Damon leaned against the bar, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he watched you glare at the untouched blood bag in your hands. He arched a brow, taking a slow sip before breaking the silence.

“You know, staring at it won’t magically make it any less necessary.”

You shot him a look, but Damon just smirked, unfazed. He’d seen this before—new vampires being stubborn, clinging to the last shred of their human habits. It was almost cute. Almost.

With a sigh, you finally bit into the bag, and for a second, he thought you’d be fine. But then your fingers trembled, your breath hitched, and before you could react, your body swayed.

Damon was in front of you in a blink, one hand gripping your shoulder, the other catching your wrist before you could drop the blood. “Whoa, easy there, baby vamp.” His voice was light, teasing, but his grip was steady, holding you in place as you wobbled. “Did you seriously just forget how to drink?”

You muttered something under your breath, but Damon barely heard it over the way your pulse had picked up—fast, unsteady. He frowned, tilting his head as he studied you. “Tell me you’re not about to pass out. Because that would be embarrassing. For both of us.”

He didn’t let go right away, though. Instead, he waited, watching you carefully, his smirk fading just slightly.