by L. J. Smith
But she couldn’t. There was no way she could know that now, or at least no way she could explain. And so, Elena said nothing. Instead, she reached out a hand, slowly, carefully, as if she was taming some wild creature, and finally touched him. Just for a moment, her fingers brushing across the bare skin of his wrist.
She couldn’t have him. But this—a moment of touch—she needed.
It was like a circuit connecting. Warmth flooded through Elena’s body, and she wobbled for a moment, ready to fall into his arms. Stefan became utterly still, his eyes dilated and dark as he stared at her. She thought he was holding his breath. There was a moment when it seemed like time was suspended, like anything could happen.
And then, with an intense jolt of sorrow, Elena pulled away, letting her hand fall limply to her side.
“Here,” Stefan said abruptly, pulling something from his pocket with the sleeve of his shirt. His voice shook, and he was staring at his hands, refusing to meet Elena’s eye. He handed her what looked like a handful of scrappy, skinny weeds, a few with small pale flowers. “Keep these with you for good luck. You can even make herbal tea out of them.”
Elena accepted the flowers, recognizing them as vervain. If she kept it close, it would keep vampires from being able to cloud her mind. But Stefan didn’t know yet that Damon was in town, certainly didn’t know about Katherine. Who was he protecting her from? Then she got it.
Himself, of course. It was just like Stefan, to be thinking of himself as a danger while he did everything he could to protect her.
“Thank you,” she said, looking down at the wilting weeds as if they were the most precious thing she’d ever touched.
She stared up at him again, holding her gaze until, reluctantly, he let his eyes meet hers again. “Remember,” she said softly. “I don’t believe in monsters.”
Stefan’s face twisted, and he turned and walked away, disappearing into the gathering dusk.
Elena sighed and tucked the vervain into her pocket before heading home. She felt safe, despite the dark. Even if she couldn’t see him, Stefan would guard her carefully all the way home.
#TVD13StelenaReturns
Ninety-seven. Ninety-eight. Elena brushed her hair with smooth, even strokes, watching herself in the elaborately framed Victorian mirror above her dresser. She met her own reflected gaze levely, her dark blue eyes as steady as her hand on the hairbrush. Her golden hair fanned out like silk across her shoulders.
It was odd, she thought, that she looked almost exactly the same here as she did in her own time. Her friends were younger, softer, but Elena’s appearance hadn’t changed since she had drunk the Water of Eternal Life and Youth back in her freshman year of college. When she had chosen to be with Stefan forever.
She was not going to think about Stefan.
Her hand slowed and her eyes dropped.
There was still that instant fire between them. The rest of the world melted away when she was with Stefan. It had felt so right, so perfect, to talk to him and touch him again.
But it didn’t matter. She had to stay away from Stefan. It didn’t matter how much she yearned to be with him. She couldn’t get caught in that trap. Giving in to her love for Stefan led, in the end, to death and despair. There was a reason she was here.
She put the brush down on top of her rosewood dresser, lining it up neatly between her jewelry box and her comb, and reached into the top shelf of the dresser for a lacy white nightgown. The house was silent. Aunt Judith and Margaret were already fast asleep, but Elena was buzzing with nervous energy. Still, she should try to rest.
Suddenly, there was a rap at the window, a sharp, cracking noise. Elena spun around. Outside, she could just make out a pale face in the darkness, hair and clothes as black as the night around him. Damon.
“Let me in.” The low, coaxing voice sent a shiver up Elena’s spine. She didn’t move. “Open the window, Elena. You want to let me inside.”
He was trying to compel her? A hot flush of anger ran over her. In two quick steps, she crossed the room and flung the window open.
Damon’s eyes widened a bit. She knew she wasn’t moving in the dreamy way a compelled person usually would, but the corners of his lush mouth tilted, and Elena could tell he’d decided to go with it. “Good,” he said, his tone soothing, “Now, invite me in, Princess.”
Elena folded her arms in front of her. “I don’t know if I should,” she said slowly. Her heart was pounding. Gratefully, she thought of the withered vervain in her pocket.
