The angel pressed another kiss to the corner of Carrick's mouth, the tip of his nose, and above each eye like a benediction almost.
"There is nothing weak in allowing someone else to care for you," he whispered, "in admitting you need to take off your armor even for a little while. The war is over, Helios. You have won. Now rest and be healed. Let a muse sing to your soul with touches you may not have felt properly for an age or more." He didn't care to presume to know what went on between the vampire and his werewolf husband, but just as Samandriel had needed to break for the blade, he was sure Carrick needed this just as badly. "I will be kind," he promised, pulling back to look into those ancient eyes again as his fingers skimmed so lightly down Carrick's side. "I think you know I don't have it in me to be anything but."
He didn't need to spread his wings for Carrick to know what he was. He was sure the vampire could feel it radiating off of him. Echoing in the back of his mind, he could hear the last few moments before his Grace was torn out of him. Samandriel was Good. The brother who loved him. Samandriel was Broken. The sister who saw only flaws in a soldier who wouldn't fight when they bid him to. Silence and smugness from his would be executioner.