The Serial Killer

"Take my hand," Damon said, stretching his hand for Nessa to hold on to. But as expected, she climbed down the jeep without his help, looking around. Damon stared at his rejected hand, simply tucking it back into the pocket of his jeans. 

"Why are we here?" Nessa asked, staring at the field. There wasn't any basket of food nor drinks that would suggest a picnic nor love-shaped balloons, or decoration hinting he's about to confess his undying affection for her.

If anything, everything felt weird and out of place; the noise made by insects was eerie enough to make her jump out of her skin, hence that wasn't a date - she had to believe Damon was more romantic than this. So If he wasn't here to narrate his feeling, then what?

"Care to remind me again why -" 

"Shhh," Damon stunned her by pressing a finger to her lips and her cheek turned scarlet, "The moon goddess is watching,"