Ruins and Revelations
Kaia didn't remember climbing into the black town car.
All she remembered was the feel of Damon's lips—searing, violent, desperate. The way his grip had bruised her hips like a silent vow. And the look in his eyes when he pulled away.
Like if he let her go again, he wouldn't survive it.
The engine hummed beneath her as they drove into the night, the city's skyline blurring past. Damon sat beside her, his jaw tight, one hand gripping the steering wheel like he was strangling it. His knuckles were bloodless.
Neither of them spoke.
Because what could be said?
They'd crossed another line. Again.
And Kaia could still taste him in the back of her throat—regret and hunger, tangled like a curse.
"Where are we going?" she asked finally, her voice hoarse.
Damon didn't look at her. "Somewhere quiet."
Her chest tightened. "You mean remote."
"I mean safe." His voice was colder now, armored. "You're not the only one being hunted, Kaia."
The words landed like a bullet to her spine.
"By who?"
He glanced at her then, eyes dark and unreadable. "Someone who thinks the past should stay buried."
She narrowed her eyes. "You mean someone you buried?"
He didn't answer.
Typical.
The silence returned, but it wasn't empty—it was heavy, alive with everything unsaid.
And Kaia felt the shift before she saw it.
The road changed—less city, more shadow. Then the car turned down a narrow gravel path shrouded by trees.
"You brought me to a forest?" she muttered.
He ignored her again. When they finally stopped, it was in front of a weathered stone estate half-swallowed by ivy. Ancient. Gothic. Beautiful in that haunted kind of way.
Like him.
Damon got out and opened her door, wordless. She stepped out slowly, boots crunching over gravel, every instinct prickling.
"What is this place?" she asked.
"My mother's." He didn't elaborate. "It's been abandoned for years."
That was all he said before heading to the door.
Inside, it smelled of dust and secrets. The chandelier above them still glimmered faintly with old elegance, but the walls bore the echoes of time.
Kaia trailed her fingers along a table, brushing away years of forgotten life.
"Why here?" she asked.
He stopped at the fireplace and turned to face her.
"Because you want answers," he said. "And I'm done running."
Her breath caught.
Damon reached into his coat and pulled out something small. A photograph. He tossed it on the table between them.
Kaia stepped forward and looked.
Her mother.
Standing next to Damon's father.
Her blood ran cold.
"What the hell is this?" she whispered.
"The truth," Damon said. "Your mother and mine weren't enemies, Kaia. They were partners. Co-conspirators."
Kaia stared at him, heart crashing like a drum.
"You're lying."
"I'm not," he said quietly. "And that flash drive you carry? It's only half the story. The other half… is buried beneath this house."
Her knees nearly buckled.
"You knew this all along?" Her voice broke.
"I didn't know everything," he said. "Not until recently. But I wanted to protect you. I still do."
She shoved the photo back at him. "You mean you wanted to protect yourself."
His jaw flexed.
"I wanted to protect what we had," he snapped. "But you—You're always running, Kaia. Always assuming the worst of me."
She marched past him, deeper into the estate.
"I've earned the right to assume everything of you, Damon."
His hand gripped her wrist, hard enough to halt her.
"And what if I told you," he whispered, stepping closer, "that every lie I told was to keep you alive?"
She froze.
His breath was on her lips again. That familiar ache returned, boiling over.
And this time, she didn't fight it.
She yanked him down by his collar and crushed her mouth to his.
It was chaos—fire and fury and unforgiven lust.
Damon growled against her lips, his hands seizing her waist, lifting her onto the dusty grand piano in the corner. She kicked papers off as she spread her knees and pulled him closer.
"This is a mistake," she gasped between kisses.
"I don't care," he muttered, biting down on her shoulder.
She arched, nails digging into his back.
"You're going to ruin me," she whispered.
"You already ruined me," he replied. "Now let's finish the job."
Their clothes hit the floor like thunder. Flesh met flesh, raw and furious. She didn't need forgiveness. He didn't want salvation.
They needed the pain.
They needed the pleasure more.
Later, she lay sprawled across the piano, his shirt barely draped over her, chest heaving.
Damon lit a cigarette, back to her, staring into the dying fireplace.
Kaia turned her head to look at him.
"What else are you hiding, Alaric?"
He didn't answer.
But the flames reflected something in his eyes.
Fear.
And that told her everything.
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