A Demon's History: Lotus Thorns

Chapter Eleven: Two of a Kind

Lleon reluctantly took to following Anahera around while she talked to her people. Despite the war, she still did her daily good deeds. The people were kind enough, whether it was from her influence or out of fear. Still, they were weary of him being around. Avery also followed, and they seemed more relaxed around him than they were around Lleon. This did not bother him. It was expected of Angels. If Anahera taught them to fear Demons, she was right.

He sat at a table as Anahera and Avery helped a bit at a bakery. How she did this every day was beyond him. As Lleon waited, a few children approached him, though they were frightened.

"Do you speak French?" One of them asked. A little girl who had received her wings, unlike the boys with her. Lleon nodded. "What are you?"

"A Demon."

"You know Her? Do you work for Her?"

"Her? No. You all worship her like she is your maker." He murmured. "Why?"

"She cares for each and every one of us. We all put our faith in Her and She does the same for us." One of the boys told him.

"Go figure."

"Mama says Demons are evil. Are you evil?" The girl asked.

"I am. I hurt people so you should stay far away." Lleon warned her.

She was trembling already, so the children ran away. He snickered, though quickly stopped when he noticed that Anahera was standing in front of him with her arms crossed. They did not exchange words, but he just sighed and looked back at the utensils he was messing with on the table. He did not understand why she was so adamant about keeping her people happy. Lleon could not find it in himself to care at all.

At the very least, she did not make Lleon eat with the other soldiers anymore. She invited him to eat at the table with her and Avery. Though Lleon did not want to eat his food, he instead picked at it with little interest.

"What's wrong with you?" Anahera asked him as they sat at the table in the dining hall.

"I do not enjoy my meals cooked."

"Of course, a beast like you wouldn't." Avery scoffed in disgust.

This set Lleon off. Suddenly, a plate flew across the table, narrowly missing Avery's head. He did not stop there. He stood up and effortlessly lifted his chair, but before he could throw it at him, Anahera slammed her hands on the table.

"Victoir! Control yourself!" She barked at him. Lleon did not know why, but he listened. Partially, anyway. He threw the chair against the wall, but not aimed at Avery. Still, she looked back at him and said, "Get out."

"Fucking hell," Lleon muttered, but again, he listened.

         He went outside to smoke, looking at the stars. The torment of being around them had to be nearly over. Alas, it was not. Not even close. Evermore had yet to show his face and she would not allow infiltration of the north because of the lack of planning. He kept telling himself that he did not have to listen to her. So, why did he listen to her? It frustrated him. He frustrated himself.

"Here." Anahera's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "It is uncooked."

"Why would you offer it after that?" Lleon murmured, eyeing her suspiciously.

She was silent for a moment, the only sound being the plate being placed on the stone stairs next to him.

"I do not know." She responded. She opened her mouth to say something else, however, she decided against it and went back inside.

He ate either way, whether it had been laced or not. It seemed she did not expect any gratitude from him. Lleon returned inside afterward, leaving the plate on the dining table that had not been cleaned up yet. He wondered where she was, always. If she was not in his sights, he was weary of what she did.

Anahera would suddenly appear around the corner, a bedroll in her arms. She shoved it into his chest.

"You should sleep with the rest of the soldiers." She told him.

"Huh. I feel very welcomed." Lleon murmured sarcastically.

"I do not need to make you feel welcome. Especially a Demon like you."

Lleon was a special race of Demon. The dragon. A rarity now in his time, but he learned from his father that they still exist in dormancy around the realm. That is what made him more important than others in his eyes, though his status also played a part in that. Anahera was also unique. Born with six eyes and having earned six wings, it made her the first Angel to be born as a Seraphim. She never explained why this was her case, but Lleon suspected that she did not even know.

No one knew.

Either way, they were both pushed to their limits when being prepared to lead. The difference between their leadership, however, showed greatly. Lleon saw his citizens as nothing more than decoration for his kingdom while Anahera cared for every Angel that lived within her walls. Suppose that was why she took care of the Demon she was always a few words away from a fistfight with. It was in her nature; the lesson that had been hammered into her mind for centuries now. Lleon was taught to take what he wanted, but not to get attached. After all, if he had enjoyment, he had something to lose, as his father always told him.

When Lleon laid out the bedroll someway away from the other soldiers, he found that he did not seem to quite...fit. He sighed and wandered back inside to ask for another bedroll. However, as he did so, he heard the serene sounds of a cello singing throughout the empty halls. He could not help but follow it as if it had him on a leash. Through the open doors of an empty but greatly sized room, Anahera sat in the middle of it, playing with such gracefulness.
Lleon suddenly had feelings he had buried so long ago, and he did his best to ignore them. When she noticed him, she stared at him with an expression unrecognizable to him, but she did not stop. She did not stop even when he took the lead on the next song of his choosing. Queen of the Night by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. She did not know he enjoyed human composers, still, she seemed to recognize it and went right along with it until the very end.

"You play well for a Demon. Though I should have suspected that from a siren." She panted from exhilaration, laying down her cello.

Lleon snorted and said, "When I did not daydream about slaying you, I practiced. Music is a weakness I should not indulge in."

Anahera nodded as if she understood. Maybe she did, but Lleon did not think so. Still, he enjoyed the banter. A more passive way to exchange aggression, he supposed. She went back to playing what she wanted, so he went his own way to ask one of the people in her court for the extra bedroll.

Though as he lay underneath the stars, he only thought of her. Not like some of his previous thoughts of anger and detest. Not even like his naive thoughts of lust when they were younger. No. Before, he had only wished to see what was underneath. Now, he wanted what was underneath. Some nights, he found himself breathless over her. His own hand was used to assist in the stimulation of each thought of her. It could not be helped. A little over twenty thousand years had its way of skewering the thoughts of a man. The woman he disliked also happened to be to most attractive one he had ever met. Yet, he did not know if that was a sign of weakness within himself or an instinct he needed to get sorted. He suspected it was both. Women who touched him, he lashed out at. The men he thought he wanted; he bared his teeth at. However, when Anahera argued with him, that sadistic part of him loved it when they tore into each other. When she leaned over his shoulder to look over the plans he made, he wanted to slam her down onto the table and take her. He was fixated on her; he had been for a long time, and he didn't know how to stop.

Did she think the same? Did she feel that this tension became more than their hate?

He sure did. The game was in motion once more, and by the stars, he hoped it would be messy.