Colin Ward, Expert.

"It was a parting gift. All I receive are parting gifts."

With their pained face twisting into a frown, they muttered. "I shouldn't have run in swinging right off the bat." They'd been rash. Silvestre had scolded them plenty of times for it. They should've known by now nobody walks out of a knife fight clean. They should've just stuck to their guns.

'And I'm a dumbass.' Which is a thought they wouldn't give voice to.

"Fuck. I didn't even get to see how badly I did 'em all." Eyes duller than ever, they looked up at him. That look, unfocused and blank, like a corpse waiting for the zipper on its body bag to be pulled shut. The light needled at their vision. "I didn't even notice. They got my sunglasses."

As they went to lower their aching eyes, they saw Colin's wrist presented to them. "Hm?" Not catching a lick of what he said, but without hesitation, they clutched his arm roughly. Nails dug into his flesh as their fangs broke the skin with a muted snap. Despite their rough approach, the motions wired into them were carried with machine-like precision. Blissful, painless and clean. Taking enough to make him feel woozy, not too much to make him clammy.

For the modest amount they took, they felt significantly better. Now, they only looked sick. Their tongue caressed the wound, suturing it shut with the diluted vitae of their saliva.

There was a beat. A buzz slowly crept up the back of their skull. "...Are you on something?"

It took him a second to process their question, still coming down from the pleasure of the bite. The thought of lying briefly crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. Without knowing exactly how his blood was affecting Coyote it would be hard to pin it on any specific drug. Besides he was feeling a little too light headed to try to give a convincing performance.

"...Unfortunately, no." He answered wryly. "Nothing you'd feel anyway. Remember how I told you letting vampires bite me can get complicated? This is why."

Coyote screamed as he dropped them down in the chair. "Fuck you! I'm gonna flay that fucking shovelhead next time I see her." With a shaking sob through gritted teeth, Coyote ripped their jacket off. The leather, their shirt, and their torso had been shredded. "What are they feeding those freaks?"

A large gaping wound marred their abdomen, dozens of slashes littered their chest, and across their cheek a perfect circle of flesh was missing. Right down to having a sizeable chunk of hair sheered off. Sticky, dark blood made it hard to discern wounds from one another. "How bad is it?"

After a few moments, they settled down a bit. Their brows furrowed in focus as they felt their wounds out with their mind. Thread-fine fibers of muscle and skin felt out for each other and pulled themselves together to seal the smaller wounds. Coyote's already ashen skin gave way to a deathly yellow pallor.

"Mm. Not great."

He began to pace as he assessed the situation. The fact that they weren't followed was good. Shovelheads didn't pose much of a threat but killing one on his front doorstep would have been problematic for a number of reasons. Beyond that though there wasn't much he could do to help. Treating the wounds wouldn't do much except maybe making them bleed less on the furniture. If they were human he could have at least dampened the pain, but that didn't work on creatures that didn't rely on a functioning nervous system. he still had one more option but...

Plotted with @thaumatology.

Clinging to the shadows, Coyote stumbled their way through the alleyways and crevices in town. Lukewarm vitae oozed from their mouth and from deep gashes in their torso. As people filtered through the darkness, they slipped down onto the floor hoping they'd just chalk it up to drunkenness.

They weren't sure what was worse. Having to hide their slow bleeding from the roaming Kine or the moments they were alone and more paranoid about their attackers sneaking up on them in a second wind. Stopping to obfuscate themselves would take up too much time and they couldn't afford to waste any blood.

Another lone corner, they whipped around in terror to find nobody behind them. 'Fuck this. We need to get off the damn street. Now.' Their Beast all but wailed. They peeked out of the alleyway and noted the street corners. Colin. His motel was nearby. He'd just have to put up with them for the night. Hauling ass the rest of the way, until they found his room. A slight wave of magic wafted over them.

Desperately rapping at the door, an imprint of their bloodied knuckles was left behind on the door. "Colin?" Their voice trembled. "It's Coyote. I really need you to open the door."

He was already half way there by the time their knuckles made contact with the door, only changing his path once he heard their voice. His steps gained a little more urgency in response to their tone, no longer worrying about the sound of his footsteps giving his movement away. With a few quick flicks of telekinesis he undid the locks, a question already forming on his lips as he pulled the door open.