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"It's quite simple, my Lord...Illidan. I love you."
The ever-increasing winds heralding the fel storm tore the words from Tanistra's lips, and whisked them past Illidan's ears into the roiling green clouds above Shadowmoon Valley. But she could tell he had heard them. She clasped her hands behind her back, trying to hide her trembling as he drew himself up tall and turned to her. There was a darkness in the pit of her stomach, a warning that she had gone too far. And yet she felt lighter, freer, with the source of her faltering concentration now out in the open.
Illidan regarded her, his thin lips pressed together, the wind fiercely pulling his black hair away from his face. She thought his fingers twitched, as though he was about to raise his hands to her, but his arms remained at his side. His tattooed chest swelled as he breathed in to respond.
"I did not create you to love me."
Tanistra's heart sank. But truly...had she expected anything other than this?
"I created you," Illidan continued in his deep, rich voice, "to aid me in destroying the Burning Legion. If you cannot do that, then I have no use for you, and you must reconsider your purpose as a member of the Illidari."
Tanistra's eyes stung with unshed, mortified tears. How strange it was that she could still have tears when everything around where they came from was charred and cauterized? How agonizing it was that she could feel anything other than rage and vengeance...that her heart still yearned for tender words and burning passion?
How foolish it was that she had dared to reveal this! She should have known Illidan approved of her only as a weapon...not as a woman. The demon hunters were dedicated to destroying the Burning Legion. There was no time for anything else, and she was a fool to have even considered otherwise.
She drew up, fixing her shoulders, forcing a defiant look onto her face. "M-My Lord," she said. "My purpose is as it ever was. The destruction of the Burning Legion."
Illidan said nothing, and she turned and walked towards the stairs, forcing her mind to think of her next sparring match. She descended towards the Illidari training grounds, towards her proud, precise, and passionate comrades practicing their deadly arts. And with each step she silently reminded herself that this was, after all, what she had been created for.
*~*
Illidan sat for a long moment following Tanistra's departure. He wondered, briefly, if he had been too hard on her. Perhaps exploiting her love to make her stronger was an asset he hadn't considered. He had, after all, seen the devotion Kael'thas's supporters showed. And of course...Azshara. There was little chance of him forgetting the utterly blind devotion her Highborne had shown. Devotion that had welcomed the Burning Legion into this world. Devotion that had led to the destruction of the Well of Eternity. The destruction of...of him...and Tyrande...and even Malfurion.
No, it was better to have rejected Tanistra. "Demons do not love," he murmured. "Why should we?"
He moved inside, away from the balcony and its revelations, and began considering the upcoming battle. But even as his well-honed mind constructed strategies, the rising wind screamed for his attention, bringing Tanistra's face repeatedly into his thoughts. He decided he would have her in the flanking group, the secret assault. She would be safer catching someone off guard.
He shook his head at the thought. Her safety need not concern him. She could take care of herself. She had proven that, time and time again.
But now one of his strongest weapons had a weakness. He could hear it still in the words that the wind howled around him...the softness, the desire, the vulnerability as she spoke of her heart. Then, after his firm response...the agony. And the defiance.
It was that look of defiance that lingered longest. At first he could not understand why her expression seemed so familiar to him. He had seen defiance before...but not with love as its cause...
The realization almost buckled his legs. He had not seen the look before, but he had worn it before. The moment he realized Tyrande was lost to him. The moment he had begged her to be his, had offered her power and strength and support for her wishes. She had looked back into his eyes, her expression filled with grief and hesitation...and he had known. That pain, that vulnerability...and then that anger, that realization that he had been wounded beyond measure and the cause of his wounding could witness it. He had drawn that defiance onto his face and left her.
Just as Tanistra had left him.
"It is better," he said softly, and chose to ignore the hesitation in his voice.