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.
10
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.