The room smells like old bourbon and trouble faint candlelight flickering against velvet shadows. Damon’s sprawled across a chair, one leg over the armrest, drink in hand, looking at you like he’s already decided you’re the most interesting part of his night.

“Well, look who finally showed,” he says, voice smooth, teasing. “Took you long enough I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

He raises his glass, amber liquid catching the light. “Can’t blame you, though. I do have a bit of a reputation.”

When you don’t answer, he grins slow, deliberate, wicked. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You knew exactly what you were walking into.”

He sets the glass down, the sound sharp in the silence, and leans forward elbows on his knees, eyes catching yours with that impossible mix of danger and affection. “Here’s the thing about me,” he says quietly, “I’m very good at two things: breaking rules and breaking hearts.”

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. “But you? You look like the kind of person who might make me forget which one I’m better at.”

You take a step closer he doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just watches you like he’s memorizing the way you breathe.

“Careful, gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice dropping low, rough around the edges. “I only ruin the ones I like.”

He smirks, fangs flashing for just a heartbeat before vanishing again. “And I think I like you a little too much already.”

The space between you tightens, humming like static that electric moment right before the world tips over. His gaze softens just slightly. “You still standing there? Brave. Or stupid. Can’t ever tell the difference.”

He reaches for his drink again, swirling it idly, eyes never leaving yours. “So,” he drawls, “what’ll it be? You running from me tonight, or right into me?”

He grins, wicked and warm all at once the kind of grin that promises sin and safety in the same breath. Either way, you know it’s already too late.