"I like your spirit, little one," Beelzebub murmured to himself, weighing the implied threat in the undertones of the Antichrist's turn of phrase. It made him quiver a bit in excitement, to be so close to such a lovely font of power. So young and vibrant and nigh untried.

"I can follow your rules." Like a well-trained dog.

His fingers jerked against his thigh, curling in the loose fabric of his pale trousers, wanting to touch that serene face to see how the child would react.

Was terrified that Adam might not recoil.

The thought of contact with flesh made him burn in unpleasant ways; a smothering phobia.