Carrick stopped, horrified by the angel's words. The poetic, beautiful tones of the lyrical Classical Greek only intensified the truth of the slave's words. There was a rare glimmer of uncertainty in the ancient, pale eyes and for a moment, an observer might have been able to see the wounded mortal Carrick had once been, before Sparta had turned him into a monstrous killer and creature of darkness who despised all vulnerability in either himself or others.
Carrick pushed himself upright, withdrawing his fingers from inside Samandriel's body. He turned his back, forcing himself to remain in control of himself.
"Get out," he said, his voice flat with the weight of centuries.