Chapter One: Stefanie Salvatore

Present day

Morelli Manor, outskirts of Mystic Falls, VA

Stef wasn't sure why she was doing this.

Something had been locked up within her, desperate for release, and this was the only way.

She was still drowsy after having woken up in Raid's bed – or, what was now his bed, after having moved into Morelli Manor. Raid claimed it was so he could keep a close eye on his cousin after his transformation into a vampire. Stef suspected it had more to do with the person Gabe kept locked up in the dungeons below. He was the one Raid was really keeping an eye on.

So why was she here now? In the middle of the night, stepping barefoot down the cold concrete steps to the cells below, where one of them was holding Cristian?

She stopped on the last step, shifting her feet around beneath her, wiggling her toes, and realizing something peculiar. It wasn't actually cold. It should be, but she didn't feel it. She didn't feel anything. Not the dry, dusty texture under her feet; not the solid, uneven stone wall beneath her fingertips as she swept her hand along it while descending the stairs; not the weight or sway of her knee-length, white, Victorian-style nightgown. She knew how all of these were meant to feel, but at the moment, her touch felt numb.

Continuing forward towards the cells, Stef stopped at the wide arched doorway and switched on the overhead lights. They flickered, once, twice, then snapped the room into brightness. She faced a two-hundred-square-foot vestibule with three cells against three walls. To the left was Cristian's cell. Dotted along the bars above his cell were the holes to the vervain spray, designed to deter him from breaking out. Stef looked sideways at the light switch still hovering beneath her fingertips. Beside it was the switch to the vervain spray.

It was on.

Stef switched it off.

She stepped into the empty space, facing Cristian's cell. Each of the cells contained the same four basic amenities: bed, wash basin, toilet, and shower. The single iron bed was against the far-left wall, pointing toe-end towards the cell's bars. A wash basin was beside it. Further along, a thin white shower curtain hung from a large oblong ceiling track above the toilet and around a shower head; it was the only privacy a captive was allowed. A rectangular window – too narrow to escape from – was situated high above the head of the bed. Cristian had broken the glass to the window, but it was still divided by three vertical bars.

Right now, Cristian was standing barefoot on the bed, one foot balanced on the headboard for extra height, the front of his body pressed against the stone wall, rumpling his t-shirt. He was facing the window, where he had his right arm outside as far as it would go. With a flick of his elbow, he pitched one of the metal curtain rings upwards and to the right, aiming it over the wall that surrounded Morelli Manor. After a couple of seconds, the sound of metal striking metal could be heard as the curtain ring hit the outside drain and likely disappeared below it. It was the kind of task only a vampire could achieve, and he told nobody why he did it.

"Are you really that bored?" Stef asked him.

Too engrossed in his game, Cristian didn't turn around. He took another curtain ring from the pocket of his sweatpants, returned his arm outside, and whipped it successfully, sending the second curtain ring down the drain. Finally, he turned around and hopped off the bed, facing Stef. "Five out of five tonight," he bragged.

"Gabe is fed up with replacing the curtain rings," she informed him. "Eventually, he'll stop doing it, and you'll be on full display when you take a shower."

Cristian's lips quirked. "Make sure you pay me a visit when that happens. You might discover what you've been missing."

Stef dropped her eyes as she rolled them, shaking her head softly. Then she discovered something in her hand. She didn't remember bringing it down with her.

"Is that for me?" Cristian asked hopefully.

Stef raised the blood bag to inspect it. She should have felt the slosh of the liquid as she rotated it around in her hands, but she didn't. "I... don't know," she admitted, perplexed. "You're supposed to be on blood rations."

"Why else would you have brought it down?" he asked.

Stef raised her eyes and stared at him. He would have been starving. He should have been transitioning into a vampire at the mere sight of blood. How often had she been doing this? Bringing him blood he wasn't allowed to have? She released a breath. She had no answers. "I guess you're right," she shrugged. She stepped forward, reaching Cristian's cell, and held the blood bag between the bars. When she saw Cristian look upwards at the vervain spray nervously, she clarified, "I turned it off."

Cristian wasn't sure he believed her, but he needed that blood bag. Hesitantly, he made his way towards the bars and held out a hand where the spray usually burned him.

She was telling the truth.

He took the blood bag from her, but, before she could withdraw her empty hand, he swiftly reached out and grabbed her hard by the bicep. She struggled against him, cursing him, pushing off the bars to get away, but he refused to let go. The moment she met his eyes imploringly, he had only one question to ask. "Isn't it me who is supposed to be infatuated with you, Stefanie?" He pulled her closer until her body was flush against the bars. "I can feel your body calling out to me. There's a darkness within you that matches my own. You can feel it too."

Stef was furious at the accusation. When he finally loosened his grip, allowing her to get away, she stumbled back a few steps, shaken, breathing heavily from anger and panic. What was she doing? Why was she down here?

