“Bleed for me. I am God,” he said softly, his nails piercing her flesh, dragging slowly through the skin and bringing forth the desired red. She was his, just as he belonged to Kaena. The mark of her possession glinted in the dim light of the cave, catching the light and reflecting it back. Outside, the world was cold and frozen, but Samael felt no need to emerge from the darkness. Here, he had her, and she belonged to him, both in body and soul. He’d captured her. She belonged to him. Her body may have been perfection—well, almost, for she was no Lykoi—but her soul was empty. He almost pitied her, but he would purify her. Her blood would please the Angel. He would offer her up to him.
His tongue ran across her flesh, drinking her in. Crimson eyes met those of an almost equal shade, forcing his affection on her, and his love. She was hollow. He was enthralled, possessed. Only Kaena held his heart, but he could pretend otherwise. She was useful, just as those that died for the gods, bleeding out on stone altars to false idols when only the Angel was worthy of such attention. But he was here, and everywhere else for a purpose. He was a prince there, just as he was meant to be. Here, he was nothing more than a lowly madman—a vagabond, shunned by all save for his love. Holy Gabriel meant to kill him, he knew—he could see it in his eyes, and in the way that he looked at him. They were all unworthy. They were all so ignorant.
He’d gone home, but perfection could not be found without the one he dreamed of each and every time he closed his eyes, no matter his mindset. He’d returned. And he’d brought his pet with him, to keep him company along the way. She was of his blood, though not of his mother’s. “Get food,” he hissed between razor sharp teeth, exhausted, writhing in the dirt. He couldn’t be bothered to tend to himself. He was a prince, after all. She vanished out into the light. He remained in the dark, suddenly immobile, barely stirring even to inhale or exhale.