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.
Chapter 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.