Cristian watched her in amusement as he drank from the blood bag, pacing the little floor space he had. As soon as it was finished, he dropped the empty bag to the floor, and stood in the center of the cell, looking out at her. "You want to know whether I can get through those bars once I've had blood, don't you?"

It wasn't something Stef had thought about, but now she was curious. It was like he was putting thoughts in her head. Or his thoughts were becoming her own, she couldn't be sure. "Can you?" she asked skeptically.

He lowered his face and emitted a low chuckle. "No," he admitted, almost with a hint of embarrassment. Then he looked back up at her. "But you can help me... with the right motivation."

"Nothing could ever motivate me enough to let you out," she hissed. "You're evil, Cristian. You made my life hell."

"I wanted nothing but the best for you," he claimed. "It just so happens that I'm the best."

"Egotistical as well as delusional."

Cristian's attention momentarily diverted towards the bars. He stepped towards them, gripping the two closest to him, as his gaze slid up and down the long metal cylinders. "You know, perhaps I could manage this," he mused. "It couldn't possibly be more difficult to part than your legs."

"Perhaps you could slip the bars a date rape drug to make it easier," Stef snarked, remembering Lyle's confession that Cristian once tried to do the same to her.

Cristian was distracted, placing a flat palm on one of the bars and pulling on the other. It didn't budge. Then it registered what Stef had said, and his eyebrows drew together. It seemed like she was the delusional one. "Not exactly my style, Stefanie." His tone was cold, insulted.

"Lyle gave you one at the Back-to-School party when we were still together," she reminded him. "You dropped it into my drink, telling me it was an aspirin."

Cristian's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, that's what you decided that was? A date rape drug?"

Stef crossed her arms. "It wasn't an aspirin."

"No," he admitted sheepishly. "You're right, it wasn't."

Stef's arms dropped. So, he was admitting to spiking her? "Then what was it?"

A wicked smile formed. "Let me out of here and I'll tell you."

Stef scoffed. "You're lying, I knew it."

His smile dropped. His hands released the bars. He wasn't fond of the accusation she was making. It was time to detonate a bombshell. "You weren't the only vampire-witch created from the Trinity spell, Stefanie," he informed her suddenly. When Stef sucked in a breath that she struggled to release, Cristian continued. "Long ago, my father evicted a woman from the Coven, punishing her disobedience by turning her into a vampire. He fed her a human to complete the transition, but she had unfortunately memorized the Trinity spell and then fed on him. He keeps her locked away, trapped by a spell that she can't undo. I've never met her – never been allowed to meet her – but she's apparently a brilliant inventor of spells and other magical gadgets. Lyle acted as a runner between her and the Coven. She's a dangerous woman, and he was the only expendable fool we had."

Stef released her breath. "You got the drug from her?"

"Yes."

"What did it do?"

"Let me out of here and I'll tell you," he repeated.

Stef pinched her lips in determination. She didn't need to know. "No," she said forcefully.

Cristian dropped his head and started to chuckle. The chuckle became louder, turning into a booming laugh. He laughed so hard he dropped his hands to his knees, fighting through the uncontrollable hysterics that threatened to wake the whole house.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Stef snapped, startled by his reaction.

Cristian pushed himself upright from his knees, muffling his laughter by cupping his face, and attempted to compose himself for what he was about to say. He let out a loud sigh. "Oh, Stefanie," he tittered with false sympathy. "You have no idea that you're sleepwalking."

The words shook her. He'd lost it. He'd actually lost it. Had imprisonment done this to him? Stef's eyebrows drew together. "I'm what?" she asked. Her lips almost quirked at how ridiculous that sounded.

His laughter finally died. "You're sleepwalking, Stefanie," he repeated informatively. "Your magic has control over you. I can fix that for you if you'd like."

Stef shook her head. He was talking nonsense. But why did she feel so strange? Why did none of this feel real? Why couldn't she feel the cold? Or the floor? Or her own nightgown? Why was she even down here in a nightgown? Suddenly, it started to make sense, but she didn't want to believe it. She always had control – she had to have control! "No, no, it's not possible," she muttered.

"You refuse to visit me, so your magic is bringing you to me."

She wasn't focusing on him now. Her eyes were on the floor – the floor that she couldn't feel beneath her feet. Even her own body didn't belong to her.

"Go back to bed, Stefanie," Cristian urged, "before you do something you'll regret."

She was trying. She wanted to leave, but she couldn't. Something was keeping her here. He knew what was happening to her. She must have done this before – how many times had she been here? What had she done down here? "What?" she asked with a nervous breath, her eyes still lowered. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know. "What am I going to do that I'll regret?"

A smile formed across Cristian's lips as he sauntered towards the door to his cell, stopping in front of it. "Well, to start with," he began playfully, "you always open this door for me." He extended a finger, giving it a light shove.

