Their Raven

Chapter 39

The garden was quiet again. The world had settled into soft crickets and the hum of magic woven subtly through the air — enchantments ancient and strong, layered into the estate's very foundations.

Damon sat curled up on the low stone bench beneath an overgrown archway of roses, elbows resting on his knees, head tipped back to stare at the twilight sky. He'd come out here to breathe, to get away from the heavy silence inside the mansion, where Kol and Elijah were still throwing each other dark glares across the library and Klaus was prowling like a smug predator who'd claimed his prize.

Everything had felt so loud inside — too many eyes on him, too much unspoken tension, like everyone was holding their breath around him.

Here, though? The air felt... different.

Lighter.

Safe.

He frowned, rolling the sensation across his mind like a pebble in his palm. That oppressive weight pressing down on him since Klaus's bite, since the phoenix mark had branded itself into existence, was gone. In its place was something quieter, steadier — as if invisible hands were holding the edges of him together.

"...Weird," Damon muttered under his breath.

But he didn't question it, not really. Not yet.

Instead, he let himself lean into it, closing his eyes, letting the warmth slide through his bones. It was almost like the feeling he used to get when he was a kid in Castelmezzano, sitting on the old stone wall behind his mother's house, watching the stars with the smell of lemon blossoms in the air. Back when he'd felt safe.

Before Mystic Falls.
Before Katherine.
Before magic and death and blood became constants in his life.

His chest ached with something he couldn't name.

Matteo stood silent among the shadows, blending into the deep green undergrowth like he'd been born there — because, in truth, he had. The blood of the Le Rouges was woven into these lands centuries before Damon's birth, and it answered to him now, cloaking him like a living ward.

He didn't breathe. Didn't move. His sharp golden eyes stayed fixed on the figure by the fountain — his son.

The son he hadn't seen in over a century.

The son who looked so much like his mother it hurt.

Damon's profile caught the dying light, cheekbones carved from shadow and starlight, jaw tight, lips soft and bitten. Even in stillness, there was a restless energy to him — like Matteo's blood sang too loud inside him, barely contained.

Matteo swallowed against the tightening in his throat. So much he'd missed. So much he'd failed to be there for.

And now, as if fate were mocking him, he'd found Damon again only to feel that thing hunting him. That ancient presence had been close — far too close. If Matteo hadn't arrived when he had, he doubted Damon would still be sitting there so peacefully.

His jaw clenched, silent fury threading his veins.
Not again, Matteo vowed.
Nothing — no one — would touch his son while he still drew breath.

But protection wasn't his only reason for lingering in the shadows.

Matteo's gaze flicked past Damon, toward the faint glow of the Mikaelson estate. Toward them.

The Originals.

Niklaus Mikaelson. Elijah Mikaelson. Kol Mikaelson.

Matteo had heard of them, of course. There wasn't a Le Rouge alive who hadn't. They were whispered about in old tongues, warnings carved into firelit stories passed down through bloodlines. The family cursed by immortality. The family that burned cities to ash when they loved too deeply.

And yet... they were orbiting Damon.

His Damon.

Matteo's jaw tightened. He'd watched them the moment he'd stepped into Mystic Falls — the way they looked at Damon like he was some rare celestial thing, something precious and untouchable. But want was dangerous. Desire was dangerous. And immortals who coveted his son?

Unacceptable.

At least for now.

He would watch. He would wait. And he would judge.

Because if even one of them thought to hurt Damon...
They'd learn why the Le Rouge line was feared by gods and monsters alike.

Damon leaned back against the bench, curling his fingers loosely around the cool edge of the stone as his magic hummed beneath his skin. It had been quiet for days now, restless and agitated, snarling at witches and surging uncontrollably when Klaus bit him — but right now?

It was... singing.

Soft. Low. Like the earth was humming along with his heartbeat.

It felt warm where it usually felt wild. Like it recognized something — someone — nearby.

It soothed him.

Damon frowned faintly, looking around, half-expecting to catch someone creeping in the hedges, but the garden was empty. Only the faint sway of lantern light, only the rustle of the breeze.

It felt stupid, but he smiled to himself, whispering, "Whatever you are... don't stop."

Because for the first time in days, he wasn't drowning under everything. Not under Klaus's mark. Not under the Mikaelsons' tension. Not under his own spiraling doubts.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Damon felt held.

And he wasn't telling anyone about it.

"Where is he?" Kol's voice was sharp as glass, cutting through the library's thick silence. He paced in front of the fireplace like a caged predator, his jaw clenched tight.

"Outside," Klaus said, sprawled lazily in one of the armchairs, a glass of bourbon dangling from his fingers. His smirk was faint but deliberate. "He needed some air. I suggest you let him breathe."

"Breathe?" Kol scoffed, spinning on his heel to glare at him. "You bit him, Niklaus. Forgive me if I don't exactly trust you to leave him in one piece."

Elijah finally looked up from where he'd been standing near the window, his expression carved from control but his knuckles white where they rested against the sill.

"The mark on your chest," Elijah said softly, eyes narrowing at Klaus. "The phoenix. That bite, brother. Whatever you've done, it's bound you to him."

Klaus's smirk only widened, deliberately taunting. "Perhaps. Or perhaps Damon simply couldn't resist me."

The crack of Kol's glass shattering against the hearth was loud in the silence that followed.

"Touch him again without his permission," Kol said, his voice dangerously low, "and see how quickly you lose that smug little grin."

Klaus chuckled darkly, slow and deliberate. "Careful, little brother. Jealousy's an ugly colour on you."

Before Kol could launch across the room, Elijah's hand shot out, stopping him cold — though Elijah himself looked just as tightly coiled, restrained only by sheer willpower.

None of them noticed the faint pulse of Damon's magic drifting through the house.
None of them noticed the second, older presence standing silent among the shadows outside.

Matteo noticed everything.

Matteo's hand flexed at his side, golden veins faintly glowing beneath his skin as Damon laughed softly at something only he could hear. That sound — fragile but real — steadied Matteo's resolve.

For now, Damon felt safe. Protected.

And until Matteo knew more about the Originals' intentions, he would keep it that way.

Hidden in the shadows.
Unseen but present.
Silent but deadly.

And gods help anyone who threatened his son.

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Don't know how to feel about this chapter, but I hope you all enjoyed my darlings