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Hurt. Tired. Spite could feel it. Hurt. Pain. Tired.
Interesting. Feelings of a body. Right now. He had a body. He controlled a body.
Lucanis had fainted. Another contract. A three night long stake-out. A fight. A death. And now the exhaustion. Lucanis might be in trouble. Spite had saved him. He controlled the body. Making it walk. Making it run. Making it fly.
Spite knew where to go. He was in Minrathous. Lucanis murdered in Minrathous. Often. Good thing, too. Rook was in Minrathous. Spite knew Rook. Rook was safe.
Mages. So many mages here. Mages doing bad things. Lucanis had explained it all. The bad things. Enslaving people. Sacrificing people. Bad things. That was, what Lucanis said. All of it was bad. They deserved to die.
Spite knew Lucanis’ doubt. He knew it. While Lucanis did not speak. He did not speak about it. But Lucanis knew his patrons. He knew who paid for murder. Other mages. Other bad people. People wanting power. People removing their rivals.
Poor people did not have money. Poor people did not hire Crows. They were not able. Killing a master. It did not free slaves. Only some. Some were intelligent. They ran. When the master was dead. They ran and slipped out. They disappeared. But many did not. They were afraid. Spite did not understand. Not quite. But Spite knew fear. Just a little.
Pain. Exhaustion. So tired.
Bodies sensed many things. Things a spirit did not sense. Spite loved those sensation. Even the unpleasurable ones. He liked having a body. Because a body felt. And he liked feeling things. And “like” was not “spite”. Interesting, no?
He knew the street. He knew the alleys. He knew the roofs.
Not far. It was not far to Rook.
It was early morning. Dawn in the east. A light on the horizon. Spite had heard songs. The Chant. The humans called it that. It was about the dawn.
Humans were afraid of dark. Spite was not. He was a demon. He came from dark. He liked to think that.
There. He could see the roof. A familiar roof. He spread his wings. He flew. He landed. There was a window. It was open. He could slip inside.
The smell was familiar, too. Rook. The smell of Rook. Spite liked that smell. It was safe. He liked safe.
A small living quarter. Two rooms. The one with the window. The bed was there. And there was Rook. Sleeping.
Alive. Always alive. Nobody could kill Rook. Spite would not let them. If he was asked, that was.
Rook. Alive.
He moved over to the bed. He stood next to it. Rook. Rook was warm. Rook was familiar. Rook was safe. Spite wanted him.
He sat onto the bed. Then he fell on it. Lying down. Rolling up.
“Ah…” Rook woke. He sat up. Confused. He looked. “Luca…”
“Rook,” Spite whispered.
Rook understood. “Spite?”
Spite nodded slowly. “Rook.”
A sigh. Then Rook laid down. “Why are you here?”
“Contract. Lucanis did. Lucanis is tired.”
“He fell asleep?”
Spite nodded once more. “Exhaustion. I can feel it. I feel this body. You know?”
“I would assume so, yes,” Rook said slowly. He hesitated. Then he pulled the blanket. He pulled it over Spite. It was nice. It was warm.
Spite liked it. Spite liked Rook. He liked warmth. And he liked to be close. He knew Lucanis would like it. He rarely admitted it. Lucanis wanted closeness. He wanted that warmth. Spite just sought it out.
Feel Rook. That’s what Spite wanted. Just feel him. So warm. His breath was slow. Spite could hear the heartbeat. Slow as well. Relaxed. It had been quicker a moment ago. Now quiet. Now it was slow. Rook put an arm around him.
Rook was different. Spite knew that. Spite knew mortals feared demons. He had learned it. Mortals feared possession. Many possessed were killed. Mages. Normally it was mages. Lucanis killed some of them. Spite knew it. Spite had been told. Lucanis had taken many contracts. Mostly on mages. Many in Tevinter. Many by political rivals. But some outside of Tevinter. Possessed mages. Or mages without control. Spite had learned about the Tranquil. Mages. Stripped of magic. Just because they feared possession.
Spite did not understand. But Spite felt something. He felt something good. Because Rook did not fear him. Rook did not fear Lucanis. Rook was nice. He would hug them. He would even hug Spite. And it was a warm hug. Nice.
Pain. Exhaustion. There were wounds. Wounds from the fight. But not dangerous. Not life-threatening.
Exhaustion was more important. Sleeping seemed more important.
Spite would love to talk to Rook. But he started to understand. The body needed rest. It needed to relax. If he was commanding it… It could not sleep. It could not rest. It was unfair. Lucanis let him do it rarely. Take full control. He wanted to use it.
But this was good. Somewhat good. Warmth. A hug. And Rook. The nice smell. A bit like lavender. Spite did not understand.
“I like you,” he muttered. “I like Rook.”
Rook gave a little grunt. He seemed to doze. The state between waking and sleep. He opened one eye. “That’s good.”
Spite moved even closer. He liked to feel that body. Rook’s warm living body. He liked to smell it. He would like to taste it. “Do you like me?”
Rook smiled. His hand moved. It caressed the cheek. “Of course I do.” His thumb was soft in the touch. “You are a nice demon.”
“Nice?”
Rook nodded. He was sleepy too. It was early morning. “Yes. You are nice. You protect Lucanis. And you protect me.”
“Yes,” Spite muttered. He breathed in that familiar smell. “I protect you. You protect me?”
“Of course,” Rook said. “I will protect you both.”
Spite believed him. Rook was determined. And spiteful. But honest. Rook was honest. He would try it. Protect them. Them both. He had done so already. “Good.” He dared to close his eyes. Their eyes.
Rook relaxed. His breath slowed down again. His heartbeat, too. He fell back to sleep.
Spite too. Spite wanted to relax too. He slowed their breathing. He allowed the body to rest.
Spirits did not sleep. Not without a body. But with a body? With a body they could sleep, too. They could dream as well.
