A Land of Make Believe

“Wow.” His voice was rough from the vervain, but the familiar edge of mockery returned. “Five whole minutes? Generous. Here I thought we were dealing with the impatient, tantrum-throwing version of Klaus Mikaelson.”

Damon pushed himself away from the table. His knees nearly gave beneath him, but he forced them to lock, straightening slowly as he wiped the spilled vervain from his chin with the back of his hand. The movement dragged the poison across already blistered skin. He barely reacted.

“Damon,” Klaus warned.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.” Damon’s smile was thin and vicious. “Keep threatening the terrified human you need alive. It really screams powerful immortal hybrid. Very dignified.”

Klaus’s expression tightened, amusement cooling by degrees.

Damon could feel Max’s panic from across the room. Hear it in every uneven breath. He wanted to tell her it was fine, but that would have been an insult to both of them. Nothing about this was fine. Instead, his gaze flicked toward her, holding for only a second. “Max.” Her name came out steadier than he felt. “Don’t look at the bottle.” He couldn’t tell her not to be afraid. He couldn’t promise Klaus wouldn’t hurt either of them. All he could do was pull her attention away from the vervain and the impossible countdown Klaus had placed inside her head. “Look at me.”

Klaus gave a low, entertained laugh. “How touching.”

Damon ignored him. His eyes remained fixed on Max, his tone quieter now, cutting through the room without softening. “You can’t force it.” He had no idea how her visions worked, no idea whether fear helped or made them worse, but he knew what panic did to the mind. It narrowed everything until there was nothing left except the threat. “So stop trying to give him what he wants.”

Klaus’s grip tightened just enough to make Damon’s jaw clench. “Careful,” Klaus murmured. “You’re beginning to sound uncooperative.”

Damon’s gaze snapped back to him. “You said you wanted her motivated. You didn’t say she had to spend five minutes hyperventilating while you breathe down her neck.”

“I rather enjoy the effect I have on her.”

“Yes, Klaus. We’ve all noticed how much you enjoy terrorizing women who can’t fight back.” Damon tilted his head, the smile gone entirely now. “Does wonders for the ego, I’m sure.” The room seemed to contract around them.

Klaus released Max’s hair and moved before Damon could brace himself. One moment he was behind her the next, his free hand struck Damon across the face with enough force to send him crashing into the side of the table.

Damon hit the floor hard, pain erupting through his ribs and shoulder. The vervain made the impact worse, slowing the healing that should have already begun. Blood filled his mouth where his teeth cut into the inside of his cheek. He spat it onto the floor and laughed once under his breath. He pushed himself onto one elbow, lifting his head toward Klaus with a bloodied grin. “Touchy.”

Klaus stared down at him, anger flashing behind his eyes. “You seem to be under the mistaken impression that her presence grants you protection.”

“No.” Damon dragged himself upright using the table, each movement slower than the last. “I’m counting on your crippling need to prove you’re the smartest person in the room.”

Klaus crossed the distance again and seized Damon by the throat. Damon’s back struck the wall. His boots lifted from the ground as Klaus held him there effortlessly, his grip crushing enough to cut off breath without quite snapping bone. Damon clawed once at Klaus’s wrist before forcing his hand to fall. He would not struggle. Not while Klaus was watching Max for every flicker of distress.

His eyes shifted past Klaus’s shoulder toward her. The edges of his vision were already beginning to darken, but he managed another crooked smile.

Klaus slammed him into the wall again.

Pain burst through the back of Damon’s skull. His vision blurred, but Klaus finally let go, allowing him to collapse heavily onto the floor. For several seconds, Damon remained there with one hand pressed against the wall, breathing in short, damaged pulls. The taste of blood and vervain coated his tongue.

Klaus adjusted his cuffs as though nothing had happened. “Four minutes,” he announced pleasantly. “I do hope you’re making progress, Miss Parker.”

“You want to play a game, play it with me.” Damon forced himself onto one knee, refusing to stay down despite the tremor running through his body. “Leave her out of it.”

Klaus smiled. “But she is the game.”

Damon’s expression changed. The anger remained, but something sharper settled underneath it. Something quieter and considerably more dangerous. “She’s not going to have a vision because you put her on a timer,” he said. “And drowning her in panic isn’t going to magically turn her into your personal crystal ball. All you’re doing is proving you have no idea how her ability works.”

