Chapter 9
Damon's words made Elena's flesh crawl.
"You're joking?" she said shakily. She tried to deny what she had heard. She tried to dismiss the words Damon had whispered so emotionlessly. But she couldn't. Try as she might, Elena couldn't push Damon's words to the side. Not when a torrent of memories flooded her mind.
Damon had killed Tyler in her dream. Damon had admitted that he killed people. Damon had nearly killed Klaus Mikaelson. Damon had and would continue to kill people.
So what was to stop him from murdering his own mate?
Even in her own mind, she knew her thoughts were false. Despite the callous façade that Damon was using, there was something beneath that, something he was hiding that showed he wasn't a merciless killer. The muscles in his arms were tense and his hands were clenched into tight fists, his knuckles white with the strain. Dark eyes, so beautiful now that he was himself, were haunted by a pain she couldn't understand. Still, Damon didn't look at her.
"I could have stopped it all," he whispered. His voice was eerily quiet and she had to strain to hear him. Damon's hands unclenched, only to clench into a fist again. "She didn't have to die. I didn't have to let her die."
He stood abruptly. Damon gestured for her to join him, his eyebrows pulling together in anger when she moved too slowly. Before she could reach out to him, before she could try and soothe him, Damon recoiled from her touch. And that hurt. It hurt more than what she ever thought possibly. But it showed her. It showed Elena that she cared and that, no matter what Damon confessed to, she would still love him.
Damon moved to the other side of the room and Elena knew she had to follow him. She followed him as he threw open the heavy wooden door to the bedroom and stalked down the landing. If she had time, she would have paused to admire the old paintings that adorned the walls. Instead, she scurried after him, her feet clicking in her boots as she attempted to keep up. They passed many doors and only at one did Damon slow down. The door was left ajar and he slowed to look inside but he didn't stop.
As she passed the door, Elena knew better than to look into the room.
They continued through the house, the gap between them widening despite Elena's attempts to keep up. Damon didn't slow to wait for her. He didn't even glance back to see if she was following. The silence between them stretched on.
Eventually Damon stopped outside a dark door. It was plain compared to the others and its dark wood was cracked in places. Damon pulled it open, holding it open for her. When they were both through the door, Damon shut it and continued. The hallway was dimly lit and shadows danced ominously across the red brick. She followed the shadow that Damon's body created, hoping that he wouldn't walk any faster. If she lost track of him here…
"Mind your step. The stairs are old," he said and his voice betrayed none of his emotions. It was like a tour guide showing off an ancient building. Elena looked down at her feet as she walked unsteadily down the steps. They creaked under her weight and they bowed down in the middle from years of use.
Once Damon had reached the bottom of the stairs, he reached out for a nearby light switch. Almost immediately a flickering, naked bulb lit up the room. It was larger than what she expected and Elena thought that it must have been some sort of basement. Like the hallway, it had red stone bricks. Three long wooden shelves adorned the back wall, each stacked with candles, jars of what looked like herbs, small dishes and a multitude of other things. Across from the shelves there was a fire place. Ashes were collected in it and a stale smell of smoke filled the room. The fire hadn't been lit too long ago. Splinters of wood were collected along one of the walls, as if a log had been thrown against the wall.
The suddenness of Damon's voice startled her. Elena had grown used to the quiet, and to now have him suddenly speaking to her again. "I'll show you how I killed her. I'll show you my own God damned memories." Damon's voice was haunted despite the anger that laced through his voice. But Elena knew. She knew his anger wasn't directed to her, but at himself.
She stayed where she was as Damon moved over to the stack of shelves, pulling down four jars and a small ornate dish. A few moments passed as he ground down the ingredients. Damon never looked at her and he never spoke. It was as if she didn't exist. Or, more likely, that Damon was in a world of his own pain; tortured by his own guilt.
When he was finished, Damon handed her the small dish of ground herbs and wild flowers. In the small white dish, the ground herbs had been mixed to create a pale green colour. A sudden blaze of heat made her look over the shoulder. Within seconds Damon had stacked the fireplace with wood and had it burning brightly. Silently, he held out his hand for the dish.
Elena watched with a morbid fascination as he sprinkled the mix into the fire. The flames reared up, ferociously attempting to snap at Damon's hand, only to fail and swirl around the mixture of herbs instead.
