"No...no!" The unwelcome sensation of his flesh knitting itself together overcomes Pyotr's lethargy; he thrashes and writhes, and succeeds in wiggling himself clear over the opposite edge of the bed. He lands with a heavy thud and lies there for a moment, groaning in agony; eventually he manages to lever himself up, leaning heavily on the bed as he squints, struggling to focus on Erik so he can glare at him properly.

"You're a twin too? Or...triplets? Amazing," he groans, and rubs his face on the sheet. "But I'm telling all of you, I don't want healing...I'm already a ghost. Is it not proper to seek an end to this stubbornly beating heart, this perverse brain? I belong to the void, but if peace will be denied me then why should I not make war on the flesh? I'm surprised at you, lord vampire; are you so glutted with blood that you'll pass up an easy meal?"

Inspired, he yanks the loose collar of his shirt down so low that the curve of his shoulder is nearly exposed. "Go on, drain me. I won't make a fuss...I've already gotten in some practice at exsanguination, you see..."