Page 16 of Her Demon Daddy
I put my hand on the doorknob and step outside into the rain. I look at the red sand stretching over the gardens and sigh in relief. I’m still here. I’m about to walk deeper into the gardens when I hear the door open behind me. Turning around, I see her standing before me with a grin.
My panic ensues. This feels like my dream. I stiffen and clench my nails into my palms, seeing if I can feel their sharpness. I feel it and relax slightly. I’m still here.
She looks at me with slight confusion, but also I catch a glimmer of cheer in her eyes.Is she excited to see me?I wonder as she walks toward me quickly. My muscles relax as I watch her walk and feel my mind clear.
She’s about to reach me when the ground shakes, and a loud crash sounds from the castle. I keep my footing strong and hold myself up on the quaking ground as she falls to her knees, catching herself on the red sand as she looks at me fearfully.
It subsides, and I stand tall again, exhaling as I look down at her. She stands up and dusts her hands off, looking around frantically.
“What was that?” she asks with wide eyes.
“A part of the electrical storms,” I say as I turn around and motion for her to walk with me.
She catches up to me as I pace and look at my feet in the sand. It was another quake, signaling that I’m running out of time. This is my warning, but she doesn’t need to know that. I catch her looking at me and feel like she can sense my fear, and I must deter her from asking me questions.
“What is your passion?” I ask her curiously.
“My what?”
“Your passion,” I repeat, not looking at her.
“Oh, uh…” She chuckles lightly. “If I had to say anything, it would be writing.”
“Writing?” I ask, trying to focus on her words. “What do you write?” I ask slowly.
She tells me of writing poetry, tiny lines that carry the weight of emotions. She says it helps her in dark times, like pouring her soul onto a page. While I’ve never been a fan of poems, her voice soothes me. My muscles relax more, and I feel my mind return to a state of rest as she speaks to me.
9
SIARA
Iglance at him across the library as he scans his latest book. He told me he’s beginning to study demon court politics. I asked him why a few days ago, since he’s the King and he doesn’t have a court, and he told me he was curious because he had heard about it before his life began here.
I’ve often wondered about his backstory, but don’t pry. It’s been two weeks since he summoned me to his gardens, and each day has been a new adventure for us. I’m happy to have been out of the dungeon since that day, but I also find myself beginning to enjoy his company. The feeling makes me worried, I don’t think I should enjoy the companionship of a demon King, but I can’t help myself.
Some days are like this: he reads and hands me a pen and paper to write. When I’m done, he saves the papers and has promised not to read them. I find it odd that a demon would promise such a thing, but I believed him when he said it. My trust in him has grown. He hasn’t spoken anymore of wanting to take my soul or tried to harm me in any manner. It’s confusing to be grateful for a man not putting me in danger, as that’s usually the bare minimum.
On other days he wants to do more activities, like walking around the garden or showing me around the castle. I’m appreciative that he’s let me into his life. I can understand how vulnerability would be difficult for a demon to comprehend. While he’s been gracious and accommodating, something is still off about him. Something is lurking in him that I can’t place my finger on, and I want to know what it is.
He closes his book and sighs, turning toward me. I put down my pen and paper and look at him curiously as I wait for him to speak. He taps his fingers on the table before standing and walking toward the door.
“I think it’s time for more training,” he says lowly as he reaches the door. He turns around and beckons to me with his gray fingers. “Are you coming?”
“Yes,” I say sheepishly as I stand up and follow him down the hallways to the basement arena.
He’s almost charming. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s put me under a spell. Everything he suggests I get excited about doing, especially training. The other day, we talked about battle strategies he learned when he was enlisted in the demon army. I commented on how I’ve never known how to fight, and he offered to train me. At first, I was nervous, but once we stepped into the arena, I began enjoying his instructions.
We reach the arena, a large sanded room underground, the walls filled with weapons. Instead of swords and machetes, we use wooden sticks when he teaches me new moves. He hands me mine, and we circle each other. Every time we begin, I slightly hope that his hood will fall off, and I can catch a glimpse of his face.
Without warning, he spins around and strikes me from overhead. I block it with my stick and try to hit his torso, but he dodges it and swings it into my side, stopping right before he hits me.
“Again,” he says darkly.
He whirls around in the opposite direction, and I dodge it. I try to go high, and he goes low, hitting my shins lightly with the stick. I roll my eyes. if there’s anything demons hate, it's weakness, and I’m certainly weaker since I arrived here. I want to be stronger, quicker, and as skilled as he is. Even becoming half as experienced a fighter as Asmodeus would be enough. I’ve never seen someone so sharp and calculated.
I strike him without warning, and he blocks it before turning and trying to hit me from a high angle. I dodge it and press my wooden rod directly into his heart, grinning as I stare into the darkness of his hood. He slowly lifts his hand and lowers the stick from his chest.
“Good, you’re learning quickly.”