Carrick pressed the sword forward a fraction of an inch, and a bead of blood welled at the very tip of his blade. It glittered in the moonlight. He could smell it - hot and coppery and full of youth and life.
He wanted the boy. Gods, how he wanted him. It would be so easy to take him right here and now; to yank the slave towards him and sink his teeth into the sweating, rippling throat; to rip the clothes from him and force him down over the table - to take him without thought or consequence...
The vampire slowly closed the gap between them his arm bending at shoulder height so as to keep the blade pressed to the boy's throat, his gaze remaining locked with Liam's own. His face moved ever closer to Liam's, his pale lips parted... until finally he lowered the sword and dipped his head at the same moment. The tip of his tongue curled out and stroked over the hollow of the slave's throat, catching the glittering droplet before it could fall. He shivered slightly at the heat and the vitality in this single drop of blood, making him hunger for the night that the boy was ready to be possessed and taken completely.
Carrick licked his lips as he stepped back, bringing himself under control.
"Your first lesson." he said, quoting an ancient proverb. "'Nemesis follows hubris.' Allow pride to control you, and death will be your next sparring partner."