He was her size, on his knees in front of her. She reached out, trying to be extra careful, and brushed her fingertips across his cheekbone where he'd gestured. She didn't know why he'd said she was bleeding there. His skin was whole.

He stilled for a moment. She stilled, too. Then he relaxed, and she relaxed. She ran the very tips of her nails over his eyebrow where he'd pointed, then down the side of his face, skimming them across his lower lip.

No. No fangs.

His hand was careful on her chin. Calluses gave his touch a sheathed edge. She let him blot at the blood, and as the scent lifted off of her, she could smell him instead. It curled around her, warm and drunk. Slid between them like his scars slid over his flesh. Her fingertips drifted, exploring, tracing the edge of skin where it melted and poured.

His scent spiked. A muscle jumped in his jaw, creating a hard line of shadow. She moved to touch it, and his hand closed around her wrist, fingers overlapping at her pulsepoint.

For a moment, she did nothing. For a moment, she remembered a partner at her back, goading her into a spar she needed, a shinobi slaughtering the people who needed to die, a man carrying two children and then her familiar.

And then she remembered looking at him just like this, face to face, remembered pain that wasn't supposed to be there and his scent curling around her. Her eyes widened fractionally. She stiffened, pulling away, watching him warily. "Let go." There was no growl in her voice.