Damon turned to face her. The shadows from the fire flitted over his face, highlighting his beautifully dark eyes that were misted over with both sadness and anger. The hand – which held the small dish – shook. In fact, as she looked closer, his entire body seemed to tremble. Finally he licked his lips as if to ready himself. His voice was shaking with all the emotion he had supressed as he spoke. "You didn't believe me when I said I killed her. You didn't believe me when I said I ended Rose-Marie's life early. I'll show you. I'll show you everything."
Angel of Death
Damon's emotions were in turmoil. He'd tried to hide them, he had…but now they were breaking free. When tears began to sting his eyes, he persuaded himself that it was from the heat of the fire. But visiting those long buried memories was almost too much. Only Lucerna knew what happened. No one else had any incline. And now, so suddenly, he was sharing all his memories with Elena.
As he sprinkled the mix into the fire, Damon waited for the scene to play out. He knew what would happen. The flames would rise higher and continue to lick away at the powder that Damon fed them. Slowly, a picture would form from Damon's own memories. In it, he'd show Elena Rose's last few minutes. He shut his eyes so he couldn't see the pictures in the fire form. But they only manifested in his mind instead.
Spring 1471, England – King Edward IV's reign
Spring had come early that year. The grounds had thawed and the rivers were no longer icy. Sufficient crops from the previous year had held off the famine that usually plagued the pauper's houses. It had looked to be the beginning of a good year, a year where all the previous battles of the Cousins' War could be forgotten.
But it wasn't to be that way. Only a few days earlier, Damon – a Duke in his own right – had received a letter from His Grace, the now exiled king, Edward IV. His Grace was planning an invasion, to fight back for the throne he'd lost for six months to the Lancastrians and their king, Henry VI. It was a test of loyalties; would he support the House of York, or become a turncoat like so many others? If he was loyal, he was to muster men – as many as possible from his own lands and kit them with boots and reasonable weaponry for the battle. He would be richly rewarded in lands, silver and gold if he stayed loyal.
"My Lord! There you are! Your servants have told me to inform you that your horse is ready. They are waiting on your presence to begin the hunt."
He turned from the battlements of the castle in time to see Rose-Marie's courtesy. Still, even after a year of courting, she insisted on such formalities. He had yet to hear her speak his name.
She was wearing the new gown he had ordered her – part of courting was to gift your intended. It was ivory, a similar colour to the White Rose of York, with pale pink flowers budding over the bodice. Rose-Marie wore a delicate necklace of pearls and rose quartz at her throat.
"If it's not out of my place to ask, My lord, you look troubled? Is something the matter? I can ask one of the manservants or a maid to remedy anything that is not to your liking." Her voice was soft and polite but her eyes sparkled in the growing twilight. Rose's hair was short and flicked out to the sides, emphasising the wildness and excitement in her eyes.
"I can trust you, can't I?" Damon asked and he knew the answer immediately. Yes, yes, he could trust her.
He'd known that Rose-Marie was his mate from the first time he'd seen her. She'd been in grieving for her father who had died an honourable death during the battle of Losecote Field in 1470. They'd met when Damon had been riding through the town, collecting taxes and greeting the commoners.
Immediately, he had requested her presence as a maid. From then on, he had courted her, taking her for walks around the gardens and showering her with dresses she had only previously dreamed of wearing. They'd spoken at length about different things; about her father's farm, about their loyalties to the House of York and how they thought York would have an easy win. They'd gotten to know each other slowly over the year.
"Of course you can, My Lord," she answered honestly. She took a few dainty steps forward towards the battlements where he stood. Rose glanced at the letter but said nothing.
"There's to be another battle. Our Grace has asked for my support and my men. I will have to ride out; I don't know how long I shall be. I'll returned to you as quickly as possible." He raised her pale hand to his lips, allowing his own to gently press against her hand. Anything more wouldn't be discreet.
She nodded and looked away towards the growing darkness in the sky. "I will pray for your return. You still have to make good on the promise you made," Rose joked.
