Carrick sat up a little straighter as he felt Karena's hands ease their way under the dressing gown. It had been such a long time since he had felt her touch. Two centuries... it didn't seem possible. For a moment he just enjoyed the feel of her small, smooth hands on his skin, remembering the past.
"Names cease to mean much at my age," he said softly. He was quiet, musing for a moment before he continued. "When you've lived through as many eras as I have, you have to find something to anchor you, or you'll just find yourself lost and adrift in a century you never imagined living through. For me it's always been my heritage; my training and initiation and life as a Spartan. My name was never an anchor, so I've been able to cast it off with each new lifetime I've lived."
He turned in Karena's embrace and reached out to cup the back of her neck. "But for nearly two centuries... my other anchor was you."
Carrick's fingers stroked the hair at the nape of Karena's neck then moved down a little to the collar of her robe. He was conscious suddenly of how little the both of them wore - just the thin covering of dressing gowns between their bodies.
Karena had been given to him to raise as a ward and then a daughter, yes, but for the last years of her mortal life she had also been his lover, and for the centuries afterwards, desire had continued to burn quick and hot between them, never fading until the day she left.
Without thinking he leaned forward and pressed a slow, heated kiss to her mouth, the tip of his tongue stroking slowly and decisively over the soft cushion of her bottom lip.