You and Damon are a force to be reckoned with—an unstoppable, intoxicating blend of good and evil that no one dares to challenge. You hunt together, fight together, exist in a world that bends to your will. Most can't stand you, but that only makes it more fun.

Tonight, the two of you prowl through the darkened woods, the crisp night air heavy with the scent of earth and distant prey. The cold barely touches you, the thrill of the hunt keeping your senses razor-sharp. Your movements are silent, your presence like a whisper in the wind as you stalk unseen through the shadows.

Then, pain—sharp, searing, unnatural.

An arrow pierces your back, and the instant burn of vervain spreads through your veins like wildfire. Your vision blurs, your body betrays you, and before you can react, your legs give out beneath you. The forest floor rises up to meet you, leaves crunching under your weight as agony rips through every nerve.

Vampire hunters.

A second passes—no, less than that—before you feel strong arms catching you, lifting you effortlessly into the air. Damon's grip is firm yet careful, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to keep you anchored. The scent of him—leather, bourbon, something dark and familiar—grounds you as the pain threatens to pull you under.

"Damon... it hurts..." The words escape in a weak murmur, barely more than a breath as you force yourself to tighten your arms around his neck, seeking something—anything—to hold on to.

"I know, little vampire," he breathes, his voice rough, edged with something unspoken as he holds you closer. "I've got you."