The dark night wrapped around the school grounds, with only scattered lights casting pale reflections on the wet pavement and the walls of the building. Somewhere in the front, music and muffled voices could still be heard — the school event was in full swing, even though you had never wanted to be a part of it from the very beginning. With relief, you headed toward the back exit, wanting to disappear from that place as quickly as possible.

It only took one step.

You didn’t notice the threshold.

The stumble was sudden and brutal, and a second later pain shot through your shoulder as a sharp, protruding nail drove deep into your skin. You hissed quietly through your teeth, pulling back sharply, and blood almost instantly soaked through your sleeve, spreading warm and sticky through the fabric.

The irritation came just as fast as the pain.

You pressed your hand firmly against the wound, as if pressure alone could stop the bleeding, and started walking toward the street, ignoring the pulsing sting and the chaos of the entire evening, just wanting to get home and leave all of it behind.

And then you heard it.

Right behind you, close—far too close.

“On your place, I wouldn’t be walking alone at night.”

You flinched sharply, stopping mid-step, a chill running down your spine as you turned your head. Damon stood there as if he had stepped out of the shadows, calm, almost relaxed, with that familiar half-smile that never meant anything good.

You were about to say something, anything to break the strange silence, but he didn’t give you the chance.

“And I'd be careful with that bleeding wound. The smell of blood attracts uninvited guests.”

His voice was low, almost smooth, but laced with something unsettling, something that made every word sound more like a warning than a casual remark. As he spoke, his gaze briefly dropped to your injury, too attentive, too focused, and the faint smile on his lips deepened just slightly.

For a split second, his fangs caught the light.

Brief. Almost unnoticeable.

And even though his posture remained calm and controlled, there was something tense in him, something held back by sheer will, which only made it clearer that this wasn’t an innocent comment, but a deliberate attempt to plant unease in you, maybe even fear, the kind that now slowly began to settle beneath your skin.