What Doesn't Kill You...

Misguided Youth

Violet woke groggily the moment the sun sank below the western horizon. Her body hungered for the taste of blood. Staggering out of the lumpy couch in the break room, Violet let her body's instincts move her to the refrigerator in the corner. Bagged blood was nowhere near as satisfying as live blood, but at least this way no human was hurt.

Despite laws legalizing consensual bloodletting, Violet refused to feed on live humans. It was too intimate. There was always the fear at the back of her mind that she'd lose control. That she'd kill someone. She could never forgive herself if she left someone the way she'd been left. Dying and confused.

The cold blood oozed down her throat like molasses. She winced at the cold metallic taste, but drank it anyway. She tossed two empty blood bags in the trash and stretched. The stiffness in her body faded as the blood went to work.

Damon was waiting for her in their office. He was wearing another designer suit. He never learned. "Why don't you ever wear anything practical?" Violet tugged on his lapel.

Damon looked up from his phone and gave her a small smile. "Why don't you ever wear another color besides purple?"

Violet looked down at her black t-shirt and deep plum jeans. "It suits me."

"Ditto." Damon replied, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder. "Now, I've found Elric's address from our vampire registry. We'll stop by and pay him a little visit."

As they headed to the elevator for the parking garage, Violet finally gave voice to the question that had nagged her through her day-sleep. "How did you get mixed up with a necromancer in the first place?"

Damon punched the down arrow and sighed. He'd expected this question from her. Especially after she saw his tattoo. He supposed she had a right to know now that Isabella was out on the prowl. Violet was his partner after all. Taking a deep breath, Damon opened his mouth.

10 years ago...

After I graduated from college, my parents sent me on a trip to Europe. It was supposed to give me time to "find myself" and settle down. They intended for it to expose me to culture and sophistication. Instead, I took it as a license to party my way through Europe's club scene. To my young, stupidly optimistic self, it was a vacation from all of my responsibilities. There would be time enough for all that.

Or so I thought.

I was at a particularly wild costume party in Florence when I met her. Isabella Mancini. She was the most beautiful woman in the room. Every man's eye was on her. Out of all the men in the room, she came to me. Me. Some nobody from Kansas. She looked up into my eyes and smiled at me. I was lost. I just didn't know it yet.

I spent the next six months following her around from one corner of Europe to another. My parents and responsibilities were completely forgotten. I stopped answering their calls. Nothing mattered to me anymore. Just Isabella. She became an addiction I didn't want live without. I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that this incredibly intelligent sexy woman wanted me. Loved me.

Looking back, I couldn't believe how naive I was.

All my illusions came crashing down the night she destroyed my life. It all started innocently enough. We were holed up in some fancy hotel suite. It never dawned on me to wonder how she was paying for everything. After I cut off contact with my parents, they stopped sending money. But I guess, that's love for you. Blind and stupid.

She asked me if I loved her.

I said of course. How could I not?

She gave me one of those smiles that made coherent speech difficult.

Then she asked me if I would die for her.

I know, right? Big red flag. I said of course. I would do anything for you.

Anything.

She held me to that. Because the next thing I knew, I was strapped to a table in a creepy basement surrounded by candles and some very disturbing hand painted squiggles that I'm pretty sure were painted in blood. She did some bizarre incantation, stabbed me with a weird looking knife, and slapped this black rose mark on my hip.

Dying had been awful, but being resurrected was somehow worse. I knew I didn't belong here anymore. I'd died. That was supposed to be it. I was supposed to move on. Instead, for the next month and half, I did whatever Isabella told me to do. Even if I didn't want to. Horrible things. Things I can't even bring myself to talk about.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, something happened. I don't know if Isabella's control slipped or I'd finally built up an immunity. Either way, I was finally able to make my own decisions. I ran. As far and fast as I could. I was lost in a forest in Germany, when I fell down into a ravine and broke my neck.

Of course, I didn't stay dead for long.

When I came to, Charlie was waiting for me. 

"And the rest is history." Damon stepped out of the elevator and into the parking garage. "There, now you have my tragic backstory." He added lightly. He had skimmed over the worst of his time with Isabella. There were some things he wasn't willing to share with anyone. Not now and maybe not ever.

Violet paused, not knowing what to say. She understood the compulsion to obey the person who brought you back from the brink of death. Few could break the bond on their own. She was...impressed.

"Wow...I expected you to be more of a Don Juan than an innocent ingenue." Violet elbowed him gently in the side. She needed to see him smile. She owed him that. In fact, she owed him a lot more than that. If he hadn't intervened for her at Stoker, Alistair would own her.

Damon snorted. "Hardly. Just my misguided youth."

They slid inside the black sedan and roared out into the night. They had places to be and vampires to hunt down.