Beelzebub, for a moment, stared at them blankly as they walked away from him. His cheeks reddened and his ire grew; shunned, mocked, and now ignored, he clenched his fists and stalked after them with a leperous smile.

How dare they brush him off like that? Belial was always getting his way, always doing what he wanted, and Beelzebub had done nothing about it, tired and angry and fiercely jealous as he was. Belial was Lucifer's little lap dog, albeit an unwilling one, but a lap dog all the same.

His hand touched Belial's shoulder, and he felt a shock of sensation that he was unaccustomed to feeling--the feeling of warm flesh beneath his fingers--and he made himself grip, tugging Belial around to face him.