“I don’t mean you any harm, Damon,” she said, looking straight into his eyes. “I might know things, but I would never try to hurt you.” She could hear the sincerity in her own voice, and she thought Damon could too, because his hand dropped and he cocked his head, looking at her more closely.
“You look like someone I used to know,” he said. “But you’re not at all like her.”
Elena didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Damon smiled.
“So, you’re a girl who knows things,” he said, a faint mocking tone in his voice. “A girl who hangs out in graveyards at dusk and willingly invites vampires into her boudoir. Are you flirting with the darkness, Princess? Do you want to come with me into the night?”
He reached out for Elena and pulled her against him. His eyes were on her throat again, and his fingers dug into her upper arms.
“That’s not what I want at all,” Elena said, trying to pull away. Her voice sounded startlingly loud to her own ears, and she realized they had been speaking in hushed voices, almost whispering. Damon’s gaze flew from her throat to meet her eyes.
“You’re wrong,” she said, desperately. His fingers were holding her too tightly. “I don’t want the darkness. I want you to come into the light with me.”
Damon laughed, a sudden burst of laughter, and let her go. The laugh warmed his face, made him look more like her Damon, and less like the predator who’d been standing too close to her a moment before.
“What, are you a missionary come to save my soul?” he asked, smiling in what looked like honest delight.
“Maybe.” Elena could feel her cheeks turning pink, but she held her head high. “Things are better in the light. I could show you.”
Damon laughed again, a low, silky chuckle this time, and, before Elena realized what he was doing, he leaned toward her and brushed his cool, dry lips against hers, just for a second. “You’ll see me again, Princess,” he whispered, and then, faster than her eyes could follow, he was gone.
Alone in her bedroom, Elena touched her fingers against her lips, her heart pounding wildly.
He wasn’t her Damon, not at all. Not yet. He didn’t know her, didn’t care for her, and that made him dangerous. For her own safety, she would have to remember that.
11
“Will you take me to the park tomorrow?” Margaret asked. She gazed at Elena across the kitchen table with wide blue eyes, her unbrushed dandelion-fluff hair sticking up in all directions. Behind her, Aunt Judith poured cereal into bowls.
“Sure, Meggie,” Elena said absently, picking at her toast. Margaret squealed and bounced in her seat. Elena smiled at her sister. They’d go Saturday morning, she decided, just the two of them, before she went dress shopping with Meredith and Bonnie.
Mornings like these were an unexpected blessing of her excursion into the past, Elena thought as she watched Margaret blow bubbles in her milk. She hadn’t known to treasure these mundane, everyday moments the first time alive, because she hadn’t known how quickly they would end. After this year, she’d never live at home with Margaret and Aunt Judith again. In one possible future—the first one, the one she couldn’t help thinking of as the real one—Elena would be dead before Christmas.
Aunt Judith set down a glass of orange juice in front of Margaret. “Stop blowing bubbles,” she told her firmly. “And, Elena, much as I like having you here for breakfast, you’re going to be late for school if you don’t get going.”
“Oh,” Elena said, looking up at the clock. She stood and reached for her backpack reluctantly. There was a quiver of nervousness deep in her stomach at the idea of seeing Stefan again. Until yesterday she’d almost forgotten the exact shade of Stefan’s green eyes. Now she thought she might have been better off forgetting when she couldn’t look into those eyes every day.
And then there was Damon. She could connect with him, she was sure of it. Damon would change for her. He had changed for her. Without Stefan between them, it would happen faster. She just didn’t know if it could happen in time. Halloween was coming soon, and she’d only managed two brief and enigmatic conversations with Damon.
“I don’t know if I’ll be back for dinner,” she said, dropping a kiss on Margaret’s head. “I might go to Bonnie’s house after school. Don’t wait for me.” Maybe if she went to the cemetery again this evening, Damon would come to her there.
Aunt Judith sighed and handed her an apple. “You hardly had any breakfast. Eat something healthy at lunch.”
Elena only nodded. She was thinking of Damon’s sharp, brilliant smile, and how quickly it faded. How rough his voice had been when he asked if she wanted to come into the darkness.
She opened the front door, and there, a dark figure against the bright colors of the day, was Damon, as if her thoughts had summoned him. Elena jerked back, her mouth dropping open.
The corners of Damon’s mouth tilted up at her surprise. “Hello, Princess,” he said lazily, his voice slow and easy. In one hand, he casually held a bouquet of white roses. “Here I am in the light, just like you wanted.” He held the roses out to her, his smile mocking.
“Thank you, they’re beautiful,” Elena said hesitantly.
She stepped back and headed for the kitchen. “You can come in,” she said over her shoulder. This was technically a different house than she’d invited him into last night. Her bedroom and the living room were the only remains of the original house, the one that had almost completely burned in the Civil War.