Carrick's head dipped and his cold lips brushed the spot directly over Samandriel's jugular vein. "You're right, of course. But I'll force you if I have to."
He chuckled at the question. It was not a sound that had much acquaintance with humour.
"Because, little eromenos, I want to know who and what you are. Where you came from, to claim such age. Where you learned such defiance in the face of your betters. You're no werecreature, and no demon either. I can feel it. And soon, I'll taste it."
He lifted his head slightly to look into the liquid blue eyes, almost purring with anticipation. Slowly, still trapping the boy on the couch, hie head moved down again and his fang teeth pierced the skin of Samandriel's throat, the needle-sharp tips of the Spartan's teeth just breaking through the softness of the boy's throat, enough to take a mouthful of blood but no more.
He shivered. The blood was everything he had come to desire from boys of his age. He was so sweet. So young. Such innocent eyes and yet able to give such a carnal pleasure when taken in a firm and dominant hand.