Married To The Devil

Chapter Six

D e v i l' s R i v a l r y

Damon was like a ticking bomb. You could hear that bomb ticking away, but you had no idea when would it go off, destroying everything in the process.

I watched Damon angrily fasten the first top buttons of his shirt and I knew that once he faced me, he was going to blow up in my face. I had the urge to run, but if I did, that would show weakness and I didn't want that around Damon.

As expected, Damon whirled around and fixed me with a fierce look in his eyes. "Where in hell do you know Raphael Lancaster from, Clara?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"I don't know him," I said, watching as his gaze became lethal. He thought I was lying while I really wasn't. "I've heard of him a couple of times but never actually met him. Until today."

"Right," Damon glared at me. "And you usually let guys you meet for the first time have their hands all over you, huh?"

"No," I gasped, "he . . ."

"He was touching you, Clarabelle," He boomed, cutting my sentence off. His high tone was something I was getting used to. What actually took me by surprise was how he knew my full name. No one had ever called me Clarabelle ever since my father's death. Even my father used to call me Clara-bear more than Clarabelle.

"How do you know my full name?"

"This isn't about your fucking full name. This is about you letting that twat touch you." At this point, Damon was inching closer and closer while I was backing away. A dull pain shot throw my back when I hit the vanity table in the bedroom and Damon caged me there, between his torso and the table. "You are my possession, Clara, and whatever is mine can not and will not be touched by Raphael jerk-off Lancaster, you get me?"

"Oh, for the love of God, Damon," I said, shaking my head, tired of his yelling and praying that I could maintain enough patience to deal with him. "He was not touching me. He was saving me, which was actaully your job but you were the one who was God knows where with God knows who drapped around your arm."

"Yeah, baby, great defense mechanism you got there. Turn this whole damn thing on me." He sarcastically said. Damon's face was now very close to mine and I could vividly see the raging emotions in his eyes. "Very brilliant!"

As I tried to put some distance between each other, the edge of the vanity table was now painfully digging into my back. I took in a slow, calming breath before I spoke. "What's your problem with that guy, anyway?"

Whatever that problem was, I was positively sure that it wasn't because I was Damon's wife or possession whatsoever. I knew it before he could answer. I knew deep down inside of me that Damon was not throwing this raged fit at me because he was jealous of Lancaster touching me as he claims, but because of the idea of Raphael Lancaster himself.

This was such a relief, yet such a strange pain in my chest too.

[Flashback: Two hours ago]

"Drink," Damon pushed a cup of who knew what towards me on the bar. I barely heard him over the raucous music in the night club and looked between him and the glass of alcohol in front of me.

I shook my head, pushing the cup back to him with my index finger. "I don't drink." I yelled over the music and Damon rolled his eyes.

"You're such a party pooper." He said, smirking and then gulping down the whole drink with one flick of his wrist to the glass cup. "I won't even ask you if you want to dance with me," he said, getting off his stool, "because I already know you'd decline. Stay here, don't go anywhere! You hear me?"