Such sobbing was so entirely uncharacteristic for the blonde woman that Dorian was nearly inclined to find himself at a loss with how exactly to handle such a situation. Crying, in his time, was such a rarely seen oddity that the man was often given to feel decidedly uncomfortable around it. Women cried and when they did- other women comforted them. It was not the business of a man in any sense of the word and yet here and now there was hardly a ladies maid to sit at Samantha's side- such a task most assuredly falling to Dorian himself. It is his affection for the woman that sees him lower himself to rest beside her upon the floor, a place he has hardly occupied since his infancy, before he moved to allow one arm to drape around her in some effort to offer comfort. It is outside of his realm of knowledge, such gestures as this, yet he has seen it done before and surely it was permissible in such a situation? It is merely a slip of the tongue perhaps, which sees his words offered in the Italian of his birth before the man moves to correct himself in a language she would surely understand far more readily.

He is offered several more sobs by way of response, Samantha turning to bury her head against his chest, drawing him all the closer and yet for once he considers little for the appropriateness of such contact between them- the man instead given to consider the state his shirt would surely be in and yet here and now he supposed it mattered little. Her mention that she is in danger sees him frown ever so slightly, confusion touching his features, the woman attempting to explain before he could formulate his own questions. He knew, to some extent, how a Fae could be made if not born as they were. He had been told of the process and yet the notion of it in any fashion had been decidedly abhorrent to him- so much so that Dorian had hardly seen a need to progress with his knowledge of it any further. Much of his own court, within his home, had been made of other Fae and yet they had all been acquired of a far more traditional sense. One that had not required his creation of them. That Samantha had been subject to these things was....displeasing to him. Her creation a subject Dorian had never sought to ask her about and surely never would. That these women were stalking the city in search of Samantha however- was another matter entirely.

"Killing what? Killing who? Why?"

His lack of understanding is evidently clear as Samantha continues, her fear entirely palpable as she clung only tighter too him, claiming she hardly knew what to do. Dorian, in truth, knew very little himself. Within his own time there would simply be guards summoned to sleep within her room, the security of the palace tightened and such women found and ultimately beheaded for daring to make such threats. The modern day however, seemed to function by an entirely new set of rules.

"Have you informed those....how do you say...police?"

Was this not the supposed job of these guards? To prevent criminals running about and murdering others? Murder in any sense was hardly foreign to Dorian, indeed he knew to some extent- exactly what could drive a being to such things and how it could be carried out all-too easily. It could be covered too, concealed, done in such a way as to make it seem entirely accidental. His silver gaze moved to shift back to the woman in his arms- dismissing his own thoughts quickly to focus more readily upon the concerns presented to him.

"How did you find out about these girls? We shall have to look at fortifying this home. Perhaps too, I should teach you how to use a sword. It is not a feminine activity but in this case I think it necessary."

Dorian Aragona