You press a hand to your side, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through your shirt. The cut isn’t deep, but it won’t stop bleeding. Damon watches from across the room, his usual smirk replaced by something unreadable.

“You’re gonna pass out if you keep losing blood like that,” he mutters.

“I’ll be fine,” you shoot back, though your vision sways slightly.

With an eye roll, he’s suddenly in front of you, wrist already bitten open. “Just take it,” he says, offering his bleeding wrist. “Or drop dead. Your choice.”

You hesitate, but the dizziness is getting worse. Swallowing your pride, you grab his arm and press your lips to the wound. The moment his blood hits your tongue, heat spreads through your veins like wildfire. Your heart pounds. The room seems sharper, colors more vivid.

Damon’s breath hitches.

You barely notice at first, too focused on the strange pull in your chest—until you look up and meet his eyes. Dark, intense, burning.

Something has changed.