Page 7 of Demon Daddy’s Secret Twins (Demon Daddies #2)

7

LOXLEY

I walk the familiar path through the jungle, my feet finding their usual rhythm against the packed earth. The morning sun filters through the canopy, casting dappled shadows that dance across my skin. My fingers absently trace the worn leather of my water flask - a habit I've developed since these walks began.

He's already waiting at our usual spot, his massive frame somehow managing to look both imposing and perfectly at home among the towering trees. Mazan's wings are folded against his back, the deep midnight blue catching hints of sunlight. Those copper-red eyes find mine, and my chest tightens in a way I refuse to examine too closely.

"You're early." My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

Mazan's response is a slight tilt of his head, those golden lines across his obsidian skin catching the light. He falls into step beside me, his presence both comforting and unsettling. I hate that I've memorized his gait, the way he shortens his stride to match mine, how he always positions himself between me and the denser parts of the jungle.

"I didn’t have anything I needed to take care of at the palace this time" His deep voice rumbles through the quiet morning.

I nod, keeping my eyes fixed on the path ahead. These walks have slowly become something that I don’t think either of us intended. They’re something that makes my hands clench and my heart race when I catch his scent on the breeze.

The worst part is how safe I feel. Seven feet of demon should terrify me. Instead, I find myself tracking the graceful way he moves, how his strength lies quiet beneath his skin. He never pushes, never crowds. Just walks beside me, his silence more comfortable than any conversation I've had in years.

I tell myself it's just routine. Just the quiet. Just the predictable pattern of footsteps and shared silence. But when his wing brushes my shoulder as he moves to clear a fallen branch from our path, my breath catches, and I know I'm lying to myself.

Because it wasn’t fear I felt at that gentle brush.

And it wasn’t bad memories that my mind drudged up.

We reach the shoreline, where the jungle gives way to white sand. Without discussion, we settle into our usual spot - him sitting cross-legged, me perched on a smooth piece of driftwood. The waves roll in with a steady rhythm that matches my heartbeat. We tend to alternate between the beach and the waterfall, though I like the waterfall more.

I steal glances at him when I think he's not looking. The morning light catches those faint gold lines across his skin, making them shimmer like molten metal. His wings shift with each breath, adjusting to the sea breeze. He's removed his boots, letting his feet sink into the sand.

"The tide's higher today." My voice barely carries over the waves.

Mazan hums in agreement, his copper-red eyes fixed on the horizon. The sound vibrates through the air between us. I wrap my arms around my knees, fighting the urge to lean closer.

This shouldn't feel natural. Every instinct shaped by years of survival should be screaming at me to run from the demon warrior beside me. Instead, I find myself relaxing, my shoulders dropping from their usual tense position.

He moves his wing, creating a patch of shade that falls across my face. The gesture is so casual, so thoughtful, it makes my throat tight. I've spent years building walls, learning to read threats in every movement. But Mazan just... is. His presence settles around me like a familiar blanket.

"Thank you," I whisper, not specifying what for. For the shade. For walking with me. For never pushing when I flinch away from sudden movements.

His eyes meet mine, and that molten copper gaze holds something that makes my breath catch. He doesn't smile - I've never seen him smile - but there's a softening around his eyes that feels more genuine than any grin.

The waves continue their endless dance with the shore. A light breeze carries the salt spray, and I realize with a start that I've completely let my guard down. My knife is still in its sheath. My escape routes haven't been mapped. I'm just... here. Present. Content.

The revelation should terrify me. Instead, I find myself shifting slightly closer, letting the edge of his wing's shadow cover me completely.

The question burns in my throat, one I've held back for weeks. "Why don't you stay on Aurelius?"

Mazan's wings shift, the leathery membrane catching sunlight. His copper-red eyes remain fixed on the horizon, but I notice the slight tension in his jaw.

"My loyalty still lies with the King." His deep voice carries no hesitation. "I serve Asmodeus, as I always have."

I pull my knees closer to my chest, sand gritting between my toes. "But you help Lamain keep this place secret."

"I do." He turns those burning eyes to me. "Loyalty isn't always simple. I serve my King, but I also stand with Lamain and Volezimir. They've earned my trust."

The gold lines across his obsidian skin pulse faintly as he speaks, like liquid metal flowing beneath the surface.

"This island..." His massive frame shifts, wings adjusting to block more sun from my face. "It holds beauty I never witnessed on Galmoleth. The way light filters through leaves, how water shapes stone." His voice drops lower. "But I cannot abandon my duties. My word is my honor. So I travel between, keeping my promises."

My heart pounds against my ribs as he pauses. Those copper eyes lock onto mine, intense enough to steal my breath.

"And I return because you're here."

The words hang in the air between us. I can't look away from his face, the way those golden lines shimmer with each breath. My fingers dig into the sand, anchoring me against the surge of emotions I'm not ready to name.

"You don't have to-" I start.

"I know." His voice is quiet but certain. "I choose to."

The weight of his words settles in my chest, threatening to crack something I've kept carefully sealed. I clear my throat, gesturing at the waves. "The tide's pulling back now. We should head back before the path gets too hot."

Mazan doesn't press. He never does. He simply rises, sand cascading from his wings as they stretch and fold against his back. We walk in silence, but his words echo with each step.

Later, in my treehouse, I pace across wooden floors worn smooth by countless nights like this. Moonlight streams through the open windows, carrying the distant sound of waves. My fingers trace the familiar ridge of scar tissue along my ribs—a habit I can't break when my thoughts spiral.

I choose to.

Three simple words that won't let me rest. I've heard pretty words before, whispered promises that turned to ash. But Mazan... he speaks rarely, and only when his words carry weight.

My bed calls, but sleep feels impossible. I move to the window, letting the cool night air wash over my face. The jungle stretches below, alive with night sounds. I know that Mazan is already gone, but I swear I can feel it, too. Like when he said the island feels more alive since I’ve come here.

What would it feel like to trust that I could rely on that? That he would always return? To believe someone's presence could be constant rather than temporary? My fingers clench around the windowsill.

I've built my life on certainties. The sun rises. Water flows downhill. Trust leads to pain. But Mazan moves through my defenses like they're mist, not with force but with steady patience. He doesn't demand trust - he simply offers it, again and again, without expectation.

My chest aches with possibilities I've denied myself for years. The thought of opening that door, of letting someone past my walls, makes my hands shake. But I can't stop thinking about the way his wing sheltered me from the sun, how he matches his stride to mine, the quiet certainty in his voice when he said he chooses to return.

I press my forehead against the cool wood of the window frame, exhaling slowly. Sleep won't come tonight, not with my mind full of copper-red eyes and midnight blue wings.