You slammed Damon against the wall. Hard.

He only laughed.

“Foreplay already?” he smirked, eyes gleaming. “I didn’t know we were skipping the insults today.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, your hand pressing a blade to his throat. “I should kill you.”

“Yeah?” His voice dropped, taunting. “Then why are you still holding back?”

You hated him. You meant to kill him. You’d spent the last six months tracking him down after he fed on your mom and vanished into the wind.

But now, standing this close, his breath brushing your skin, that maddening smirk curling his lips, you weren’t so sure.

“Because I want answers,” you said, though it didn’t sound nearly as convincing as you wanted it to.

Damon tilted his head, eyes never leaving yours. “And if I gave them to you?”

You hesitated.

A mistake.

In a blink, he had your wrist, your back against the wall, his mouth a breath from yours.

“Still want to kill me?” he murmured.

You stared him down, breath uneven. “More than ever.”

His smile turned wicked.

“Then why does this feel like a second chance?”