Damon Salvatore Outfit Novels & Stories

“He’s arrogant, he’s deeply loyal to my father’s political ambitions, and he possesses the subtlety of a battering ram. We need to give him the full performance tonight or the last week of training was an absolute waste of my time.” “Fine,” I grumble, sliding my legs out of the bed and testing my weight on the floorboards. My limbs are stiff, but the green salve seems to have done its job. “But I look like a swamp creature. I’ve got dried mud in my hair and Ravenna’s boot print is probably still stamped into my shirt.” “Fix your face in the washroom,” Damon orders, his hands rummaging through the lower drawers of the wardrobe before he pulls out a dress made of shimmering black fabric. He to

His aura, his dark eyes, his imposing stance. This man must be Dante Salvatore. Tall, perfectly dressed in a black suit that probably cost enough to feed all the children in the north. Dark hair styled back from his face, a carefully groomed beard - mustache and goatee that gave him the look of an old-world prince turned devil. The thin scar running from his ear to his chin cut through the edge of the beard, making him look even more dangerous. The drunk man—Mr. Armani—raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't know, Salvatore. I swear, I didn't know she was yours—"

I muttered, opening the door wider and letting him step in. Damon sighed, standing in the centre of the room and not walking further. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw, his head tilting slightly, and his face blank. I wondered what he was thinking. My gaze wandered from his slicked-back hair to his outfit. Damon was dressed up for the event. He was wearing a fitted black compression shirt, a lightweight leather harness strapped across his chest, holding three throwing knives. Although there was space for more. His black leather pants hugged his frame and accentuated long, strong legs that went on forever. He wore fingerless gloves, worn at the knuckles, and heavy boots that could squash small

The next was a deep burgundy coat and each time Javier touched hems and buttons, Damon simply looked at me. He didn’t utter a word, not even through the mind link but his eyes said everything. I caught myself staring back, reading him. I saw longing, and something dangerously close to possession. Oh dear. Goddess help me! My face heated up. I turned quickly to the mirror. “This is ridiculous, I don’t need so many clothes. You can just pick the best and sell the rest.” Damon tilted his head, he looked so soft and relaxed. “Alright. We will just pick a few everyday outfits as well then.”

The morning light streaming through the windows finds me already awake, staring at the ceiling as my mind churns with plans for tonight. Today we return to Silver Crest. Today I face the monsters who destroyed my life. A soft knock at my door makes my pulse quicken. "Come in." Damon enters carrying a garment bag and wearing a smile that makes my breath catch. He's dressed in a black suit that fits him like it was crafted by angels, his dark hair perfectly styled, but it's the heat in his gray eyes that makes my stomach flip.

Thud. The door to my room didn't just open, it hit the wall with a violence that made me jump. I shoved the photo under my pillow and spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs. Damon stood in the doorway. He wasn't wearing his formal Alpha attire from the night before. He was in a tight, black tactical shirt that hugged every muscle of his chest and arms, paired with heavy cargo pants and combat boots. His expression was a mask of cold indifference, worlds away from the predatory heat of our encounter in the dining hall.

He had ordered his men to get ready, and soon they would be on their way there, he could not afford any delay, for all he knew she might want to be on the run. Taking his time to get ready, he wanted to look very much appeasing, just in case he bumped into her. Deciding to go for a less professional but more than casual look, aloha Damon settled for a white shirt and a blue suit of pants. Letting loose the shirt instead of tucking in and rolling the sleeve just about enough, he nodded in approval at his reflection in the giant mirror. Going with silver jewelry, he slipped some ringers onto his fingers and clasped a gold chain around his neck, he knew he was ready.

“Damn. Remind me again why I let you out of the house looking like that?” I smirked. “Because you love showing me off.” He came over and adjusted the gold necklace he had bought me the day before, then placed his hands on my waist. “Yes, but you make it so hard to stay professional. That outfit is straight-up torture.” “You're one to talk,” I shot back, looking him over. Damien had opted for a deep charcoal-grey suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. The jacket clung to his broad shoulders like it was tailored just for him— and

It was obvious it was customized. Ten minutes later, my eyes watered as I stared at myself in the mirror. I stepped out to see Damon wearing a matching blue suit with black pants and shoes, sitting on the arm of the chair with his legs crossed. He dark had glasses on but it was obvious he was eating at me with his eyes.

My eyes were so red and bulgy. I looked into the paper bags and saw a black outfit. I checked the others ones and there were black shoes and accessories. They all looked like limited-edition products. Damon must have put them there. I didn't say anything and just dressed up. I topped it all with a net round cap. I looked at myself in the mirror. Looking so gorgeous, I began to rage towards myself. I removed the hat and made an attempt to take everything off, the Damon walked in. "Sarah, don't." He pleaded as he came over and held me by the shoulder.