by Smith, L. J.
“No, he wouldn’t have let us, I’m sure,” Elena said flatly. “But please—she’s bleeding and she’s going to have a baby….”
Dr. Meggar’s eyebrows went up and down. But without asking anyone to leave while he treated her, he pulled out an old-fashioned stethoscope and listened carefully to Ulma’s heart and lungs. He smelled her breath, and then gently palpated her abdomen below Elena’s bloody camisole, all with a professional air, before tipping to her lips a brown bottle, from which she drank a few sips, then sank back, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Now,” the little man said, “she’s resting comfortably. She’ll need quite a bit of stitching of course, and you could use a few stitches yourself, but that’s as your master says, I suppose.” Dr. Meggar said the word master with a definite implication of dislike. “But I can almost promise you that she won’t die. About her babe I don’t know. It may come out marked as a result of this business—striped birthmarks, perhaps—or it may be perfectly all right. But with food and rest”—Dr. Meggar’s eyebrows went up and down again, as if the doctor would have liked to say this to Master Drohzne’s face—“she should recover.”
“Take care of Elena first, then,” Damon said.
“No, no!” Elena said, pushing the doctor away. He seemed like a nice man, but obviously around here, masters were masters—and Damon was more masterful and intimidating than most.
But not, at this moment, to Elena. She didn’t care about herself right now. She’d made a promise—the doctor’s words meant that she might be able to keep it. That was what she cared about.
Up and down, up and down. Dr. Meggar’s eyebrows looked like two caterpillars on one elastic string. One lagged a little behind the other. Clearly, the behavior he was seeing was abnormal, even liable to be punished by serious means. But Elena only noticed him peripherally, the way she was noticing Damon.
“Help her,” she said vehemently—and watched the doctor’s eyebrows shoot up as if they were aimed for the ceiling.
She’d let her aura escape. Not completely, thank God, but a blast had definitely discharged, like a flash of sheet lightning in the room.
And the doctor, who wasn’t a vampire, but just an ordinary citizen, had noticed it. Lakshmi had noticed it; even Ulma stirred on the examining table uneasily.
I’m going to have to be a whole lot more careful, Elena thought. She cast a quick look at Damon, who was about to explode, himself—she could tell. Too many emotions, too much blood in the room, and the adrenaline of killing still pulsing in his bloodstream.
How did she know all that?
Because Damon wasn’t perfectly in control, either, she realized. She was sensing things directly from his mind. Best to get him out of here quickly. “We’ll wait outside,” she said, catching his arm, to Dr. Meggar’s obvious shock. Slaves, even beautiful ones, didn’t act that way.
“Go and wait in the courtyard then,” the doctor said, carefully controlling his face and speaking to the air in between Damon and Elena. “Lakshmi, give them some bandages so they can staunch the young girl’s bleeding. Then come back; you can help me.”
“Just one question,” he added as Elena and the others were walking out of the room. “How did you know that this woman is pregnant? What sort of spell can tell you that?”
“No spell,” Elena said simply. “Any woman watching her should have known.” She saw Bonnie flash her an injured look, but Meredith remained inscrutable.
“That horrible slaver—Drogsie—or whatever—was whipping her from the front,” Elena said. “And look at those gashes.” She winced, looking over two stripes that crossed Ulma’s sternum. “In that case, any woman would be trying to protect her breasts, but this one was trying to cover her belly. That meant she was pregnant, and far along enough to be sure about it, too.”
Dr. Meggar’s eyebrows drew down and together—and then he looked up at Elena as if peering over glasses. Then he nodded slowly. “You take some bandages and stop your own bleeding,” he said—to Elena, not to Damon. Apparently, slave or not, she had won some kind of respect from him.
On the other hand, Elena seemed to have lost stature with Damon—or at least, he’d cut his mind off from hers quite deliberately, leaving her with a blank wall to stare at. In the doctor’s waiting room, he waved an imperious hand at Bonnie and Meredith.
