He chuckled at her mention of the tomb, the sound dry and devoid of any real humor. The realization that he had spent decades obsessing over a ghost while she was out playing games had been a bitter pill to swallow, but he had washed it down with enough blood and bourbon to numb the taste.
+
He tilted his head, studying her face as if she were a mild curiosity rather than the woman who had ruined his life.
“Disappointed? No. I’d say it is more of a mild annoyance. Like a flea that just won't stop biting.”
+
“You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Katherine. And a deluded sense of your own importance,” he replied. His voice was a smooth, dangerous velvet.
He took a step toward her, closing the gap until he was well within her personal space. +
“Mhm. So, who shall we start causing chaos against? Tell me it's Bus Boy.”
He is hoping that's her answer.
Damon didn't miss a beat. He didn't even flinch as she drew closer. Instead, he leaned back against the cool metal of his car, crossing his arms over his chest with a practiced air of indifference. +