Tvd Damon Salvatore Novels & Stories

In my past life, they ruined my reputation for her. In this life, it was her turn to taste what it felt like to be a public laughingstock. At 3 PM, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. "Ava Miller." The familiar, cold voice came through. "You're smart." Damon. "But people who are too smart often die ugly deaths." "You think the U.S. Attorney can protect you?" He laughed coldly. "Naive." "I don't have time to play with you right now," his voice grew more dangerous. "But those wastes of space from the Miller family... I'll deal with them slowly."

“Yes, or no?!” A few of them jolted, Salvatore, included, and he cleared his throat, forcing his gaze back on me. “Yes, Damon, but it doesn’t mean—“ “You fixed a meeting, Salvatore, and how was I the last to know about it, as the head mafia kingpin?” I queried, my tone derisive. “Is that the respect you speak about?” “Well—“ “You should be thankful I even showed up at all,” I interrupted, glaring at him. “Now, let’s get on with the fucking meeting, shall we? I have better things to do than sit here arguing about respect with you lots.”

“I don’t believe anything from a man who watched us bleed and said nothing.” “If you’re so sure I’m lying…” Carter’s eyes flashed, “then kill me. Right now.” Damon stepped forward, lips curled in disgust. “Too easy.” He stared Carter down like he was filth beneath his boots. “If she’s real,” Damon said coldly, “if Tatiana’s really the one pulling your strings, then let her come for you. Let her crawl through the shadows and save you.” He turned, already walking. “Prove it,” he said over his shoulder. “Or rot.”

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 driver’s door opened. A tall, powerful figure stepped out, framed by the headlights like a silhouette carved from shadow and authority. When he spoke, his deep, steady voice carried a mix of urgency and something she had never heard from him before—concern. “Mrs. Salvatore?” Elena’s breath caught in her throat. She blinked hard, barely believing her eyes. Standing before her was Sir Donald Salvatore—Damien’s uncle, the youngest brother of Damien’s late father, and the man who ruled the southern branch of the Salvatore empire with absolute dominance.

And now, here he was, striding toward me with that ever-infuriating smirk, as if he owned the damn place. Damien Salvatore. The quarterback of Bar Harbor High. My rival. And more importantly, the future Alpha of WoodlandHunters, the pack that bordered ours. “Caleb,” he drawls, his voice thick with amusement, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his coat. “I was just in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d drop by. See how you’re preparing for our annual match.”

Heads would roll, and that would include Tiffany's and me. “And Dario?” “He's not here,” Salvatore took a sip from the clear liquid in his tumbler. It was vodka. Had always been his favorite. My brows pulled tight at his words. “Where's he?” “Don't worry. He's close by, just not in this building,” He waved his hand, dismissing the topic. “What's his condition?” I asked, even though I knew he'd be fine, at least for now and while Tiffany was still alive.

Outside, the trees blurred into highway as the car picked up speed. Then, Damian’s phone buzzed again. New Message. Priority Encrypted. Sender: A.R. Subject: NOT OVER. Damian opened it with a single swipe. No media. No frills. Just a line of cold text: He cornered me. I didn’t fold… I preserved what I could. If I fall, you’ll be next. We both know what happens if he consolidates the South. There’s still a way to balance this… Contact Salvatore. Damian read it once.

“ I am the best friend you didn’t confide in . You got hooked on hard drugs, instead of talking to me . I know I'm busy but I always make timen for you .“ “ I didn’t want your image of me to change ,and after what you had been through with Dexter , I didn’t want you to have to worry .” “ That’s unfair and you know it. “ “ Daniel is a good actor … you have to admit it .” I slapped Salvatore’s arm so hard it made my palm tingle “ Ouch that hurt. I might have had people think I was dead but I am alive and I feel pain . " " My palm is tingly ."

“You saved my life today so I owe you one favor. If you ever need me, call me at this number.” Huh? Halsey is utterly confused when he hands her the paper with his name and number on it. Damien Salvez? Who’s that? Why is he acting as if he’s the President of the country? She wonders. Without another word, Damien leaves the pharmacy. Once he’s gone, the pharmacist lets out a sigh of relief. “Who is that guy?” Halsey frowns. “You don’t know?” The pharmacist gasps. “That’s Damien Salvez, son of Giovanni Salvez!”