Samandriel sat down on the chair by the table, letting Mitchell putter about the kitchen. He was still trying to take up as little space as possible, but he knew it was at least good that he could bring himself to speak.
"The short answer is that he took me to a...bar or a club thing and pinned me down and fed from me and gave me a handjob, none of which were things I wanted but...if I'd fought him more, it would've ended even worse for me and...and I just wanted to survive to make back to you." He licked his lips. "I think... I think he's gonna either make an offer for um...proper use of me or to buy me outright." Samandriel looked down at his hands on his knees. "I don't want you to sell me and I'm not... I'm not gonna consent to anything with him for anything less than my Grace." He looked darkly up at Mitchell, making it clear that his Grace would bring back his status, his freedom, and his ability to kick someone's ass. If Carrick somehow ended up getting ahold of his Grace, Samandriel would play along, and then as soon as it was back in him, he would level some shit. He might not have been a warrior in the traditional sense, but it really, really wasn't wise to poke an angel with a stick until it got angry enough to lash out. His sister's fuse was far shorter than his, but that didn't mean Samandriel couldn't burn just as hot and just as long.