Carrick led the way up three flights of stairs and down a long hallway. As they moved further into the depths of the old house, lights grew dimmer. The third floor of the house was one where guests did not normally wander - only Carrick, his lover and his bedslaves were usually to be found there. Accordingly, the vampire kept the lights low, accustomed as he was to darkness and shadow. The thick carpet underneath muffled the sound of footsteps, and the faint scent of an ancient incense lent a hint of perfume to the air.
As they rounded a corner they passed the pleasure chamber, where dark metal bed stood on a dais and the walls were hung with whips and canes, with leather and metal and wooden instruments designed to coax rapture and agony from the slaves who submitted to the vampire's darker hungers. Carrick paused at the doorway, then his eyes slide to Russell before alighting on Rafe once more. "Not tonight," he murmured. "Or at least, not yet." His cool fingers briefly caressed Rafe's cheek, but there was no tenderness in it - rather, his touch was one of banked desire.
"Consider it a mark of my regard for your Master that I'm taking you to my own bedchamber, and not to this one."
Carrick led the way to his bedroom, where the wide bed was made up with crisp bone-white sheets a under a silver silk counterpane.