damon marcello

Even as I say the words, I know it's harsh and not at all what my romantic-at-heart wife would want to hear. She has always been a dreamer, and though I'd love nothing more than to make her melt all over again at my charm, I know she'd feel worse later if she found out I had only told her what she wanted to hear. I've never flinched at a little white lie before, but I found out the hard way that it did no good to put up a facade when it came to Isolt. She knew me too well by now and even as forgiving and gentle was her ever loving heart, so it could be pure of rage and grudging when provoked as well. I'm sure she wanted nothing more than to imagine us with color in our cheeks and our beating hearts skipping with happiness as we held hands and dreamed of a normal future together. Alas, that would have never been and I know it as assuredly as I know my heart will never beat again. My humanity was lost long before I lost my life. Between an abusive father and a neglectful mother, I didn't know love besides that for my little brother growing up.

When I found my maker, I thought in my foolishness that it was love that I felt for her, but I could see later that it was only obsession and a thirst for that power she held so tightly, the power that she then ended up bestowing on me and Stefan. Before Catarina, I didn't have eyes for other women, at least not for anything more than skin deep. I knew what they were good for and that's all I'd ever want of them. Maybe it took being alive for a few lifetimes for me to finally realize how much more I could have, but I know if I'd never met Isolt on that park bench, then I might still be without the best thing that ever happened to me. She was the one who ultimately changed me and made me see. She was the one to find my humanity. I'd still be that dark creature preying on others in the night if not for her. Hell, I might even still be satisfied while doing it, but I know I would have never felt even as close to pure happiness as I feel every time I touch her or hold her. Just looking at her puts a glow in my chest that makes me forget sometimes that everything in there is dead.

She tugs my fingers to her lips and my gaze follows the movement with a barely suppressed hunger. It's always lurking there just under the surface, never satiated. Her words make my lips tug into a small smile.

"Never a word I thought I'd ever hear applied to myself."

Flaws have stalked me my whole existence. My father was never shy to point them out, calling me a coward, a useless piece of filth, a waste of breath. My mother wouldn't even look at me most days, though whether it was to ignore the black eyes and bruises left by her husband or just out of her own guilt for allowing it to happen, I'll never know. My brother never hesitated to call me out either, one of the many things I both like and loathe about him. He called me selfish, heartless, cold and cruel. And that was the nicer things. I've always been as far from perfect as one can get, so to hear it from such angelic lips... she must be drunk on the blood. As we lie on the bed facing each other, she lets her fingers trace my skin and my breath hitches. It tingles everywhere she touches, the sparks of a fire igniting from within and it's only a matter of time before we'll be back in the throes of passion if she keeps this up, especially if she keeps punishing that soft supple bottom lip with her tantalizing teeth like she's doing.

I reach out, letting my finger press into the plump surface to gently push her lip down and away from the torture. I'm sure she can see the dark promise in my lowered eyes, a warning of what's to come if she continues do that. That breathless whisper of my name is enough to draw my lustful gaze back up to hers, the thoughts pushed away (if only for a moment) as she furrows her pretty brows. I won't deny the surprise that colors my features at the question, though I'm quick to soften my composure even before she starts going on about how she wants me to want it. I bring my fingers up to gently trace along her jawline in affection even as I search her gaze for a moment, hoping she'll see what I want her to see there before I speak.

"Don't you know already, ma chère? What you want IS what I want. There's no beginning of one or ending of the other. I'd give you the world and then some, just to see that smile."

I know she'll want something more, though, so I let my expression sober to tell her I'm taking this seriously before I continue.

"When can we go meet them?"