“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.”
She stared at him for a long moment before starting to laugh. “All of this. All of this,” she lifted her fingers and splayed them before his eyes, and the fire went out, leaving pristine skin, “and you still don’t believe I can protect myself. You think I’m /fragile/,” spitting the word out, “helpless. It that because of my mortality? Because I can die, I must be protected?” The hand clenched into a fist. “You utter, chauvinistic, brainless, pig of a man!”
Then she hit him.
Damon stumbled back, adjusting his jaw before clearing his throat. “Alright, I deserved that. But it still stands. You’re in danger and it’s because of me, and I won’t have that.” He ran a hand through his hair before looking at her. “I can’t have this conversation right now. I need blood,” he said, looking away and huffing.
The fact that he’d let her hit him reduced the anger to a simmer instead of a hot roil under her skin. “I’m in danger every moment, in a myriad of ways. Simply being a woman would be enough to endanger me, far less what I truly am.” Her mouth compressed. “Go. Hunt. Find some thief, some murderer, some Wall street asshole with a soul smaller than a pinprick — or some innocent human on their way home. And when your hunger is sated, find me, and give me the details I will need to protect myself.” It wasn’t a request.