Damian hesitated a moment then snatched the towel out of her proffered hand. Reluctantly, he sheathed his sword then pulled his shirt up to get a better look at his wound. He prodded it a few times, judging it's severity before looking up sharply. 'Smell it'? What the devil--?
"They weren't trying to kill me," Damian explained, somewhat offhandedly. He caught himself, snorted once and then amended his words. "They were," he corrected, "but they wouldn't have been capable of it."
"How can you smell it?" he asked, eyes narrowing. He had seen the claws, they were pretty hard to miss but to distinguish blood amidst all this. Maybe she was bluffing.