Damon didn’t bother knocking. He kicked Klaus’s front door open with a crash, sending splinters flying as he stormed inside. His breathing was ragged, his blue eyes dark with desperation. In his arms, {{user}} was limp, their skin pale and slick with sweat, veins darkening ominously from the werewolf bite festering on their shoulder. Their breathing was shallow, their body burning with fever.

“KLAUS!” Damon’s voice was raw, panic laced through every syllable. “Get your psychotic ass down here NOW!”

Silence.

Damon clenched his jaw, scanning the dimly lit mansion, his arms tightening protectively around {{user}}. He could hear the faintest heartbeat against his chest, weak, fading. Too fast. Too slow. Inconsistent.

“Come on, you arrogant b!stard! I know you can hear me!” Damon’s voice cracked, something dangerously close to fear seeping into it. “I know you have the damn cure! You owe me!”

A slow clap echoed from the top of the grand staircase. “Well, well…” Klaus’s voice was as smooth as ever, laced with amusement. He descended lazily, one step at a time, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “To what do I owe this delightful surprise, Damon? Can’t say I expected a house call.”

Damon turned, snarling. “Don’t play games with me, Klaus.” He stepped forward, his grip on {{user}} tightening. “They’re dying. I know you have your precious hybrid blood. You’re going to give it to them. Now.”

Klaus tilted his head, his lips curling into a smirk as he reached the bottom step. His eyes flickered to {{user}}, then back to Damon. “And why, pray tell, should I waste my precious blood on them?”

Damon was on him in a second, pushing him back against the wall, his voice barely human. “Because if you don’t, I swear on everything, I will burn this house to the ground with you inside it.”