“And I suppose you do?”

“No.” Damon’s eyes flicked toward Max briefly, the admission costing him more than he allowed his face to show. “But unlike you, I’m not stupid enough to pretend otherwise.”

Klaus studied him for a moment, then reached for the bottle.“Three minutes,” Klaus said, slowly turning it between his fingers. “I suggest she learns quickly.”

Damon rose unsteadily to his feet. Blood trailed from the corner of his mouth, and the skin along his throat remained angry and blistered, but his attention stayed on Max. “Don’t promise him anything,” he told her. His voice was quieter again, stripped of sarcasm. “Don’t tell him what he wants to hear just because he’s hurting me.”

Klaus stepped closer to the table, setting the vervain down before sliding it closer to Damon. “Two minutes,”

Damon met her eyes with that stupid crooked smile she usually (secretly) adored and Max couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly. She couldn’t help him, couldn’t protect him, couldn’t have a stupid vision to save either of their lives.

What good was she? What was the point in her even having these stupid fucking powers if she couldn’t use them when she needed to?

The clock was counting down and Klaus made sure she knew exactly how little time she had left. Four minutes. Her hands trembled, eyes flitting between the two men. Damon was arguing with Klaus, but nothing he said seemed to matter.

Three minutes. Wide eyes locked onto Damon, her head shaking back and forth. Don’t tell him what he wanted to hear? Was he insane? That hit to the head must have done more damage than she’d though.

Two minutes. She wasn’t sure if she could pale any further, but if she could, it would be at Damon’s next words: Let the clock run out.

“I can’t. I can’t.” Her hands fisted in her hair, eyes squeezing shut as she continued shaking her head. “Please, please, please…” Whispered under her breath like a mantra. Like she could will her brain to cooperate if she just tried hard enough. She’d never wanted to have a vision so badly.

One never came.

Klaus tapped the table with his fingertip, his smile all teeth. “I’m afraid your time is up, Miss Parker. A shame, really, but don’t fret. I’m sure you’ll come up with something before dear Damon eventually chokes to death on his own blood.”

He shrugged lightly, as if they were discussing something as mundane as the weather. “Or you won’t, and we’ll just have to try again with someone else you care about. Damon—”

A vision didn’t come, but the slightest tugging sensation in her gut did. Her eyes widened a fraction as Klaus turned towards Damon, her heart skipping a beat.

It was a bad idea. It was a terrible idea. She’d literally never had a worse idea in her life.

Damon was going to kill her.

“I can’t see it for you, but I can find it.” The words were blurted out, quickly and before she could fully think them through. If she did, she might not have said them at all.

Klaus paused. Slowly turned back towards Max. Sharp eyes locked onto her, maintaining eye contact. He didn’t speak until she withered under his stare. “Go on.”

Max fidgeted. Glanced briefly at Damon, before her eyes darted away guiltily. “I…” She swallowed. Forced the words out, no matter how reluctantly. “It’s not just visions. I feel things sometimes too.”

“I truly could not care less about your feelings—”

“You do.” Bold of her to cut him off. Especially so, given the sudden hardness in her tone. The certainty covering up her desperation.

She was fucking terrified, but goddammit, he was going to listen to her.

“You do, because that’s how I can find your cure. It’s like…GPS in my stomach. I can’t tell you a place, but I can tell you what directions to go in.”

“This is very convenient timing,” Klaus mused. “How do I know this isn’t some desperate attempt to buy yourselves more time?”

“Because I’m a shit liar. And I think you’d know, even if I wasn’t.” She forced her eyes up. Forced herself to meet Klaus’s gaze.

His mouth parted, but nothing came out. For a moment, Damon only stared at her. At the fist she held against herself. At the way she had made her body smaller, as though enough distance could protect him from something he had lived with for more than a century. Then his expression tightened. “Max.” Her name came out low, threaded with warning. He stepped toward her, closing the distance she had tried to rebuild. This time, when his hand rose, he didn’t leave it suspended between them. His fingers closed gently around her wrist, blood slick beneath his palm, and he guided her fist away from her body.

