Damon-salvatore Gif Novels & Stories

How could this be happening? A deafening growl tore through the battlefield as Damon turned toward on the traitor, his teeth bared, fury radiation from him in waves. The warrior barely had time to react before Damon grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground with terrifying ease. "Who sent you?" Damon snarled, his voice dangerously low. The traitor gasped, his face turning red as he clawed at Damon's grip. "I - I was given an order..." His voice cracked. " I - I didn't have a choice."

He cussed and raised his hands to hit me. I closed my eyes as I waited for the pain but didn't feel any. Instead, the hold on my gaur was released and I heard painful grunts. I opened my eyes to see Damian standing in front of me and Roman groaning painfully on the floor. It seemed like Damian had beaten him to a pulp. "Didn't I ask you to stay still?" I heard Damian say and looked up to see him staring at me. His eyes were filled with anger, worry and..... love??

For a moment, the silence pressed on my chest, and I looked around for a way out of this place. Then I heard him. Alpha Dominic Salvatore, standing by the window, his back to me. The moonlight caught the edges of his frame, broad shoulders, tense posture, veins flexing down his arms. “You should have knelt,” he said, voice sharp as the blade at his hip. “Even the idea of you speaking back the way you did should have gotten you killed.” “Then why didn’t it?” I asked, testing him. “I wouldn’t have minded. I would have been free of all this.”

“I see you’re struggling.” Keiran’s breathing was uneven. His wound was worse than I thought. I tightened my grip on him. Salvatore’s gaze lingered before he turned back to Donovan. “Shall we talk?” Donovan scoffed. “You came with swords, not words.” Salvatore shrugged. “A precaution.” He stepped forward, stopping just before Damien’s corpse. He glanced down at the body. No emotion. Just mild interest. Then he looked at Donovan again. “You killed your own blood.”

“You’ve watched too many k dramas. I’m not ruining my jacket for this.” My frustration snapped. The old man’s words kept ringing in my head. “At least use the jacket as an umbrella!” “For what, so I can catch a cold myself?” His tone was pure disdain. “I’m Damian Salvatore. You can’t let an important person like me fall sick.” “Damian,” I yelled. With a sigh that sounded like I’d just asked him to donate a kidney, he slipped off his jacket and shoved it into my hands. “Fine. But if I catch a cold, it’s on you.”

I smirked when Jake confirmed it for me. "Stop glaring at me!" I heard Jake whining defensively in the background. Yeah, I was right. He is definitely glaring at the guy right now. “Don’t tell me! Is he being over-dramatic again?” I rolled my eyes as I grounded my teeth, feeling a knot of muscle at the back of my jaw flexing. “Just come down here.” Connor uttered as he sighed in exhaustion.

A nervous laugh escaped me—then immediately turned into a groan as I clutched my stomach. Nope. It didn’t help. I was still panicking. Because here was the issue: Damiano wasn’t some random guy you clap back at, then mute on I*******m. No. He was Damiano freaking Valentino. Mafia lord and Salvatore's third in command. Murderous glare. Walking nightmare in an expensive suit. And I… I had just told him off. “Congratulations,” I muttered to myself, dragging my palms down my face until my cheeks squished like a sad pancake. “You’ve officially signed your own death certificate—with glitter pen. Maybe he’ll frame it.”

He was teasing now, but there was an edge to it, a challenge. The memory of that night flashed through my mind. Damien's face when he saw his precious car engulfed in flames, the way the paint bubbled and peeled, the acrid smell of burning rubber and melted plastic. It had been a message, pure and simple. Cross me, and face the consequences. "Well, I must say I didn't expect you to do that," Salvatore added, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. I took another long drag from my cigar, savoring the moment. "I didn't know you liked the show. I should have set up a bigger one to entertain you really well." My reply was casual, but I could see the way his jaw tightened at the implication.

The beats from the music made her remember Damon. She danced harder, screaming again, “Come on! Louder!” She turned too quickly and crashed face-first into a stranger's warm, solid chest. “Shit—sorry!” she gasped, using her hands to balance herself after she hit the stranger. Her waist got caught by strong hands that belonged to a man with big hands and familiar hands. Elena slowly raised her gaze to him. Her heart thudded heavily against her chest. It was him. Damon Voss stood there in the VIP section, looking down at her with dark, burning eyes. His black shirt had the top buttons open, showing smooth, tanned skin and a hint of hard muscle.

the Queen commanded, stepping back with a regal wave of her hand. The executioner reached for the lever. The ropes swayed gently in the breeze, waiting to fulfill their grim purpose. “Wait.” The word rang out, commanding and firm. All heads turned toward the voice. Prince Damien rose from his seat, his expression unreadable as he descended the steps. The Queen’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line as he approached. “What are you doing, Damien?” she demanded. He didn’t answer her. Instead, he stepped between me and the gallows, his tall frame blocking my view of the platform.