[It is a stupid question, and he remarks through grit teeth as he bends down to pick up his fallen bow by its middle.]

Wonderful, thank you.

[Said in his brand of lilting sarcasm that implies that, no, perhaps he's not as wonderful as he says. In fact, when he straightens again, he drops all attempts at passive aggression—that was never really his style, besides—and whirls on a foot to face Winter.]

I—

[He sees the dried blood painting the side of his face, the smear of the same under a nostril. The vampire sets his jaw and tries again, seemingly uncaring that the rest of the party is nearby looting dead bodies.]

I go to all the trouble of mounting a daring rescue [aka pushed him out of the way], and what do you do? You end up throwing yourself in the way of danger, anyway! If it wasn’t for your patron having…

[Gods, ugh!! He wiggles his fingers.]

…poofed us away, you would have taken that blast, I know you would have. Adorned with a big, burning hole in your chest. And for what? Was I bitten for nothing? Flung about like refuse for nothing?

[This is, of course, not the core of his agitation, but it’s the easiest to articulate, so here we are.]