"It isn't like that at all," Thomas objected. He sipped his drink, buying him a moment or two to gather and sort his thoughts to something halfway intelligent. "I'm not like that, for one. I don't...what you got, when you touched me, that's what I do." He hadn't properly fed his Hunger for quite some time, and he could feel the Beast pacing back and forth in his cage, wanting out, wanting to take Jax or anyone else in the vicinity, until he had his fill.
"I'm a hairdresser, man," he said with a somewhat weary sigh. "I don't drink blood. I drink emotions. Feelings. Thoughts." Except love. Love was the one emotion he couldn't handle, because of Justine, because he loved and was loved, and knowing love made love poisonous, venomous. He'd never understand exactly how that worked, but it had been that way for centuries, and it was just the way things were.