He sagged back against the wall, his breathing ragged, waiting for the high to kick in and when it did, he nearly shivered with it, keeping his eyes closed for a moment more. Then, finally, lazily, feeling too good to be particularly concerned with the fact that she was bleeding to death, he moved over to her and dropped to his knees beside her. Rather than slice into one of his wrists for his blood, however, he reached for one of her hands instead, curling it into a fist, save for her pointer finger, and pressed it to his own forehead.

"Focus," he demanded, hoping she would get the hint and have the strength to do it. "Take it from me. My healing."