“Wait here in this room,” he said—no, he ordered. “Don’t leave it until the doctor comes out. Don’t let anyone in the front door—lock it now, and keep it locked. Good. Elena is coming with me into the kitchen—that’s the back door. I do not want to be disturbed by anyone unless an angry mob is threatening the house with arson, do you understand? Both of you?”
Elena could see Bonnie about to blurt out, “But Elena’s still bleeding!” and Meredith was with her eyes and brows calling council on whether or not they needed to hold an immediate velociraptor sisterhood rebellion. They all knew Plan A for this: Bonnie would throw herself into Damon’s arms, passionately weeping or passionately kissing him, whichever best fit the situation, while Elena and Meredith came at him from the sides and did—well, whatever had to be done.
Elena, with one flash of her own eyes, had categorically nixed this. Damon was angry, yes, but she could sense that it was more with Drohzne than with her. The blood had agitated him, yes, but he was used to controlling himself in bloody situations. And she needed help with her wounds, which had begun to hurt seriously, ever since she’d heard that the woman she had rescued would live, and might even have her baby. But if Damon had something on his mind, she wanted to know what it was—now.
With one last comforting glance at Bonnie, Elena followed Damon through the kitchen door. It had a lock on it. Damon looked at it and opened his mouth; Elena locked it. Then she looked up at her “master.”
He was standing by the kitchen sink, methodically pumping water, with one hand clenched against his forehead. His hair hung over his eyes, getting splashed, getting wet. He didn’t seem to care.
“Damon?” Elena said uncertainly. “Are you…all right?”
He didn’t answer.
Damon? she tried telepathically.
I let you get hurt. I’m fast enough. I could have killed that bastard Drohzne with one blast of Power. But I never imagined you’d get hurt. His telepathic voice was at once filled with the darkest kind of menace imaginable and a strange, almost gentle, calm. As if he were trying to keep all the ferocity and anger locked away from her.
I couldn’t even tell him—I couldn’t even send words to him to tell him what he was. I couldn’t think. He was a telepath; he would have heard me. But I didn’t have any words. I could only scream—in my mind.
Elena felt a bit light-headed—a little more light-headed than she’d already been feeling. Damon was feeling this anguish—for her? He wasn’t angry about her flagrantly breaking rules in front of crowds, maybe breaking their cover? He didn’t mind looking bedraggled?
“Damon,” she said. He’d surprised her into speaking out loud. “It—it—doesn’t matter. It’s not your fault. You would never even have let me do it—”
“But I should have known you wouldn’t ask! I thought you were going to attack him, to jump on his shoulders and throttle him, and I was ready to help you do that, to take him down like two wolves taking down a big buck. But you’re not a sword, Elena. Whatever you think, you’re a shield. I should have known that you would take the next blow yourself. And because of me, you got—” His eye drifted to her cheekbone and he winced.
Then he seemed to get a grip on himself. “The water is cold, but it’s pure. We need to clean those slashes and stop that bleeding now.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any Black Magic around,” Elena said, half jokingly. This was going to hurt.
Damon, however, immediately began opening cupboards. “Here,” he said after checking only three, triumphantly coming up with a half-full bottle of Black Magic. “Lots of doctors keep this as a medicine and anesthetic. Don’t worry; I’ll pay
him well.”
“Then I think you should have some, too,” Elena said boldly. “Come on, it’ll do us both good. And it won’t be the first time.”
She knew that the last sentence would clinch it with Damon. It would be a way of getting back something that Shinichi had taken from him.
I’ll get the whole of his memories back from Shinichi somehow, Elena decided, doing her best to screen her thoughts from Damon with white noise. I don’t know how to do it, and I don’t know when I’ll get the chance, but I swear I will. I swear.
Damon had filled two goblets with the rich, heady-smelling wine and was handing one to Elena. “Just sip at first,” he said, helpless but to fall into the role of instructor. “This is a good year.”
