[ Time seems to be moving oddly, and some of that can be attributed to the loss of blood, of course. He would prefer it if he were more in control of himself and his actions, but it seems as though mobility has yet to return in full.
If he were capable of it, he would make some comment about how she has just removed his armor and caused it to rest against the nearest wall. Witch skills, of course, but he cannot say he expected her to do that. But at the same time, why would she remove it by hand when she could simply magic it away?
But thoughts concerning his armor flee from his mind as the pain from the wound reasserts itself, even if it is lesser now than it was before. Then he registers the balm being placed upon the wound, and the bandages as well, and although it may be too soon for him to attempt moving, he does just that: trying to push himself up on one elbow so that he can see her properly. The attempt mostly fails, but he at least manages to get a brief glimpse of her face before he has to lower himself back down once more.
In time, he might be able to sit up, but that time has not yet come. He does, however, have enough strength to shake his head, in response to her direction that he needs to eat. It is a strange sort of resolution for a vampire to have, but he is reluctant to feed on anyone, whether or not they give their permission. He certainly does not wish to feed upon her, regardless of his need, because he dreads losing control of himself and taking far too much.
But it seems that in this instance, he has no choice, as she has already set her blood flowing and moved closer so that he might partake of it. Against his wishes and resolve to never drink from anyone, he lets a drop of blood enter his mouth, and then another.
Revulsion boils up inside him even as he swallows her blood, but he cannot seem to stop himself now. The need to replenish his lost supply is stronger than his determination to never feed off anyone, human or witch. But beneath that sense of revulsion at himself for doing what his instincts are telling him to do, there is another sensation: a strange sort of pleasure. Not because he is drinking from her, but because there is a certain satisfaction that he is feeling because of it.
And that too makes him want to recoil, but he finds that he cannot, at least not yet. ]
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If he were capable of it, he would make some comment about how she has just removed his armor and caused it to rest against the nearest wall. Witch skills, of course, but he cannot say he expected her to do that. But at the same time, why would she remove it by hand when she could simply magic it away?
But thoughts concerning his armor flee from his mind as the pain from the wound reasserts itself, even if it is lesser now than it was before. Then he registers the balm being placed upon the wound, and the bandages as well, and although it may be too soon for him to attempt moving, he does just that: trying to push himself up on one elbow so that he can see her properly. The attempt mostly fails, but he at least manages to get a brief glimpse of her face before he has to lower himself back down once more.
In time, he might be able to sit up, but that time has not yet come. He does, however, have enough strength to shake his head, in response to her direction that he needs to eat. It is a strange sort of resolution for a vampire to have, but he is reluctant to feed on anyone, whether or not they give their permission. He certainly does not wish to feed upon her, regardless of his need, because he dreads losing control of himself and taking far too much.
But it seems that in this instance, he has no choice, as she has already set her blood flowing and moved closer so that he might partake of it. Against his wishes and resolve to never drink from anyone, he lets a drop of blood enter his mouth, and then another.
Revulsion boils up inside him even as he swallows her blood, but he cannot seem to stop himself now. The need to replenish his lost supply is stronger than his determination to never feed off anyone, human or witch. But beneath that sense of revulsion at himself for doing what his instincts are telling him to do, there is another sensation: a strange sort of pleasure. Not because he is drinking from her, but because there is a certain satisfaction that he is feeling because of it.
And that too makes him want to recoil, but he finds that he cannot, at least not yet. ]