A/N: Okay so I toned down my urge to throw a monkey wrench and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy. Only ONE chapter left after this. Thank you for being ride or die with this story and especially for reviewing!

"What are you doing here?"

"Surprise!"

I was definitely surprised and instantaneously happy.

Lucy Bennett, the holiday bandit as she was known in most circles, was the relative you could go months and years without seeing, but had a knack for popping up unexpectedly for major get-togethers, entertain you with tales of her misadventures, but leave an hour after arriving with five take home plates. Born in Honolulu, she was the daughter of a naval Ensign Officer and his high school sweetheart who happened to be the great niece of my grandmother. In keeping with the matriarchal Bennett's, Lucy went by her mom's maiden name to the chagrin of her proud father once learning she was a witch.

Staring wide-eye at my cousin, I was overrun with a lot of emotions. Us remaining Bennett's may be few in numbers and spaced across three different continents, there was no denying the warmth of the bond we shared while in each other's presence. Her magic flowed and ebbed as it touched mine, a purely unconscious thing. And before I even knew what happening, we were telling one another what we had gone through just by reading and feeling each other's aura.

Lucy tsked and shook her head while I shrugged sheepishly before receiving another shock.

My gaze dipped to her abdomen. I gasped. My cousin was pregnant, very pregnant.

"Lucy…ohmygod! You're…"

"Yep, finally got knocked up. Not that I was actively trying to, but I wasn't actively trying not to either. I totally blame Voss and his abs for this."

Voss was Lucy's on again off again apparently on again boyfriend of the last seven years. I only had the pleasure of meeting him a handful of times, but he gave Damon and me a beautiful set of dishes as a wedding gift. Voss was human, not a drop of supernatural to be found on him.

Launching forward, I hauled my cousin into the suite where we hugged as tightly as we could, bearing in mind there was a rather large bump in between us. Immediately I felt a tiny kick and pulled back.

"Wow," I was awed. "I can't believe it. You're having a baby."

Lucy smoothed a hand around her distended belly. "It took about five months for me to accept it. I am up there in age; thought my time had come and gone. Cuz, you don't know how ready I am to drop this load. You're being evicted pretty soon, little girl so don't get any more attached," she directed at her swollen womb.

"It's a girl?" my nose was tingling. I could feel the tears coming.

"Sure is," Lucy beamed proudly.

"Have you guys named her yet?"

"We did. Zephaniah Taylor Bennett. Voss is adamant she have his last name. So it's her middle name, no hyphen."

Now it made perfect sense why I had been feeling like I might have been pregnant. Some men experienced sympathy pains when their significant other was with child. Since Lucy and I hailed from the same bloodline, and were occupying the same space geographically speaking…just like the first time I sensed her at the Masquerade Ball, my body had been picking up on her pregnancy signal. Discovering she was expecting, naturally that made me ecstatic, but knowing that I wasn't…disappointment filled me up.

By this time Damon had slipped into a pair of jeans and meandered his way into the living room. If Lucy were surprised to see him, she didn't let it show. More than likely she suspected Damon and I would find our way back to one another eventually. When I had managed to track her down and told her about our divorce, her words of comfort had been:

"Now you can try drinking something besides bourbon for once."

Lucy gifted Damon with pursed lips. "And there he is, Mr. Bite Yo Girl."

Damon guffawed. "Well, if it isn't the eat and run Bennett," his orbs lowered to her midsection. "Judging by your current condition I guess you haven't been running too far these days."

"You know me. I'm not going to let a little thing like a growing fetus slow me down. How you been, bloodsucker?"

Damon approached Lucy and kissed her cheek. They stood eye to eye for a few seconds before Damon stepped back to stand beside me. "Awesome," he replied to her query. "It's good to see you, Luce."

"Likewise, Salvatore."

The perks of coming from a small family were the limited number of opinions you had to hear from relatives about your love life. The human side of my family was easy enough to appease since Damon looked the way he looked, and as far as anyone knew, he treated me well. The Bennett's on the other hand, had been a much tougher crowd to convince. A few cousins and aunts let their distaste be known in curt responses to questions or comments Damon made that he wasn't welcome though they would be hospitable and cordial, but that would be the extent of their acceptance. Lucy, having been entangled with Katherine and a few other problematic vampires never judged Damon for being what he was.

"Come on," I grabbed my cousin by the wrist. "You should get off your feet."

Lucy plopped down on the couch, kicked her sneakers off, and tossed her feet on the table.

"Thirsty? Damon, can you get her something to drink?" I saw him try to look affronted, ignored it in favor of staring unabashed at my cousin's stomach. "How far along are you?"

