Samandriel didn't know much about Carrick, but he did know a great deal about Spartans. The command they asserted, their insistence on obedience, subjugation and humiliation of the humans they deemed worth allowing to live for a time... Samandriel had seen it. Samandriel remembered it.
He stood slowly, gracefully not a fraction of the loathing he felt for the vampire hidden from his eyes as he walked over. Quietly, he bent his head and knelt at Carrick's feet, bending to press just the tip of his nose lightly to the man's expensive shoes. Every single part of him raged at the act of doing something that he would refuse anyone less than an archangel.