A/N: Before I get any sad facey reviews, I know I promised a lemon here, but this is the way this final chapter went and the citrus escaped me. Not to worry! I'm working on a smut-heavy prequel to this and hoping to get away from the dark cerebral ramblings I tend to go on. As a special treat, please help yourself to a slice of lemon pie with Chapter One of 'Bruise, Dredge, and Drain', the prequel to this work. I'm also dabbling in the Jeronnemy (Jeremy/Bonnie) arc and what they could achieve with better timing and less clothing.

Thanks again to anyone who has stopped by, read, reviewed, and subscribed. This starts of with some Damon POV as one reviewer Leigh Alexander expressed she'd like to see how pissed Damon gets. He might not get pissed, but he does make some interesting points.

Damon

The scent of mongrel – of Lockwood – curls around me like sooty smoke from a broke-down fire in the dead of winter. I feel like I am back there, in the broken branches of a Georgian freezing rain storm. My body aches, my bones shake, and my fists clench. The battle is coming. My blood sings for it. My blood sings for her.

What is it about her that makes everything warped and wound tightly? Why Caroline, sunshine bright and pale like the moon, when my ties to Katherine were severed so severely and so soon. I feel no obedience to her, feel no weight on my chest when we're apart, feel no anger like the anger I do when Caroline and I fight. I am sick for her, sick from her, and the confusion that comes with the obsession is wreaking havoc on me. She's there when I wake up, whether in my bed or my blood, and she's there when I close my eyes, in my dreams and rolling through my designs. The call was sent out when her flame was snuffed – I woke, startled from sleep, unable to fall under again, and I paced that entire night, wondering where the lightening bolt had struck. Low and behold, Caroline Forbes came to me, newly blooded and fresh to kill, and I took her under my wing, her mouse to my crow, and together we painted over her shiny veneer in bright, vibrant, dripping red. But there's still no answer, no reason for this and no one else can tell me now. I might ask Katherine, but her lips are as easy with lies as they are the truth and most of the time, I'm convinced even she doesn't know the difference. Tomorrow, I'll go to see Ric Saltzman.

Tonight, I'll wait for Caroline.

I bypass the front door, knowing that I'll only raise suspicion showing up at the Forbes home at…I check my watch…eleven past midnight. Instead, I hit the backyard, crane my neck and peer up at Sweet Caroline's darkened bedroom window. Listening closely, I hear the TV, hear Liz's heartbeat, but nothing of my girl. Did I just call her my girl? Up the tree and seconds later I'm crawling through that all too familiar window to find her room empty, her sheets cool, and her blackberry blinking madly with missed calls and texts. She's been here; her scent is strong within this space, and thankfully (for her? For me?), the scent of Lockwood does not extend to these parts of the house. I'll stay here, among her things, like I did before, and I move through the familiar room, scanning her photos, touching her books and her jewellery before flinging open her closet to peruse the obscenely large wardrobe therein. One by one I pull open the smaller drawers built in, knowing that I'll find her lace panties and matching little bras, her sexy, barely-there thongs and see-through nighties – all of which look better on the floor than on her. The silk is soft between my fingers and her scent lingers on everything, that much stronger because it's pressed against her so intimately. Just the thought makes my mouth go dry and I reach down to readjust my jeans. I leave her closet and turn back to her bed.

The thing about Caroline's bed is that it's king-sized. I never had to fight for space here, but I never took the room that was offered and was content to let her lay on me when she wanted, and push me away while she dreamt deeply. Always, always, on the mornings that found me here, she'd wake with a smile and me with a smirk and a hard on, and she was good to go with no questions asked. Even the time she threw that book at me – that god-awful misrepresentation of vampires – stands out in my mind and I remember the insolent little pout she pushed at me when I explained to her why I didn't sparkle. A sigh leaves as I sink back against the bedcovers. She'll come, one way or another, and both prospects are appealing.

I'm dreaming of her. I'm incredibly aware of her presence getting closer, chasing me like shadows do the sun, flickering in and out of focus. Something isn't quite right; her blood is muted, like she's hiding something. She dashes into the shadow, her golden hair trailing behind her, and stupidly I follow and stumble into the darkness, only to be rushed upon by a surge of rage, and fear, and lust, and uncertainty. A growl rips through my skull, and amber eyes flash before mine. Dark, insolent and murderous features dissolve into light and low and behold, I am face to face with Tyler Lockwood.

And just as fast as he's appeared, he's gone in a wisp of smoke. My eyes open and I stare at her ceiling. Beneath my skin, my veins are burning so bad I curl my hands into fists, a soft growl rolling from my chest. She's downstairs. On the porch, to be exact, reaching for the door handle and suddenly stopping, her deep blue eyes floating up to roof, as if she can stare right through wood and brick. She knows I'm here.

