Page 142 of The Demon's Pet

Simon’s eyes widened, and the beautiful red in them looked slightly purple, like rubies. “I have never met someone raised in such a place. I suppose it must have been like when other humans met the Amish.”

“The Amish?” I asked.

“A dead religion,” Simon said. “Many religions went extinct after the great divide. The Amish weren’t shifters and didn’t have any special powers, so the celestials weren’t interested in saving them as some of the chosen humans. Celestials saved who they wanted, and vampires got most of the rest.”

I swallowed. “And you’re a vampire?”

“At your service,” Simon said pleasantly. “So what are you?”

“I just told you—”

“No, you told me where you were from. Not what you are,” Simon calmly retorted.

“I’m—”

Griffin interrupted me with a hand over my mouth. “Cleo, don’t. We don’t know him. We shouldn’t tell him anything.”

Simon smiled, flashing a fang. “He’s probably right about that. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Griffin scowled at him. “I do blame you.”

Simon slumped, resting his chin on his arms and pouting like a small child. “So not even a tiny taste of your blood, then? Just a small—”

“No,” I said. “Stop trying to get Griffin’s blood, and maybe we’ll trust you more.”

“If you were hanging out with a Twinkie and it refused to give you a bite, you’d be irritated too,” he said, still pouting.

I laughed. “So we’re like Twinkies to you?”

He nodded.

Twinkies were a common human treat that was still being manufactured somewhere in the mid-realm. They sometimes got to the havens even.

“I’m not your Twinkie,” Griffin said, still working on finishing his meal.

“You could be,” Simon said. “It would feel good. You might like it, and—”

We heard a loud slam from elsewhere in the cathedral, like heavy doors closing, and the stones around us seemed to vibrate from the noise.

“Get help! He’s bleeding,” a smooth, high-pitched masculine voice said.

“Get Orpheus,” another voice, more familiar to me, said.

Os?

“I’m fine,” a deep voice grated out. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. That was Sam.

I heard rapid footsteps running down the hall, and somewhere in the entryway, the talking continued.

“He’s hurt,” Orpheus said. “What has happened? Master Samael never returns injured—”

Injured? I pushed my chair out, causing it to screech against the stone floor, and bolted toward the door that led out of the dining room, heading for the sound. I took a corridor under a Gothic archway, and it led me to the front of the cathedral where Sam was being brought farther into the main room, helped by two figures.

“Give him here,” Orpheus said, moving forward as Os and a black-haired man in white robes handed him over.

Orpheus picked up Sam’s huge body, carrying it like it was nothing, and walked in the direction of the altar.

“Is he okay?” I asked.

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