“Oh dear!” Ada rose to fetch a cloth. “I hope that wasn't from the set Lydia gave you.”
Harold looked down. He'd been so anxious about Legion and Lucy touching that he'd actually crushed his teacup, sending shards of porcelain and lukewarm tea over himself and the table. “Um... I think it was, actually. I'm not a hundred percent certain, though. I'll ask Julie...” Harold shook his head, silently admonishing himself for forgetting she was dead. He looked back at the hand touching. Was it his imagination, or was Legion wearing a frown of concentration? Lucy didn't seem unduly bothered. She was drinking milk with one hand while staring at her new aunt and humming Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
His mother returned with a dishcloth and a tea towel and began mopping at the spilt tea. Where did the dish cloth come from? He didn't recall owning a dishcloth and there certainly hadn't been one when he'd filled up the kettle five minutes ago.
“Oh you poor love. Let me get you something for that hand.”
Ada's soothing tones reminded him of his childhood, when she hadn't been quite as aloof as she was now. He looked at his hand. A shard of porcelain had entered the ball of his thumb and blood was seeping from the wound. Odd that he hadn't felt it. It was embedded too deeply to grip with his other hand so he pressed his mouth to the wound and drew it out with his teeth.. With the shard free, the wound pumped blood so fast he thought he must have hit an artery. Was there an artery in his thumb?
He clamped his mouth to the wound, allowing his vampiric abilities to take over and staunch the wound. Drinking his own blood was a bit like masturbating in public. Indeed, sometimes he and Gillian drank each others. It was draining, obviously. Consuming blood replenished only three-quarters of what was taken so it couldn't be done for long.
He looked up as the flow was curtailed by the healing enzymes in his saliva. Mother, aunt and daughter were all staring at him. “What?”