Damon sighed and lay back on the mattress. He stared up at the ceiling in silence for a moment. "Listen," he said final y, lacing his fingers across his chest. "You've always underestimated Stefan's potential for violence."
"He's not violent," Elena said hotly. "He doesn't even drink human blood."
"He doesn't drink human blood because he doesn't want to be violent. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. But Elena" -
Damon reached out and took her hand - "my little brother's got a temper. I know that if anyone does."
Elena shivered. She knew that, back when they were humans, Stefan and Damon had kil ed each other in a fit of rage over what they thought was Katherine's death. Katherine's blood had been in both their systems, and they had risen again as vampires that night. Their anger and jealousy over a lost love had destroyed them both.
"However," Damon continued, "much as it pains me to admit it, Stefan would never hurt you, and wouldn't hurt anyone else without a real reason. Not without the kind of reason you would approve of. Not these days. He might have a temper, but he's also got a conscience." He smirked a little and added, "An annoying, self-righteous kind of conscience, of course, but it's there. And he loves you, Elena. You're the whole world to him."
"Maybe you're right," Elena said. "I'm scared, though. And I wish you were there with me." She looked at him, as sleepy and confiding as a tired child now. "Damon, I wish you weren't dead. I miss you. Please come back to me."
Damon smiled and kissed her softly. But then he pul ed away and Elena could feel the dream changing. She tried to cling to the moment, but it faded and Damon was lost to her again.
"Please be careful, Damon," said Sage, worry lines marring his bronzed forehead.
It wasn't often that the muscular Keeper of the Gates looked worried - or spoke only one language at a time -
but ever since Damon had staggered back from death and out of the ashes, Sage had spoken softly and clearly to him in English, treating the vampire as if he were likely to shatter at any minute.
"I usual y am careful," said Damon, leaning against the wal of what they cal ed, for want of a better term, the mystical elevator. "Unless I'm being heart-stoppingly brave, of course." The words were right, but to Damon's own ears, his voice sounded off: hoarse and hesitant.
Sage seemed to hear the wrongness there, too, and his handsome face furrowed in a frown. "You can stay longer if you want."
Damon leaned back against the plain white wal . "I have to go," he said wearily, for what felt like the mil ionth time.
"She's in danger. But thank you for everything, Sage."
He wouldn't be here now without Sage. The powerful vampire had cleaned Damon up, given him clothes - stylish black clothes in the right size - and fed him blood and rich Black Magic wine until Damon had been hauled back from the edge of death and realized who he was again. But... Damon didn't feel like himself. There was a strange empty ache inside him, as if he'd left something behind, buried deep under the ash.
Sage was stil frowning, staring at him with grave concern. Damon pul ed himself together and gave Sage a sudden bril iant smile. "Wish me luck," he said. The smile helped: The other vampire's face relaxed.
"Bonne chance, mon ami," he said. "I wish you the very best of luck."
Bilingual again, Damon thought. I must be looking better.
"Fel 's Church," he said into the empty air. "The United States, the mortal realm. Somewhere I can hide."
He raised a hand in solemn salute to Sage and pushed the elevator's single button.
Elena woke up in darkness. She ran a quick and automatic mental check: smooth, fabric-softener-scented cotton sheets, dim light from the window past the foot of her bed on the right, the faint sound of Robert snoring in his and Aunt Judith's bedroom at the other end of the hal . Her own old familiar room. Home again.
She heaved a deep sigh. She didn't feel quite as mired in despair as she had when she climbed into bed; things were dark, but she could admit there was a possibility they might someday get better again. But her eyes and throat felt raw from crying. She missed Damon so much. A floorboard creaked. Elena stiffened. She knew that creak. It was the high, complaining whine the floorboard over near her window gave if you stepped right in the middle of it. Someone was in her room.
Elena lay very stil , running through the possibilities. Stefan would have announced himself as soon as he heard her sigh. Was it Margaret, quietly wandering in to crawl into bed with Elena?
"Margaret?" she asked softly.
There was no answer. Her ears straining, Elena thought she could make out the sound of slow, heavy breathing. Suddenly the lamp on her desk was switched on, and Elena was temporarily dazzled by the bright light. She could see only the silhouette of a dark figure.
Then her vision cleared. And at the foot of her bed, a half smile on his chiseled face, dark eyes wary, as if he was unsure of his welcome, stood a figure dressed al in black. Damon.
Chapter 22
Elena couldn't breathe. She could vaguely feel her mouth opening and closing, but she found she wasn't able to say anything. Her hands and feet had gone numb. Damon gave her an almost shy smile - which was funny, because Damon didn't do shy - and shrugged. "Wel , princess? You wanted me to be here with you, didn't you?"
As if a rubber band holding her back had snapped, Elena leaped out of bed and hurtled into Damon's arms.
"Are you real?" she said, half sobbing. "Is this real?" She kissed him fiercely, and he met her kiss with equal fervor. He felt real, cool skin and leather, the surprising softness of his lips familiar under hers.