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” The words were meant to reassure her, but they came out too hard. Too close to anger. Damon exhaled and loosened his grip. “That’s not what I meant.” His thumb brushed over her knuckles, careful and slow. He could feel the strength inside her now, unfamiliar and unmeasured, but it didn’t frighten him. He had survived originals, werewolves and Stefan’s worst moods before breakfast. Max’s teeth were hardly the danger here. The way she was looking at herself was. “I know what you can do now,” he said quietly. “I know what the hunger does. I know how fast it turns every thought in your head into one thought.”

Blood...he didn’t need to say it. The evidence covered her. “And I’m still standing here.” Damon lifted his gaze to hers. “You came to me because you knew I could handle it.” Or maybe because she had nowhere else. He refused to follow that thought too far. She had chosen his door. For tonight, that had to be enough. His fingers slipped carefully between hers, easing her fist open without forcing it. He held her bloodstained hand in his.

“You hurt people.” He didn’t lie to her. He wouldn’t insult her with some hollow excuse about how it didn’t count because she hadn’t understood. Damon knew better than anyone that guilt didn’t care whether the blood had been spilled deliberately. “But you stopped.” His eyes sharpened. “You were starving, terrified and alone, and somehow you still stopped long enough to realize you didn’t want to keep doing it.” That mattered. More than she understood yet. She had come to him shaking, crying and apologizing. Not because she feared what would happen to her, but because she feared what she might do to someone else. She was still Max. Painfully, impossibly Max.

Damon lifted her hand and pressed it against his chest.and he needed “You’re not going to hurt me and I don’t hate you.” The words nearly failed him. Damon swallowed, jaw working as he tried to force the emotion back into whatever locked room it had escaped from.

“I hate that someone did this to you. I hate that you woke up alone. I hate that the first thing you learned about this was how it feels to lose control.” He looked at the blood on her face again, but there was no revulsion now. Only grief, and something colder gathering beneath it. “And I really hate that whoever turned you left you to figure it out by tearing through strangers.”

Damon would find them. That certainty settled into him like a blade sliding neatly into its sheath. He didn’t know who they were yet, or why they had chosen Max, but he already knew how the conversation would end. Later.

He brought his attention back to her, forcing the violence from his expression. “But none of that is hatred for you.” His free hand rose to her face. Damon paused for only a fraction of a second before cupping her cheek, refusing to let his earlier hesitation poison this touch too. The coldness still struck him...he didn’t flinch.

“You think you’re looking at me and seeing horror.” His thumb passed beneath her eye, catching a tear and smearing the blood below it. “You’re seeing me trying very hard not to lose what little control I have left and hunt down whoever did this before I make sure you’re okay. Multitasking has never been my strongest quality.” Damon stepped closer until there was barely any room left between them. He kept her hand against his chest and his palm against her cheek.

“You don’t have to protect me from this. Not from the hunger. Not from the blood. Not from you.” There were things Max could do that would ruin him. She could look at him with disgust once the shock faded. She could blame him for bringing this world into her life. She could leave and spend the rest of eternity making certain he never found her. Damon lowered his forehead to hers. “And stop apologizing.” It was almost a whisper now. “You didn’t drag me into anything. I was already in it. I’ve been in it since the second you showed up at my door.” Since long before that, if he was being honest. Damon had been tangled around Max’s life while still pretending he could step away whenever it became dangerous. That lie had finally rotted through. “You need help.” His fingers curled more firmly around hers. “So let me help. You’re going to get hungry again,” he said. “Soon. And when it happens, I’ll be here.” He didn’t drown her in instructions. There would be time for blood bags, control and daylight rings once she stopped looking as though she might shatter where she stood.

Her breath shuddered when he took her hand in his, but she didn’t pull away. Eyes flit between their hands and his face, tears still slowly trailing down her cheeks. Her expression was pained when he mentioned the hunger—he was right. That’d been the only thing she could think about when she’d woken up. How hungry she was. Something she somehow knew couldn’t be sated by regular food. And because of that, because of her lack of control, she’d hurt people. Multiple people. More than likely killed a few of them. She tried not to think too hard on that. Tried not to count.

His acknowledgement of her hurting people pulled a quiet, wounded sound from her, before he continued. But you stopped. Like that was the most important part. Like it mattered, despite the damage already done. Part of her recognized that it did matter, but that part was buried deep beneath all the horror and guilt she felt over her actions. Over the blood that still covered her.

Fuck, she needed a shower.

