The vampire squeezed Hermes' throat tighter until it became clear that the slave was submitting to him.
He pushed Hermes' head to the side so that he was forced to look at the painting hanging above the fireplace. Aphrodite lay on a silken couch, milk-white skin bare, her lovely face a picture of melancholy as she awaited the return of Ares.
"Love and war have always been inseparable," he snarled.
When he let go, he reached down and took a handful of the soft jersey fabric of Hermes' yoga pants, ripping the garment apart.