Cocking his head to one side, Damon eyed her thoughtfully. Sitting on a branch of the quince tree outside her window, one arm braced on the windowsill, he somehow managed to look as comfortable and graceful as ever. “You’ve got vervain,” he said.
“I do.” Elena didn’t offer anything else. If she wanted him intrigued by her, it was probably best to leave a little mystery.
Damon’s smile sharpened. “Didn’t you say you knew I would never hurt you?”
Elena’s mouth went dry, and then she swallowed hard and stepped back from the window. This was Damon. She was safe. “Come in, then, Damon,” she said.
Damon hesitated for just a moment, uncertainty flickering over his face, and then he was through the window smoothly and standing in front of her. “You know my name,” he said warily.
“Yes.” She didn’t try to explain. What could she say? All the things that might make Damon trust her were still in the future.
Damon moved closer. There was something hot and hungry in his gaze, and she had a sudden urge to raise her hand to cover where her pulse beat.
Elena was glad that she was still dressed in the clothes she’d worn to the woods, not the low-necked nightgown in her hand. It would have felt wrong, would have felt dangerous, if he had seen her like that right now, her throat so exposed.
“If you’re not afraid, come here,” he said coaxingly. “Let me taste you.” His irises were so dark that she could hardly make out his pupils.
For her Damon, the Damon she loved in her own time, Elena would have swept back her hair and bared her throat in an instant, eager for the sweet connection that came with the exchange of blood. Even now, she ached for that feeling.
But no, not yet. This Damon wasn’t ready to share with her as an equal: He just wanted to take.
Instead, she set her jaw firmly and stared back at him. “You won’t hurt me,” she said. “But I’m not ready for that.”
Again, Damon hesitated for a moment, his brow wrinkling. “You know my name and you have vervain,” he said. He took a step closer to her. “Someone’s been telling tales about me.”
He was very close to her now, near enough that Elena had to tilt her head back to look up at him, exposing the long lines of her throat. The fine hairs rose on the back of her neck, some small, primitive part of her brain recognizing: predator. His gaze was unfriendly. But Elena held her ground.
“No one’s told me a thing about you,” she said honestly. “I’m just a girl who happens to know a thing or two about vampires. And how to protect myself.”
“And my name?” Slowly, Damon raised his hand and ran a finger lightly along Elena’s jaw. His touch was gentle, but his gaze was cold, and Elena suppressed a shudder.
“I don’t mean you any harm, Damon,” she said, looking straight into his eyes. “I might know things, but I would never try to hurt you.” She could hear the sincerity in her own voice, and she thought Damon could too, because his hand dropped and he cocked his head, looking at her more closely.
“You look like someone I used to know,” he said. “But you’re not at all like her.”
Elena didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Damon smiled.
“So, you’re a girl who knows things,” he said, a faint mocking tone in his voice. “A girl who hangs out in graveyards at dusk and willingly invites vampires into her boudoir. Are you flirting with the darkness, Princess? Do you want to come with me into the night?”
He reached out for
Elena and pulled her against him. His eyes were on her throat again, and his fingers dug into her upper arms.
“That’s not what I want at all,” Elena said, trying to pull away. Her voice sounded startlingly loud to her own ears, and she realized they had been speaking in hushed voices, almost whispering. Damon’s gaze flew from her throat to meet her eyes.
“You’re wrong,” she said, desperately. His fingers were holding her too tightly. “I don’t want the darkness. I want you to come into the light with me.”
Damon laughed, a sudden burst of laughter, and let her go. The laugh warmed his face, made him look more like her Damon, and less like the predator who’d been standing too close to her a moment before.
“What, are you a missionary come to save my soul?” he asked, smiling in what looked like honest delight.
“Maybe.” Elena could feel her cheeks turning pink, but she held her head high. “Things are better in the light. I could show you.”
Damon laughed again, a low, silky chuckle this time, and, before Elena realized what he was doing, he leaned toward her and brushed his cool, dry lips against hers, just for a second. “You’ll see me again, Princess,” he whispered, and then, faster than her eyes could follow, he was gone.
