"You were looking wrong," he said simply. "You saw wounds, half a being afraid he'd lose the rest of what he had because this ancient, powerful thing was coming at him looking like he would tear him apart just because he could, unable to defend himself. Not loathing for you, Helios. Loathing for what he had become and fear of what end you might be when he'd finally found reason to live."
Samandriel looked down, his human life already feeling like it'd happened to someone else in the more painful parts.
"Here," he whispered. Two fingers rested at the center of Carrick's forehead. He didn't need to tell him. He could just as easily make the vampire remember everything before he'd first been Taken by the vampires, before whatever he had of innocence was ripped from him by so much cruelty. He'd wanted to remember the olive groves, the sea air, the sounds of his people at song, at play, at war. It was far easier to just give him all of that than it was to tell him. It would mean more if he could see it for himself. A vampire of Carrick's age who now truly Remembered what it was to be human.