The promise. He'd offered her, within two months of courtship, his hand in marriage. Damon knew it would be a scandal. A maid with a Duke. But he didn't care. Damon would do anything to keep her as his. But he had yet to tell her everything. Rose thought he was human, a normal male Duke capable of only killing by bow or blade. She didn't understand everything he was hiding from her…
And he never got to tell her.
It was the day before Damon was due to leave that the accident happened. It had been a freak accident, one that could have happened to anyone.
Rose had been leading his horse, a large chestnut war horse, to the mounting block. He'd finally, and stupidly, agreed to let her ride it. He'd been there to watch her, to watch the intense pleasure and excitement that would cross her face as Damon finally gave into what she wanted.
Rose-Marie had gone behind the horse, her hand lingering on its hind so it could acknowledge where she was. There had been a loud bang in the stable and the war horse had been spooked by the sudden noise. Damon had seen everything. Before he could shove Rose-Marie from the horse's path, the horse had bucked. Its large hooves had connected with her fragile chest, crushing her ribs. Her body had cartwheeled through the air.
Damon would never forget the sickening crunch as her body hit the floor.
When he'd reached her, Damon hadn't known whether to be grateful that she was still conscious. Blood trickled from the side of her mouth. Centuries later the doctors would have called it a punctured lung or a collapsed lung. Her rib cage was shattered but no blood stained her dress.
"D-Damon," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't move, Damon. I can't-" She coughed around the blood that pooled in her mouth. "I can't m-m-move."
He'd fretted. All that Damon could do was fret. He hadn't been blessed with his mother's healing powers – his angel side wasn't strong enough for them. There was nothing he could do. Lucerna was in Yorkshire with "family".
"Shh, Rose. You're going to be alright. You'll be fine!" Even his own words had lacked conviction. When his vision began to blur, Damon knew it wasn't his demonic side. The sting in his eyes was from salt – tears. His hands shook as he tilted her head to the side, watching helplessly as her precious life blood flowed freely from her mouth. "You're going to live!" Damon's voice cracked and the tears finally fell.
They'd planned so much. They'd spoken about their betrothal and their wedding. Damon himself had thought about all the ways that he could show her the real him. He knew she would accept him; there was no doubt in that. Rose was his first mate, the only mate he'd found and he couldn't lose her now! They hadn't even kissed. They hadn't even touched each other but for the linking of arms! There was so much they didn't know about each other. They still had the world to explore!
Rose's eyes began to lose focus – those brilliant brown doe eyes that he had come to love were glazing over. "D-Damon, don't, don't cry. I'll be…fine. Just let me g-go." More blood spilled from her mouth.
He shook his head, vehemently refusing to let his mate go so easily. "Don't speak like that!" With the sleeve of his tunic, Damon wiped away the blood that had gathered around her mouth. "Remember, we said forever. You can't let me break my promise." He was growing desperate, his voice was as faint as Rose's.
Out of his eyes corner, Damon saw the creature that shattered everything. His familiar, the crow, was perched on the mounting block meters away. Wisps of black smoke peeled from its wings, coiling like oily snakes before disappearing into the breeze. Its large beady black eyes focussed on Rose, and it cawed, an awful scavenging sound.
It knew death was near. It had come to give the final death sentence.
"No!" Damon had choked out, throwing his body over Rose's as if protection. "No, please! It can't be time!" He tried to block out the persistent cawing and the fluttering of wings. "Let her live – I'll do anything."
But the crow didn't leave.
"Who – who are you t-t-talking to?" Rose's eyes had gained some of their focus back. She stared back at him. "Damon, it's time for me to go," she said, choking again. A wince passed over her face as pain was caused in her broken ribcage.
He tried to deny it. He tried to prevent her passing. But his body knew. His wings unfolded from his back, painless and bloodless. They spread out behind him, casting them both in darkness – akin to the one Damon felt looming over his heart.
Damon saw her eyes widen and, as he had once predicted, she accepted him. A small smile – filled with pain – graced her lips. "I knew you were different…" she whispered. "I always…knew."
For once, Damon wished that his vision would blur as it would when he was hunting. But it didn't. He could see everything that was happening. Damon watched as the defeat ran through Rose's eyes, dulling the spark that he had grown to love and cherish. "I love you, Rose," he choked out, wishing he'd said it earlier.
