She Belongs To No One

Damon's POV

I shake my head. "No, Seraphina. If you come with me, he might not see us. He is not exactly friendly."

"But I cannot stay here. I have to go and let someone know I am alive."

I get on my feet. Maybe I am being unreasonable, but this is a puzzle that needs an answer. "Do not you want to know what is happening to you?"

"I do. But..." She scratches the back of her head on her way to the couch. "Maybe not yet. Anyway, let me do this first and then..."

"But..."

"Damon, I have to go," Seraphina says firmly.

"I cannot let you go." My response is automatic. I cannot even explain it to myself. I am not sure I want to.

"Please?"

Please? I am supposed to do what now, nod and roll over and beg for a belly rub? But she looks at me with those big eyes of hers, and I start to wonder what is so bad about belly rubs. Against my better judgement, I nod.

"Alright. I will take you in the morning."

"Thank you." She smiles then yawns. "I think I will go to sleep now. You do not think I can still sleep on this couch, can you? Because I do not think I can sleep on that bed. Who knows how many bed bugs are permanently residing there?"

I force a grin. None. I would know. But I leave it all the same. If she feels safer here, out in the open, I will not argue the matter. "No worries."

She climbs on the couch, pulling the quilt on top of her. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

I leave the room, heading to the kitchen. After a few minutes, I hear Seraphina's soft breathing from the next room. She is already asleep.

I pull out a chair and sit down in the darkness, waiting for the storm to die down. When it does, I check to make sure she is still asleep, then leave the cabin, securing both the back door and the front, and then all the windows from the outside.

I have turned the cabin into a cage, I know, just as surely as I know she will not like it. But I cannot let her leave, not without knowing what she is first. Something tells me it is important, and not just for her or me. And my instinct is never wrong.

Standing outside the living room, I look in through the window and see her brown hair peeking from under the quilt on the couch. I exhale, letting the tinge of remorse that has crept up my spine evaporate.

I have to know.

I cannot be sorry about that.

---

Seraphina's POV

DAMON IS GONE.

I know it the moment I wake up, even before I search the house, though I do so anyway just to make sure.

"Damon?"

As expected, I get no answer, the silence throughout the house is deafening. Even outside, no breeze blows. No snowflake parachutes to the ground. The storm is gone as if it had never come at all.

I walk to the window, smiling as I glimpse a patch of blue sky.

Good. Now, I can leave. Maybe Damon has just gone to get some food for breakfast or more wood for the fire, and when he comes back, he will take me to...

I pause, my hand on the knob of the front door. The brass piece rattles but does not turn, the door stays glued in place.

No way.

I give the knob another try. More frantic this time.

All right, maybe the door just got jammed during the storm. Or it is warped from not being used often. A lot of people do not use their front doors. I head to the kitchen, trying the back door. I know this one opens, I had seen him come through it last night.

No go.

I frown, not liking the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. One locked door is an accident. Two? A crime.

I try a window, lifting the frame. It, too, will not budge, and after a few more futile attempts, I find out why. It is nailed. On the outside.

This is definitely a crime. And I know exactly who the culprit is. I am no longer scared, I am furious.

"Why, that primitive, flea ridden psycho!"

I grab a chair, hurling it at the door. Then I grab another chair to sit on, burying my face in my hands, though I do not cry. I am too angry for tears.

I cannot believe Damon left me, even though he told me he would not with a straight face. Worse, he locked me up like a pet in a cage.

What kind of mind reader am I that I could not even read his real intentions? Unless, of course, he had his mind made up at that time and then deliberately changed it?

Bastard. And to think I cooked for him. To think I almost kissed him.

Closing my eyes, I run my finger over my trembling lower lip, a blush coating my cheeks as I remember the heat burning in the coals of Damon's eyes. I could have sworn he was just about to kiss me when I turned away, not trusting myself not to kiss him back if he did.

I pound my fist on the table.

Well, whatever that was, it is gone now. When he comes back, he will not have rabbit stew or any sort of warm welcome. Definitely not a kiss. In fact, I am more likely to bury my fist in the perfect jaw of his when he comes back.

That is if I were waiting around. I am not. I am so out of here.

I gather whatever food I can find in the kitchen, a few bottles of water, a flashlight, a map, some first aid supplies, and the knife for a weapon, packing them all into an empty bag. Then I change into the thickest, warmest clothes I can find, even if everything of his absolutely bags on me.

I roll of sleeves and cuffs, feeling like a child playing dress up in her parent's clothes.

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, tucking some wayward strands of hair under my purple ski hat, thankful I had not lost it in the plane crash.

Now, I am ready to go.

The question is: How do I get out?

I head to the spare bedroom, checking the window. It is locked, too.

I look around, trying to see what I can use to break the window open.

The set of drawers, maybe? Not the whole piece of furniture. One drawer should do. I am only trying to break glass, not put a hole through the wall.