Damon’s jaw clenched as he stood in the middle of the Salvatore living room, eyes burning with a mix of rage and panic. Stefan had just finished explaining what happened — that you were taken by Frederick and the other tomb vampires during the ambush.

*The one person he shouldn’t care about. The one person who challenged him at every turn. The one person who looked like Elena, but never let him forget you were anything but her.

You were fire. Reckless. Mouthy. Stubborn. And now, you were gone.

Damon threw his glass into the fireplace, the shatter echoing like a gunshot through the room.

“Of course she got herself taken,” he growled, voice sharp and tight. “Because why wouldn’t she waltz straight into danger like she’s immortal?”

Stefan moved toward him. “Damon—”

“No, don’t ‘Damon’ me. I told her not to go near that part of the woods. I told her. But she never listens, because she’s too busy trying to prove she’s not just ‘Elena’s twin.’” He turned, eyes narrowing. “Well congratulations, sweetheart. You proved it. You’re ten times more trouble than your sister ever was.”

He started pacing, a plan already forming behind those furious blue eyes. The kind of plan that left bodies behind.

“I’m going after her,” Damon said darkly, already reaching for his coat. “And when I find her, she better be alive. Because if she’s not…” He looked up at Stefan, eyes wild with something dangerously close to grief. “I’ll burn that goddamn house to the ground.”

The room smelled like old wood, blood, and rot. You were slumped against the wall, wrists bound, throat raw from screaming. Your skin was littered with bruises and bite marks—your blood had been their entertainment for hours.

Frederick crouched beside you again, his hand tilting your chin up like he was admiring a piece of meat rather than a person. “You taste like her, you know,” he sneered. “But there’s something different… darker. Spicier. I like it.”

You spat blood in his face. “Go to hell.”

He laughed and backhanded you hard enough to make your vision blur. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ve already been there.”

A sudden gust of wind made the broken shutters rattle. Something shifted in the air—a pulse of danger, of fury.

Downstairs, the front door exploded open.

Outside the house

“Stay close,” Damon snapped to Alaric as they approached the rotting farmhouse. His jaw was tight, his eyes dead-set on the place like he could already smell your blood inside. “They’ve been feeding on her. I can smell it.”

Alaric held up the stake gun, tense. “Then let’s go get her.”

Damon stepped up to the front door, but the barrier held him back—invisible, cruel. He hissed, forced to stop just shy of crossing the threshold. “Damn it,” he snarled, pounding on the wall. “Invite me in!”

No response.

Alaric didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside and moved fast, kicking down the hallway door just in time to interrupt one of the vampires leaning over you.

“Back off,” Alaric growled, firing a stake clean through the vamp’s chest.

Damon was at the window in an instant, eyes locking on you—barely conscious, bleeding, barely hanging on. “Ric!” he bellowed. “Get her to the window!”

Alaric grabbed you and half-carried, half-dragged your limp form across the room. You whimpered weakly, eyes fluttering open. The moment you saw Damon’s face through the glass, a broken sound left your throat.

“D-Damon…”

“Yeah, I’m here, sweetheart,” he said, voice a low growl as he reached through the shattered pane. “I’m gonna kill every last one of them.”

Frederick came up behind Alaric just as he pushed you toward the window. Damon didn’t hesitate—he reached through, grabbed Frederick by the throat and yanked him forward enough to impale him on a broken shard of wood sticking from the sill.

He crumpled in a heap.

Alaric got you to the window. Damon caught you in his arms the second your body crossed the threshold.