Alcuin stiffened noticeably beneath his touch at the question about his master. There was a very real part of him that had grown to adore his new master for his kindness and consideration – especially in light of his bittersweet upbringing – and that part of him wanted desperately to defend him. It was hardly his master's fault that he had yet to have that discussion with him when his past was still such a raw and aching wound.
“It is as you said before, sir. Scott is a very busy man – he works hard and returns home weary. This was the first available opportunity to spend time together and...” And he was here instead. Derek was right. He hadn't felt so insecure and uncertain of himself since the death of his first master.
“I am much more than the sum of my parts,” Alcuin admitted after a beat, his eyes silently pleading for some small measure of understanding. “It is one thing to slake one's thirst for a short moment in time, but to never thirst again is another matter entirely. It is my duty to make certain that my master thirsts for nothing,” he tipped his head toward the warmth of the werewolf's palm. “That is what I thirst for.”