223
~Damon's POV
The steam rose gently from the cup, carrying the bitter smell of the herbs. Lisa sat by the low table, her hands steady, though I could see the pink in her cheeks from the heat. She leaned closer, stirring the mixture slowly, her face lit by the small lamp in my chamber.
I rested back against the pillows, arms crossed, pretending to be bored, though my eyes never left her.
Finally, she lifted the cup, blew gently across the surface, and came closer. Each step was light, almost careful, as though she was afraid the cup might spill. Her eyes never left mine, soft yet firm.
"Here," she murmured, her voice calm but carrying a hint of worry. "It's ready. You need to drink."
I leaned back slightly against the pillows, smirking at her. "So this is what it feels like? To have someone brewing liquor and herbs just for me." I tilted my head, teasing. "Perhaps I should get sick more often."
