The tiny smile touched Carrick;s lips once more. "Not originally; I pick up accents quickly. I spent most of the last century back and forth between Britain and Ireland." He glanced at Russell again. "at the time I was made, there was no Ireland, or England. Just dark, forested lands where barbarians painted themselves in woad and prayed to the trees."
He turned to face the taller man. "I was born in Sparta. From the age of seven, I was an instrument of warfare. I served in the Spartan army for nearly thirty mortal years. And afterwards, I fought for my country until I had no country left." His pale gaze was challenging, fiercely proud.
Carrick's body stiffened as Russell grabbed him and pushed him bodily back against the wall.. but only for a moment. As the hot, hungry mouth devoured his own, he gave a moan, and suddenly his lips were opening under the other man's, his hands raising to tangle themselves in the thick dark hair. He kissed back fiercely, pressing himself tightly against the heavily muscled form.
The vampire hardly knew what he was doing, or why. He always prided himself in being so cautious, so in control of himself... and yet here he was, on fire for a man he had only just met.
There was something like electricity in the wolf's touch, and Carrick was desperate for more.