The fingers pressed against his chest curled tightly into his shirt. Holding tightly, despite knowing she shouldn’t. That she didn’t deserve this from him. He shouldn’t be comforting her, he should be locking her away somewhere so she couldn’t hurt anyone ever again.

But she soaked it up anyways. Craved it, needed it more than she was willing to admit. “…You don’t?” He didn’t hate her. Was that even possible? He kept going, listing each and every part of this that he apparently did hate, laying it all out for her, making sure there was no room for misunderstanding. For her to misconstrue what she was seeing on his face, hearing in his voice.

None of that is hatred for you. Her free hand reached up, closed around his wrist where he cupped her cheek, leaning into the touch. She was probably holding on too tightly, but couldn’t spare it a thought. She was too busy trying to control her breathing.

Because Damon was staying. He was staying, planning on being there to help her, to stop her from hurting anyone else when she got hungry again. Distantly, she nodded. You’re not alone. The words circled ‘round and ‘round in her head, over and over again. You’re not alone. She didn’t have to figure this out on her own. She didn’t have to worry about protecting Damon from this new, dangerous version of herself. She didn’t have to hide herself away from him like she did daylight.

You’re not alone.

And then he held his arms out for her, used that stupid nickname like nothing had changed, and Max broke. With a sob, she surged forward. Accidentally slammed into him—too hard, too fast—clinging to him with a strength she couldn’t yet control. Her tears soaked into his shirt as she finally let out everything she’d been holding inside. All the pain, the uncertainty, the fear. The grief for the life and the choices that’d been ripped so violently away from her.

Damon watched her face as his hands continued upward, slipping beneath the oversized shirt until they reached her waist. His palms spread over bare skin, dragging slowly along her sides before tightening and pulling her down more firmly into his lap. The movement stole the teasing distance between them. “Tell me,” he said, his voice dropping rougher, “how much did you see?” His mouth brushed hers, barely there.

“Did you see this?” One hand slid up her back, pressing her chest against his as he kissed along her jaw. His lips traveled toward her throat, no longer offering fleeting touches. He opened his mouth against her skin, kissing and sucking slowly beneath her ear until he could feel her pulse racing beneath his tongue.

“Or this?” His other hand moved beneath the shirt, tracing the curve of her waist before traveling down to her hip. Damon guided her against him in one slow roll, his grip tightening when the friction pulled a low breath from his throat.

Damon lifted his head, eyes dark as he looked at her. “You sat beside me knowing exactly what you’d seen,” he accused softly. “Wearing nothing but my shirt and pretending you weren’t waiting for me to do something about it.” His fingers hooked beneath the hem and pushed it higher along her thighs. “That’s cruel, Max.”

He caught the fabric she had fisted in her hand and tugged her closer until their mouths nearly touched. “And then you climbed into my lap and told me to ravish you.” His teeth caught her lower lip, tugging gently before releasing it. Damon’s hands slid around to the backs of her thighs, pulling her flush against him again as he kissed her properly. There was nothing restrained about it now. His mouth claimed hers hard and deep, his tongue sweeping against hers while his fingers dug into her skin. He held her there as his hips pressed upward beneath her, slow enough to tease but deliberate enough to leave no question what he wanted.

When he finally broke the kiss, it was only to drag his mouth down her throat again. “Begging would’ve been fun,” he murmured against her skin. “But this?” His hand moved higher beneath the shirt, skimming along her ribs until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast. Damon paused there, watching her closely before his palm settled over her fully. “This is much better.”

He kissed the hollow of her throat, then lower, dragging the collar of the shirt aside with his teeth to expose more skin. His mouth followed, hot and unhurried, leaving a trail of open kisses across her collarbone while his thumb moved slowly beneath the fabric. Damon’s other hand remained locked around her hip, guiding every measured movement of her body against his. “You know what bothers me most?” he asked, voice rough against her chest. “You’ve already seen how this ends.”

Sometimes, they felt incredibly real.

Max realized too late what she’d blurted out. Her eyes widened, cheeks colouring a deep crimson. “…Shit.” She hadn’t meant to say that. The curse was spoken under her breath as his hands landed on her thighs. This was either going to end really well for her, or it was seriously going to bite her in the ass.

Her lips parted along with her legs at his urging, her grip on the back of the couch tightening as his hips pressed up against hers, revealing that he was apparently just as into this as she was. He pulled her closer, and one of her hands shifted to his shoulder. All the while, her eyes remained locked with his—she couldn’t look away even if she’d wanted to.

