He's too busy trying to put his thoughts into words, stuttering and stumbling, and just uttering gibberish as she keeps talking. He can't seem to find the words to stop her. He can't even put the way he feels into anything that makes sense. It's all impulses and urges that defy logic, defy language. Things as ancient as myth. But between his effort to speak, combined with his focus on not listening to her heart, he didn't catch her movement until it was too late. Until the scalpel broke skin.

The moment he smelled the blood, he was across the room. His hip slammed into his desk, knocking a few things over and scattering others to the floor. He had his hand held to her, as if to fend off an attack, his face turned away. To anyone else, it might look like he was going to be sick, his eyes and lips pressed shut.

"Jesse!" Though his voice was soft, it was commanding. Dangerous. "Stop this." It wasn't often he sound so desperate, so fragile. "You're wrong. I will turn you. I'll do anything to protect you, but if I do that I won't stop. You have to leave. NOW!" He suddenly turned and swiped several more items to the floor. He felt as though he were trying to hold onto a tiger by his fingernails.