"I'm due in three weeks."

"Lucy! You shouldn't be traveling. Are you insane?"

She waved my concern off and stifled a yawn a moment later. "Will you calm down? I didn't have to travel far. I literally took a water taxi to get here."

"Wait…you live here in this…town or whatever?"

"Yes," she said, "thank you," Lucy addressed Damon as he handed her a cold glass of water. She took a greedy gulp. "I know we're not supposed to know the location of these summits, but fuck it. I'll tell you where you are…Hawaii. Honolulu to be precise."

Damon and I gaped at one another. I had had my suspicions and now that they were confirmed, I was thinking about five years ago when Damon and I exchanged vows thirty minutes before sunset on a sandy beach in this very state.

"Ah, look at you two still giving one another googly eyes even after all this time. Stop it before I throw up."

"No need to be jealous, Lucy," Damon winked. "I'm perfectly okay if you want to get in on the ogling action."

She flipped him the bird.

"Where's Voss?" I pondered.

"At our humble abode probably repacking my overnight bag while checking his phone every two minutes waiting for me to call him and say 'it's time'. With his tossing and turning because his anxiety is through the roof, and this chick," she pointed at her belly, "using my bladder as her pillow, I'm…so tired of being pregnant, Bonnie!"

We shared a laugh, and as worn-out and frustrated as I could only suspect my cousin to be, she was glowing like the moon. Her skin was perfect, her hair, which had always been enviable, was even thicker and longer now. And her boobs…I spied Damon, even he could help but stare at them.

Lucy attempted to set her empty glass on the table but was having trouble. I took the glass out of her possession and blindly handed it to Damon. He was up and on his feet to put it away.

"You have him trained well," she whispered conspiratorially.

"I heard that," Damon grumbled.

"You were supposed to," Lucy settled against the pillows cushioning her. "So what do you think your odds are of being named praetor?"

"Ugh, can we talk about something else?"

"Nope. I can't say I was all that shocked when you had been named a candidate. I guess I'm…surprised you seem to take this as serious as it is."

Damon was back in a jiffy retaking his seat on the arm of the chair that was positioned caddy corner to the couch. "Considering the type of beings we're dealing with, I couldn't be my usual asshole self. To tell you the truth, I'm just ready for all of this to be over with and behind me."

"Won't be behind you if you're chosen. If you are…where do you think they might send you?"

It was clear this conversation was getting under Damon's skin. As far as he was concerned, he had his escape route mapped out. So talking about his next step should the impossible or unfortunate happen and the Guild chose him…Damon didn't want to relinquish his out for servitude.

"Honestly, Luce, I'm not trying to think about any of this."

"Well you might want to," my cousin muttered quietly and picked at her nails.

My brow arched. "Do you know something?"

Lucy first looked at Damon, angling her head to the side before bringing her dark brown irises to me. "Let's do the math here, peeps. Of all the vampires that could have been chosen…Marcel Gerard who is the king of the quarter in New Orleans, Tristian who is leader of The Strix, Elijah need I say anymore? Why little Damon Salvatore most known for his obsession with a certain Petrova doppelganger?"

Didn't take a genius to figure out what Lucy was suggesting. Her pointed stare in my direction had me inhaling deeply.

"It wouldn't make sense to nominate him during the time he and I weren't together if they're only interested in Damon because of his tie to me," I disputed.

"I agree, cuz, but The Guild is always working a side angle. And it's not you they're interested in so much, but what they think you might have."

I swore the world moved around me as I sat perfectly still. "What they think I might have?"

Lucy nodded. "Yes. The Hermetic Grimoire."

You couldn't call yourself a witch if you didn't know of the Hermetic Grimoire. The Hermetic grimoire, also known as John Dee's grimoire, was rumored to be the most powerful grimoire in existence. See, John Dee was Queen Elizabeth I's occult philosopher. He was an astrologer and worked tirelessly to divine ways to communicate with angels and demons. The passages in that book in the right or even wrong hands could do more than simply bring about the apocalypse it could bring an irrevocable end to supernatural life. Allegedly.

"Why on earth would they think I'd have that grimoire? And how do you know any of this and not tell me?"

Lucy scratched her stomach. "When you're pregnant your brain gets a little flighty sometimes and you forget things. My bad. Needless to say, I know people. My guess on why The Guild would think you'd have John Dee's grimoire is the fact you killed Aja, the body jumping witch."

"That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense because no one else had been able to stop or put a dent in her stride until she came across you."

"It took a coven of witches and three forms of magic to kill her. None of it came via a John Dee spell," I tossed a hand in the air.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

Lucy didn't look convinced.

