A Demon's History: Lotus Thorns

Chapter Fourteen: Angel's Trumpet

It was becoming increasingly obvious that the feelings between Lleon and Anahera changed drastically. Their fighting became more like bickering between friends. Avery would take notice of it. Anahera would give the Demon these looks of wanting. She wanted to be alone with him now. Lleon would play dumb when Avery was around. He would pretend that he did not recognize Anahera's advances and surely that made him even more angry. This newly found territory came with benefits, Lleon found. She didn't keep as short of a leash on him now, allowing him to freely walk around. She let him use her bathroom rather than having to bathe in the lakes. The one rule she gave him was to keep off blood that was not from an animal. With that, she somewhat trusted him.

One day, while Anahera was out, Avery sat in with Lleon to talk.

"Angels are not allowed to be in romances outside of other Angels, did you know that?" Avery asked—well—told him.

"Yes," Lleon replied, a bit annoyed. "I am not romancing her if that's what you're so worried about."

"Well, great because She does not need a bloodthirsty brute like you making Her life difficult."

"No, guess not. I just might kill her, after all." He murmured sarcastically.

"Right...Listen, She wanted me to take some stuff to the hospice building, but I think I pulled something."

"You look fine to me."

"Well, it hurts. So, I would appreciate it if you helped a bit." He insisted.

Lleon sighed before reluctantly agreeing. He followed the instructions Avery gave him, hoisting a crate over his shoulder and making his way to the hospice. What the Angel failed to mention, however, was that they were doing blood drawings that day, and as soon as Lleon smelled it, a pang of pain was felt in his stomach. He dropped the crate, doing his best to cover his mouth and nose. The nurses ran over to him, concerned, but they reeked of blood. He hissed. Once. Twice. It became uncontrollable.

The Angels backed away, afraid as he snarled at them. He was passed the need to drink and was instead filled with the need to consume.

He overindulged himself the same night. Every white wall was painted a deep crimson red by the hands of a vampiric beast. The screams of people he knew would not come out of this alive thrilled him. The coppery taste on his tongue only fueled his hunger. As the room finally fell silent, and all life was still, he came back to his senses. They did not satisfy his thirst. Their blood was disgusting to him. He could have been less messy. He should have been less messy.

But it was not my fault, Lleon thought as he panted heavily, kneeling in the puddles of blackened crimson. He heard the doors scrape open behind him, followed by a yelp and footsteps pattering against the floor of whoever was going to report to their leader.

When the sun rose, and Anahera was alerted of the brutality, she immediately blamed him. He was woken up by guards struggling to manhandle him. He did not fight against it, though he could have. He could have overpowered anyone that tried to arrest him, but he accepted it. What was done was done. He had no control over the situation.

"What did you do?" She demanded an answer, she stood beside them. "What did you do?!"

Lleon did not even have to answer because she knew already. He did not say anything, there was not even remorse in his eyes. Avery comforted her when she broke down. Lleon thought it looked awkward because she was taller than him. He did not belong by her side. It was not right.

He realized then, It was all set up.

"We will have you charged for the murder of La Sanctuair des Anges citizens, and I will have my men identify the dead." The male Angel told him. "I suggest you follow the guards down to your cell in the cathedral with full cooperation."

Lleon didn't even know the cathedral had holding cells.

          It would not be until later that Anahera could bear to look at him again. She had to look at him whether she liked it or not because she was responsible for protecting her people, but she failed by letting a Demon get as close as he did. He knew she blamed herself for trusting him in the first place. She silently kneeled in front of his cell. There was so much to say, but he did not know where to start.

"Why did you hurt them?" She asked. She sounded more disappointed than anything.

"It was not my fault."

"Why did you hurt them?!"

She would not believe him. How could she when the trust they constructed was still so fragile? So, he decided to just accept it as his plan of his own free will.

"I was hungry." He responded.

"You murdered the reformed."

"I don't believe in second chances."

"You slaughtered the elders of this land."

"They already lived their lives."

"I told you not to break my trust again."

"You told me not to make you regret trusting me. So, do you? Do you regret it?"

"This was all just to get back at me?!" She shouted at him. "This isn't a game! These are my people and they have lives just like you or me! Why do you insist on me being the villain?! Things were perfect before you-you ruined it!"

Lleon shook his head. "You are not. You always were meant to be a hero, right? I am the villain. In my eyes, your people are nothing but pawns. I must eliminate the pawns to eliminate you. I care not for you or what you have built here."

He may have pushed that a bit far, but at that point, he didn't really care. Anahera must have seen that she was getting nowhere because instead of fighting him on it, she stood up. He saw how wet her eyes were when the dim light hit them. Those naturally sad blue eyes.

"I thought we had finally moved passed this. I thought that maybe, deep down inside, you were the same boy I met all that time ago. I began to fall in..." She trailed off and let out a shaky breath. "I was wrong. I'm done with you. I think I have been for a long time."

"I am glad you finally admitted that." Lleon lamented as he watched her walk away.

When Lleon heard the stone door shut, he buried his head in his knees, closing his wings around himself. He wondered what came next. Would she banish him? Execute him? That seemed likely. In her eyes, he was a liar playing with her emotions, even if that moment of vulnerability felt real. It was real. The rushing of his heart was real. He didn't feel sad though. He was angry. He wanted to kill Avery Blossom. He wanted to pull his wings off and shove them down his throat because in the end nobody had ever stolen from Lleon Victoir Lovett and lived to tell the tale.