He turned in surprise. "Emo, what's wrong?"
Seeing my tears, he flustered helplessly. "I'm sorry, that was my fault. Please don't cry. I... won't force you again."
When my tears kept falling, he sighed. "You're truly special. Every woman who's seen my body would eagerly throw herself at me. If you weren't after the bracelet, I could have been gentle with you."
I arched a brow and glared. True—I might have thrown myself at him, had I not realized he'd drugged me. Then he'd have been the one being assaulted!
Placing the blood vial on the bar, he quickly donned his robe, adjusted his hat, and approached cautiously. His fingers brushed my tears. "Your tears are warm. Is this what humans call 'hot tears'?"
His childlike fascination with my tears—studying them with such focus—made me laugh through the tears.
Hot tears indeed, born of genuine emotion. Perhaps he'd only ever seen women's fearful tears before.
