There were words and deeds stretching back over centuries, languishing between them, and three little ones that could heal them all, but Damon had never been one for words when actions would do, and he thought Stefan should understand everything he wasn't saying by interpreting everything he was doing instead.

The sounds of the Florence streets pursued Damon into the fitful sleep, chasing him from clubs with their pounding music to a salon with strings playing something far more melodious. The press of humanity in the room slipped from a writhing mass of primal sexuality and abandon--an easy hunting ground--to something supposedly more civilized but ( Read more... )

1. How he can subsist on animal blood.
2. Why he loathes what we are.
3. Why he won't accept himself and me.
4. His need to brood. I'd say he read Wuthering Heights too many times, but he was doing it for centuries before ( Read more... )

1. Having met Selene ( Read more... )

The plunge of fangs into Stefan's neck and the rush of blood Damon pulled out of him were meant to teach his self-righteous little brother a lesson, but it was Damon who learned that no matter how far he ran, he'd pulled Stefan in too far to ever get away from him again.

This chaos, this calamity, this garden once was perfect
Give your immortality to me; I'll set you up against the stars

Who shot that arrow in your throat?
Who missed the crimson apple?
And there is discord in the garden tonight

The sea is wine red
This is the death of beauty
The doves have died
The lovers have liedThere should be blood, he thinks ( Read more... )