Handing Mason the towels, Ainsley pretended not to see the slight hesitation in the werewolf's eyes.
"Really, kid, it's fine," Ainsley insisted as he sat on the other end of the couch. There wasn't anywhere else for him to sit, and he didn't want to freak Mason out more by putting obvious distance between them. Though the ridiculous urge to reach out and swipe a finger through the wound for a taste fleeted through his mind.
He kept his hands on his knees and his lips over his teeth. "Want to tell me why you're not patching up at home?" he asked casually. If the kid wanted to talk, great, if not, that was fine too. Ainsley didn't mind being kind of a safe haven. If Mason even truly considered it safe. Which, what had happened with that bitch of a mum of his to make him come running to his blood-sucking friend while oozing temptation?
Ainsley slowly and carefully reached for his mug, hoping to quell his tastebuds with animal blood. His teeth clinked against the ceramic lightly as he sipped.