I sit up, fascinated by the fact that I just saw her, and any speck of doubt is confirmed as I hear the faint click of the door opening and then closing a split second later. Moments later her scent hits me, curling around my head and over my skin as if it has sought me out specifically. Her blood is hot, her breath warm and sweet, and the scent of chocolate permeates the air. It's not enough to cover the scent of Lockwood, and that thought makes shoots me to my feet.

On the other side of the door, she hesitates and draws back a step, draws in a breath. I'm half tempted to call to her, but I keep my mouth shut and watch the door knob as it finally turns. The door swings open, pulling a breeze and her scent in with it, and then she's standing there in front of me with her skinny jeans and little red velvet jacket. Her eyes sparkle in the darkness and her lips move sweetly as she murmurs.

"Damon."

I tilt my head in greeting. "Caroline."

"What are you doing here?" she asks dumbly.

I pause, giving her a pointed look. "Waiting for you."

Her lips make a tiny 'o' and she breathes out. "Here I am," she shrugs, trying to brighten her tone.

Just to make sure – and just to make her squirm – I inhale deeply before answering, "Yes. Here you are. Where did you run off to so late at night? You didn't come by the house after school." I wince at the tone of my words – I sound like a suspicious lover, ready to point a finger at what I already know. I wonder…I wonder if she knows I know.

I lean into her, watching her face, waiting for her answer, and I reach out past her and press the door shut softly. I reach down to the lock, never taking my eyes from her face, and when I click the lock home, her pulse flutters under the skin of her neck. Instead of pulling back away from her, I invade her space more, wanting to feel the vibration of her skin that I know is there because it's there in mine. She takes a step back and then another, until she can't get away and she's pressed back against the door. I trap her there, one hand on either side of her and I stare down into her eyes, watching the depth of her blue eyes open up. My sudden need for her overwhelms me; I must have her, in any way I can, and the first, the basest, seems best at this point.

Swooping in, my hips press hers back and my chest crushes against the perfect just-smaller-than-a-handful breasts. From there I dip my head and press my nose to the spot just under her ear and with my lips I tease the sensitive skin just in inch below. "Caroline," I murmur gently against her. Her taste lingers on my lips and I drag them down and then across her jaw as my hands catch hers and force them back against the door by her hips. And then it's there again, the warm spike of heat and musk and Lockwood's scent rears up and makes me snarl. The stench forces the darkness out and I glare down at her.

"You've been with the mongrel again," I point out with a growl.

Her fingers twitch in my grip but other than that, she is still, her dark blue eyes unblinking, staring up at me.

I say, "I want you to stay away from him." Her eyes narrow and I sense she is preparing for an argument. Doesn't she get it? Doesn't she know that getting involved with Tyler in any way will only cause danger for her and the rest of us?

Doesn't she know she's…mine?

"You can't tell me what to do," she breathes, but her voice waivers with uncertainty.

I think I can. I shake my head in disagreement with her declaration and bring my hands up to her face, pushing her blond waves back from her shoulders. For a moment, I'm mesmerised by her mouth, those pouty pink lips I've seen pulled and twisted with screams, laughter, and pure bloody carnage. I want her. So I tell her. And I tell her:

"You're mine, Caroline."

She has the audacity to snort, to flick her head back with a nervous chuckle. "That's pretty caveman, Damon, even for you."

The fact that she hasn't tried to move from where we're mashed against the door is not lost to me, nor is the way her skin is warming, her blood moving faster than it had been. Like a magnet, it pulls my blood with its song, and the touch of her hips against mine makes my balls twinge. Lust crashes over me, making me pant, making the darkness surge. It's Caroline and her blood and her body and undead soul that have made me this way. I've always had blood and carnage and mischief and mayhem, but I've been missing something from the vampire equation for a very long time. With a grunt, I get deeper, and wet my lips.

"Mine," I breathe across her lips. And then I kiss her.

She doesn't move at first, but a tiny sound leaves her, a whimper at the back of her throat as I press my mouth to hers, slide my tongue in slowly, and begin to claim her inch by sweet inch. And then suddenly, her sweet, hot mouth is gone and she shoves me backwards. Caught off guard, I move back, startled with her reaction.

"Stop it," she utters darkly. Then her hands go to her face, rake back through her hair, and she heaves a defeated sigh and sags back against the door.

She's upset and she's confused; I can feel everything in my blood and it's twisting hard with my emotions, making a mess of them and sucking me blindly into a maelstrom. I don't move; I won't give her the satisfaction of me backing down. "What happened?" I ask lowly, already dreading what she might say.

"Nothing," she answers, glancing up to me.