Elena sipped, then simply gulped. She was thirsty and Clarion Loess Black Magic wine didn’t have any alcohol—as such—in it. It certainly didn’t taste like regular wine. It tasted like remarkably refreshing effervescent spring water that was flavored with sweet, deep, velvety grapes.
Damon, she noticed, had forgotten to sip as well, and when he offered her a second glass to match his, she accepted willingly.
His aura sure had calmed down a lot, she thought, as he picked up a wet cloth and began, gently, to clean the cut that almost exactly followed the line of her cheekbone. It had been the one to stop bleeding first, but now he needed to get the blood flowing again, to cleanse it. With two glasses of Black Magic on top of no food since breakfast, Elena found herself relaxing against the back of the chair, letting her head drop back a little, and shutting her eyes. She lost track of time, as he stroked the cut smoothly. And she lost strict control of her aura.
When she opened her eyes it was in response to no sound, no visual stimulus. It was a blaze in Damon’s aura, one of sudden determination.
“Damon?”
He was standing over her. His darkness had flared out behind him like a shadow, tall and wide and almost mesmerizing. Definitely almost frightening.
“Damon?” she said again, uncertainly.
“We’re not doing this right,” he said, and her thoughts flashed at once to her disobedience as a slave, and Bonnie and Meredith’s less serious infractions. But his voice was like dark velvet, and her body responded to it more accurately than her mind. It shivered.
“How…do we do it right?” she asked, and then she made the mistake of opening her eyes. She found that he was stooping over her as she sat on the chair, stroking—no, just touching—her hair so softly that she hadn’t even felt it.
“Vampires know how to take care of wounds,” he said confidently, and his great eyes that seemed to hold their own universe of stars caught and held her. “We can clean them. We can start them bleeding again—or stop them.”
I’ve felt like this before, Elena thought. He’s talked to me like this before, too, even if he doesn’t remember. And I—I was too frightened. But that was before…
Before the motel. The night when he’d told her to run, and she hadn’t. The night that Shinichi had taken, just as he’d taken the first time they’d shared Black Magic together.
“Show me,” whispered Elena. And she knew that something else in her mind was whispering too, whispering different words. Words that she would never have said if she had for a moment thought of herself as a slave.
Whispering, I’m yours…
That was when she felt his mouth lightly brush her mouth.
And then she just thought, Oh! and Oh, Damon…until he moved to gently touch her cheek with his silky soft tongue, manipulating chemicals first to make cleansing blood flow, and finally when the impurities had all been so softly swept away, to stop the blood and to heal the wound. She could feel his Power now, the dark Power that he had used in a thousand fights, to inflict hundreds of mortal wounds, being held tightly in check to concentrate on this simple, homely task, to heal the mark of a whiplash on a girl’s cheek. Elena thought it was like being stroked with the petals of that Black Magic rose, its cool smooth petals gently sweeping away the pain, until she shivered in delight.
And then it stopped. Elena knew that she’d once again had too much wine. But this time she didn’t feel sick. The deceptively light drink had gone to her head, making her tipsy. Everything had taken on an unreal, dreamlike quality.
“It will finish healing well now,” Damon said, again touching her hair so softly that she could barely feel it. But this time she did feel it, because she sent out fingers of Power to meet the sensation and enjoy every moment of it. And once again he kissed her—so lightly—his lips barely brushing hers. When her head fell back, though, he didn’t follow, even when, disappointed, she tried to put pressure on the back of his neck. He simply waited until Elena thought things out…slowly.
We shouldn’t be kissing. Meredith and Bonnie are right next door. How do I get myself in situations like this? But Damon isn’t even trying to kiss…and we’re supposed to be—oh!
Her other wounds.
They really hurt now. What cruel person had thought up a whip like that, Elena thought, with a razor-thin lash that cut so deeply it didn’t even hurt at first—or not that much…but got worse and worse over time? And kept bleeding…we’re supposed to be stopping the bleeding until the doctor can see me….
But her next wound, the one that burned like fire now, was diagonally across her collarbone. And the third was near her knee….
