Demon Turned Lover [BxB]

Bitten apple

          "Her words...provoked me greatly. I couldn't handle them anymore, and my powers...went out of control."

          "A throne is a prestigious rank, they know control well, so I believe," Uriel began, his silver hair short. "Tell us of the mortal's behaviour, Luka."

          "Of a demon. There is no doubt in my being that she was possessed." Although Luka had seen Uriel as second to his father, his eyes, homely, were downcast. At present, he was his judge. "She boasted a blood bloom, that she said Zalgiur gave to her."

         Copious amounts of words caromed. The cherub pottered around the starred platform, a scarlet cushion manifesting on his forearms with the deceased flower of portent.

         "She had knowledge of things she shouldn't have had."

          Gabriel, began with a sigh—the feathers of his wing awoke, as did the red strands of his hair. "Tell us what she spoke of."

          "Shiloh...how she is my mother."

          The albino halted himself at Zadkiel's brushed pedestal, his quilled wings flinching with disquiet. Luka hadn't already known? He thought.

          "And...how she abandoned Heaven, for a demon. I have no recollection of it."

          All set of glowing eyes took aim at Michael, even Ezekiel's.

          "What is the meaning of this?" Uriel bellowed at his brother, but the King, placidly smiled at all six of his siblings.

          "Patience," Jophiel drawled. Her paradigm of beauty explicit in the blonde, flowered hair that graced the cream marble ground, and amethyst eyes. "I have hope that our brother has a reasonable explanation."

         The auburn-haired Camael, nodded in agreement, his magnetite eyes lifting from the throne and to Michael. "Brother?"

         "In the name of God, I ask you all to leave. I shall deal with this, and speak of it to you at a later time."

         The angels each vanished faster than locusts could devastate societies. The pedestal of Michael retrenched, and Luka could, at long last, espy him. Blond hair curled behind his ears, and golden eyes stared at the fretful throne, by some means coruscating brighter than Uriel's. A maroon cloak he wore, with a golden clasp and a brown bible in hand.

        Now that the King had preceded Luka, in all his might, every question he had seemed to fleece him.

         "Be not afraid, little throne. I simply wish to speak to you alone." How could that statement hold support, when a sharpened spear trod behind him. "It is true you have no recollection, I saw to it."

         "But, why? Do I not deserve to know who my true mother is?"

         "It was a request, by your father Luka."

          The brunet's brows snapped together. He couldn't understand why his father would ask of such a thing.

          "Although centuries had passed, you were still distraught by the war. Your mother was a power, slaying those fallen who tried to climb up to Heaven," the King verbalised, his footsteps quiet so as not to divert.

        Luka gulped—he knew what he was going to say next. "But, she fell in love with one..."

        "I see, that is what she said." Michael twisted around on his heels, perplexity dimming the sun of his halo. "Your mother was pulled down by the damned. Love is out of the question."