I rose from the couch and started to pace. Chapters I thought had been closed were being forced back open. I spun to face her. "Even if I had that grimoire it still doesn't explain why they'd make Damon jump through all these hoops if that's what they're after. Why not just nominate me?"

"Here's the thing you need to understand about that grimoire…no one can just take it. It bonds with its owner, combining its power with the life force of the witch or warlock that possesses it. The only thing strong enough to break that bond is the death of the sorcerer. Theoretically, if you had it… even if the Guild asked nicely for it…"

"She wouldn't be able to give it away," Damon chimed in. "If you had it," he was making eye contact with me now, "if they chose me, they know if I asked anything of you, if it were a reasonable request, you'd help. So by proxy they'd have access to the grimoire. Naming you praetor with that grimoire in your possession would make you into another Caesar. The Guild doesn't mind you having power, they only want to limit how much."

The pieces were falling into place faster now. "The break in at my apartment…those hunters…that's probably what they were looking for."

"Someone broke into your spot?" Lucy asked.

"Yeah. Nothing was taken or rather nothing was given the opportunity to be taken because Rebekah's cousin Severina killed them."

Lucy's eyes went round and she was befuddled. "To have the friends you have."

All of this drama over a book I didn't even have. "Welp, Damon looks like you and I will be bursting more bubbles."

He snorted.

Lucy wiggled her toes. "Y'all get room service? I could eat."

As the hours faded, it was like being in college again. People wandered from one open suite to another, playing cards, telling jokes, having debates about long-forgotten skirmishes, remembering the fallen. Lucy split to ease Voss' worries. She promised we'd see her again tonight, but it was doubtful as she kept yawning and partially nodding off, but a kick from Little Zephaniah would have her jerking to alertness.

Rebekah did a drive by party announcement right at dusk. "Cosplay…fourth floor…Madam Wilhelmina has costumes should you need them."

The door slammed as if the wind opened and closed it. I wordlessly asked my boyfriend if he was interested. Damon hefted a shoulder.

"You really want to go?" I said.

"We could stay here and do other things."

No explanation was needed on what those other things might entail.

"The pussy needs a break. Let's go."

So Damon and I found ourselves in Madam Wilhelmina's suite, the largest by far, combing through racks of vinyl, pleather, face masks, capes, and the like. Damon went the simple route. He was Dwight from Sin City, down to the leather duster and red Converse sneakers. Me, I was the original Silk Spectre from the Watchman comics, 40's hair corset, garter, and hosiery.

We toasted to free drinks and ate to the sounds of Bruno Mars. A dozen Batmans rubbed elbows with 50-11 Jokers (the Heath Ledger version). Disney princesses going through a Goth or emo phase danced with the principle characters from The Matrix. Leonidas of the mighty 300 walked by my line of sight and I was not unappreciative of the view. Impressive pecks, abs, oiled muscular thighs on full display, he was very hard to ignore. He smirked at me or my tits, hard to tell in the dimly lit room.

Wherever he may have been going he rerouted and was headed for me. I wiggled in my thigh high boots while my Damon-radar worked overtime to pinpoint his exact location. He was near, in a corner sipping beer which he hated as he talked to some redhead.

The Leonidas impersonator stood in front of me, straight white teeth winking in a smile that could turn any strong pair of bones into rubble. He stretched out a hand.

"Silk Spectre…I know your face."

I don't know how it was possible, but the subdued lighting accentuated the blue undertones of his beige skin. He was an immortal, an old one, too. His accent, Spanish in origin made every single word he spoke seem like he was revealing a mystery about the world and underneath that about himself.

Or maybe this was just some strong ass wine? "You know my face?"

"Yes, I remember you from the last gathering. You performed."

"I did."

"Trenton Gautier, pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

I accepted his outstretch hand, his palm warm, slightly callused. "Bonnie—,"

"—Salvatore," that was Stefan who slung an arm over my shoulder. I gave him a sidelong glower whereas Trenton blinked.

I nudged Stefan, which did very little. If I seriously wanted him to move I'd have to add some power to it.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Bonnie Salvatore. Perhaps we'll run into one another again."

"I wouldn't hold my breath on that," Stefan asserted then he shooed Trenton away who made no move to leave, a pure act of defiance.

"Stefan, don't be an asshole," I unwrapped his arm from my shoulders and put a gap of space between us. I stared at Trenton apologetically. "Don't mind him. He's not my husband…"

"I'm her husband's brother."

Trenton smiled slow and easy catching on to this clear display of territorialism. My former bro-in-law would be on his back, legs in the air like a dead bug once I was finished with him. The nerve.

"Again, nice to meet you," Trenton ambled away.

