"You are the perfect vessel," Abaddon breathed, almost petting Dean's face.
"Why?" Dean barked. "Why not some satanist wannabe that lives in his mom's basement? Why me?" He jerked in her grip, but she had a firm hold on him.
"Because, Dean," she rolled her eyes. "Because you're empty inside. There's nothing going on in this pretty little body of yours." She trailed a finger over the tattoo on his chest; he shivered.
"What makes you think I wouldn't fight you out of me?" he asked, watching her lick her red lips.
"That's rich, sweetie pie," she chuckled. "You were born to take orders. Don't you get it, Dean? Born and bred for me to take over." Abaddon ran her fingers through his hair, holding on tighter. "And I will. Once I have all my little ducks in a row, you are mine."