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His only thought? Save Etienne.

It was easy when things were simple. But life wasn't simple, and as Anselm found the man thrashing in between his teeth, he wondered if he should let go.

Seconds later, the beating his throat received forced it -- and he separated in a coughing fit.

There was blood.

So much of it.

He caught his breath and looked up from where it pooled, eyes gradually widening in horror as they climbed up from swarthy limb, to coated chest, right to --

No.

In the moment he’d wanted to kill him, but he didn't mean to! The confusion on Vermouth's face as he reconciled the blood on the ground being the very same funneling from the hole in his throat -- Anselm will never forget it.

In horror he turned to Etienne, jaw slack. He didn't hear Odessia, and even if he did, he wouldn't have cared. Eti! Anselm barked, turning back to the man just as he stumbled forward.

Anselm flinched, anticipating a second attack. Instead, the stranger fell face first into the trampled bouquet.

The deep scarlet ring around his slumped body grew ominously large.

And Anselm knew no matter how good a healer Eti was, there was no putting it back.