It was far easier than she’d thought it might be to fall into him. To let him take control and just hang on for the ride. He mouthed at her neck and the fingers of her free hand slid into his hair, her other tightening around his shoulder, her breath catching, when he rolled their hips together.

Words. She needed to speak words. “Flashes,” she somehow managed. “Not all of it.” The colour in her already flushed cheeks slowly spread down her throat. She opened her mouth to argue, to defend herself as he accused her of withholding her vision from him, but his mouth was on hers before she could. Claiming, dominating, every sweep of his tongue, every roll of his hips, making it harder and harder to think straight. Her arms wound around his neck, keeping herself close. She moaned quietly into the kiss, grinding against him, the sound swallowed up almost immediately.

By the time he pulled back—because she sure as hell hadn’t planned on doing it first—she was panting, pupils blown wide. Pressed into the hand on her breast, lifting her chin to give him room as he worked along her throat again. She sounded a bit dazed when she spoke. “In my defense, you can be very contrary when you want to be.”

She squeaked when she suddenly found herself on her back, Damon hovering over her. Considering there wasn’t quite enough room to spread her legs further for him without one falling off the couch completely, she wrapped them around his waist instead, subtly trying to pull him closer. She gave his hand a squeeze, lacing their fingers together.

Should she tell him she hadn’t actually seen how things ended? Nah. Better to let him think she had and see just how competitive he could get. “That…seems like a very good thing for me…” She lifted her head to close the distance between them, wanting to kiss him again. Her free hand slipped under his shirt, smoothing up his back. It had the added bonus of pushing his shirt up.

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Klaus smiled over Max’s shoulder. “There he is.”

Damon stepped into the back room, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. He knew exactly how little effort it would take for Klaus to follow through on the threat already implied by his grip. Damon might have been fast, but Klaus was faster and he only needed to move his hand a few inches. “Let her go.”

“In due time.” Klaus’s attention shifted briefly toward Max before returning to him. “She has visions.” He paused, watching Damon’s face with open amusement. “Your little friend can see the future.”

For one brief second, Damon forgot about the hand around her throat. The strange episodes. The way she sometimes seemed to disappear behind her own eyes. The carefully rehearsed explanations that had never quite fit. His gaze flicked toward Max before he could stop it.

Klaus laughed. “Oh, you didn’t know.” His smile widened, genuinely entertained now. “How delightful. You’ve been so busy hiding your nature from her that you never noticed she was doing precisely the same thing.” His thumb brushed lightly over the pulse beneath his fingers. “Quite a collection of secrets between the two of you, isn’t there, darling?”

Damon’s expression hardened. Questions crowded his mind, but none of them mattered while Klaus was still holding her. “So, are you going to tell me why she’s here, or are you saving that for the grand, life-ruining reveal?”

“The cure.”

Only then did Damon notice the small glass bottle waiting on the nearby table. The scent reached him immediately. Vervain. His attention lingered on it for half a second too long before he looked back at Klaus. “Not much of a bourbon selection.”

Klaus’s fingers shifted against Max’s throat. “Drink it,” he said calmly, “or I’ll tear her throat out.”

The last trace of amusement disappeared from Damon’s face. Klaus wasn’t bluffing. Damon could feel it in the stillness of the room, in the certainty beneath the threat. One refusal and he would be watching blood pour through Klaus’s fingers before he could reach them.

So Damon crossed to the table. His hand closed around the bottle, but he didn’t lift it yet. “She hasn’t seen your cure?” It was an attempt to buy more time disguised as a question...one that didn’t last long enough to produce anything resembling a plan.

“I think watching you suffer may encourage her to try harder.” Klaus’s smile sharpened. “Drink it. Finish it.”

Damon held his gaze for another moment before raising the bottle. The vervain burned the instant it touched his mouth. Fire ripped across his tongue and tore down his throat, violent enough to make his entire body seize. He choked, staggering against the edge of the table as some of the liquid escaped over his chin. Wherever it touched, his skin reddened and blistered. Damon caught himself with one hand, fingers tightening against the wood while the poison spread through his chest.

For several seconds, he could do little more than breathe through the agony. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes returned to Klaus. “And now what?” His voice was barely more than a rasp. “She magically tells you where to find the cure?”

“If she values your life, she’ll find a way.”

