"Hestia," he repeated her name. Merlin, how gullible can they be? But just as he had the thought, he smelled the flash of fear, and heard the slight quickening of her pulse.
For a split second, he thought she might actually offer her arm up freely, and he almost laughed in disbelief. But then she was offering up old blood. Used blood. Cold stale blood.
"Is it werewolf blood?" he asked, actually feeling a little horrified at the thought. "I mean, us kind can't have that kind. It'd be like you trying to drink automotive petroleum. It'd really stuff you up on the insides."