"Then you have no reason to be anywhere near him. I don't want him here. I don't want you talking to him. I don't want…"

"What about what I want, Damon? Do you actually think that I want this…this…" she waves at the air between us and then screams in her frustration, hitting the door with her fists. "What is this?" she screeches. And then the tears begin to pool in her eyes. "Why can't I get away from you? Why do you haunt me? You're in my dreams, my thoughts…"

"Your blood," I interject, cutting off her desperate ramblings. "I'm in your blood, Caroline, just like you're in mine, just like you're in my dreams and my thoughts. And if you think this is one sided, you are sorely mistaken."

"I want you to leave," she spits, her own features darkening, summoning the demon inside. "I don't want you here. You don't understand – you can't."

Stupid little girl. "And what could there be to possibly understand? Tyler Lockwood is a werewolf. One bite from him and you're finished – or don't you care about that?"

She shrugs, an insolent gesture that I'm familiar with. "No, maybe I don't," she sneers. "Maybe all I care about is that he's my friend and he's scared."

"You're a fucking vampire, Caroline. We don't have friends."

"I don't believe that," she answers evenly. And I know she's right, but I don't give her the satisfaction.

"It's dangerous."

She rolls her eyes. "Why do you care?" Her voice is raising and I hold up a warning finger, pointing in the direction of her mother's room.

"Because you're all I've got at the moment."

That shut her up quickly. She stares at me, across the chasm my words have just opened up, and she blinks like a deer caught in the headlights.

"And I don't know why that is. So until I figure it out, I would appreciate it if you would keep yourself from getting killed. Don't put yourself in an unnecessary situation."

Oh, but that stubborn streak, the one that makes her such an amazing hunter, sparks in her blue eyes and she shakes her head slowly. "I won't let you stop me. Tyler is my friend. And I'm not going to stand by and let him suffer this all by himself just because you feel like you're getting shafted."

I'd love to kill her right now. Just…wrap my hands around her throat and choke the life right out of her, but I know that's not going to cut it, really, but I can't bring myself to think of staking her. Staking a part of me – because that's what she is, and whatever Saltzman can come up with will only confirm this.

"It will be a waste," I offer loftily, turning to her bedroom window. "You, putting yourself on the line for a werewolf? It will be a waste of a perfectly good vampire. Remember that, Caroline – it's what you are." I duck onto the window sill and spare her one glance back.

"I don't need you to remind me of that," she says sadly.

"You sure about that?" I ask gently. I don't wait for her response. Instead, I glide out the window and sail down into the yard, and make my way silently into the night. She has to learn. She has to realize that because she is a vampire, sides will be taken – sides have always been taken. She's not going to be Caroline Forbes, head cheerleader, Miss Mystic Falls, future journalist; she never will be.

Caroline

It is strange and fitting that it should boil down to this in my room. After all, this was where it all began. It has only been months, but sometimes it seems like an eternity, since I was coming home from student council meetings, from cheer practice, from the Grill after studying over a basket of fries and endless lemonade. Now I sneak around at all hours, day and night, thanks to Damon, and I eat food and smile to fit in, but it's the blood that I want and the blood that I need, and fitting in seems reserved for something else other than sorority row. I'm fitting in, all right, but it's not in the way I ever thought I would. My mother never warned me about falling in with the wrong crowd. I wonder what her definition of the 'wrong crowd' might be. Elena, with her simpering smiles and sweetness, Bonnie with her manipulative mean streak and enough attitude to give a whole new meaning to the term 'witch', and Tyler, the All-American football god now thrown to the wolves all look good on paper, but take a deeper look and not everything is coming up sunshine. They were my friends, in some time and some place that we are no longer in.

This is war. This is death. This is happening right now, whether we want it to or not, and it isn't even close to being finished.

I stare at the window where Damon has left and feel a gap, a wide, yawning void that is there whenever he leaves like this. The times where we wake and fall asleep on good terms soothe, but now the door has slammed shut on whatever was open between us. I remember that first time, when Damon had found me pouting outside of the Grill and I had lured him (ha!) back to my mom's house for stolen vodka and strip blackjack because I was too drunk to remember the rules to poker. That first time, that very first time when I had to be compelled to let him bite me, but after…after I sought it out and damned Elena for making a crusade about the darkness that Damon discovered deep within. I craved it, like I crave him now, like I crave him always.

There was a connection that first time, like there is now. There always has been; it never severed, even when I thought I loved him and then hated him and I was just a silly high school girl. Damon and I will always be together, until one or the other or both are no longer. He is a vampire and so I am too. The realization is complete.

I'll never be Caroline Forbes, cheerleader, journalist, all-American girl and Miss Mystic Falls.

I am a hunter. I am a killer.

My name is Caroline Forbes and I am a vampire.