Asael turned to the Hellhound in disapproval, "What's wrong with your blood?"
Caedos frowned, watched Dulce shimmy out of his overcoat, tendrils of his hair sticking damply to his red face. "Nothing," He muttered but he didn't sound like he quite believed it.
He had been about to encourage Dulce to drink some more when...
Caedos clenched his teeth, black smoke fizzing out. "I can make fire," He went on to add, "My blood might be hot."
Asael clicked his teeth, approaching the bed. "You were supposed to say that before he drank." He corrected impatiently, studying Dulce.
The Vampire had gone quiet, slumped on the bed like he had lost all the strength in his limbs. He had barely gotten the overcoat off, his eyes drooping.
Caedos reached out to touch Dulce's red face, and despite his own elevated internal temperature, he could instead feel the warmth coming off him. "Is he in danger?"
"Just uncomfortable," He surmised, taking off Dulce's overcoat completely.
