For all that Carrick's words were knives, Samandriel's were lyrical poetry. The same language delivered two completely different ways as though the angel thought to remind Carrick just as firmly of his own position as the vampire seemed to be doing. "Why else would I have agreed to meet you alone?"
He sat straight backed in the chair, resisting the urge to make a move towards the case where he could feel the dim hum of his Grace inside. He didn't trust Carrick as far as he could throw him or truly even closer than that. It grated under his skin that he was agreeing not to destroy the vampire the moment he was whole again. Time would do that, though. In a way, time already had.
He slid the folder containing the contract across the table. "Your counter offer, sir."