Carrick's fangs lengthened to their full extent as Samandriel tried to jerk away from him. He always enjoyed the taste of fear in a boy's blood.
He cupped the back of the boy's head with one hand, fingertips buried in the soft blond hair as he gave the dark smile of a predator whose prey was utterly cornered. His fingers closed and he yanked the slave's head back to fully expose the pale throat, lips drawing back, ready to strike unless the slave gave him the information he wanted.
He raised his head as Samandriel spoke of punishment. He had no idea what or who the boy was talking about, but it was an answer of sorts.
"Come with me," he ordered, and slid an arm around Samandriel's waist, pulling him close. His grip was like iron.
Not allowing for any resistance, Carrick pulled the slave along the street and around the next corner. A few doors down there was a bar which Carrick often frequented - low lit and quiet, with high leather booths for privacy and several back rooms that could be hired along with the company of the house slaves.
He swiftly made enquiries at the door and found that a room was free. Never letting go of Samandriel, he pulled the slave boy through the bar and into the private room, locking the door behind him.