The Salvatore Saga. Volume one

1.

I don't really know why I decided to write a story about my experiences. Maybe it's because I've learned to share at least something.

I'm a 156 cm tall, slender, slim woman with her curves in place if I've been taking care of my eating; I mean, I've been eating enough. I have dark blue eyes, blueberry blue, quite big too. My hair is usually dark blood red, goes down to my ass, and is curly, either in bigger curls or slightly smaller curls, depending on how my lovely husband decides, but sometimes my hair has been in all different colors, different lengths. I'm not a classic beauty like Mariella, for example; she's like Vivien Leigh, or like Mimosa, she's something between Kim Basinger and Coldie Hawn, Shadow is like Sandra Bullock and Britney Spears.

Me, I don't resemble any celebrity. My expression is always a bit wild, my feline features are there, and my experiences are also visible on my face. Even without make-up, I could look like a 14-year-old. I'm very young-looking, ordinary maybe.

But I'm not putting everything in this story; I'm not telling everything because it's better that some things stay in the past, in the shadows, and stay there. Because I know that my pack, and especially Damon, will read this over and over again. Looking for everything they don't yet know about me.

My life has been busy. I can tell you that there are quiet times, times when normal everyday life was all that happened, but I'm not normal, and my life has never been anything like what people perceive as normal, but it is my everyday life. It's kind of crazy that I've been married to Damon Salvatore for hundreds of years.

But what we've spent time alone together, living together, that's another thing. But maybe this is our way of life. Damon and Mariella have been together for years, decades. Damon doesn't want to take a vacation from Mariella like he does from me, but I'm not Mariella. I'm a strong, independent alpha bitch. I'm too used to my ways. I want my own time. I don't worship Damon like Mariella. We don't have the kind of connection those two have.

I haven't even worked out how old I am. I'm not the same person anymore, the same creature that was thrown into this life and had to change. Whose whole life, whose whole existence changed just because of my genes. Damon has taught me, or tried to teach me, that it's no use wondering What if?

But because love is truly the most powerful force of all, and that's how I've endured. Me and Damon have persevered, even though so many times I swore and believed that we were no more. It's good that Damon is a creature over a thousand years old. He's patient, and he can teach. He can still want me. He doesn't want to let go of me. Maybe it's part of being a vampire first and a shifter second. He's a possessive, strong creature. I even gave up on us not just once but several times, but then Damon has almost always taught me that he refused to let go of me in the end.

He continued to believe in hope and taught me that we are. We had times when we weren't; we were divorced, but those times taught and changed us all, including me. I just have to accept the fact that I will never be free of him. And I don't want to get rid of him anymore. I have learned about us. I always want to be with Damon. I want to be his.

This is my choice, my life, no matter what happens to me, even if I'm with other men. Because Damon is also with other people, it took me a long time to learn that I was no longer human, and I held on tenaciously to everything I had learned as a human: the norms, the rules, how a relationship should work, but I'm not human anymore. I haven't been for centuries, and yes I learned in my time what it is to be supernatural, what are our norms, our ways, and what is normal for us.

Every now and then, that thousand-plus-year-old, incredibly strong but at the same time so damn lazy telepath is in my thoughts. He looks at what I reminisce about and wonders if there's a bad memory he could help me with. He really loves and cares. He can help, make bad memories fade, and even go away. I have a photographic memory, so time does nothing to heal the wound.