"It couldn't be your fangs." The crone explained softly; she didn't want him to worry. Even if she knew it might be difficult to do otherwise. She knew about that damn Bill. She slipped off the bed and stood before him.
The tub had returned to its place in the shadows, leaving behind a bare spot of wood. The wood looked as if it was kept very clean, even if it was where she'd probably cast many a spell, but she was very careful to leave bits and pieces of it lying around.
"It's simple." She touched his bare chest with her bare hand, as if warning him this was where she would cut. Soon the silver knife took a similar path going in the opposite direction. It was quick, a flash of blade. Her hand passed over his chest again, but pulled away covered in blood.
"He's part of you now." She pressed her bloody palm to the floor. Then she moved, knife still in hand, to the hearth. She pressed the bloody hand to the warm stone wall of the hearth. "You must accept him."
She looked around the single roomed cabin, as if she were waiting almost. Her lips pressed together, and there was a hint of confusion as she continued to wait, glancing now and then at the still very evident bloody hand prints.
"Well?" The cabin shifted a little as if it were shrugging. "What? He's going to be part of our lives now, you daft thing. Accept him." Another shift, another shrug.
"Fine." She went back to the Viking, her look apologetic. "I'm sorry. This should have been simple. You're going to have to ask and give your own blood, but..." She cut her hand. "You can use some of mine to help."