Aisha and Whitt {Liam and Demona}

Liam stood just outside the front door to Demona's house. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, and he was glaring at the wooden door as if he was considering knocking and finding that he had to do so incredibly annoying. There was a torn emotion in his blue eyes, and faint stirring of hunger slithered down his throat.

He'd barely tasted blood in the last several days. He'd been wound far too tightly around his problems to even consider feeding, and his body was starting to groan in protest.

He didn't want blood, couldn't think of blood, when he was so obviously at ends with whatever predicament was currently waging war inside of him. That predicament was the fact that it'd been a month since he'd seen, spoken to, or even touched Demona Morgan.

Never should he have allowed someone to touch him so profoundly that not even the thought of blood could rouse him from his despair. He was infuriated that she had moved him in such away, made him need her. But he'd allowed it. Every step of the way. He'd went from being determined to kill her to being dead-set on having her at his side for the rest of his immortal life.

She'd disagreed with him over that. At first, she'd played along well enough, wanting him just as he'd wanted her. But then when demons had interfered... She hated him now. For reasons that weren't his fault. He'd been controlled by a demon, forced to do things he hadn't wanted to do, so that Demona would turn her back on him and go to the arms of the demon that had controlled her.

He was taking a chance even being here. He had not the slightest idea if she still resided in the company of the demon, or if she was alone. Either way, he imagined she still hated him with a passion. The demon had gotten what he'd wanted: putting Liam through unending pain and having a new woman for his bed, and Demona had played right along.

She'd trusted him so little. Could he blame her though? He wasn't exactly a trustworthy fellow. He'd tried to kill her on several occassions, and he'd even been the one to take her mortal soul. That all seemed so insignificant now to him, with this hollow pain around the place in his chest where his heart had once been. If she'd had the same passion for him as he did for her, she would have looked past it all.

Since she obviously didn't, why was he here?

Liam gritted his teeth, momentarily flashing fangs, and forced his hand out of his pocket.

It didn't matter. He would leave without answers. He'd pined for her for a month, given her her distance for a month, and that was long enough. With a little too much force, he banged twice on her front door and waited for her to answer him.

“ son of a bitch,” demona screamed and tossed one of her daggers into the wall. She flopped to the floor and groaned. The Demona she had been playing with had completely just dumped her in her living room and vanished after Naomi. Naomi had let Liam go and run off to draw Danham after her and it worked to well. Demona had almost gotten were she had needed to be to do a thing.

With blood tears in her eyes she walked to the shower and slipped in . the water rain down her white flesh kissing every scare and wound that lingered on her body from the demon. He had liked to torture her. A few fresh wound stung and the soap glided over them towards the drain.She groaned with pain and then sat on the floor.

Liam had been a great person to be with and she loved him. She cared more for him then anyone in the world yet sometimes she doubted him. She did not feel completely save with him. Maybe because he had tried to kill her more than once.

Someone knocked at the door and demona stood up. She grabbed her towel and slipped it around her torso so that she could make it to the door and see who or what it was.

Puddles lingered behind her as she walked across her hard wood floors ot the door but before she got to the door she grabbed her handle held 45 mag and made sure the clip was full. She did not feel like any hand to hand combat she would just shot the person behind the door.

“ hello,” she said as she pulled the door open. She looked at liam for a moment and then tackled him. Her arms flew around his neck and she began to whimper as tear rolled down her cheeks.

Liam waited, tensed for the moment when the door would swing inward and one of two things would happen. He expected that Demona would either hit him or slam the door in his face. Neither were that great of possibilities, but he'd rather she hit him than slam the door. That way he could at least have some form of contact with her. Even if it was painful. He was ready for that.

But he wasn't ready for her to open the door with merely a towel wrapped around her for cover and her eyes puffy from crying. Liam sucked in a breath automatically, all the old yearning springing to life as he stood there and merely stared at her for several intense seconds. Even the simple, "Hello", she gave him had him feeling light-headed. It'd been too long. Too long since he'd seen her, too long since he'd heard the sound of her voice. But why was she crying?

Liam meant to ask, but he hadn't the time. Because, within the next second, she surprised him into a dumbfounded expression as she suddenly lept across the threshhold of her home and into his arms. Her pale arms wrapped around his neck like a vice, almost a little too tight, but nothing had ever felt more glorious to Liam.

And then she burst into tears again, and he was even more confused. He'd thought she'd hated him. She had, after all, left him high and dry and ran off with the demon. She'd even swore her undying anger and hate against him. But now, here she was, weeping in his arms. Like she was actually moved by his appearance at her doorstep.

No smack, no punch, no slammed door in his face. Just her, wrapped in his strong, firm arms crying while he felt electricity sizzle up his spine from her touch. For a moment, he gave into weakness and buried his face in her wet hair, his whole body going slack as if weary now that it had finally reached its allotted destination.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many accusations he half-heartedly wanted to shout because he was so pained from being left, but it all faded into the background for several blistering seconds as he was burned alive by his emotions that should have never become this advanced.

"Demona," he mumbled softly, tracing a hand up her spine, over the thick material of the towel wrapped around her.

Everything else faded when he was with her: his hunger, his anger, his motivations, and his almost natural desire to remain alone. There would be time for everything else later.

Very carefully, he pulled her away slightly so that he could look down at her lovely, tear-stained face. His brows were drawn together in concern.

"Why are you crying?" he asked softly. "I thought you hated me." He half-heartedly attempted to smile. "I really expected you to punch me when you opened the door."

His hands tightened on her waist. "But I am pleasantly surprised nonetheless that I was wrong."