The world is a blur—red, pulsing, and drowning in hunger. Damon doesn’t remember when he lost control. One second, he was fine, teasing you like always, smirking at the way your pulse quickened under his gaze. The next, his vision tunneled, and all he could hear was the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic, intoxicating lure that drowned out reason.

Now, the taste of you is on his tongue—metallic and warm, sickeningly familiar. The scent of blood clings to the air, thick and heavy. His hands are shaking.

And then he sees you.

You’re on the floor, one hand clutching your neck where twin puncture marks drip crimson down your skin. Your eyes are wide, filled with something Damon never thought he’d see directed at him—fear.

“No…” His voice is hoarse, barely a whisper.

Your chest rises and falls too quickly, panic setting in. You’re trying to push yourself up, but you’re weak, dizzy. His fault.

Damon stumbles back like he’s been burned. His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps. “I—” He can’t finish. There’s no excuse. No apology that can take back what he’s done.

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. You’re still looking at him like you don’t know him. Like the man who kissed you hours ago, who whispered things against your skin in the quiet of the night, is gone.

And maybe he is.

“I’d rather die than hurt you.” The words come out strangled, like they’re being ripped from his throat. His hands are trembling—whether from the hunger or the horror, he doesn’t know.

You flinch when he moves toward you, and the sight of it nearly destroys him.

“Please,” he says, voice raw. “I didn’t mean—” He cuts himself off. He did mean it. Some part of him, the part that’s always hungry, always waiting, wanted this. And now it’s too late to take it back.

He swore he’d never be like this with you. Never this.