I whirled around, grabbed Stefan by the lapels of his shirt, and I saw the get up he was wearing which was what you'd find him in on any day of the week. Henley shirt, jeans, boots, all he did was plop a curly blond wig on his head.

"Who are you supposed to be? Justin Timberlake circa 1999?"

"No, Klaus Mikaelson."

My mouth opened but no sound followed. "Please tell me you and Caroline aren't gonna bump uglies while you have that ridiculous lacefront on?"

Stefan's nose wrinkled. "We might get kinky every once and again, but me fucking my girl while dressed like her former stalker would be crossing a line no amount of therapy would fix, Bon. Eww."

Spontaneously my arm shot out, hand striking Stefan dead center in the chest that made him jump and rub the spot that hopefully stung painfully. He winced.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You know what it was for. I didn't need you to come over here and cockblock. Nothing was going to happen."

Stefan drunk greedily from the red cup in his hand, throat working. "I was looking out for my brother's interest. You were practically fluttering your eyelashes at that douche."

"So what? I'm no longer allowed to appreciate a nice looking gentleman simply because Damon Salvatore is my second self? Did you say anything to him about the chicks that have been in his face since we got here?" Stefan said not a peep. "Don't be a chauvinist prick," I warned.

"I didn't need to say anything to Damon because my fiancée was already on top of it," Stefan moved closer, those notorious horizontal lines made their debut on his forehead. "In case you haven't noticed, you and Damon are the buzz of nearly every conversation I've overheard since being here. People will stop at nothing to orbit in the circle of those they believe will come into power."

"Nothing's been decided yet."

"That's very true, but the thought of getting into the good graces of someone who can bequeath them something…it's a high many like to chase, and they're getting an early start. Like I said, Bon, I'm merely protecting the most important person in my brother's life."

Okay, so Stefan melted the ice that was forming along my last good nerve. Still, he made an assumption with no proof that Trenton was after something besides the opportunity to hook up, and I would have declined. After blushing because hey, a woman liked to know she still had it.

"What about you?" it was Stefan's turn to go on the hot seat. "You're important to Damon as well. You're blood."

He smirked then. "Oh, I've been getting lots of offers. I've been offered everything from blow and hand jobs to piles of cash. Exploitation isn't my thing, and eventually they'll see they're wasting their time. In the interim, why not enjoy some perks like this bomb ass bourbon. Someone very generously gave me a case of it."

My lips twisted. "Did you really just say 'bomb ass'?"

Stefan's grayish-green orbs sparkled. "You'll be saying the same thing. Here. Have a taste."

I took a light sip. Stefan was right. It was bomb. "You know, I never got around to asking if you want Damon to become praetor."

Finishing off his drink, the younger Salvatore sighed wearily. "Truthfully, I don't want this for him. And it's not because I don't think he couldn't handle it. I think it would change him and not for the better. If he's named, I'll have his back, but I don't want to lose my brother to the bullshit that comes with being high up on the supernatural hierarchy."

The both of us found the man of the hour doing his rendition of dancing. Women surrounded him; those bold enough to touch, did, but drew back their hands after receiving a nice zap. Damon found me instantly, knowing smirk curving his edible lips. He crooked his finger. I don't think so. To that I shook my head and crooked my forefinger summoning him.

For once there wasn't a battle of wills. Damon left his coquetting fangirls who pouted and/or drunkenly shouted obscenities that he had the gall to not to take advantage of their carnal platter. At some point Damon lost the leather duster. He prowled toward me in a tight white T-shirt and black jeans. Stefan excused himself and I was ashamed to admit I had quickly forgotten he had been standing next to me. Damon's arms wove their way around my waist, he lifted me. His mouth found the crest of my right breast and he laid a possessive kiss on it.

"Having fun?" I threaded my fingers through his hair.

"Not really," the leer Damon was sporting said otherwise. "I heard Stefan being his usual Papa Bear self."

"Yeah, a real Snuggles, that one."

Damon chuckled. "I think he and Caroline are overdoing it on the protective bit, but I can't fault them for it either. You want to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because anytime you walk through a garden you have the potential of being bitten by a snake. We're in a garden, Bonnie. How are your ankles?"

"My ankles are just fine. What about yours?"

"Rebekah's been giving me dirty looks."

"She typically does." Pause. "You think she suspects," I lowered my voice, "you think she suspects what we were talking about earlier?"

My bestie had a very ornamental way of telling when someone was lying. Damon hunched a shoulder.

"If she suspects she won't be getting anything out of me," he vowed.

I certainly abhorred the idea of keeping her in the dark about the mobilization of a group of vampires working to sever the sire lines. There was a definite conflict of interest at play here.

