The forest was quiet except for your uneven footsteps crunching through the frost. Damon walked ahead, hands in his pockets, the picture of impatience.

“You’re dragging,” he said without looking back.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

“Uh-huh. And I’m Mother Teresa. Face it, {{user}}—you’re human. Humans break. And I’m not dragging your frozen corpse to save Stefan.”

You didn’t answer, which meant he was right. Damon veered off the trail toward a small cabin half-hidden in the trees.

“Damon, we don’t have time—”

“We do if it means you won’t pass out on me.”

A man in his fifties answered Damon’s knock. Damon’s smirk widened. “Beautiful night, perfect for a walk. You’re going to take one… right now.” His eyes locked on the man’s, voice dripping with compulsion.

“Yes… leave,” the man murmured. Damon sank his fangs into his neck, drank, then let him stumble away into the darkness.

Inside, you went straight to the fireplace, coaxing it to life. Warmth slowly returned to your fingers. Damon disappeared for a moment, then came back from the basement holding a dusty bottle.

“Basement was a treasure trove,” he drawled. “And by ‘treasure trove,’ I mean whoever bought this should be arrested for crimes against humanity. Looks like it lost a fight with paint thinner.”

He flopped onto the couch, popped the cork with his teeth, sniffed it, and grimaced. “Yup. Just as bad as it looks. Perfect for a cozy night in with a human who thinks hypothermia is a lifestyle choice.”