Carrick's body was still pressed hard against Hermes' own, his cock buried deeply inside the slave as he voiced his fear for his Master's safety. "The Wrath of Heaven," he sneered. "My gods are as powerful as his Host. I don't fear Him or his angels."
The blackness died slowly from Carrick's eyes, and his fangs retracted as Hermes continued. His heart went cold as the slave spoke of his fear, of his rage that Samandriel wanted him dead. His Spartan stoicism was the only thing that allowed him to keep control of himself as he listened to what Hermes had drawn from the angel's head. All that tenderness, those gasps and sobs of pleasure, the gentle, reverent caresses... had they all been lies? Was the angel even now plotting a revenge against the vampire, for humbling and dominating him? He didn't fear the repisal, but th sense of betrayal cut deeper than any sword.
Slowly, Carrick lowered Hermes so that his feet touched the floor. It was a while before he replied, simply looking into the wounded, desperate green eyes.
"In a Spartan phalanx, the shield protected the man at your side," he said quietly. "I'm your Master - that makes me your shield. I will always protect you, Hermes."
The touch on his face was so sad, but so loving. His own hands cupped his slave's face with steady but tender pressure.