Damon distracted me by grabbing a handful of ass. "Enough talk about what we're not supposed to be talking about."

We weren't given the opportunity to pop the tab on a new line of conversation. Another candidate swooped in, pulling Damon away to introduce him to some people. Damon tried to get me to tag along but I wasn't in the mood. With my other friends hemmed up with their sweethearts, now was as good a time as any to check out the rest of Madam Wilhelmina's suite.

Several rooms branched off from the living room. In one, a poetry slam was taking place, smoke created a filmy haze that I knew I'd catch a contact if I stepped inside. Across from that scene, men in tunics were giving out massages like candy at Halloween. I made a mental note to stop by before leaving. Next to that room, the movie American Werewolf in Paris played on a projection screen. A pair of tawny golden eyes looked at me over the back of one of the reclining chairs. The she-wolf smiled, I reciprocated and kept it moving.

Coming to the last room, the door was ajar. The smell hit me before the sounds flooded my ears. A lot of somebodies was getting busy. Being of the nosy sort I couldn't abort until a piece of my curiosity was cured. Tip-toeing closer, I nudged the door wider, surveyed the number of couples going at it. Glutes flexing, veiny shafts disappearing into mouths, fingers being inserted into sopping wet twats.

"Wanna go in?"

A very undignified squeak sounded from my larynx. A large hand cupped my hip. Hot breath blew across the shell of my ear and cheek. I clenched my thighs together but it wasn't enough pressure to stave off the hardening of my clit. The sight in front of me aroused me. The feeling of my boyfriend rubbing his burgeoning erection between my ass was nearly my undoing. But I held it together, eased away from the spectacle.

"No, but I do want you to make me come."

Damon and I snuck out like a pair of giggling teenagers. The sex was fast but no less passionate or desperate for that matter. I'd have a trail of fingerprints by morning and—unfairly—the scratches on Damon's back would heal before we'd be done.

His hips pumped, the bulbous head of his dick hit my spot. Repeatedly. Our hands and mouths were connected, and I reached the hilltop screaming out my orgasm like Mariah singing a high note. Damon slid wet and hard out of me on a strangled groan that reverberated to my fluttering channel, and I came again and kept coming even as spurt after spurt of his cum splashed my thighs and stomach.

The room spun even with me lying down, but a drowsy smile stretched my lips. Damon kissed me and spooned me from behind. Eyes closed and I went to be with my other lover: sleep.

I don't know how long I slept, but I woke up with a start because there was an uninvited guest in our room.

Her name was Amelia Salander and she was a self-proclaimed nymphomaniac. She abhorred the term sex-addict because to her an addict was made not born, and to hear her tell it, she had been born to relish sex and its extreme trappings with lots of voracious lovers who couldn't get enough, either. She owned who she was unapologetically, the rest of the world and its puritanical ideology could piss off. But Amelia was also a devout intelligencer who was paid handsomely for the knowledge she obtained by unscrupulous means.

I had met her years ago at a mixer at Whitmore. She had spent most of the night hitting on anything that moved, had tried her hand with Damon with no success. I had been inclined to beat her to a bloody pulp, but then she said something that made me laugh and I spent the rest of the evening talking to her.

Damon and I clamored to make ourselves decent, fighting for the sheet to cover our nudity. He growled, I scowled and both of us shouted for her to get out.

Amelia held up her hands inching her way out of the room. "I would apologize for popping in on the two of you like this, but you know me," she shrugged. "I'll be in the living room."

I glared at Damon, "What is she doing here?"

"How the hell should I know?" he replied gruffly, rubbing his eye. "I've been on your titty all night."

"Well go see what she wants…after you dress and strap on a chastity belt."

Damon chuckled and sloppily kissed my forehead. "Knowing Amelia she probably has a message for you. She sometimes works for the Witch Elder's squire."

"And you know this how?"

"I'm on the inside, baby," Damon tweaked my nose and flashed into the bathroom.

Sitting on the bed, I blew out a breath, grabbed Damon's T-shirt off the floor, tossed it on, and made the trek to the living room.

Amelia sat on the sofa as innocent as a bug, legs crossed with a telling smirk. To run down a list of her attributes to give you a general sense of what she looked like, she's Afro-Indonesian with curly raven hair, charcoal black eyes, clear dark brown skin, Pocahontas shaped lips, and a body like a violin. Supernaturally speaking, I didn't know what Amelia was. She wasn't vampire, werewolf, elf, fairy, or witch, but perhaps she was a cousin to one of the aforementioned species. I just knew for sure that she wasn't a hundred percent human.

