Khoriya goes stock still at the mention of a spell, eyes narrowing to predatorial slits and the low rumble of a growl building in his throat. He dislikes mages on the best of days, does not trust magic in the slightest... but the prospect that this lanky bit of human might have greater power at his disposal is also enough to stop the worg from going right in for a bite over his protests.

That, and... well, Eliot isn't wrong. He has no particular fondness for human blood, and especially none for blood run bitter with cheap ale and whatever else he might have consumed, to heat the flesh and drive away inhibition.

"...What sort of spell?"