Carrick could not remember ever having had a slave quite like Adelice, though history told of many men and women whose gender had been altered against their will. He thought of the legends of his own homeland - of Tiresias the blind prophet who had twice fallen victim to magic that changed his sex and of Hermaphroditus, the son of Aphrodite, whose body was merged with the nymph who loved him and who was forever afterwards both male and female.
The thought of bedding Adelice was an exciting one. She was different form the slaves he had owned in recent decades, and that difference was enough to interest him.
When the slave entered the room he turned and looked her over. The white gown was lovely on her, as he had thought it would be. She looked radiantly happy, like a bride on her wedding night. Again, he was not entirely used to that. Most slaves came to him for the first time trembling and flushed, both fear and desire rushing though their veins. This strange girl seemed to him to be self-possessed and confident, welcoming even. He suspected that he could do anything with her and she would only beg for more.
Carrick regarded Adelice silently for a long moment, then beckoned her forwards. "Lovely," he said shortly. The vampire reached out and stroked his fingers down her cheek and jaw, coming to rest at the base of her throat, where the pulse of her heart was plain under his hand. He wondered how she would taste.
His hand moving to the back of the slave's neck, Carrick's head inclined to hers and his mouth caught up the painted lips in a smouldering slow kiss. His eyes sparked a little as he drew back and held out a hand towards the bed.