"As good as it is to see you, Mel," I addressed her by her nickname, "you couldn't wait until a more appropriate hour?" The sun was still slumbering. Like I should have been. "What's going on?"

"Damon needs to hear this as well since it does concern him, too."

Damon was beside me on the couch before I had the chance to yell his name.

Amelia brightened at his arrival, ogling what parts of him that weren't shrouded in clothing.

"Amelia?" I nearly snapped my fingers.

She shot her gaze to me, cleared her throat. "Right. I'm here at this ungodly hour as I am the valet for the candidates, and it's my job to lead the hopefuls to the assembly place. I have a sash for you to wear, Damon."

"Oh, fancy," he mocked and got a cutting look from Amelia in response.

"The summit will be starting in an hour," she revealed.

"An hour?!" Damon and I cried in unison.

"I was told it wouldn't be until tomorrow or rather later on today," I argued.

Amelia stared at us patiently. "The last two candidates are finally here. The Elders are ready to get this show on the road. Too many feuding covens, packs, and nests are under this roof, and this place will implode especially if the alcohol runs out, which its already getting to dangerously low levels. They want to make the announcement as soon as possible so the new praetors can secure their territories."

With that, Amelia laid a black, satin sash across the coffee table. It was laden with three different medals that I had no idea what they symbolized. But one was gold, another silver, the final one bronze. I knew that much.

Our valet rose to her feet. "Like I said, I'll be back within the hour to escort you. Don't tarry."

Amelia left. Damon hadn't stopped staring at the sash and I stifled a yawn. My eyeballs were consistent with sandpaper, and the tangy taste of rum had yet to vacate the back of my throat. Despite that, I shifted toward Damon who was busy musing judging by the divot between his brows.

"No matter what," he said suddenly, "it's you and me 'til the very end."

"The very end," I parroted. "We better start getting ready."

I hoped a shower would wake me up or coax the anxiety out of my bones—didn't.

Our hour was up. Go time. Damon wet his throat with bourbon. The dusting of whiskers around his sculpted jaw had been shaped by the edge of a cutthroat blade. There wasn't a speck of lint to be found on his tuxedo, and his often chaotic black locks were tamed.

"Ready, naughty girl?" he sat the empty glass aside and popped a mint in his mouth. His stare turned lecherous once he got a good look at my attire.

My dress, if it could be constituted as such, left the whole of my back and stomach exposed in a reversible bolero-like top that covered my arms and breasts only. The skirt molded to my hips and ass and ended in a two foot train. My hair was up and off my shoulders and I was very liberal with the eyeliner and lipstick. Dark colors to offset the white of my gown.

Damon approached, circled around me. His knuckles brushed down my spine and I writhed at his touch.

"Beautiful," he said.

"Thank you. You clean up nice." In fact it was taking everything in me not to throw Damon on the bed and ravish him.

He was talking. I told my hormones to shut up and listen.

The knock on the door signaled it was too late for me to ask Damon to repeat what he said. He was letting Amelia inside who wore a dress so sheer she shouldn't have bothered, but it was gorgeous and mouth-watering and I was proud of my boyfriend's ability to keep his eyes above her neck.

Amelia picked up the sash still laid out on the coffee table and draped it over Damon's torso. In just that instant he went from GQ to princely and I definitely felt that shit in my womb. My clit jumped. Amelia shivered through she tried to play it off. I made it no such secret that I found Damon obscenely attractive.

"Ready?" Amelia asked.

Damon tugged at his jacket sleeve, "As ready as a pig being carted to the slaughter house."

We left the suite, took the grand staircase to the main floor where the rest of the candidates were waiting.

From there we were led through a series of halls, the walls lined with tapestries of past and current praetors. Their steely gazes were as far from comforting then if you used a brick for a pillow. Another staircase and a tunnel later and we were finally in the literal arena.

The setting was perfect for the coronation of a king and queen. The antechamber at this citadel was more like a coliseum. High stone walls separated the grounds from the stadium seating. Stone tripods with roaring fires lit a path from the double wooden doors to the far end of the chamber. Two stone throne chairs sat on top of a pyramid of stairs that was lined with royal blue carpet with a gold fleur de lis pattern. There was no ceiling to speak of apart from the late night, early morning sky. Seven, daises had been set up in arc formation, one for each candidate to stand on.

Amelia turned to Damon and I, "You may bid each other goodbye. Once you're done, Bonnie I'll show you to your seat and Damon you'll take your place at the dais at the far right."

Damon and I faced one another.

I knew what each of his expressions meant but the one he wore I couldn't discern. He didn't make me empty promises, didn't even crack a joke. Damon clasped my hands between his and kissed both of my cheeks before slanting his mouth over mine. Our lips separated with a resounding smack and I waited as he spoke into my ear:

"Voglio essere di nuovo tuo marito. Sposami."

