Ainsley didn't offer to help the kid with the cleaning of the wound, carefully keeping his distance. He merely waited quietly for an answer or a changing of the subject, taking a few more sips of the blood. He ran his tongue over his teeth, not wanting to scare the kid by letting the stains linger.
When Mason spoke though, Ainsley had to blink a couple times himself, and he quietly put the mug back down. "I'm sorry," he said. He wasn't sure what else to say. He'd had his suspicions, of course. Rumors and news reports coinciding with the moon. Mason's habit of talking around the subject. It didn't take a genius to fucking do the sums.