“Anybody like me? Oh, you mean psychopathic vampire who doesn’t give a damn about human life?” he asked, smirking. “Well the good news is that you don’t have to love me.”
“Still lying,” she sing-songed. “Stop doing that, or I won’t take the pain away.”
Damon sighed. “Do what you want,” he mumbled, looking out the window.
“You are the /worst/ goddamn liar!” Summer jerked the covers off him and fixed a hand around his ankle tightly. “Now. Start by explaining what the fuck is going on.”
Damon swatted her away but sighed, sitting up. “A werewolf’s bite is fatal to a vampire,” he said slowly so she would understand. He unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them off, tossing them on the floor and exposing the bit on his legs that was turning purple and black. “That’s a werewolf bite. I’m a vampire.”
“And you’re going to tell me that for however long vampires have existed — and I’m sure it’s been more than a few hundred years — nobody’s found a cure for this.” She leaned over, peering at the ugly mark and trying to ignore the fact that he had really nice legs. And was lying on a bed half-dressed.
The sheer amount of pain he was putting off helped with that.