"No. You aren't."

It's terse, reeling in the reaction to watching himself be attacked in Carlisle's mind. Being sized up in a fashion that has never realistically happened with such truly violent intent. Readying himself to spring or dodge if he has to.

Even when he reaches out, uncertain what he means to do with his hand or where to put it, just trying to reach out, to keep his voice calmer and easier -- "I'm not one of them."