Chapter 6
The silence was profound, broken only by the pathetic, wet groans of Marcus bleeding in the ruined trolley and Vanessa’s ragged, terrified breathing beneath the fallen easel. The brilliant, cinematic natural light illuminated the total destruction of the Caldwell siblings' arrogant facade.
Damon completely ignored them. He slowly turned his back on the wreckage and looked down at the mud.
His polished leather shoe stepped carefully over the crushed daisies. He bent down with a deep, masculine grace, the fabric of his tailored suit shifting flawlessly. He reached into the dark mud and retrieved the antique silver bracelet that Vanessa had thrown away. He wiped the worst of the grime off the delicate silver using the edge of his black overcoat.
Damon knelt on one knee in the dirt, directly in front of the trembling maid.
Grace looked up at him, her beautiful, rosy face pale and streaked with tears and blood. Damon reached out, taking her small, shaking hand in his, and gently placed the muddy silver bracelet back into her palm. He closed her fingers over it.
Grace pressed her other trembling hand firmly over her swollen belly, her blue eyes locking onto his piercing, dark gaze. The secret she had carried for five months, the secret that had nearly gotten her killed, could no longer be hidden.
"Damon…" Grace said quietly, her voice a fragile, heartbreaking whisper that barely carried over the wind. "The baby is yours."
Damon’s hands froze over hers. The world seemed to stop spinning. The bright, vivid colors of the cemetery blurred as the absolute magnitude of her words struck him. He stared at her belly, then back up at her beautiful, terrified face.
"Mine," Damon breathed, the word barely a sound.
"Marcus tried to force himself on me," Grace wept softly, confessing the truth. "I fought him off. He told Vanessa I seduced him to cover his tracks. But I swear, Damon... I haven't been with anyone but you since that night at the estate."
Damon’s expression, previously a mask of cold intimidation, turned terrifyingly calm. It was the absolute, freezing stillness of a supernova right before it obliterates a solar system. He slowly stood up to his full, towering height.
He slowly turned his head. He looked directly at Vanessa, who was pushing a shattered picture frame off her chest, staring up at him in pure horror.
"You hit the mother of my child," Damon said. His voice was dead calm. It was a measured, lethal whisper that vibrated with an apocalyptic promise of violence. "At her mother’s grave."
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Vanessa’s face became utterly, genuinely frightened. She scrambled backward on the grass, realizing the catastrophic error her family had just made.
"Call your father," Damon commanded, adjusting his signet ring. "Tell him the war has begun."
