I got him to pass me more tissues to stop the profuse bleeding that had no likes to stop until he was drained of blood. I looked at Lucas' eye, remembering his thirst for blood and musing on how he was holding himself back so well.
'Is this man a haemophiliac?' I asked in my head as I tried to search my bag for the ointment I kept in there to stop the bleeding. I didn't have any cure to any infections that would arise or any healing agent that would solve the two problems at once: the healing of his wound and the memory of him having received it from his very foe.
'So concerned,' he said through the open shields which I had not bothered to close until I had calmed down my nerves. 'As though I would ever drink someone's filthy blood which has more dirt in it than the sins I might have committed in my entire life.'
