Teeth sink into his arm, blunt teeth making a bruise like pressure before the skin manages at all to tear. It's no slow-motion scene but he feels his reaction come all too motherfucking slow in the wake of it. The indigo bubbles up and spills over around the daywalker's mouth and down his arm.

He jerks back with a cry. Or tries to, rather. He feels the pump of his pusher wasting its efforts on his arm, feeding this fucker more and costing him. No. No, no, being eaten is not how he wanted to go it's not how he wants to die.

He claws at Rick, less to hurt and more to kick his fighting instincts back into drive.