The bass was too loud, the lights too dim, and the entire house smelled like cheap alcohol and bad decisions—exactly the kind of place Damon thrived in. He leaned against the bar like he owned it, a glass of bourbon loose in his hand, dark eyes scanning the room with lazy disinterest.

Until they didn’t.

Aurora.

Of course.

She was impossible to miss.

Black wings curved behind her like a warning, the corset pulling her posture into something sharp and deliberate. The short dress moved with her like it knew it was being watched. And she was dancing—too close—to some guy who clearly had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.

Damon took a slow sip, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Really?” he muttered to no one, irritation threading under the word.

The guy’s hands were on her waist.

That was new.

That was unacceptable.

Aurora tilted her head back slightly, a smirk playing on her lips—not at the guy, Damon noticed, but like she was entertained by something else entirely.

By him.

Of course she knew he was watching.

Damon exhaled sharply through his nose, already moving before he consciously decided to. He set the glass down with a soft clink and slipped through the crowd, all effortless confidence and quiet menace.

By the time he reached them, the guy was laughing at something Aurora had said.

That ended quickly.

Damon’s hand landed on the guy’s shoulder—firm, casual, controlled.

“Hey,” Damon said, voice smooth, almost friendly.

The guy turned, confused for half a second before Damon’s gaze locked onto his.

Everything stilled.

“You’re going to walk away,” Damon continued quietly. “And forget she was ever here.”

The guy blinked once.

Then nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, okay.”

Aurora didn’t move as he stepped back, didn’t even look at him. She just kept swaying slightly to the music, eyes fixed on Damon now, something sharp and amused flickering behind them.

The moment the guy disappeared into the crowd, she let out a soft, almost bored sigh.

“Compelling people at a Halloween party?” she said, voice light, unimpressed. “How very on brand for you.”

Damon’s jaw ticked, but his smirk came easily.

“Saving you, actually,” he replied, glancing briefly in the direction the guy had gone. “You looked seconds away from dying of boredom.”

Aurora’s lips curved—slow, deliberate.

“Or,” she countered, stepping just a fraction closer, “I was enjoying myself.”

“Right,” Damon scoffed softly. “That explains the desperation.”

Her eyes flashed at that, but there was no real anger in it—just spark, friction.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Damon.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“You compelled him in under ten seconds.”

“I was being efficient.”

Aurora huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she folded her arms loosely, wings shifting slightly behind her.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” Damon said, stepping closer now, closing the space she hadn’t moved to reclaim, “here I am. And here you are.”

The music pulsed between them, something heavy and rhythmic, matching the tension that had settled thick in the air.

Aurora’s gaze dropped—just for a second—to his lips.

Then back up.

Subtle.

But not subtle enough.

Damon noticed.

Of course he did.

His voice dropped, quieter now, edged with something more dangerous.

“You really going to pretend that didn’t bother you?” he asked.

Aurora tilted her head, expression cooling just slightly—control snapping back into place.

“I don’t get bothered,” she said smoothly.

Damon leaned in just enough to test that.

“Liar.”

The word barely left his lips, more breath than sound.

For a moment—just one—the world around them blurred into nothing. No music, no people. Just the space between them, charged and unfinished.

Aurora didn’t step back.

But she didn’t close the distance either.

Instead, her hand lifted—slow, deliberate—and brushed lightly against his shirt as if she were fixing something that wasn’t out of place.

Her fingers lingered a second too long.

“Careful,” she murmured, voice soft but laced with warning. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”