He watches with some curiosity, the initial act of her mouth on his wrist not particularly alluring, knowing the purpose of it. The dulled prick of her teeth sinking in, the expectation of pain but receiving a lack of it filling him with morbid curiosity.

Even with the warning, it takes a while for him to realise the bite's comforting effect blanketing over his sense of danger, muting his alarm. Accelerated heart rate, dilated eyes, tail gone rigid, there's no doubt that he's affected. But he stays still, making no move to take action, fingers of his right hand curling around the edge of the crate and digging in.

Biting down hard on his lower lip, his own canines exposed, the sharp pain from that act refocuses his mind. O Llymlaen, he recites in his head, guide me through the stormy sea. But he makes no move to push her away.