[ Not that he'd ever admit as much to Rand's face, but that selflessness is a trait he finds shocking in how earnest it is, in how totally devoid it is of pretension. Even to the small extent they're familiar with each other thus far, he thinks any joke he'd likely make on Rand's nature would backfire by virtue of being proven true. To wit, the expression he wears as he arrives is halfway between amused and bemused. Were he anyone else, he might try to disguise his disbelief, but— well, it hardly seems necessary. ]

You do make it terribly difficult to argue with you, [ he says, in lieu of pointing out that they wouldn't be here at all were it not for Rand's own curiosity. (He also, graciously, forgoes adding, it's like arguing with a stone.) ]

I suppose I owe you a little further explanation, seeing as you're the source of my next meal. You see, I can sustain myself on the blood of beasts — deer, boars, rabbits, the like — but ... it's like water. A human could live on water alone for some time, but it wouldn't truly stem hunger, would leave you weak. Now, I won't die, without human blood, but even just a taste of it — I can think more clearly. Be better. More useful.

[ He pauses a moment, largely to try to gauge whether or not Rand believes any of it (funny, really, he usually only needs to be so concerned when telling a lie, and yet, here, telling the truth—), before continuing: ]

Well, if you're ready ... it'll only hurt for a moment. [ Then, almost as an afterthought: ] I'll be gentle.