"Mitchell," Samandriel said, clearly displeased. "I'm saying I'm too valuable for him to screw with here." He got up to get the picture again, needing to look at it. He never thought he'd see it again honestly. All he wanted was to go over immediately and take it, or to somehow convince someone already there to shatter the bottle.
"He has my grace," the angel added more softly. "Whatever he does to me will be irrelevant once it's mine again." He looked over at his Master, catching the shape of his absolutely gorgeous face, those perfect lips, the slope of his nose and the lines of sinew in his neck.
"Do you want forever with me as a vampire I'd never be completely happy as or do you want it with me as what I truly am?" he asked, knowing it was a double edged sword something that pressed at Mitchell to consent to whatever hell Carrick had planned for his slave and one that very heavily implied that Samandriel had no intention of even thinking about leaving Mitchell even with his grace back. He loved Mitchell. What else mattered?