Damon watched the crowd far more than he did the game, although his eyes regularly flitted back to Stefan. When he looked at his brother, he wore an expression that Elena couldn’t quite decipher. Was this hostile face the one Damon had worn all those centuries, as he kept a distant eye on his little brother, his enemy?
At halftime, Damon bought Elena a cup of hot chocolate.
“Thank you,” she said, pleased at his thoughtfulness, and wrapped her fingers around the warmth of the cup. It was getting chilly. Fall had really set in now.
“May I?” Damon asked politely, after he’d watched her take a sip. She handed over the hot chocolate, and he drank slowly, savoring. “Very nice,” he said. “Sweet.” His fingers lingered on hers for a moment longer than necessary as he passed the cup back to her. Damon’s words were innocent enough, but there was something darkly teasing in his gaze. Attraction hummed between them. Maybe he wasn’t her Damon yet, but he would be.
When they got back to Elena’s house after the game, the driveway was empty.
“Aunt Judith must have taken Margaret somewhere,” Elena told Damon.
Damon tipped his head slightly to one side, clearly sending out his Power to search the house. “There’s no one home.”
“Mmmhmm.” Elena unlocked the door and stepped inside. Damon waited on the porch, his hands in his jacket pockets, casual and confident. Elena didn’t hesitate. If she wanted Damon to be trustworthy, first she had to trust him. “You can come in if you want,” she said. “The invitation still stands.”
“If you want me,” Damon said cooly, but there was a pleased tilt to his mouth as he followed her in.
Elena led Damon through the house. In the hall, he paused, running his fingers across the photographs on the side table. “Your mother?” he asked, picking one up to look at it more closely.
Elena nodded, her throat tight. Damon kept touching things as he followed her through the house, brushing his fingers over the furniture and opening drawers to look inside. Up in her room, he prowled like a cat, inspecting the books on Elena’s bookcase, rifling through the clothes in her closet, delicately rearranging the objects on her dresser. It was as if he was trying to figure her out.
Finally, he put down her silver comb and turned to look at her. “Why did you want them to fight?” he asked, his voice dry. “It’s not for love, is it?”
Elena laughed in spite of herself. “Tyler or Dick? Absolutely not.” Sobering, she added, “I know something terrible would have happened tomorrow if they hadn’t been suspended. I can’t explain any more. I’m sorry.”
Damon stepped closer and brought his hands up to frame her face. His eyes, so dark that she couldn’t distinguish the iris from the pupil, stared into hers. Electricity shot through her at the careful touch of Damon’s hands on her face. He was trying to use his Power to read her, she could tell.
“You’re not a witch,” he said, confidently. “Or a psychic.”
Elena reached up and took his cool hands in hers. “Like I told you, I’m just a girl who knows some things. I’m nothing special.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Damon said, turning his palm so that his fingers were interlaced with hers. His eyes followed the line of the vein in her neck, all the way down to the collar of her shirt. “You promised me anything I wanted,” he said.
He expected her to pull away, to be afraid, Elena knew. Instead, she brushed her hair back, cocking her head to expose the smooth line of her throat. “I trust you,” she said simply.
Damon stared for a moment, then pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, and kissed her throat. Beneath the softness of his lips, his sharp canines pricked her, and she pressed closer still. Yes.
When his teeth slid smoothly beneath her skin, she could feel Damon with her at last: all his anger and loneliness, that lost child she knew hid beneath his cold façade. And, deeper still, passion. Love that never ended, a burning fire that could never be extinguished.
Their minds intertwined, and Elena stifled a sob of pure joy. Damon was hers again. They were both going to live.
14
“They were both amazing,” Bonnie said from the window seat. She was already wearing her fluffy pink dress, her bouncy curls perfectly smooth.
“Who?” Elena murmured as Meredith twisted a long strand of her hair and secured it with a bobby pin.
“Matt and Stefan,” Bonnie said. “When Stefan caught that last pass, I thought I was going to faint. Or throw up.”
“Oh, please,” said Meredith.
Vickie Bennett, carefully ringing her eyes with liner in front of the mirror, giggled nervously. She’d been thrilled when Elena invited her to join them in getting ready for the dance, but she seemed hesitant and unsure now that she was there. As Elena watched, Vickie glanced quickly at her, then looked away, her free hand twisting the hem of her dress.
“And Matt—that boy is simply poetry in motion …” Bonnie wriggled around on the seat to fix a bright eye on Elena. “You could have gotten either of them to take you, you know. Matt’s still crazy about you. And he’s a sweetheart. Plus, I saw Stefan’s face after Damon brought you to school. He practically swallowed his tongue, he was so upset.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elena said. “I’m with Damon.”
“Then why isn’t he bringing you to the dance?” Meredith asked, her talented fingers twining more of Elena’s hair into an elegant golden mass. “Even if he doesn’t like dances, he should have come if you wanted him to.”