— “I’m inclined to ask, are you… angry? Or at least somewhat unhappy? Lately your blood tastes… bitter. While I am not much of a picky eater, I’d prefer to address the issue as to not ever deal with the taste being this way.”

He spoke, temporarily dislodging his fangs from your throat. He peered at your expression through his somewhat fogged glasses, attempting to gauge your reaction to his words.

He felt like he had the right to know, that, and he actually was a bit picky over his meals.