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Robert's body looked decidedly hideous. Even more hideous than it was in life. A crushed throat, torn clothes and empty eyeballs did not give him any more charm. In addition, his blood heavily stained the already sickening little room, where the two of them had to sleep for a long time on flabby beds, as springs dug into their backs. Everything would stay the same once Devon cleaned this place up. And the beds could be moved.
He dragged the corpse by the legs, leaving a scarlet trail. The dead are heavier than the living, but Devon was not quite the ordinary young man that those around him descried. Yes, not as strong as a Lion, but not as weak as a human.
There was nothing he could do; neither with this situation, nor with his instinct. People simply disgusted him. Ants that filled the once beautiful tree, sucking all the juices from its bark and endlessly multiplying, not unlike other pests.
Devon casually dumped the body in the kitchen, deciding to use the floor instead of a cutting board. Robert was one of Simon's important pawns, so his disappearance had to be carefully staged.
Devon picked up the cleaver.
It didn't get the job done as effectively as the horn. Everything that people have created was not half as effective as the things from his memories. Their weapons, their houses, their world. It was surprising that Devon didn't finish Robert off sooner. Once his home was a stall and a carpet of hay, but it felt much more comfortable than coexisting with a human under the same roof. The fact of attachment made everything even more disgusting. A person's attraction to a creature from the Old World seemed unnatural. It was like loving a sword that was destined to pierce you. Or a cleaver that was currently chopping you into pieces.
Devon remembered how Robert once brought horse meat for dinner. He smiled then, turning it over in the frying pan, and then with the same smile he persuaded him to try at least a piece. It was on that day that Devon determined the fate of his dear cohabitant.
Cannibalism is terrible. A horse should not eat a horse, and a sheep should not eat a sheep.
But Devon is just a wolf in sheep's clothing.
The juiciest pieces ended up in the boiling water. There was no use for the organs, just like for the bones. Of course, the latter could be used to make new exhibits or ground into flour for the same purpose of cooking, but Devon’s stew always turned out too salty, let alone baked goods.
Raising the ladle to his mouth, he took a sip of the broth. It would come out to be something moderately rich and with the right amount of seasoning. This evening he could not make a mistake.
***
The table was long. It wasn't really his table, but one of the antiques in the shop; beautifully carved and at least a hundred years old. Devon wouldn't have offered him anything less than a meal here.
Candles burned between them, being the only light in the room other than Devon's own eyes, which were too light to not reflect sparks.
Tom sat there looking tired, his shoulders hunched over due to his height, thoughtfully picking at his soup with a silver spoon (also from the collection).
Lions have an excellent sense of smell, so he must have figured out the secret ingredient in the dish by now, but he said nothing. He didn't like Robert. For a while, Tom was even jealous, believing that he and Devon were living together for more than just similar jobs. Back then, he didn't know what was hidden behind the cap.
– Bad day? – asked Devon, pushing his plate away.
– Better than Robert's.
Their gazes crossed.
That was what Devon liked about Tom. A seemingly decent and reliable young man, who was actually what he was by nature: a predator. Simon's main beast, trained to bare his teeth on command.
– You look like you'd rather snack on James. Did he reprove you in public again?
Tom gripped his fork, and it sent a wave of delight through Devon. He liked to see him like this. About to break loose. That was good. The Dark King needed warriors like that, and Devon, in turn, liked riders with a temper.
– No, – Tom said. – He's gone. Either kidnapped, which is unlikely, or he decided to escape. Sinclair is furious.
Devon made an unpleasant face, pretending not to know where James really was. Ancharion would no longer need Simon when he met his true master. But it was too early for Tom to know all the details. Time would come, and they'd stand cheek by jowl on the same side. In the meantime, there was no point in interfering with the plans that would lead to this wonderful future.
– It's better for you. You'll finally be able to raise your authority in the eyes of others, – Devon stuck his fingers into the broth and pulled out a piece of flesh. – The lion is the king of all animals, isn't it? It doesn't take orders from people.
Tom smiled bitterly, following Devon's lead and eating the meat; as if it were part of a ritual in which he could gain more power:
– A lion only attacks a man when it is ill.
– What is your illness, Ballard?
That was not a rhetorical question. When they first met, they looked like completely different people in each other’s eyes. An ordinary clerk and an inexperienced kitten who should not have crossed paths. But they did. Devon considered his goal higher, somehow sacred, not planning on being distracted. But Tom had broken his skull and got deep into his head, not even being the heir of Rassalon. He could not have achieved what he had now if not for Devon’s influence. Those people thought they could teach a lion to roar, but in actuality they were only smug trainers who would soon become food no worse than the one currently in front of them.
– You, – said Tom.