeps her eyes down, fingers twisting together - a tell I've learned means she's working through something in her mind.

"Why do you keep coming back?"

Her voice is so soft I almost miss it beneath the water's thunder. The words come out raw, uncertain. My breath catches. In all these months, she's never asked me anything. Never initiated conversation beyond necessary responses.

I want to move closer, to show her with actions what my words can't fully convey. But I plant my feet, give her the space she needs. The golden lines across my skin pulse with my heartbeat, betraying my own nervousness.

"Because I want to."

Simple truth. No elaborate explanations or promises she's not ready to hear. Just the core of it - that something in me recognized something in her that first day. That every glimpse of her, every shared silence, every tiny step forward only strengthens that pull.

Her eyes lift to mine for a heartbeat, molten amber meeting burning copper. The vulnerability there steals my breath. I keep my body loose, non-threatening, though my wings itch to curl forward, to shelter her from whatever shadows still haunt her steps.

The moment stretches like spun glass - beautiful and breakable. I don't move, barely breathe, letting her process my words at her own pace. A gentle breeze stirs her braids, carrying the sweet scent of jungle flowers. Her shoulders remain tense, but she hasn't run. Hasn't hidden behind her usual walls.

Trust, I've learned, is like the black glass flowers of Galmoleth - precious, fragile, requiring infinite care to cultivate. I'll wait as long as it takes for this delicate bloom to open.

The tension in my chest eases as Loxley's small nod breaks through the silence. No sharp words, no retreat into the jungle's shadows. My wings relax against my back, the leathery membrane no longer pulled taut with anxiety. The golden lines across my obsidian skin dim their glow, matching my settling emotions.

She shifts her weight, auburn braids sliding over her shoulder as she turns slightly toward the falls. Not away from me. The difference pulls at something deep in my chest. After months of watching her guard herself like a cornered animal, this tiny movement feels monumental.

"The falls are nice today." Her voice barely carries over the rushing water, but I catch every word. She's never offered casual observations before, only terse responses when directly addressed.

I roll my shoulders, fighting the urge to move closer. My copper-red eyes track her movements, noting how her hands have stopped their nervous twisting. The scar along her ribs is visible through her thin shirt as she breathes - a reminder of why patience matters more than my instincts to protect.

"They are." I keep my voice steady, measured. Like approaching a wild creature - no sudden movements, no loud sounds. The morning light catches in her golden-brown eyes as she darts another glance my way.

My heart pounds against my ribs. This is progress - real progress. Not just her tolerating my presence, but choosing to engage. The warrior in me wants to celebrate the victory, but my training keeps my expression neutral. One wrong move could shatter this fragile moment.

The air between us feels different. Still charged, but no longer with the sharp edge of fear. Something softer, something that makes my wings quiver with the need to shelter her. But I remain still, letting her set the pace of this delicate dance.