Chapter 52 Chapter 52
ELIJAH'S POV
Damon's jaw was tight as I watched him, his lips pressed thin, and his eyes burned with a darkness I had only seen once before—years ago, the night Isabella died in his arms.
“She wasn’t supposed to die, Elijah,” he revealed in a whisper, each word covered in pain. “I promised Isabella. I promised I’d keep her safe. I promised…”
His voice cracked, and he pressed a hand to his forehead, as if trying to hold himself together, as if keeping the past from spilling out.
I swallowed, careful not to say anything, careful not to make him angry, careful not to push him farther down the spiral that had begun the moment her name left my mouth.
“She was… everything to me,” he continued after a long pause, his voice softer, trembling even though he tried to hide it. “Before fated mates, before packs, before war, before everything else, she was mine. Isabella. She smiled at me like I was human. She loved me for me, and I…” He closed his eyes, and I could see it—the memory tearing through him. “…I killed her.”
I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.
And then I remembered.
I remembered that night as if I had been there again, watching from the corner of a world frozen in fear. Damon had locked himself in the study, bolting the doors and telling Isabella to leave. He had begged her to go, to run, to survive, because he had felt it—the beast inside him stirring, the vampire hunger clawing at his mind, the hybrid fury that even he, the only hybrid ever born, could not fully control. He had shouted at her through the door, told her she was safer away from him, that if she stayed, he could kill her.
And she had smiled.
That stubborn, fearless smile. She had found her way inside the study and stepped closer anyway, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face, whispering, “I’m not afraid of you, Damon. I know you won't hurt me.”
And in that moment, everything inside him had torn apart. He had wanted to keep his hands from touching her, to keep his vampire fangs from sinking in, but that blood hunger—sharp, relentless, and insatiable—had fought him.
He had tried to bite himself to resist it. He had struck his own wrist, drawn his own blood, and hissed against the pain to keep from losing control. He had tried to claw at his arms, tried to force the hunger inward, but it would not be tamed. The vampire inside had roared, hungry for her, and the hybrid inside had refused to be contained.
And then it happened.
His fangs had flashed in a moment he would never forgive himself for, and her blood had touched his lips, not by choice, but by the cruel inevitability of his nature. The hybrid’s hunger had surged, and he had been unable to stop it. He had held her, begged himself to stop, and begged her to run as fast as possible, but it was far too late already.
Isabella's warmth had slipped through his fingers. Her pulse had slowed, her soft eyes had widened with pain and disbelief, and he had realized too late that he had done the unthinkable.
He had killed her mistakenly.
She had gasped, hands on his chest, her fingers trembling as she tried to push him away, but he had held her tighter, shaking, trembling, and whispering apologies that would never bring her back.
And she had died in his arms.
He had watched life leave her, had felt the heat of her blood on his hands, had heard the faintest gurgle of her final breath, and he had not been able to do anything.
I could still see the look on his face in my memory—empty, hollow, and haunted. The man who had loved Isabella had died that night along with her. The man who emerged was colder, sharper, and more dangerous than anyone could imagine. Everyone feared him, everyone whispered his name as though it carried death itself, but no one truly knew the terror he carried inside, the memory that would never leave him.
I remembered how he had stayed there for hours after she was gone, rocking her body in his arms, muttering her name, pressing his fingers to his own wounds to remind himself that he had tried to fight, that he had tried to save her, but nothing could erase it.
Nothing could undo it. She had died, and it was his hands that had ended her life.
And that was why he couldn’t forgive anyone—even himself. That was why he had made up his mind about Anna. He saw what strong power could do. He had watched the one person he loved fall because of it, and he would not let it happen again.
“You couldn’t have done anything to save Isabella,” I told him the truth quietly, my voice shaking, but firm. “It wasn’t your fault, Damon. None of it was.”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, his eyes snapped to the table, and with a sudden, violent motion, he grabbed the plates of food and hurled them across the room. They smashed against the wall, shattering into a hundred jagged pieces, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the silence.
I didn’t move or speak. I just stood there, letting him unleash the storm inside him.
Finally, he turned to me, his chest heaving, and his eyes wild. “Don’t ever mention her name again!” he warned, low and dangerous. “Do you understand me?”
“I… I understand.”
I didn't...
“But Anna—” I continued, my voice rising, desperately. “She’s innocent! She doesn’t deserve to die for your sins, Damon! She hasn’t done anything wrong. She’ll be able to control her powers once she gets them back on her twenty-first birthday. You don’t have to kill her to prove a stupid point!”
He laughed, a bitter, harsh sound that made my chest ache. “You’re pathetic, brother.” he mocked, stepping closer, the shadows of the room stretching with him. “I thought the same thing about myself, till I killed Isabella. I thought I could control my powers before I accidentally killed the only girl I ever truly loved.”
“Anna won't end up like Isabella!” I reassured him, trying to meet his gaze, and trying to reach the part of him that still remembered hope, and still remembered what love meant.
Damon suddenly grabbed my shoulders, and slammed me against the wall, the force knocking the breath out of me. “Power makes people go insane, brother,” he growled. “She will be dangerous, and the world will destroy her if she is. That’s why Tribids don’t exist anymore. We wiped them all out. Have you suddenly developed amnesia?"
He was right.
The Tribids had been hunted to extinction. That was why, the night we found out Anna was a Tribid—after she had saved Damon from dying from that Wolfsbane poison—he had wanted to kill her immediately. Not because she had hurt anyone, not because she deserved it, but because power like hers was too dangerous to survive in a world that would never forgive it.
I had tried to stop him before.
I had gone to wipe away her powers, to erase her memories of that night and of being a Tribid. I had tried to protect her because if anyone found out, she would be killed. But now… Damon was ready to finish what he had started.
“I won’t fail,” he said suddenly, confidence hardening his tone. His voice turned ice-cold. “Unlike you, I’ll kill that bitch—and everyone she cares about.”
He turned sharply and walked away, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
He was right.
I had really failed.
I had fallen in love with Anna. I still was, no matter how hard I tried to lie to myself. But Amanda was my duty now. She was my Luna, and in a few days, we would be mated in a mating ceremony. I shouldn’t care what happened to Anna. In fact, I wouldn’t…
But deep down, I knew I would.
And I was just blatantly lying to myself.