Carrick felt his slave's intensity, watching him as he pushed past the pain of his slight injuries and became ever more focused on the fight. He watched as the boy's muscles moved smoothly under his skin, compact and muscular body shifting into an instinctual dance as the blades clashed again and again.
He sped up his attacks sightly, still moving at a pace that a mortal could follow and to defend against, but each blow now coming harder, each thrust a little more forceful and every feint now more deceitful and stealthy.
When Liam next attacked, the vampire twisted away from the sword point, leaving little more than a flesh wound, but a white-hot line of fire raced across his chest as the vervain oil on the blade burnt into his skin. The cut closed quickly but the throb of the vervain remained. The pain was sharp and glassy, stabbing at him with poisonous fingers, and he breathed out slowly through his teeth, refocusing himself.
Far from being angry, the ruthlessness with which Liam thrust his blade forwards pleased Carrick. From what Carrick could see, the boy was losing himself entirely in the fight, concentrating only on the movement of blades and bodies and not thinking of the consequences for himself should he actually succeed in injuring his Master. That was a sort of bravery and bloodlust that Carrick liked.