“Don’t go near her, Samael,” Aysen growled, baring his fangs. A silky, soft voice reverberated from the dark depths of the manor’s sinister, silk-draped bedroom.
“Have you grown feelings for the little whelp?” it laughed, raspy.
“Don’t you dare lay a finger on her,” Aysen warned again, still standing his ground.
“No, certainly not a finger,” it hissed. “A fang or two, maybe.”
“Cut the jokes, Samael!” Aysen yelled.
“Now, now, Aysen, is that any way to treat your leader?” a dark robed youth asked, swirling some ominous looking liquid in a wine glass.
“You may be the leader of the Clan, but I will never forgive you if you harm Sora!” Aysen protested.
“What’s so special about her, anyway?” Samael asked, taking a dainty sip and staining his pearly fangs crimson.
“She has more worth than anyone I have ever met!”
“Is that why you hesitated in killing her? She’s blind…the little runt is of no use,” Samael said, elegantly clacking his jaws together.