Damon slowly pushed himself upright, one hand braced against the table. His posture was unsteady, but his gaze remained sharp. “You need her alive,” he said. “Which means you don’t get to pretend you’re holding all the cards.”

Klaus’s hand shifted higher against Max’s throat. “Careful,” Klaus warned. “Confidence is charming until it becomes stupidity.”

Damon froze. His eyes dropped to Klaus’s hand before lifting to his face again. The pain burning through him receded beneath something colder. “You hurt her,” he said quietly, “and cure or no cure, I will find a way to kill you.”

Damon knew this psychopath? There was some sort of history there, at least, and nothing good, by the sounds of things. She couldn’t even bring herself to truly be surprised, too busy trying not to fully panic. The fear she felt was only being amplified by the dread that was settling more and more heavily in her gut the closer Damon got.

He was in danger, and Max didn’t know how to stop it.

She didn’t fully still when Klaus divulged her visions to him—couldn’t even if she’d wanted to, the need to keep breathing, to keep trying to free herself, trumping everything else—but her heart started beating even faster, guilt practically oozing off of her. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes as she stared at Damon.

She’d wanted to tell him. So many times, in so many ways.

This wasn’t one of them.

“I—” Whatever she’d planned on saying was cut off with a whimper.

Klaus tutted, tightening his hold on her throat for just a moment. “Hush, love, you’ll get your turn soon enough.”

She watched helplessly as Damon’s fingers curled around the bottle, the alarm bells in her mind screaming warnings. Klaus told him to drink—Max didn’t know what was in that bottle, but she was certain that drinking it was a terrible idea.

“Don’t!” she somehow managed to choke out. It had nothing to do with bravery or self-sacrifice—her self-preservation was strong as ever.

Max didn’t want to die.

She didn’t want Damon to die, either.

“Damon!” She struggled harder, despite not having a clue what she could even do if she somehow magically got free. But Damon was hurt. Whatever was in that bottle was hurting him. Choking him, burning him, and she needed to do something.

Klaus chuckled. A cat toying with a trapped mouse, entertained by its increasingly desperate escape attempts.

Damon was clearly in pain, but he pushed himself back up. She didn’t know if it was bravado or something else, but things were only going to get worse from here—she could feel it, and her feelings were never wrong. She needed to stop this.

She didn’t know how to stop this.

“If she values your life, she’ll find a way.”

She choked on a sob, squeezing her eyes shut. How? How? Max didn’t know how to control the visions. No matter how hard she’d tried over the years, she couldn’t. And now Damon’s life was hanging in the balance, and she was going to get him killed, all because she was too stupid to figure it out.

Klaus’s hand shifting was barely noticed, panic clouding Max’s mind, each breath growing quicker. There was a ringing in her ears, but a few words still managed to make it through.

“Perhaps he requires another drink.”

Her eyes flew open. “No!” Damon looked absolutely murderous. It was a side of him she’d never seen before, but it didn’t matter, right now. All she could focus on was whatever was in that bottle. Damon’s red, blistered skin. The way he still held himself carefully, still unsteady on his feet, despite having straightened.

“No, no, please.” Her voice was strained, though the grip on her throat loosened enough to let her talk. “Please. I’ll…I’ll do it. I’ll find it for you. I’ll find your…cure. I swear I will. Just…don’t hurt him. Please, don’t hurt him.”

Klaus hummed thoughtfully, his free hand toying with a lock of her hair. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that? I distinctly recall a lack of control being mentioned.”

Her mouth opened, only to close again. She could lie. Make something up and hope for the best. But she was a shit liar and she knew it. Klaus was a wildcard—she didn’t know what he might do if he caught her in a lie. It wasn’t worth the risk.

“I…I don’t know.” Something that clearly pained her to admit. “But I’ll figure it out. I’ll figure something out, and I’ll find it. Please just let him go.”

“…No, I don’t think I will.” His tone was light, amused. “We need to keep you properly motivated, after all. So why don’t we all play a little game?” He paused a beat, grinning.

“For every five minutes you fail to find me that cure, Damon here will take another drink. And if he refuses, or tries anything…unsavory…”

DANGERDANGERDANGER! She almost clutched at her head, the warning was so loud. Max sucked in a sharp breath, holding it when two sharp points grazed the skin of her neck, accompanied by hot breath.