"What?" I really needed to invest in the Rosetta stone, something.

Damon squeezed my hand, turned, and headed to his designated platform. I stood there like a fool and only spurred into action when Amelia tugged on my wrist effectively capturing my attention. She was grinning mildly and led the way to another staircase. I was shown to the section where Damon's entourage for lack of a better word, were already there, the usual deviants: Stefan, Caroline, Rebekah and her beau Vincent whom my friend reintroduced me to. Lucy was there munching on…ribs. She licked barbeque sauce off her thumb.

"Eating helps calm my nerves," she said defensively.

There was another surprise waiting. My eyes grew bigger at seeing Virgil Hawthorne and his daughter Regina, the young witch I tried to help teach to control her powers. I had no idea they kept in touch with Damon or Damon had kept in touch with them. Nevertheless, a delicate spot suspiciously close to my heart warmed that they were here in support. My boyfriend was lots of things, being personable wasn't one of them. Damon, to some, was like lemon being rubbed into a festering wound. So anytime he made a friend and they stuck around, it proved he wasn't totally hopeless.

Regina pounced once seeing me and began a very animated conversation, hand gestures and all as she caught me up on the year and some change of events of her life I missed.

She was shushed by her father a moment later who apologized for her enthusiasm. I told him not to worry about it. Regina's giddiness was a welcomed distraction.

It wasn't a distraction that lasted very long, unfortunately.

Atmosphere wise, things were beginning to feel like we were in the middle of a Stanley Kubrick film. Dark and suspenseful and rife with the psychosexual. The same six piano notes were being played by an unseen pianist, delivered with calculated and haunting measure.

The Magister was suddenly in the middle of the courtyard. There was no pomp and circumstance to announce his arrival. His abrupt appearance sparked rumbles in the crowd. This couldn't be good. Something was up, but we all politely clapped anyways.

Then I remembered. Dr. Gao.

I wondered if he would be publically executed or if he was still being interrogated. I imagined it would be the latter and Dr. Gao didn't seem the type to easily roll over on his cohorts, and he would probably want to die before snitching. Plus, if he were a frequent user of vervain, it would take three days for it to leave his system. Therefore, compulsion would be useless. A witch could take a tour of his mind, peel back any blocks he built up through rigorous practice, but all she'd get were pictures, no words or sounds to go with the corresponding action. Graver still, Damon hadn't had the chance to make the hematologist's captors a better offer.

My musings were cut short when a trumpet blew.

The Magister made a steeple of his heavily ringed fingers and bowed respectfully toward the Elders that were veiled and lingering in the shadows. Standing erect once more, The Magister cleared his throat, his tenor voice strong and carried on the wind.

"Welcome brothers and sisters of the Fraternitas et supernum. I'm happy you could join us for this momentous occasion. Last we met, it was announced that there are two regions in need of stewardship, and a list of seven potential, worthy candidates was compiled and those names announced. After months of consideration, a judgement has been rendered.

"Some questioned if praetors were even necessary, if this summit was necessary as most of our kind abhor any form of solidarity, and shun uniformity. Look around and you see but a small portion of our community, but we are stronger when we stand together. The excellence that stands in this very place…could rock foundations," the Magister pivoted around, his long crimson robes billowing out.

"So to answer the grievance…yes choosing praetors to assist in keeping order among our ranks is important to our longevity. We will not break with tradition because some may feel it is archaic. We do not bind anyone to attend, but when you are called to serve, you do so with honor, integrity, with passion, with heart, and with your life.

-Oh boy.

"With diplomacy out of the way, let us proceed. We do not want to keep you long."

The Magister launched into his spelling out what a praetor is, does, and the honor it brought in being selected. He laid down the ground rules, and reminded us that if we opposed the choice to pretty much kept our saltiness to ourselves. The only other opinion that mattered was those of the currently ruling praetors.

Only two were still living from the very first set of praetors. Gaius and Aya. Little was known about Gaius apart from his brutality. Aya was one of the first vampires Elijah Mikaelson created. They stood stoic a few feet behind the Magister wearing old school chainmail with the other five praetors who could make it.

The Magister snapped his fingers. Two young boys brought out a large, leather scabbard that they presented to him. He pulled out the longest and most badass sword I had ever seen.

"Read the name on the first scroll," the Magister said to Dianatha the gorgon, and his personal guardian.

I held my breath. Caroline grabbed one hand whereas Regina grabbed the other.

"Are you nervous, Miss Bonnie?" she asked me.

