Carrick looked dispassionately over the angry red welts of the cane on Mike's thighs and rear, at the slashes left by a thonged whip on his back and shoulders. They looked viciously painful, but he was unmoved by pity, even though the deep blushing rose colour of the fullest part of Mike's rear was the result of the spanking he had administered in punishment for his new slave's insolence to Camilla. He had given far worse to some of the slaves who had fed his relentless hunger for submissive boys, he thought wryly. And he himself had suffered far worse all those long centuries ago in his mortal life.
The vampire held his finger above Mike's obediently open mouth, letting a few crimson drops fall between his lips. It would only take a couple of seconds before the powerful, ancient blood would dissolve into the slave's mortal flesh and knit together the broken skin, healing the bruises and the marks of the whip and cane.
When no more blood would drip from the now-healed slash on his finger, Carrick leaned forward and drew Michael close once more. "Better?" he murmured. Eyes fixed on the soft, trusting gaze before him. he leaned forward, burying his hands in the soft curls and holding the slave's head in place while the tip of his tongue ran over Mike's bottom lip, catching up the last traces of his own blood before moving in for a slow but insistently deep kiss.
He tasted the boy's mouth, pressing his tongue deep between his new slave's lips and pressing the soft mouth further open. The slow kiss was commanding and possessive, the vampire's fingers pressed tightly against Michael's scalp, demanding utter surrender.
When the kiss finally broke, his own eyes were darkening with lust. "You can thank me properly later, "he advised. "When I take you to my bed and make you mine."