"Me…too." Her voice was barely audible. If it hadn't been for his supernatural hearing, Damon would have doubted that he'd caught the two words.
It was time. Damon leaned down, hating the very movement and felt acid coat his lips. He tried to prevent the moment but he couldn't. Salty tears ran down his cheeks, splashing down onto Rose-Marie's dress.
Ironic that the first kiss they shared, would kill her.
Damon felt the light of her soul join with his. The flutter of wings behind him told him that the crow had left, satisfied that its job was done. Within seconds, the life they had planned was over. It was destroyed in one kiss – the kiss of death.
At the Battle of Tewkesbury, the place where both the Lancaster and York armies met, Damon Salvatore wasn't there. He'd replied to the letter, offering his men and gold, but had stated he himself couldn't be there.
While the battle had raged on, he'd been on his knees in front of Rose-Marie's fresh grave placing a White Rose of York beside her headstone.
"And so I killed her," Damon said slowly. His voice cracked on the words and he looked away as the flames in the fire began to die away, the pictures they formed disintegrating. He stood from the fire, unaware of when he'd sunken to his knees in misery and guilt. "I killed my mate. I killed the one person who would accept me above all others."
Angel of Death
"You didn't kill her." Elena was surprised at the softness in her own voice. After watching Damon's memories play out in the fire, it had erased all doubt that Damon was a callous killer. A killer, yes, but not callous. "Damon, she wouldn't have survived. And even if she had, she would have been paralysed." She stretched her hand out to touch his bicep, feeling the chill that had taken over his body. Even when he flinched, Elena didn't remove her hand.
"I killed her. I was the one to let her die. I could have let someone else take her…" Damon gave her a sideways glance and shook his head. With a little throw, he fed the small white dish to the disappearing flames.
Elena turned to face him and their bodies were only inches apart. "But she –Rose – would have preferred that you were there in her last moments. She wouldn't have wanted a stranger. Rose would have wanted the one she loved."
A final shudder left Damon's body before he pulled away. Once again his dark eyes were guarded and his face was calm. "I should get you home," was all he said.
"Damon, wait!" Elena called out, her hand stretching out to catch the sleeve of his shirt. "I'll accept you." The words came out in one breathless rush and despite the quickness of them, Elena knew in her heart that she'd done the right thing. "I'll accept you, Damon," she repeated when she saw the disbelieving look on his face. "You're not a monster, and I regret calling you that. But now, after everything you've told me and shown me…I know you can't be a monster."
"But Rose, I killer her-"
"You didn't kill her, Damon," Elena spoke softly and slowly. She moved to be in front of him, her hands coming to rest on his chest. "You didn't kill her, you set her free. You set her free of this world. You set Rose free from the pain she was in. You're not a monster. If anything you're an angel."
Angel of Death
Once Damon had taken Elena home, he'd returned back to the home. Elena's acceptance of him had helped to alleviate his mood slightly, but the grey cloud of Rose's death still hung over him. From past experiences, he knew it would take days for him to get over the emotions that would now plague him.
But now he had to see Lucerna. At the thought, her greying appearance flashed through his mind. He hated himself for it, but he'd forgotten all about her because of Elena. Damon had been too caught up with Elena to even spare a thought about his mother's health. But she had something to say to him, something that she needed to tell him.
And try as he might, Damon couldn't believe that it was good news.
When he entered the living room, Lucerna smiled at him though it was weak. "So you didn't forget about your old mother's request," she joked lightly. She sat up straighter in her seat and pushed the book she was reading to one side.
A pang of guilt at his forgetfulness went through Damon. Abruptly he pushed it to one side. There were more pressing matters to attend to. He took the seat opposite Lucerna and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "You wanted to tell me something?"
Lucerna nodded and moved slowly to a more comfortably position in her chair. When she saw Damon rise to help, she glared at him and told him to sit back down. "You're not going to like what I've got to say. But it's too late now. You can't change anything."
Damon found himself swallowing. Oh fuck, this couldn't be good. Had it anything to do with Lucerna's sudden deterioration?
"Bonnie Bennett, the witch, has finished the spell on the Lapis Lazuli ring." Lucerna watched him carefully for his reaction, her blue eyes focussed solely on his face.
