the beautiful grave (book II)

energy

damon

He watched his gorgeous girlfriend as she blinked incessantly at the vampire's frame. The way she looked at him sometimes, it put Damon on edge, as if he had his doubts.

     What if she remembers him fully? What would become of him then? Maybe he'd turn out to be a toy thrown in the trash can, along with the rest of them.

     She may not have had many boyfriends, but it didn't mean she hadn't broken hearts.

     And if she became herself again, then he'd be next in line.

     It may sound selfish, but he couldn't help it. He barely knew her but there was chemistry between them, feelings he'd never had for any other girl before. He felt they were special.

     But... what if they weren't? What if she just needed someone new until she recovered her memory?

     He hated to think such a thing but it would always be a possibility. One day – and hopefully not too soon – she would realize who she is, her purpose and she'd leave him alone in the dust.

     And he knew that, if it ever came to pass, then it would be the work of Frost.

     He didn't like him, but he didn't hold a grudge either. They were strangers, had barely even exchanged five words. It would be unfair to say he hated him.

     However, the way he looked at her, the way he silently pleaded... it was shifty.

     Beside him, his brother also had his sights locked on his girlfriend, who was basically breaking down by the minute. She wanted more from the vampire.

     He wondered if she knew that. What a beast he was.

     After all, he was Frost, the man with an empty heart and no soul to match. He was the coldest of all vampires, whose story had been passed down with every generation, where he'd slaughtered more than fifty thousand people in the late 1980s, during a fundraiser, no less. And, afterwards, he'd made himself a celebratory drink, sharing it with his partner in crime at the time.

     They heard no word about his accomplice since, he'd kept his reputation on the down-low, but it was unlikely he'd found God and redeemed himself.

     For being friends with such a monster, for not stopping him, for liking what he did.

     "What do you mean by 'glory'? Is it a person or... or... or..." Krista was frantic.

     Damon wanted to comfort her, to feel her smooth skin, but he had an inkling she'd bite his head off if he dared interfere.

     Frost just stared, not blankly and not as if she was a fool. It was more, and he didn't think it was healthy for his mind.

     "Lily, it's you."

     What was the meaning behind that nickname? Why did he call her something that she wasn't? She never corrected him on it, either.

     She was befuddled.

     "I don't get it. Stop talking in riddles, I want to know how to help my mother."

     "This will help you. Have you ever felt so overcome with emotion that you started to..." The Downworlder had to choose his words wisely here, otherwise Krista would probably just claim it was preposterous, like she did when they first met.

     Good times, Damon thought.

     Krista's father, Nicholas, was gaping at them as if they were all crazy. His hand clutched a pale and frail Lorelei, whose eyes were slowly closing, giving into the torture and pain.