Donovan can hear the throbbing of her heartbeat. The Soul Reaper visualizes the tempting, plump vein that maps down her ivory neckline, and he contemplates a proper term that describes that invigorating taste. He may be a demon, but he still has manners.
"Ambrosia." That taste sits on his tongue.
Max knows men in tailored suits quite well, he'll never be one of them. Unaware of Donovan's demon side, he'd rather paint him as a trader.
"Hey lad, you really look like a damn successful chapman" he smirks to the soul reaper.
"Hey lad, you really look like a damn successful chapman" he smirks to the soul reaper.
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