Relief. All Damon felt was relief. If that was all Lucerna had to tell him then it was great. Nothing could go wrong! If he had the ring, he wouldn't be a disappointment to either Elena or his mother. He'd have more control. He could choose who should die instead of innocents. His thoughts froze in his mind. How did Lucerna know about the ring? He hadn't told her anything about it. He'd been careful not to tell her anything in case the spell didn't work and her hopes were dashed. So how did she know?
"How do you know?" Damon's voice was breathless and for some reason he didn't want to know. His hands clenched into fists and he ran one through his hair in frustration. Panic began to well up in his chest. "How do you know?" he repeated, looking Lucerna in her blue eyes.
She licked her lips and glanced away. She looked out of the window, at the growing lightness. "She did the spell just after midnight. Just before you came through the door with Elena. The ring you asked for is complete. The spell worked."
"How do you know?" Damon asked and his voice louder than he intended with his frustration. "Mother, Lucerna, tell me. I have a right to know."
"It was my blood that she used for the spell."
Damon couldn't breathe. Suddenly everything came crashing down around him. He hadn't felt like this since Rose had died. Panic, raw panic and sadness and grief and every other emotion related to them bombarded him. Oh God! If it was her blood that Bonnie had used, then it would mean that Lucerna would die should he kill an innocent. His own mother would die because of his own hand! He swallowed, choking back the sobs that suddenly started to overwhelm him. "Why" he choked out, unable to look Lucerna in the eye. "Why would you do such a thing?"
"You deserve better, Damon," she stated softly, her own eyes filling with tears at the state of her son. "You don't have to be like this, Damon. I know you hate the lack of control, so I'm giving it to you. I'm allowing you to be control. I thought you'd be happy."
Damon's anger suddenly burst forth. "How can I possibly be happy? You're my mother!" he shouted, standing abruptly from the couch. His vision flickered becoming blurred and then clear, blurred and then clear. "I could kill you and I wouldn't even know!" Despite the loudness of his voice, his tone was shaking.
Finally Lucerna's tears spilled over. "Damon, my son, please, you've got to understand. I hate seeing you like this. I hate the way you come in, disorientated and confused."
"And that's enough to sign your own death warrant?" Rapid had gestures graced his words, something he always did when upset. He began to pace in front of the window. Damon's eyes were focussed on the floor, not wishing to see his own mother's tears stained face.
"Yes, Damon. It is. You don't have your own children, but when you do... When you do, you'll do anything to see them happy!"
"Even if it means taking their only parent from them?" he spat the words, not knowing what to do with the overwhelming emotions he was feeling.
"If it means they will be accepted by their mates, then yes! Yes you would!" Lucerna's voice was desperate and out of his eyes corner Damon saw the brilliant blinding light of her wings as they unfolded, the slits in her blouse allowing them freedom. He couldn't help but look at her now.
In amongst all his other panic-stricken emotions, he could do nothing but feel the guilt at seeing her distraught face. "You did this…you did this for Elena?" Damon moved over to Lucerna quickly, pulling her from the chair and pulling her close.
"If it means she'll accept you, then yes. I'd do anything to see you happy." She tucked her face into the crook of Damon's neck. For a few moments they stood in silence, clutching at each other. "I saw you after Rose died. I can't see you like that again, my son. I just can't. It nearly destroyed me."
Damon focused his gaze on the living room clock. The swing of the pendulum. Back and forth, back and forth, helped to soothe his nerves. He clutched her slim body closer, his hands stroking soothingly over the arch of her wings. "What if I have to kill an innocent for Elena? What if her life is in jeopardy and I have to do something drastic like that?"
Lucerna pulled away and her eyes were suddenly fierce. "Then you must do it. You must always pick Elena over me."
Hey up! Angst filled chapter! I'd love to know your thoughts cause I'm generally pretty crap at "angst" scenes. Thank you for all the reviews, I've said this before and I'll say it again; I never expected so many! Also, the Cousins' War is the previous name for the War of the Roses. The civil wars in England were renamed the War of the Roses later on by someone whose name I couldn't find. I think it was Charles…not sure of his title though. If you know, I'd be grateful if you could tell me!
Anyways, thanks for reading, I hope you continue to enjoy the Angel of Death and I'd love to know your thoughts in a review! :D xx