“It’s a perfectly good heart. Why won’t he eat it?” “If he won’t, I will,” the Demon answered the Prophet’s petulant question. “I like hearts.” “You most certainly will not take the Angel’s heart.” “He doesn’t want it.” “Cannibal.” “Can’t be a cannibal if you don’t eat your own kind,” the Demon countered. “Never been human . . . not like some people.” The Prophet, of course, rose to this insult and the pair of them kept bickering loudly over in one corner of the room. The Disciple hugged himself... tightly, hunched up his thin shoulders, and tried not to listen. He knew the outcome of the argument anyway. He stared at the beautiful creature on the bed and fought to keep from reaching out and touching the marble-smooth flesh he adored. He was worried about the Angel. Anyone who really looked at the beautiful, perfect angel-boy could tell there was something wrong. The Angel gave and gave of himself, sharing his blood and seed night after night.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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