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Rook lingered outside Lucanis’ door, a polished Antivan tea set wrapped in soft linen cloth carefully cradled in her hands. Her breath was shallow, nerves fluttering in her chest as she stared at the door, unsure of what to expect. She had planned this for weeks, but now that the moment had arrived, uncertainty twisted in her stomach. Would he like it? Would he even appreciate the gesture? The questions rattled in her mind as she hovered, fingers brushing the doorframe.
Inside, Lucanis leaned against a large shelf, one arm propped up, cradling a cup of coffee with the other. His dark eyes were fixed on the steaming liquid, the soft flicker of candlelight casting long shadows across the room. The scent of roasted beans lingered in the air, mingling with the faint fragrance of dried rosemary hanging from beams overhead. He shifted his weight, and then— there it was —a familiar, uncomfortable prickle at the back of his eyes.
He exhaled through his nose, his fingers tightening around the cup. The sensation was always there when she was near—a feeling he loathed—one that came with his affinity for the Fade. But lately, it wasn't as sharp or unwelcome as it once had been. Now, the sensation was often followed by warmth, a feeling that soothed him, even as it unsettled him.
“You going to stand out there all night?” His voice, gravelly but amused, cut through the silence.
Rook cracked the door open just enough to peek through, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "You always seem to know when I’m around." She hesitated at the threshold, then pushed the door open fully, stepping inside.
Lucanis didn’t look up from his coffee, but the corners of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. "Hard not to."
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t press him further. Instead, she extended the bundle in her hands. “I got you something.”
Lucanis' dark eyes flicked to the bundle, a spark of suspicion in his gaze. “What is it?”
“A gift,” she replied, stepping closer, her hands carefully unwrapping the cloth. The delicate tea set wobbled precariously in her grasp. Lucanis watched, his breath halting for the briefest of moments as the set teetered, the porcelain threatening to slip. He set his coffee cup down sharply, the liquid sloshing over the rim as he moved to her side.
“Allow me,” he said gently, taking the tea set from her hands, relieving her of the burden with a quiet, almost exasperated sigh.
He placed the set on the small wooden table near his bed, the soft candlelight catching the intricate patterns on the porcelain. The delicate, elegant set seemed almost out of place in the rough surroundings of his room.
A sly smile curled at his lips as he surveyed the tea set, then met her eyes. "Rook, you wound me," he said, amusement dancing in his voice, though his brow furrowed with genuine confusion. "I thought you'd know my preferences by now. Coffee. Strong enough to wake the dead, not... this."
“I thought of you when I saw it.”
"Tea?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She nodded, a subtle grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. She dangled a bundle of tea leaves lightly between her fingers. "Dawnmist," she murmured. "It grows along the mist-covered rivers of the highlands. They say its flowers bloom only at first light—a rare, fleeting thing, but worth the wait." Her eyes locked with his, her words hanging in the air, a quiet challenge in her gaze. After a pause, she added, “Much like some people.”
He leaned back, his gaze playful as he quipped, "Or maybe you’re just looking for an excuse to see me more often?"
Rook smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She sauntered over to the table, each step slow, deliberate—teasing. Her fingers brushed the edge of the teacup with casual grace, tracing its fine outline, never breaking their connection. A mischievous tilt tugged at her mouth.
"Would that be such a bad thing?" she asked, her voice soft yet warm.
Her fingers lingered on the porcelain as the tea bag dropped beside the set with a soft rustle, and her hand rose to rest lightly against his chest, fingers grazing the fine chain of his collar pin. The cool metal contrasted with the warmth of her touch, and for a moment, the playfulness between them intensified, her hand lingering just a little longer than it should have.
"It wouldn’t hurt to let something else into your routine..." she breathed, her voice softer now, laced with quiet invitation.
Lucanis held her gaze, his lips twitching slightly—a fleeting smile of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. Before he could speak, Spite’s voice slithered into his mind, urgent and insistent.
"Tea. For me. For me!" The voice was almost gleeful, like a child with a new toy. "You don’t want it, Lucanis. She’s giving it. To. Me." Each word dripped with eager anticipation, savoring a claim he wasn’t allowed to make. "You should let me out. Thank her. She gave it. For me."
Lucanis froze. His posture stiffened, a wave of tension coiling in his chest. He tried to focus, to block out the voice clawing at his thoughts, but the pressure swelled—heavy, suffocating. His jaw clenched as he forced his gaze away from Rook, desperate to regain control. Not now. Not this moment.
The subtle shift didn’t escape her. Rook’s eyes narrowed, studying him carefully, but she didn’t speak.
Lucanis turned sharply away, his body rigid. He faced the table where the tea set rested, his hand steadying itself on the edge of the wooden surface as if it could anchor him. He didn’t want to feel this way—this discomfort, this heat building beneath his skin—but he couldn’t shut it out.
He could feel Rook’s gaze, warm but laced with concern. Her presence, always accompanied by the faint hum of magic, pressed against his senses. It should’ve been a comfort. Instead, it prickled under his skin, setting his nerves on edge.
“Is something wrong?” Her voice was soft, careful, probing.
Lucanis didn’t face her, his jaw tightening as his gaze remained fixed on the tea set. Frustration churned in his chest, an itch beneath his skin he couldn’t scratch.
