by Smith, L. J.
Elena examined the room with the too-bright vision of someone who has forced their body beyond its limits. She contemplated beige walls, beige carpet, a beige armchair, a beige desk, and of course, a beige bedspread. Even Damon couldn’t reject a room on the grounds that it doesn’t match his basic black, she thought, and then: oh, I’m tired. And bewildered. And scared.
And…incredibly stupid. There’s only one bed in here. I’m lying on it.
“Damon…” With an effort, she sat up. “What do you want? There’s a chair. I can sleep on the chair.”
He half turned, and she saw in the movement that he wasn’t annoyed or playing games. He was furious. It was all there in the faster-than-the-human-eye-could-follow assassin’s spin and the complete muscular control that stilled it almost before it had begun.
Damon with his sudden movements and his frightening stillness. He was looking out the window again, body poised as always for…something. Right now it looked poised to jump through glass to get outside.
“Vampires don’t need sleep,” he said in a voice icier and more controlled than she’d heard since Matt had left them.
That gave her the energy to get off the bed. “You know I know that’s a lie.”
“Take the bed, Elena. Go to sleep.” But his voice was the same. She would have expected a flat, weary command. Damon sounded more tense, more controlled than ever.
More shaken than ever.
Her eyelids sank. “Is this about Matt?”
“No.”
“Is it about Shinichi?”
“No!”
Aha.
“It is, isn’t it? You’re afraid that Shinichi will get past all your defenses and possess you again. Aren’t you?”
“Go to bed, Elena,” Damon said tonelessly.
He was still shutting her out as completely as if she weren’t there. Elena got mad.
“What does it take to show you that I trust you? I’m traveling all alone with you, without any idea where we’re really going. I’m trusting you with Stefan’s life.” Elena was behind Damon now, on the beige carpet which smelled like…nothing, like boiled water. Not even like dust.
Her words were the dust. There was something about them that sounded hollow, wrong. They were the truth—but they weren’t getting through to Damon….
Elena sighed. Touching Damon unexpectedly was always a tricky business, with all the risks of setting off murderous instinct by accident, even when he wasn’t possessed. She reached out, now, very carefully, to put her fingertips on the elbow of his leather jacket. She spoke as precisely and unemotionally as she could.
“You also know that I have other senses now than the usual five. How many times do I have to say it, Damon? I know it wasn’t you torturing me and Matt last week.” Despite herself, Elena heard a certain pleading in her own voice. “I know that you’ve protected me on this trip when I was in danger, even killing for me. That means—a lot to me. You may say you don’t believe in the human sentiment of forgiveness, but I don’t think you’ve forgotten it. And when you know that there is nothing to forgive in the first place—”
“This has absolutely nothing to do with last week!”
The change in his voice—the force in it—hit Elena like a whiplash. It hurt…and it frightened her. Damon was serious. He was also under some dreadful strain, not completely unlike that of fighting off Shinichi’s possession, but different.
“Damon…”
“Leave me alone!”
Now, where have I heard something like that before? Befuddled, her heart pounding, Elena groped through memories.
Oh, yes. Stefan. Stefan when they had first been in his room together, when he was afraid to love her. When he was sure he would cause her to be damned if he showed he cared.
Could Damon be that much like the brother he always mocked?
“At least turn around and talk with me face-to-face.”
“Elena.” It was a whisper, but it sounded as if Damon couldn’t summon up his usual silky menace. “Go to bed. Go to hell. Go anywhere, but stay away from me.”
“You’re so good at that, aren’t you?” Elena’s own voice was cold now. Recklessly, angrily, she moved in even closer. “At pushing people away. But I know that you haven’t fed this evening. There’s nothing else you want from me, and you can’t do the starving-martyr bit half as well as Stefan—”
Elena had spoken knowing that her words were guaranteed to incite a response of some kind, but Damon’s usual response to this sort of thing was to lounge against something and pretend not to have heard.
What happened instead was completely outside the range of her experience.
Damon whirled, caught her precisely, held her locked in an unbreakable grip. Then, with a swoop of his head like a falcon on a mouse, he kissed her. He was more than strong enough to hold her still without hurting her.
The kiss was hard and long and for quite a while Elena resisted out of sheer instinct. Damon’s body was cool against hers, which was still warm and damp from the bath. The way he was holding her—if she put enough pressure on those particular points, it would hurt her possibly seriously. And then—she knew—he would release her. But did she really know what she knew? Was she prepared to break a bone to test it?
He was stroking her hair, which was so unfair, curling the ends and crushing them in his fingers…just hours after he’d taught her to feel things to the tips of her hair. He knew her weak spots. Not just every woman’s weak spots. He knew hers; he knew how to make her want to cry out in pleasure and how to soothe her.
There was nothing to do but test her theory and maybe break a bone. She would not submit when she had not invited him. She would not!
But then she remembered her curiosity about the little boy and the great stone boulder, and she deliberately opened her mind to Damon’s. He fell into the trap of his own making.
As soon as their minds connected there were something like fireworks. Explosions. Rockets. Stars going nova. Elena set her mind to ignoring her body and began looking for the boulder.
