( Louis' eyes widen at the sight of Ethan's bandaged hands. His chest tightens with dread — not for his gentleman acquaintance, but for his own self-control. He hasn't fed on a living creature in months, and if Ethan's injuries are new enough to pique his thirst, Louis might make a mistake that he regrets forever. He's prepared to turn tail and leave and mutter some halfhearted excuse if he needs to, go out into the night air and breathe until the urge passes. He can explain later. Far better than hurting someone.
But he doesn't smell blood — at least, not fresh and hot and flowing blood — and so he manages to turn his concern outward, toward Ethan. Thank God. )
at the bar
But he doesn't smell blood — at least, not fresh and hot and flowing blood — and so he manages to turn his concern outward, toward Ethan. Thank God. )
Monsieur Chandler, are you all right?