Lauren had slipped into a deep, unyielding slumber, her rest so profound that Damien found himself checking on her frequently, ensuring she still drew breath.
"She must be truly exhausted," Damien murmured to himself, a mix of concern and a tender protectiveness coursing through his thoughts.
Determined, Damien dialed a number on his phone, waiting patiently for the recipient to answer on the other end.
"Hello, Damien," Venessa's voice broke through the line, a mixture of curiosity and readiness laced throughout her greeting.
"I want you and some of the men to expend all our resources and connections in our pursuit of finding Vladimir Nabokov," Damien instructed, his words punctuated with a resolute authority.
"But no one knows what he looks like," Venessa interjected with a hint of uncertainty, poised to offer her opinion.
"We have his name; that should be more than enough," Damien asserted with unwavering conviction, swiftly ending the conversation as the beeping tones of disconnection echoed from the other end.
Glancing at the clock, Damien observed that it was nearing midday, yet Lauren remained enveloped in profound sleep. With silent, deliberate steps, he approached her resting form and dedicated a few moments to simply watching her sleep. A war raged within him, torn between the magnetic pull of her presence and the inescapable reality he faced—how could he love her when he was responsible for her mother's demise?
Lost in contemplation, he finally drew the curtains closed, shrouding the room in a soft, muted light. Sensing that she would likely awaken at any moment, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen, preparing a brunch in anticipation of her impending arousal.
Meanwhile,
The clock struck twelve-thirty PM, and Lauren stirred, her restless motions evolving into a gradual awakening. Blinking gradually, she gazed around, only to realize that she wasn't in the same space she had dozed off in hours earlier.
Sitting up, she took in her surroundings, a flicker of recognition dancing through her mind. Her eyes fell upon the familiar frame beside the bed, and the realization washed over her—she was in Damien's room.
Her gaze darted around the room, but Damien was nowhere to be found. Determined, she made her way towards the lift, swiftly crossing the distance and stepping inside. The lift descended, carrying her to the underground basement. Emerging with purpose, she scanned the meticulously arranged living space, finding it devoid of any vampire presence.
Her fingers searched for the phone in her pocket, and she realised that she was clad in a different comfortable pyjamas, a detail she allowed to slip from her mind as she hastened towards the cell. To her surprise, she discovered it vacant and meticulously cleaned, dispelling any notion of a mere trick of the eye.
Hurriedly, she retreated to the lift, ascending in swift strides. As soon as the doors parted, she darted out of the room, grasping her phone and following the tantalizing scent that had seized her senses upon awakening. Brisk steps brought her to the kitchen area, where she beheld him—clad in a black polo and pants, a white apron softly enveloping his form, an aura befitting a princely figure from the pages of a fairy tale.
Her heart quickened, each beat echoing the surrealistic tinge of the moment. For a fleeting instant, she wondered if she was trapped within a dream. He turned towards her, a sage understanding tucked within his gaze, silently acknowledging her presence with a smile.
"Hi," he simply offered, his hands engaged in the act of rinsing. Moved by an unseen force, she found herself drawing closer to him, propelled by a force beyond mere will, her steps carrying her towards him.
And in that suspended moment, as she closed the distance, his gaze held hers, a silent conversation unfurling between their shared silence, an unspoken narrative weaving its way through their intertwining gazes.
Stopping just few inches away from him, she looked up at his face and their eyes locked, Damien raised one of his hands and placed it on her temple "I had thought, you might have been sick just for how long you slept" he said calmly..
He hesitated, his hands poised to resume his cooking. Unexpectedly, she encircled her arms around his neck and hugged him, her touch sending a small jolt through his form. Startled, he tensed at the sudden physical connection, unaccustomed to the intimacy of the interaction. For several breaths, they lingered in that embrace, a fleeting moment suspended in time. Just as he yearned to reciprocate and hold her delicate frame, she withdrew, retreating to a stool in the kitchen where she gazed at him in stony silence.
"I'll be finished in a minute, and then you can eat," he offered quietly, his words cutting through the heavy air.
As he proceeded with the remaining tasks, a maelstrom of thoughts swirled through his mind. He found himself grappling with the weight of her silence, yearning for the familiar sound of her voice, her laughter, and the animated chatter that he had grown accustomed to. He wondered about the strangeness of her silence, what thoughts traversed her mind, and the unspoken motivations behind her unexpected presence. Questions hovered on the tip of his tongue, yet he chose to let them dissipate into the ether without finding their way to the forefront of his speech.
Placing the dishes before her, he poured a glass of milk and juice, presenting her with the choice. Without delay, he set about tidying the already pristine kitchen.
"Could you please sit down? I'm getting dizzy watching you pace around," Lauren voiced with her eyes downcast, her focus trained on the food before her. Damien immediately complied, taking a seat opposite her. His expression was laced with concern as he spoke, "Are you all right? Should I call Derek to check up on you?"
"I'm fine," Lauren replied, a light chuckle punctuating her words as she returned her attention to the meal, relishing its flavors. "I never knew vampires could cook, to be honest. This meal was truly delicious. Thank you," she offered graciously, upon finishing.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Damien responded, a smile gracing his features as he moved to collect the plates, only to find Lauren already one step ahead, retrieving them before he could.
"Give me the plates, Lauren," he urged, his voice carrying a warmth tinged with a hint of insistence.
"Why? It's only fair for me to do the dishes, given that you did all the cooking and serving," Lauren insisted, carrying the plates to the dish washer. Seeing her determination, Damien sighed.
As Lauren diligently tended to the dishes, and he stood behind the counter, watching her, an unconscious smile softened his features. As the moments unfurled in the quiet domesticity, he found himself captivated by the sight, his gaze lingering on her silhouette.