It was deep, deep inside the most locked-off part of his brain. Deep in the eternal darkness that slept there. But Elena seemed to have brought a searchlight with her. Wherever she turned, dark festoons of cobwebs fell and heavy-looking stone arches crumbled and fell to the ground.
“Don’t worry,” Elena found herself saying. “The light won’t do that to you! You don’t have to live down here. I’ll show you the beauty of the light.”
What am I saying? Elena wondered even as the words left her lips. How can I promise him—and maybe he likes living here in the dark!
But in the next second she had come much closer to the little boy, close enough to see his pale, wondering face.
“You came again,” he said, as if it were a miracle. “You said you would come, and you did!”
That brought down all Elena’s barriers at once. She knelt, and pulling the chains to their utmost length, took him on her lap. “Are you glad that I came back?” she asked gently. She was already stroking his hair smooth.
“Oh, yes!” It was a cry, and it frightened Elena almost as much as it pleased her. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever—the most beautiful thing I ever—”
“Hush,” Elena told him, “hush. There’s got to be some way to warm you up.”
“It’s the iron,” the child said humbly. “Iron keeps me weak and cold. But it has to be iron; otherwise he wouldn’t be able to control me.”
“I see,” Elena said grimly. She was beginning to get a grasp on what kind of relationship Damon had with this little boy. For a moment, on a hunch, she took two lengths of iron in her hands and tried to tear them apart. Elena had super-light here; why not superpowers? But all that happened was that she twisted and turned the length for nothing, and finally cut the web of her finger against an iron burr.
“Oh!” The boy’s huge dark eyes fixed on the dark bead of blood. He stared as if he were fascinated—and afraid.
“Do y
ou want it?” Elena held out the hand to him uncertainly. What a poor scrap of a creature to be coveting other people’s blood, she thought. He nodded timidly as if he were sure she’d be angry. But Elena just smiled and he reverently held her finger and took the whole globe of blood at once, closing his lips like a kiss.
As he lifted his head, he seemed to have a tinge more color in his pale face.
“You told me Damon keeps you here,” she said, holding him again and feeling heat being sucked from her into his cold body. “Can you tell me why?”
The child was still licking his lips, but he turned his face toward her immediately and said, “I’m the Warden of Secrets. But”—sadly—“the Secrets have gotten so big that even I don’t know what they are.”
Elena followed the motion of his head from his own small limbs to the iron chain to the huge, metallic ball. She felt a sinking inside herself and a deep pity for such a small warden. And she wondered what on earth could be inside that great stone sphere that Damon was guarding so intently.
But she didn’t get the chance to ask.
9
Even as Elena opened her mouth to speak, she could feel herself lifted as if in a hurricane. For a moment she clung to the boy who was being torn from her grasp, then she just had time to shout, “I’ll be back,” and to hear his reply, before she was pulled into the ordinary world of baths and manipulation and motel rooms.
“I’ll keep our secret!” That was what the little boy had cried to her at the last moment.
And what could that mean but that he would keep their rendezvous from the real (or “ordinairy”) Damon?
A moment later Elena was standing in a dingy motel room, and Damon was clutching her upper arms. As he released her, Elena could taste salt. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.
It didn’t seem to make any difference to her attacker. Damon seemed to be at the mercy of raw desperation. He was shaking like a little boy the first time he kissed his first love. That’s what’s driving the control away, Elena thought fuzzily.
As for herself, she felt as if she might faint.
No! She had to stay conscious.
Elena pushed and twisted, hurting herself deliberately against the apparently unbreakable grip that held her.
It held.
The possessor? Shinichi again, sneaking into Damon’s mind and making him do things—?
Elena fought harder, pushed herself until she actually could have screamed with pain. She whimpered once—
The hold broke.
Somehow Elena knew that Shinichi wasn’t involved in this. The true soul of Damon was a little boy held in chains for God-knew-how-many centuries, who had never known warmth and closeness but who still had a tearful appreciation for them. The child who was chained to the rock surrounding was one of Damon’s deepest secrets.
And now Elena was trembling so hard she wasn’t sure she could stand up, and she was wondering about the child. Was he cold? Was he crying like Elena? How could she tell?
She and Damon were left staring at each other, both breathing hard. Damon’s sleek hair was mussed, making him look rakish as a buccaneer. His face, always so pale and self-composed, was flushed with blood. His eyes dropped to watch Elena automatically massaging her wrists. She could feel pins and needles now: she was getting back some circulation. Once he’d looked away, he couldn’t seem to look her in the eye again.
Eye contact. All right. Elena recognized a weapon, groping for a chair and finding the bed unexpectedly close behind her. She didn’t have many weapons right now; and she needed to use all of them.
She sat, giving in to the weakness in her body, but she kept her eyes on Damon’s face. His mouth was swollen. And that was…unfair. Damon’s pout was a part of his most basic artillery. He had always had the most beautiful mouth she’d ever seen on anyone, man or woman. The mouth, the hair, the half-drooping lids, the heavy lashes, the delicacy of his jawline…unfair, even to someone like Elena, who’d long ago gotten past interest in a person because of some accident of beauty.
