He was worried. Michael couldn't help it. Not all older brothers possessed a protective gene, or it was reserved for their family. Michael had always been empathetic of others. The older he got, the more it tended to get him into trouble. No good deed goes unpunished, was what they'd say. Crouching over @mortique, he reached out to touch her shoulder.
"i haven't fed in days. you shouldn't stand so close."
He knew that feeling well. The gnawing hunger burning so bright inside that it felt like he would tear himself apart from the depths of his own self to find relief. Fighting hard against the instinct which lead to the only possible remedy---blood. "I can help," he whispered. Then louder, he tried again. "Let me help you."







