A Project

Morning Encounter

Elysia had finally caught up on sleep by late morning. Entering the kitchen, she paused, staring at the gleaming cookware and pristine dishes. They were so clean, it was as if they'd never been used. She fell into thought.

Damon had saved Elena, making him her benefactor. By all logic, she should be grateful. Yet, why did she sense a strange, dangerous aura about him? Once Elena woke up, she would definitely try to persuade her to keep her distance from Damon. He was, after all, a vampire hunter and the natural enemy of all Vampire Clans.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the living room. Damon stepped out of the bedroom, his white shirt slightly wrinkled and showing faint traces of blood seeping through near the chest.

Passing by the kitchen, he gave Elysia a cursory glance and said flatly, "I'm heading out. I'll come back tonight to pick up Elena. Call me if anything comes up."

Leaning casually against the doorframe, Elysia replied coolly, "How convenient. My phone's out of battery."

Her tone was sharp with an undertone of hostility. She had only contacted Damon earlier out of desperation during Elena's Vampire Frenzy. But now that Elena was safe, there was no reason to keep involving this dangerous human hunter.

Damon halted mid-step, slightly tilting his head to glance back at her. His dark eyes carried a touch of icy disdain. "Your Vampire Clan is quite adept at burning bridges once their needs are met."

It wasn't a question—it was a statement, cold and unwavering.

Elysia raised her eyebrows, feigning indifference. "Learned that from you humans."

Her mind drifted back to her early years of exile in the human world. To survive, she scavenged and dealt in relics dug up from old tombs. Once, she was coerced into raiding an emperor's burial site, only to trigger a zombie outbreak within. The humans she worked with fled immediately, leaving her trapped inside and even sealing the entrance behind her.

If not for her desperate reveal of her Vampire Clan identity to the mindless zombies inside—crying out for a kinship that didn't exist—she wouldn't have survived. She shuddered at the memory of those wretched years, mingling with rotting corpses covered in mossy green fur, pretending they were family.

Damon buttoned his jacket, hiding the bloodstain beneath, and opened the door. Before stepping out, he cast one last glance her way, his voice devoid of warmth. "Only idiots don't know how to charge their phones."

"You—!"

Elysia clenched her fists, furious, as Damon walked away without looking back. Slamming the kitchen door shut, she fumed inwardly. This human is utterly insufferable.

Afternoon Encounter

At 1:30 p.m., near the provincial hospital, a black-clad figure pulled up on a sleek motorcycle in front of a small café. Mason, donning aviators and a gleaming leather jacket, cut a striking figure. His chiseled features, statuesque build, and confident swagger exuded an effortless charm that made heads turn wherever he went.

A server hurried out to meet him. "Sir, how many in your party?"

"I'm here to meet someone," Mason said smoothly, handing over his keys without a second glance.

His gaze swept the café, quickly landing on Damon sitting by the window, sipping a cup of mint tea. A sly smile tugged at Mason's lips as he strode over.

Damon glanced up at Mason's approach and muttered, "Boring."

"Then why'd you call me? To pick a fight?" Mason quipped, casually rubbing his jawline with mock amusement.

Damon set his cup down, fixing Mason with a calm yet probing look. His voice was even. "It's been six years since we last met one-on-one."

Mason hesitated, his playful demeanor faltering. His expression hardened. "Enemies meeting face-to-face—what else is there but hostility?"

"Do you really see me as your enemy?" Damon's question hung in the air, weighted with unspoken meaning.

Mason leaned back, his smile bitter. "Ever since Zia's accident, we were bound to be at odds."

Damon's dark lashes lowered, catching the soft light filtering through the café window. He fell silent for a moment before asking, "Did you… like Zia?"

"Of course," Mason replied without hesitation, but quickly realized how that might sound. He clarified, "But not like that. My feelings for Zia are the same as yours. Soren's, on the other hand—his feelings were real love."

"Is that so…" Damon murmured, absentmindedly tracing the rim of his teacup.

No wonder Soren's attack the previous night had been so ruthless, almost piercing his heart.

Mason studied Damon's pale complexion and bloodied shirt. Concern edged his voice as he asked, "You're hurt?"

"A stab wound. Nothing major," Damon said flatly, as if it were no more than a scratch.

"Soren did it?" Mason ventured, his sharp mind quickly piecing things together.

Damon's silence was answer enough.

Mason frowned. "You shouldn't have lost to him—not in skill, not in… other matters."

Damon waved off the comment with a faint smile, shifting topics. "Next month, I'm due for a promotion."

"From lecturer to associate professor?" Mason arched a brow, feigning mild interest. "Congrats on your newfound 'value.'"

"Not quite." Damon's voice took on a subtle edge. "My professor recommended I delve deeper into research on Vampire Clans."

The light banter evaporated. Mason's expression stiffened, his smile vanishing as an image of a certain woman surfaced in his mind. Elena.

"Did you know about this?" Damon pressed, his sharp eyes catching Mason's brief hesitation.

Mason shook his head, his voice distant. "About a month ago, he did mention a project proposal…"