"My earliest memory is of my mother. She was a wolf. The Alpha's mate," the ghost said, leaning into Peter, who was acting as a cushion, as Asmodeos gave the ghost a foot rub.
Asmodeos, as the necromancer of the two, could touch the ghost without eating his soul. Something that Peter could not do.
And Peter, for all that he was well fed, now wanted to nibble at the ghost. But knew he could not.
"I think she tried to eat me at the start, but I started to cry, and she gave up out of pity," the ghost continued.
"Was her pelt shiny?," Asmodeos asked, wanting to lure the ghost into a false sense of security.
"Well, yeah, she was a pure white wolf. A true beauty, my dear old mama," the ghost said, as he wiggled his toes. "A little bit lower, please."
Asmodeos chuckled and moved his fingers lower. He could already feel the kink inside of the ghost's soul.
