Damon stood motionless.
Elizabeth's neck was there, exposed, too pale to be real, too alive to be ignored. It wasn't just skin. It wasn't just blood. It was as if that smooth curve screamed directly at something primal within him, something that didn't use words.
Bite.
He felt his canines ache, pressing from within, begging. His breathing became irregular, too short for a body that no longer needed air. Each passing second was a conscious effort not to move.
"Don't look like that," Elizabeth murmured, her voice low, unhurried. "You've already decided. Your body is just waiting for your mind to stop pretending it's still in control."
Damon closed his eyes for a moment.
"If I do this…" he began, but the sentence died before it could be born.
She moved closer.
