Samandriel never thought to say anything but yes to his sister's Grace. He could feel it flooding him, was aware of her presence inside him more than his own vessel possibly had been when he took over.
And yet while she was in him, he knew they didn't have much time and he didn't have much control. He called up the first thing he could think of, not Carrick, but the other vampire who had called for the removal of his own Grace and their brother who had cruelly obliged. From there it was flashes of events in super speed that only an angel could properly pull from memory. The time he spent at the slave infirmary, his month of silence. His and Mitchell's tentative first meeting and the joyous week and change that followed. Only then did the memories start to slow down some, filling in more details than they lacked. Samandriel needed Natasha to know that he fully believed what happened was his fault. He shouldn't have been out. He shouldn't have fought so hard. He should have...
Surely she would feel what he had been at the time, right? Could see all the guilt on him for allowing something he didn't want to happen to him to happen anyway. He let her stay all the way up to his solitary, shameful, violated walk home where he wasn't aware of much at all. If she wished to poke around in his head longer or digging for more things, he doubted he could stop her, but he hoped she would care more to deal with the matter at hand and return to her own vessel instead.