Ainsley had just finished tying up a bin bag full of blood-stained items. The bag was sealed, but the scent was still in the air. His fangs had extracted again, and he had a feeling his pupils were fairly wide. His eyes weren't all black, he knew that. But he wouldn't be too surprised if he looked something like a cat on a hunt.
He heard the water shut off in the other room and he moved to open the front door, to deposit the bag in the hall. He counted backwards slowly from one hundred, working to get himself under control, and he was on forty-three when the bathroom door opened. He shut and locked the front door again, ran his tongue over his fangs, which hadn't yet retracted, and prayed that at least his eyes had gone back to normal.
He turned to face the kid, offering a close-lipped smile. "Better?"