The Salvatore Sister

Chapter Thirteen

The first day of senior year is supposed to be refreshing. This is supposed to be the year when the seniors take easy classes, relax, and figure out their lives. Currently, school's her only reprieve from Stefan party habits at home and his uninvited house guest, Rebekah.

Of course, they both seem to want to ruin it for her by showing up and being in her history class. Had it not been for Caroline sitting in front of her and talking her down, Arabella probably would have ripped the other blonde vampire's head off.

Then, she went to a bon fire, where both of the vampires tried to make her miserable. That was when Arabella learned that she can get drunk.

"How much did you drink?" Damon asks her as he rolls up on of his ruined rugs. He's mad at the fact that his little sister is drunk and that he has to clean Stefan's mess by himself. He's even angrier that he has a mess to clean.

"I think I drank like three kegs," she slurs back with an amused smile. "Or maybe it was four."

Rolling his eyes, Damon gives the rug a sharp push. "You're going to have an awful hangover."

Arabella releases a giggle from where she stands in the doorway right as someone rushes by and knocks a vase over. She turns around and glares at the broken parts that litter the floor. "That was an antique!" She shouts at whoever knocked it down.

Damon angrily rises to his feet, searching for the source. He is not the maid of this household. He ate her such a long time ago.

The werewolf must really be drunk because she swears she sees Mason Lockwood seconds before Damon flies across the room. She blinks a few times at the spot Mason sits at, smirking at his handiwork. "I think I am waaaayyyyy too drunk," she tells herself. She points at where Mason is standing as he turns to face her. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

Not bothering to answer her, the dead werewolf quickly grabs the sides of the girl's head and snaps her neck.

Arabella wakes up somewhere dark. Staggering to her feet, it takes the poor girl a few tries to stand. Clawing at the stony, dirty wall for support, Arabella's eyes slowly adjust. She is in a cave somewhere, one with poor lighting and a long tunnel that seems to stretch on for miles.

How did she get here? Stumbling forward, Arabella sinks to the ground after her first step. It feels as though she's been hit by a train. Her neck pulses in anger as it continues to heal itself, contributing to her massive headache.

A grunt escapes her lips as she attempts to stand again. Her legs give out from under her, turning into literal mush. This time, though, someone is there to catch her.

"Easy," a voice warns as he grabs a hold of her arms.

The person who caught her holds her up by the waist, keeping her from collapsing onto the floor again. Their strong hands have a familiar feel to them, but it is their voice that she recognizes.

She turns her head to confirm who caught her, tears filling her vision. The face that she sees is the first and only man she has ever loved. The man she was supposed to marry a very long time ago. His face looks a little older than when she last saw him, but it is him all the same. She would recognize his hazel eyes anywhere.

"George," Arabella murmurs in disbelief. A smile blooms across his face in response as she steadies herself. She immediately turns around and throws herself onto him in a hug, an excited gasp releasing itself from her throat. "How are you here?"

George wraps his arms around the girl's body, taking a deep breath of her smell. "It doesn't matter," he replies. It takes him a moment to remember why he had brought her down here in the first place. He pulls away and tightly grips her arms. "We must hurry! We don't have much time!"