But she’d never seen that mouth swollen, the perfect hair disordered, the eyelashes trembling because he was looking everywhere except at her and trying not to show it.
“Was that… what you’ve been thinking about while you’ve been refusing to talk to me?” she asked, and her voice was almost steady.
Damon’s sudden stillness was perfection like all his other perfections. No breathing, of course. He stared at a spot in the beige carpet that by rights ought to have broken into flames.
Then, finally, he lifted those huge dark eyes to hers. It was so hard to tell anything about Damon’s eyes because the iris was almost the same color as the pupil, but Elena had a feeling that at this moment they were dilated so far as to be all pupil. How could eyes as dark as midnight trap and hold light? She seemed to see in them a universe of stars.
Damon said, softly, “Run.”
Elena felt her legs tense. “Shinichi?”
“No. You should run now.”
Elena felt her thigh muscles relax slightly and was grateful not to have to try to prove that she could run—or even crawl—at this exact instant. But her fists clenched.
“You mean this is just you being a bastard?” she said. “Have you decided to hate me again? Did you enjoy—?”
Damon whirled again, stillness into motion faster than her eyes could track it. He hit the frame of the window, once, pulling the punch almost completely at the last instant. There was a crash and then a thousand little echoes as the glass showered like diamonds against the darkness outside.
“That might…bring some people to help you.” Damon wasn’t trying to make the words seem more than an afterthought. Now that he was turned away from her, he didn’t seem to care about keeping up appearances. Fine tremors ran through his body.
“This late, in this storm, this far away from the office—I doubt it.” Elena’s body was catching up with the adrenaline spurt that had allowed her to fight her way out of Damon’s grip. She was tingling all over and she had to work to keep it from turning into outright shaking.
And they were back to square one, with Damon staring into the night and her staring at his back. Or, at least, that was where he wanted them to be.
“You could have just asked,” she said. She didn’t know if this was possible for a vampire to understand. She still hadn’t taught Stefan. He went without things that he wanted because he didn’t understand about asking. In all innocence and with all good intentions, Stefan left things until she, Elena, was forced to ask him.
Damon, she thought, didn’t usually have that problem. He took whatever he wanted as casually as if picking items off of a grocery store shelf.
And right now he was laughing silently, which meant that he was truly stricken.
“I’ll take that as an apology,” Elena said softly.
Now Damon was laughing out loud, and Elena felt a chill. Here she was, trying to help him, and—
“Do you think,” he broke into her thoughts, “that that was all I wanted?”
Elena felt herself freeze again as she mulled this over. Damon could easily have taken her blood while he held her immobile. But—of course—that wasn’t all he wanted from her. Her aura…she knew what it did to vampires. Damon had been protecting her all along from other vampires who might see it.
The difference, Elena’s native honesty told her, was that she didn’t give a damn about any of the others. But Damon was different. When he kissed her she could feel the difference inside her. Something she had never felt before…until Stefan.
Oh, God—was this really her, Elena Gilbert, betraying Stefan by the simple act of not running away from this situation? Damon was being a better person than she was; he was telling her to take the temptation of her aura away from him.
So that she could start the torture anew tomorrow.
Elena had been in many circumstances where she’d judged that it was best for her to leave before things got too hot. The problem here
was that there was nowhere that she could go to without turning up the heat—putting herself in greater danger. And, incidentally, losing her chance to find Stefan.
Should she have gone with Matt? But Damon had said they couldn’t get into this Dark Dimension place, not two humans by themselves. He’d said they needed him with them. And Elena still had some doubts as to whether Damon would take the trouble to even drive to Arizona, much less search for Stefan, if she wasn’t with him every step of the way.
Besides, how could Matt have protected her on the dangerous road she and Damon were following? Elena knew that Matt would die for her—and that’s just what he would do, too, if they came up against vampires or werewolves. Die. Leaving Elena facing her enemies alone.
Oh, yes, Elena knew what Damon did each night when she slept in the car. He put some kind of dark spells around her, signing them with his name, sealing them with his seal, and they kept random creatures of the night away from the car until morning.
But their greatest enemies, the kitsune twins, Shinichi and Misao, they had brought with them.
Elena thought about all this before raising her head to look Damon in the eyes. Eyes which, at that moment, reminded her of those of a ragged child chained to a rock.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he whispered.
Elena shook her head.
“You’re really not afraid of me?”
“Oh, I’m afraid.” Again Elena felt that inward shiver. But she was flying somewhere now, she had set the course, and there was no way that she could stop. Especially not when he looked at her like that. It reminded her of the fierce joy, the almost reluctant pride he always showed when they took down an enemy together.
“I won’t become your Princess of Darkness,” she told him. “And you know that I could never give up Stefan.”
A ghost of his old mocking smile touched his lips. “There’s plenty of time to convince you to my way of thinking on those matters.”
No need, Elena thought. She knew that Stefan would understand.
But even now, when it seemed the whole world was whirling around her, something rose up in Elena to challenge Damon. “You say it’s not Shinichi. I believe you. But is all this because—of what Caroline said?” She could hear the sudden hardness in her own voice.