"She wants me. Not you," Spite’s voice hissed, serpentine and smug. "She’s here for me. Let me out. Let me speak to her. She. Wants. Me."
“No!” Lucanis snapped, the word tearing from his throat. His body jerked involuntarily, his fist crashing down on the table with a force that sent the tea set skittering, the porcelain clinking sharply in a jumbled clatter.
He fought to steady his breath, pulse quickening, heart pounding.
Focus. He clung to that single word, forcing himself to drown out the rising noise inside his head. But with Rook so close, her eyes full of concern, her presence pressing in on him... it was harder than ever to hold it back.
"No?" Rook’s voice wavered, her hand dropping to her side as she watched him. His outburst had caught her off guard. She didn’t understand why he had pulled away, her concern growing with each passing second.
Lucanis shot her a glare, his voice harsh, clipped. "It’s nothing,” he muttered, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue, but he spat it out anyway. He didn’t want to explain, didn’t owe her an explanation. But as the words left his lips, something inside him screamed to take them back.
He did want to explain. He wanted to reach for her, to show her the weight of what he was carrying, but the chaos inside him—spite, guilt, anger—overpowered him, drowning out every other thought. His face twisted, his mouth set in a thin line as he fought the urge to speak, to soften, to make her understand.
But all he could say, through gritted teeth, was, “Leave. Now.”
A brief pause stretched between them, thick with tension, as if the air itself had frozen.
The words were cold—sharper than he intended. The weight of them hit him instantly, regret sinking into his gut like a stone. But it was quickly buried beneath the pressure of everything he was fighting to suppress.
Rook flinched back, her eyes wide with confusion and hurt. The impact was jarring, something jagged and raw scraping against his insides. She didn’t deserve this. She shouldn’t see him like this.
But it was too late.
His breath was uneven, his eyes darting away from hers, unwilling to face the hurt he’d caused. Spite’s voice surged, louder, more insistent, dragging him deeper into the chaos of his own mind.
“Let me out. Let me talk to her. She wants to hear me. She wants to see me. I can make her understand. Let me speak!”
A violent shudder ran through him, his hand still trembling from the force of his slam, fingers twitching as he fought to steady the teacups. His instincts screamed at him to push her away, to hide this weakness. He couldn’t let her see him like this—vulnerable, broken—especially not with Spite clawing at the edges of his mind, trying to take control.
Rook’s lips parted as if she was about to speak, but Lucanis couldn’t bear it—not the weight of her concern, not the softness in her voice. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to see this.
“Lucanis, I—”
“Go!” The command erupted from him, harsh and brutal. The force of it cracked his voice, as if the words were being ripped from his chest. The coldness hit him instantly, foreign and biting, and he hated himself for it. But he couldn’t stop. The impulse was too strong.
The moment had passed. The damage was done. He had to make sure she stayed away. The last thing he needed was her pity. Her presence.
Rook tensed, her body rigid as his words landed. For a brief moment, shock flickered in her eyes, quickly replaced by confusion, then something darker: hurt. The spark of defiance that usually fired in her faded, the shock of his outburst stunning her into silence.
She took a hesitant step back, her lips pressing together as she struggled to contain the sting of his rejection. Lucanis could feel her pulling away, her shoulders slumping, her eyes avoiding his.
For the first time, she looked small. Vulnerable. It unsettled him, a tight knot forming in his chest as regret pierced through the cold mask he wore.
Rook swallowed, searching for her balance again. Her voice, usually full of light, came out soft and subdued, edged with pain.
“The tea’s supposed to be calming,” she murmured, her words fragile, as if the weight of his cruelty had stolen something from her. “It might help.”
Her voice lacked its usual warmth, sounding hollow, as if it might break at any moment. Without waiting for a response, she turned toward the door, her movements slow, measured—holding herself together just long enough to escape.
The soft click of the door closing felt final, leaving Lucanis alone in the suffocating silence. Spite, always lurking, clung to the space she’d just vacated—a low hum in his mind.
“We... could’ve kept her...” Spite rasped, voice thick with disappointment. “Could’ve had her... but no... you let her go. Let her slip... right through... your fingers...”
The words cut deep, like a cruel sting. His heart gave a painful lurch, a sharp ache that gnawed at him without mercy.
He staggered back, stumbling onto the bed as his hands dug into his face, desperate to hold himself together. His eyes squeezed shut, fingers pressing hard into his temples, but the flood of unrelenting thoughts wouldn’t cease.
“You want her... just as much as I do...” Spite’s voice was a hiss, slithering under his skin, dripping with malice. “Try to hide it. Hide it from her... but you can’t hide it from me. I know you.”
Lucanis exhaled a shaky breath, the air thick in his chest as Spite’s words found their mark. He shouldn’t want her. He never should’ve.
“No... I can’t...”
The words escaped him, barely more than a hoarse whisper he couldn’t afford to acknowledge. Her face, etched with pain, haunted him—her light slowly dimming under the weight of his cruelty.
"I won't..." His chest tightened, each breath a struggle as the pain in his heart twisted deeper. The longing to reach for her, to undo everything, was overwhelming. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He had to shut it out. Shut her out—before she tore him apart.
Lucanis Dellamorte was no longer just the Demon of Vyrantium. He was a monster—an abomination trapped in a man’s skin, lost to the darkness inside. And no matter how fiercely he fought, that truth would always remain.