| http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/sam2.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:322px; padding-left:25px; padding-right:25px; padding-bottom:10px;"> The creature lowered himself to the ground, washing his feet as even Christ had once done for his disciples. But Samael was no true savior. He would never lower himself to such an act, submitting himself in such a manner. He was a prince sent straight from hell. But the coyote didn’t stop at his feet. He rose higher, and Samael allowed him. He said nothing. He did nothing to stop him. Such touches invoked arousal, and the prince wouldn’t allow the creature to escape without expressing this in do time, but for now he allowed reverence to be shown in the coyote’s own manner. Eventually though, he directed the other’s head upward, reaching down to raise the creature up. “My blood is holy,” he said as he did this. “With my blood, you can become something else—something not of this world.” Crouching before the coyote, he suddenly lunged, snapping with a swift, snake-like movement at the animal’s shoulder deep enough to draw blood. A wound opened, seeping red. Samael lifted his wrist to his lips, viciously biting his own flesh to allow his precious life to drip forth. He pressed this against the gash, mixing their blood, bleeding onto him, into him. |
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