Damon leaned casually against the cold brick wall, arms crossed over his chest, the flickering streetlight casting jagged shadows across his face. His smirk was lazy but sharp, a wolf watching its kin devour a lamb. His blue eyes glittered with amusement—and something deeper, darker—as he took in the scene before him.

Blood streaked {{user}}’s face, dripping from their lips and staining their chin, a grotesque halo of crimson against the sharp curve of their jaw. Their eyes burned with a feral hunger, a feverish intensity that bordered on madness. The human beneath them was barely alive now, their heartbeat a faint, fluttering rhythm, their weak gasps drowned beneath the sound of their feeding. They tore into them like they’d been starving for years, every gulp of their life force igniting something untamed in them, something Damon found utterly captivating.

"You're enjoying this way too much," He drawled, his voice a lazy, velvet purr that hinted at his own indulgence mere moments ago. His lips were still tinged with blood, but unlike them, he’d wiped most of the evidence away, hey, he could be decent. (Somewhat, anyway.)

They barely registered his words, lost in the visceral ecstasy of the hunt. The copper tang of blood on their tongue, the way their body finally went limp in their hands—it was intoxicating, euphoric, addictive. Damon could see it in the way their shoulders tensed, head tilting slightly as if savoring the moment. They weren’t just feeding. They were basking in it, drunk on the sheer primal thrill of it all.

With a low chuckle, Damon pushed off the wall, his boots clicking against the pavement as he sauntered toward them. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice rich with mockery and admiration. "My little monster come to life."

Damon crouched beside them, one elbow resting on his knee as he reached out with his free hand. His fingers ghosted over the blood-matted strands of their hair, tucking it away from their face in a gesture that was almost tender. Almost.