Alone in her bedroom, Elena touched her fingers against her lips, her heart pounding wildly.
He wasn’t her Damon, not at all. Not yet. He didn’t know her, didn’t care for her, and that made him dangerous. For her own safety, she would have to remember that.
“Will you take me to the park tomorrow?” Margaret asked. She gazed at Elena across the kitchen table with wide blue eyes, her unbrushed dandelion-fluff hair sticking up in all directions. Behind her, Aunt Judith poured cereal into bowls.
“Sure, Meggie,” Elena said absently, picking at her toast. Margaret squealed and bounced in her seat. Elena smiled at her sister. They’d go Saturday morning, she decided, just the two of them, before she went dress shopping with Meredith and Bonnie.
Mornings like these were an unexpected blessing of her excursion into the past, Elena thought as she watched Margaret blow bubbles in her milk. She hadn’t known to treasure these mundane, everyday moments the first time alive, because she hadn’t known how quickly they would end. After this year, she’d never live at home with Margaret and Aunt Judith again. In one possible future—the first one, the one she couldn’t help thinking of as the real one—Elena would be dead before Christmas.
Aunt Judith set down a glass of orange juice in front of Margaret. “Stop blowing bubbles,” she told her firmly. “And, Elena, much as I like having you here for breakfast, you’re going to be late for school if you don’t get going.”
“Oh,” Elena said, looking up at the clock. She stood and reached for her backpack reluctantly. There was a quiver of nervousness deep in her stomach at the idea of seeing Stefan again. Until yesterday she’d almost forgotten the exact shade of Stefan’s green eyes. Now she thought she might have been better off forgetting when she couldn’t look into those eyes every day.
And then there was Damon. She could connect with him, she was sure of it. Damon would change for her. He had changed for her. Without Stefan between them, it would happen faster. She just didn’t know if it could happen in time. Halloween was coming soon, and she’d only managed two brief and enigmatic conversations with Damon.
“I don’t know if I’ll be back for dinner,” she said, dropping a kiss on Margaret’s head. “I might go to Bonnie’s house after school. Don’t wait for me.” Maybe if she went to the cemetery again this evening, Damon would come to her there.
Aunt Judith sighed and handed her an apple. “You hardly had any breakfast. Eat something healthy at lunch.”
Elena only nodded. She was thinking of Damon’s sharp, brilliant smile, and how quickly it faded. How rough his voice had been when he asked if she wanted to come into the darkness.
She opened the front door, and there, a dark figure against the bright colors of the day, was Damon, as if her thoughts had summoned him. Elena jerked back, her mouth dropping open.
The corners of Damon’s mouth tilted up at her surprise. “Hello, Princess,” he said lazily, his voice slow and easy. In one hand, he casually held a bouquet of white roses. “Here I am in the light, just like you wanted.” He held the roses out to her, his smile mocking.
“Thank you, they’re beautiful,” Elena said hesitantly.
She stepped back and headed for the kitchen. “You can come in,” she said over her shoulder. This was technically a different house than she’d invited him into last night. Her bedroom and the living room were the only remains of the original house, the one that had almost completely burned in the Civil War.
Perhaps, she thought, hearing his soft footsteps behind her, she should have kept him out. But he had never hurt Margaret or Aunt Judith. She had to show that she trusted Damon if she expected him to start trusting her.
In the kitchen, Elena reached into a high cupboard to take out a vase and began to fill it with water.
“Elena?” Aunt Judith asked. “You’ll be late—” She stopped in surprise as Damon came through the doorway.
“Look what Damon brought me,” Elena said lightly. Damon turned on his most brilliant smile and held out his hand.
“Damon Salvatore,” he said, introducing himself. “I’ll drive Elena to school today, make sure she gets there on time.”
Flustered, Aunt Judith reached up to smooth her hair before taking Damon’s hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, shooting Elena a look that said, as clearly as words, Who is this? What happened to Matt?
