“You were supposed to get rid of me.”

The words hang in the cool night air like a challenge. Damiano leans casually against the ancient stone wall of the deserted courtyard, his presence both dangerous and mesmerizing. The moonlight carves sharp shadows across his chiseled features, emphasizing the glint of mischief—and something darker—in his eyes. His fangs catch the light as he smirks, a silent dare daring you to cross that line.

Your sword rests at his skin, the cold metal a promise of finality. With a slight twist of your wrist, you could end this eternal dance of pursuit and retreat.

“You’ve hunted my kind for years,” he continues, voice low and resonant, each syllable dripping with both scorn and something unspoken. “So why are you hesitating?”

The question is both an accusation and an invitation. You remember too well the countless nights of battles fought in shadowed alleys, the adrenaline of your chase, the thrill of sparing him time and again. You know this isn’t the first time you’ve faced him.

Not the first time you’ve seen his red eyes glint in the dark, not the first time you’ve let him slip away into the night after his damn kisses.

He leans in closer, his warm breath grazing your ear as his words become a seductive murmur. “I think you like the chase,” he purrs, his tone teasing yet laced with raw honesty. “And I think you like me.”

The admission stabs at you with a mix of defiance and undeniable truth. In that charged moment, you feel every fiber of your being quiver under the weight of his presence. The hunter in you wars with the desire to surrender, knowing that beneath his dangerous allure lies an undeniable magnetism that you’ve always been drawn to.

And the worst part?

He’s right.