"No…" Lior responded, his voice trailing off as his gaze followed Daemar's every movement. He shifted a little from where he stood, still carrying in his body the nervous tension of what might happen if he allowed himself to move even an inch closer. And yet, against his own better judgment, he did step forward.
His voice trembled slightly as he added, "And what makes you think I would be happy that you're in pain?"
The alcohol still lingered in him, clouding his thoughts, slowing his steps, and twisting his reasoning. His words came out half-formed, his gestures unsteady. Yet beneath the drunken haze, his mind burned with only one thought—how to somehow impress Daemar, to appease him enough that the man would leave him alone, rather than devour him whole.
