Hermes nodded, and even though he was bleeding and in pain that went deeper than the physical, he stepped closer to his Master, his other hand resting at Carrick's waist. He didn't comment that Carrick marking their relationship in Spartan terms like that spoke to more love and equality than the vampire had given a slave in a long time if ever before. Especially one he had no chance of turning.
"Thank you, my lord," he said quietly. He broke away from the eye contact and the gentle pressure on his cheeks to settle in his master's arms. The last play, then. One that would get people killed, but would keep the rest of the household from Carrick's rage if something truly did happen. "Three of the new kitchen slaves you bought...they're here on another Master's orders to remove me as any kind of variable in their poorly laid plans." Either Carrick would slaughter them, or he'd make them forget themselves. Knowing his Master, the former was far more likely. It was only a matter of time before they finally caught the rhythm of things and gained the trust of the rest of the slaves to make their move.