"Yes," I saw no good reason to lie.

"The first we call to serve is…Takashi Mikimoto."

I had no idea who Takashi was as a person, but knew him supernaturally as a kitsune. I clapped and felt my heart slow down a smidgen and then two seconds later it torpedoed again.

"Do you find fault with him?" the Magister wasn't forming the question to us common folk, but to those who held political sway.

"We do not find fault with him," Gaius, Aya, and the other praetors gave their glowing endorsement.

"Congratulations, my son," The Magister strolled to Takashi told him to kneel. He did. The Magister knighted his shoulders. A gold crown of laurel leaves was wedged on his head; a scepter gently placed in his hand. On bended knee he swore the praetor's oath and once finished, bowed to the cheering crowd and smiled a little, revealing dimples.

Ah, dimples.

The Magister directed Takashi to the throne chair waiting on top of the pyramid. Drums played as the kitsune strolled up the fleur de lis carpet, and sat down.

Once the cacophony died down, the Magister paced away from the six remaining candidates. "Read the last and final name for praetorship."

The silence that followed rung in my ears. I tried to throw out subtle cues for Damon to look up at me. He did. Craning his neck just so, his jewel-blue eyes locked on mine.

"Love you," I mouthed. He winked and returned to gazing forward.

"The last we call to serve is…," another dramatic pause, this one excruciatingly longer than the first.

Dianatha unfurled the scroll; a beat passed, then, "There's no name written."

There was a literal, collective gasp from the audience.

The Magister whirled toward her, shocked or as shocked as he could appear. "What?" he flashed the scroll to his hand and stared at the parchment.

Murmurs began, growing louder and gaining momentum. Stefan, Caroline, and I traded dubious looks as if the stock market just crashed. The Magister crooked two fingers and the praetors moved to confer with him.

"What is going on?" Caroline posed the question of the hour.

Dianatha would be the one to provide the answer. "There is no name because I challenge the one who was picked."

Plot twist.

The Magister stepped out of the circle the praetors formed around him. "Dianatha…what are you doing?"

She widened her stance; her hand dropped to the hilt of her sword I just noticed was belted around at her hip. "I am gorgon born and I have served you for five centuries but I am no servant. I am more than capable of being a praetor than these who were chosen for frivolity. You picked that one," she pointed at Derek Hale, "because he has ties to a true alpha. Her," Marie Leveau was next, "because she possesses one of the largest collections of dark objects, and him," Dianatha tipped her chin to Damon, "he is the lover of a Bennett witch."

Lucy gave me an "I told you so" look.

"They each are connected to or has access to something the Guild wants." Dianatha was spilling all the tea.

The Magister looked like he wanted to take a switch to her. He thrust his robes aside, "Be that as it may, you cannot do this. You cannot circumvent this process!"

"Actually she can," Aya repudiated. "Amendment 20:18 of our rubric states that one can challenge a praetor if one is backed by the president. And since I am the president, I will allow this," she addressed Dianatha. "Call out the one you seek to challenge, the one who was chosen for praetorship."

Please don't say it.

The disbelief of the audience was deafening. A frenetic energy began charging the multitude. At the end of the day, no matter how sophisticated the supernatural likened ourselves to be, underneath and buried or perhaps just along the surface was savagery, and the love of seeing something beautiful being cut down and destroyed.

"I challenge…Marie Leveau."

I nearly busted a blood vessel I was so fucking happy it wasn't Damon! Stefan shouted, Rebekah muttered "Bloody hell". I think I did the running man in my seat. Marie's people were out of their seats, shouting which sparked a whole lot of contention.

The Magister dismissed the other candidates. As far as I was concerned the night was over for me. I was ready to go home.

Damon zoomed to our area and then leapt the necessary height into the air and landed right in front of me on the balls of his feet. He yanked me out of the chair.

That cute, boyish crescent line appeared at the corner of his lips. "Do you have an answer for me?"

I stared at him questionably. "I don't even know what you asked me."

The cacophony of women fighting, one with the sword, the other with spells clashed in the background.

Damon glanced over his shoulder a moment prior to bringing his hauntingly beautiful orbs back to me. "We don't need to stick around and watch this."

"No we don't."

It was over. It was decided. We were free from a possible lifetime of disaster. Time to celebrate! But first…

"What the hell did you ask me, Damon?"

Chapter end.

A/N: Soooo? A lot happened, new information or rather some gaps were filled. I warred on whether Damon should become praetor but that would lead to a can of worms I want to keep closed for now. Bonnie is not pregnant, and what did Damon ask her? My goal is to have the final chapter up by Saturday, so do me a solid, review, review, review! Thanks for reading.