Samandriel awoke not long after Carrick finished dressing. He didn't bother putting clothes on. There was hardly a point to it when the vampire would just want them off again as soon as possible.
Before he'd gone to sleep, he'd spun tales about painting sunrises though it was some surprise to find Carrick sitting there watching it. He was sure the vampire's thoughts were nowhere near the angel he'd paid so dearly for, but he'd been surprised before.
No doubt, Carrick had been surprised more than once during their time together. He stretched as he got up and padded over, settling easily on his knees next to the chair to Carrick's left (the right hand spot clearly belonged to Hermes as far as slaves were concerned and even in the fae's absence he wouldn't seek to place himself above him.) to wait silently for the vampire to be ready to acknowledge him.
Perhaps his instinct had been right and he'd broken Carrick's 'nothing at all' when it came to avoiding the lash. Other things he was certain to face, but if he could keep a whip off of that list, he'd be grateful.