The door creaked open, further and further, Cristian's finger lightly pushing and pushing, until there was enough space for him to finally stroll out into the vestibule. He gently closed the door behind him, then turned back to face her. His expression was predatory.

She wanted to run! She couldn't run. Her feet would only move in two directions: forward or backward. She started backing away, her body straining to take control of itself and failing. When her back hit the bars of the cell behind her, she could go no further. She was trapped.

Cristian started walking towards her. "The second thing you do – that I'm sure you regret – is something both you and I want. You can feel how much you want it right now."

Stef pinched her eyes closed. He was right, she could, but she would not give into it. This wasn't her. Her body wasn't her own. The heavy need within her threatened to burst out of control and take her down with it. She began shaking her head, willing it to end, as he stopped in front of her.

He stroked her long brown hair behind her ears, preventing it from hitting her cheeks with every shake of her head. "Tell me what you do every time you come to me in your dreams, Stefanie," he urged gently.

Her face twisted in self-loathing. She didn't want to say it... didn't want to admit it. But the confession left her lips – the lips that weren't her own. Her voice was a mere breath. "I kiss you." She hated the words.

Cristian leaned down, his forehead against hers, his hands now on either side of her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks soothingly. "You kiss me," he confirmed, closing his eyes, his voice low and almost regretful. "And damn it, maybe it's no better than what you thought I was capable of – the one thing I thought I wasn't capable of – but this is your doing, Stefanie. You are hypnotized by your own magic for refusing to see me, and I am at your mercy. I cannot resist you, my beautiful ruin, so I cannot stop you."

He was so close that she felt his breath reach her lips, warm and pained with longing, and it was more alluring than she wanted it to be. "This isn't real," she reminded herself softly.

"This isn't real," he reassured her.

"I hate you," she whispered, her eyes on his lips.

"I know."

The need was overtaking her, melting her. If she gave in, she wouldn't feel it, would she? She couldn't feel anything in this dream. Even his strokes along her face were like an impending thunderstorm: heavy enough to sense, but not dense enough to touch. Like falling, it would happen, and she would wake up. Even if she fell into his blue eyes and drowned there, she wouldn't feel herself dying. It was all a dream. She had to fall to wake up.

Stef launched herself over the edge, wrapping her hands around his neck and plunging her lips onto his.

No!

Cristian hurled his restraint into the abyss, tasting her, touching her, his tongue working expertly across her own, feeding off of her.

I can feel this! Stop!

Stef's body wasn't reacting to her desperate disembodied cries in the distance – it reacted only to him. The disgust she felt, the hatred she felt, it was nothing compared to how good he felt.

I don't want this!

His hands were everywhere. Even when they'd worked their way from her cheeks to her neck, to her waist, to her back – drawing her closer, refusing to give her up – the phantom sensations he left behind were an eruption of uncontrollable pleasure.

WAKE UP!

"Stef?"

It was the sound of Raid's voice that shot her out of bed.

She knew it was over, knew where she was, and yet she still needed to get away. The panic was still real. The memory of it was too strong. She had to hide from it, she needed a place to hide.

Stef threw back the bed covers in Raid's direction, not caring that he was awake and turning towards her to comfort her. She couldn't accept his comfort; she didn't deserve it. Not yet. It was still too raw.

She could cry. She could vomit. What had she done? What had she done? What had she done?

Raid reached for her hand, attempting to keep her in the bed with him, but she shook out of his grip as she slipped off the side of the bed and sunk to the floor. She needed to hide... needed the place she always hid every time this happened – because it had happened before, she remembered that now. The nightmares were getting more and more frequent. More and more real.

Stef slid underneath the bed, lying flat on the floor, staring up at the dark wooden slats until she felt safe enough for tears to finally burst from her eyes.

Raid's voice came soothingly from above her, muffled behind the mattress. "Just breathe, baby," he told her. "Deep breaths. It wasn't real. It was just a dream."

A dream that felt far too real, she realized, an agonizing weight suffocating her chest. She followed his instruction, letting out a slow, controlled breath, releasing that weight into the air above her. Again. And again.

Raid did what he always did when this happened: he let her have her moment to hide from her demons, but he lowered his open hand over the side of the bed. It was there, ready for when she needed to take it.

Raid never asked her to talk about her nightmares – never wanted her to relive it while she was happy during the day – and she never told him. There were so many things that could bring her nightmares, so why this? How could she tell him about this? She could barely live with the shame of it.

Another breath and Stef reached out from beneath the bed and took Raid's hand tightly in her own. This was the touch she needed. The one that made her feel safe again.

But she remained under the bed as she dwelled on Cristian's words within the dream. He was right – she had been refusing to see him. He was under the same roof as her and she avoided him like the plague. She wanted nothing more to do with him, but if this was the only way to get rid of the nightmares, she had to do it.

She had to see him.