Damon started to get up, to get another cloth from the sink and cleanse the cut with water.
Elena held him back. “No.”
“No? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“All I want to do is cleanse it….”
“I know.” She did know. His mind was open to hers, all its turbulent power running clear and tranquilly. She didn’t know why it had opened to her like this, but it had.
“But let me advise you, don’t go donating your blood to some dying vampire; don’t let anyone sample it. It’s worse than Black Magic—”
“Worse?” She knew he was complimenting her, but she didn’t understand.
“The more you drink, the more you want to drink,” Damon answered, and for a moment Elena saw the turbulence she had caused in those calm waters. “And the more you drink, the more Power you can absorb,” he added seriously. Elena realized that she had never even thought of this as a problem, but it was. She remembered the agony it had been to try to absorb her own aura before she had learned how to keep it moving with her bloodstream.
“Don’t worry,” he added, still serious. “I know who you’re thinking about.” He made a move again to get a cloth. But without knowing it, he had said too much, presumed too far.
“You know who I’m thinking about?” Elena said softly, and she was surprised at how dangerous her own voice could sound, like the soft padding of heavy tigress feet. “Without asking me?”
Damon tried to finesse his way out. “Well, I assumed….”
“No one knows what I’m thinking about,” Elena said. “Until I tell them.” She moved and made him kneel to look at her, questioningly. Hungrily.
Then, just as it was she who had made him kneel, it was she who drew him to her wound.
18
Elena came back to the real world slowly, fighting it all the way. She sank her nails into the leather of Damon’s jacket, found herself wondering briefly if removing it would help, and then her mood was shattered again by that sound—a sharp, imperative knock.
Damon raised his head and snarled.
We are a pair of wolves, aren’t we? Elena thought. Fighting nail and tooth.
But, another part of her mind supplied, that isn’t stopping the knocking. He warned those girls….
Those girls! Bonnie and Meredith! And he’d said not to interrupt unless the house was on fire!
But, the doctor—oh, God, something’s happened to that poor, wretched woman! She’s dying!
Damon was still snarling, a trace of blood on his lips. It was only a trace, because her second wound had really been healed just as
thoroughly as the first, the one across her cheekbone. Elena had no idea how long it had been since she had pulled Damon to her to kiss this cut. But now, with her blood in his veins and his pleasure interrupted, he was like an untamed black panther in her arms.
She didn’t know whether she could stop him or even slow him down without using raw Power on him.
“Damon!” she said aloud. “Out there—those are our friends. Remember? Bonnie and Meredith and the healer.”
“Meredith,” Damon said, and again his lips peeled back, exposing terrifyingly long canines. He still wasn’t in reality. If he saw Meredith now, he wouldn’t be frightened, Elena thought—and, oh yes, she knew how her logical, thoughtful friend made Damon uneasy. They saw the world through such different eyes. She irked him like a pebble in his shoe. But right now he might deal with that unease in a way that would leave Meredith a savaged corpse.
“Let me go see,” she said, as the knock came again—couldn’t they stop that? Didn’t she have enough to deal with?
Damon’s arms merely tightened around her. She felt a flash of heat, because she knew that, even as he restrained her, he was holding back so much of his strength. He didn’t want to crush her, as he could if he used a tenth of the power in his hard muscles alone.
The wave of feeling that washed over her made her shut her eyes briefly, helplessly, but she knew she had to be the voice of sanity here.
“Damon! They could be warning us—or Ulma may have died.”
Death got through to him. His eyes were slits, the bloodred light from the kitchen shutters throwing bars of scarlet and black across his face, making him look more handsome—and more demonic—than ever.
“You’ll stay here.” Damon said it flatly, with no idea of being a “master” or a “gentleman.” He was a wild beast protecting his mate, the only creature in the world that wasn’t competition or food.
There was no arguing with him, not in this state. Elena would stay here. Damon would go to do whatever needed to be done. And Elena would stay for as long as he thought necessary.
