So much blood, too much blood. It was almost impossible to wonder how the mortal beneath his blood slick hands was even still alive. The man certainly a fighter in every sense of the word, clinging to the brittle strands of life he refused to relinquish his hold upon. It was impressive, this much Adrien was certain of. The dark hunter feeling compelled enough to allow that southern scum to leave a freeman. How that irritated him so, the hunter found himself torn between his duty and saving that life. If he was this determined to fight, why couldn't he help him? He was surely able. Yet somewhere, within the back of his mind, Adrien was prepared for that second assault. One that never came. Most beasts were unable to turn away from that impending fight to the death and yet, with a full belly and that arrogant demeanor, the vampire simply took off into the night. To do who the hell knows what else. Yet, he simply let him go. He couldn't forget that reason or else it would all be in vain. Adrien's shadowy purple hued eyes were drawn down toward the dark haired man who hardly deserved to die in this dilapidated, dirty alleyway, thrown away like yesterday's garbage.

How long would it have been for someone to find him? To come upon that corpse of a man that hardly wanted to die, who fought, even now to remain with the living. Those thoughts circled within his mind, there was no help he could find in time. No hospital equipped to save him unless he were there now and even then his odds were nothing short of dismal. He almost tried to respond to the hunter's mutterings which only made it worse. Goddammit, just stop it. "Shh.. don't try to talk, you will only bleed out faster." Those rich baritone notes of his voice to reached out to the dying man before him, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

But there was something Adrien could do. Yet, was it a line he should cross? Not everyone was meant to be saved and yet there was something about the way the dark-haired man had such a strong will to live that made him consider what should have never been a possibility. That dark hair so much like his sisters. He was an artist too, too many things that made him an individual and not yet another corpse to stain Sacrosanct's streets crimson. Adrien so clenched his jaw in that moment in contemplation, his gaze filled with nothing more than compassion. There were no rules against this... But he needed to give the bleeding man a choice. It felt wrong... after all, he sought this life for himself. It wasn't something everyone would.

This world was as cruel as it was vicious. This vile city seeming to crawl with them like vermin, vermin that seemed to be drawn to a possible meal, noticing the shadow of a ran scurrying upon tiny but fast feet to lay in wait beneath the safety of that dumpster. Adrien gave it little attention, his blood slick hands caused his hands slip far further into that gaping mouth of a wound than he would have liked. But that wound needed that pressure. He could hardly stop that blood but he was slowing it enough for Adrien to consider that plan of action. Fuck, he was not prepared for this.. hell, he only knew how to kill the bad guys, not be a creator of a hunter. Did he need to be in his life? Did he need to teach him? Of course, he had to. How could he change a man when he the only aspect he was good at... was the killing? Hell, he might even enjoy it in some dark way he refused to even admit allowed as if horrified that he could become the monsters he so hunted. But at the same time, he had very little direction, his own maker nothing short of dust to the wind, the few things he had been taught was just enough to ensure his own survival.

Adrien uttered that he was in bad shape.. no shit.. he replied internally as that conflict within him was going to answer his own goddamn question. He was going to be worse off if he didn't act. Time was not something he could be afforded, not now. Not as that valued life seemed to seep out of the dying man every passing second.

It was finally that the hunter uttered those words, a change in fate it would seem, offered in those final moments. Surely immortality was better than dying in an ally in exchange for prolonging the inevitable. Even immortals had their day. But it was another day alive. That is what truly matter. Not a monster.. not like the vampire who attacked him. Something stronger, a being who could help push back when the demons so came to call. He waited those mere seconds to witness a semblance of understanding to cross the artist's face, that notion so weakened from that blood loss it was almost easy enough to miss.. or dismiss altogether. A mere fluttering of his dark lashes made more prominent against his far too pale face.

But that intention, the hunter could feel it. That will to live almost undeniable, a pull of that cool blood tainted air around him was drawn before exhaling it slowly, a mere hiss upon his lips. "This world... is a wicked place.. but I would choose life too. I am going to put..... something to your lips... I need you to drink as much as you can.. or try to.." He uttered those words holding no hesitation at the end once his purpose was made clear. Adrien pulled away a singular hand from that wound, position the other to attempt to still slow the blood loss.

In an instant his shadows were summoned to his aid.. fashioning into what seems like a dagger, that shape nearly blurry within the tendrils of what seems like inky black smoke. It was physical and yet not. That blade would soon dissipate to nothing but smoke the moment he willed it to. Those shadows were for his control, somehow making the intangible, tangible. His blood clad hand moved deftly, quickly as to not waste time to slice deeply along his wrist without a hint of hesitation. If a poof of shadow, the blade was gone just as quickly as it had been summoned. In an instant that immortal blood seemed to summon to the surface, intermingling within the mortal's own. His memory on that process nothing short of bleary and yet he knew what had to be done, despite how archaic it was. The fresh blood drips down his arm and onto that angry, gaping wound before he moved to place over the man's lips, tightly pressing it against it, his mouth already slack. He hoped it wasn't too late. He squeezed his hand as if to urge that blood to pool into his mouth with the singular hope, as feeble as the man's life force, that it would be enough.

Please be enough.

"Drink.." He urged, his voice melding within the shadows that seemed to embrace them both.