Elena plopped the flowers into the vase and took a few minutes to arrange them neatly, half listening to Damon and Aunt Judith’s conversation behind her.
“At university,” Damon was telling Aunt Judith. “I’m just here to visit family. Fell’s Church is lovely.” His voice was, if anything, a little too polite. And there was a familiar note in it, almost coaxing. Elena’s fingers stiffened on the rose stems. Was Damon using his Power on Aunt Judith? Aunt Judith and her fiancé, Robert, had always liked Damon. Was that because Damon had cheated? She hadn’t realized he would use his Power so casually. She swung around to stare at him. Damon met her eyes innocently, a bland smile on his lips.
Behind him, Margaret stared at Damon from the kitchen table. “Aunt Judith?” the little girl asked, her voice quavering. Perhaps she could sense Damon’s will working on Aunt Judith, compelling her to welcome him here.
“Let’s go,” Elena told Damon sharply.
“Certainly,” he said, still smiling. “You don’t want to be late to class.” He nodded politely to Aunt Judith.
Elena set the vase of roses down on the table, a little harder than she needed to, and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “See you later.”
Damon followed Elena to the front door. “Now that you’ve got the roses, perhaps you should leave those little flowering weeds in your pocket behind,” he said idly.
“Very funny,” Elena said, opening the door and turning to look at him. She was aware of the vervain nestled deep in her pocket, but it was interesting that Damon could sense it as well. Or perhaps he was only guessing. “The roses are gorgeous, though,” she added, and Damon’s lips curved into a smile.
The car parked outside was amazing: low, sleek, and clearly very expensive. Damon opened the door for her.
“Are you sure you want to go to school today, Princess?” he asked. “There’s a whole wide world out there. You could show me around Fell’s Church.”
“It’s tempting,” Elena admitted, and Damon’s smile widened. “But I should get to school. Aunt Judith will worry if she hears I cut.”
“I could make her forget,” Damon suggested, and held up a hand defensively when Elena glared at him. “Just teasing you, Princess. School it is.”
Elena settled back in the soft leather of the passenger seat, and Damon shut the door behind her and crossed to the driver’s side. She watched as he started the car and pull
ed out, admiring his strong, graceful hands on the wheel. When he shot her a sidelong smile, she grinned back. This was all so familiar. She knew the way he scanned the road, the way his long legs fit into the footwell of the car. This is Damon, she thought, with a sigh of satisfaction. When she was with him, she felt at home.
When they pulled into the parking lot at school, Caroline’s head shot up first. All around her, their friends turned as if drawn by a single, invisible thread. Damon parked and got out, coming around the car to open Elena’s door with a flourish.
“Who is that?” She heard Bonnie’s voice rise above the crowd. Meredith shushed her.
She smiled prettily up at Damon as he helped her out of the car, pretending not to notice the spreading whispers all around them.
“They’ll be talking about you all day,” Damon said, his voice low. Elena gave him a small, private grin in reply.
“I’ll see you later?” Elena asked him, squeezing his cool hand in her warmer one.
“Oh, I’ll be around,” he said, and bent his head to press his lips, lightly, against her cheek. Raising her hand to touch where he had kissed, Elena watched as Damon slid back into his car and drove away. A tendril of affection curled warmly inside her.
Once the black car had turned out of the high school parking lot, an excited babble of voices rose up behind Elena.
“Did you see that car?”
“There was a car? I was too busy looking at the guy.”
“No wonder Elena didn’t care about the new boy.”
Elena smirked a little. Then, turning, she came face to face with Matt. His lips were pursed tightly. Elena flinched. She had told him there wasn’t anyone else.
“Matt,” she said quickly, “it’s not what it looks like. When we talked, I didn’t …”
Tyler Smallwood and Dick Carter swaggered over. Tyler slapped Matt on the back, his big, red face openly amused. “So someone finally cracked the Ice Princess, huh? Too bad it wasn’t you, Honeycutt,” he said loudly. “You wasted a lot of time there.”
