Damon could smell the richness of Elena’s blood, and his canines ached and sharpened in response, but he barely noticed. Taking a tissue from the box by the bed, he pressed it against the spreading red line on Elena’s arm for a few moments until the bleeding had stopped.
“Now what?” he began to say, but his voice died as he turned back to Bonnie. A sensation of Power rose and filled the room, making Damon’s skin tingle. Bonnie had already slipped into a trance, her eyes wide and blank. Her pupils dilated as she stared down into the flames in the brass bowl.
Her hands rested lightly on the end of Elena’s bed. Her breathing slowed and deepened. As Damon watched, Bonnie’s eyes flickered, tracking something that only she could see.
Crossing the room, Damon let himself lounge against the windowsill, gazing out. Bonnie could be in a trance for a very long time. Outside the window, it was still pitch-black, although it must be the early hours of the morning by now. He unloosed a questioning tendril of his own Power, searching into the darkness.
There wasn’t much out there. The sharp, predatory mind of an owl swooping silently through the sky. A wily fox slipped through the bushes near the apartment building. Farther away, he could sense the quiet consciousness of the humans asleep through the town.
Behind him, Bonnie’s mind was questing, gently but determined. He could feel the others, too, each one’s mind churning restlessly as they waited outside the bedroom.
But, even though she was right behind him, lying in that white-draped bed, he could feel nothing of Elena. Damon felt as if something inside him had been ripped apart. His Elena, just one last breath away from leaving him forever.
And then he thought he saw one slender golden eyebrow twitch, just a millimeter.
“Bonnie,” he said, his throat constricting. But the little witch, deep in her trance, didn’t hear him. He came closer to the bed again, close enough that he could feel the heat of the candles burning all around Elena.
Nothing. She could have been a statue. He sent his Power out desperately, but there was no glimmer of consciousness from her.
He must have imagined it.
Damon crouched down and brought his face closer to Elena’s, watching her carefully. Time passed and he stayed still, his gaze intent on Elena’s face. He was a predator; he could keep his mind clear and his eyes sharp for hours. But there was nothing.
He couldn’t leave here, not while there was still that cruel drop of hope. But if Elena died, then it would be time to take off the ring that had let him walk in sunlight all these years. He could step into the sun and let go at last.
His jaw tightened. He wasn’t going to give up yet. After all, Elena had survived so much before this.
Dawn was breaking, sending long swathes of pink and gold across the sky, by the time Bonnie finally stirred. She blinked at Damon, seemingly confused. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her usually creamy skin looked pale and wan.
“Oh,” she said, her voice small. “Oh, Damon.” She pressed one slim hand against her mouth, as if holding back her own words.
Damon straightened, feeling as if he were stepping in front of the firing line. Maybe, just maybe, he was wrong. The tiny spark of hope in his chest flickered and began to burn again. “Well?” he asked.
Bonnie’s eyes reddened, then overflowed, tears tracking down her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t even begin to tell what’s wrong. I couldn’t reach her. It was like—like she’s already gone.”
Damon jerked backward, and Bonnie reached out a trembling hand toward him. “I think,” she sobbed, “I think it might be time to start saying good-bye. Whatever the Celestial Guardians did to her, I don’t think Elena’s coming back.”
“No.” Damon heard his own voice, sharp as a whipcrack, and he strode forward, straight past Bonnie, and flung open the bedroom door. The others were out there, all of them, but he ignored their babble of questions as he shouldered past them. He had a brief impression of Meredith’s face, anxious and strained, before he left the apartment.
He didn’t know where he was going. But there had to be something Damon could do, somewhere he could go to help Elena. He’d lost everyone. Everyone he’d ever truly cared for was dead. He wasn’t going to say good-bye to Elena—not now, not ever. He wasn’t going to lose her.
4
“I love you, Damon,” Elena whispered.
He couldn’t hear her. None of them could hear her. Most of the time she couldn’t hear them, either, just enough to get the fleeting impression of tears and whispers and arguments. She couldn’t understand more than a word or two, sometimes just enough to recognize a voice.
She thought she’d heard Damon. But she had to admit there was the possibility she’d imagined it, that she was imagining all the familiar distant voices, just to keep herself company.
She was dying. She must be. There had been that terrible pain, Mylea had appeared, and then Elena had found herself in this place of emptiness.
Elena had hoped for a while that she might find Stefan. She’d seen his ghost, she knew his consciousness still lingered somewhere, but the place she was in now didn’t feel like any kind of spectral realm. She’d given up looking for Stefan when it became clear that there was no one here except Elena.
A soft gray light shone all around her, just enough to illuminate what seemed like a fog. It felt like a fog, too. She was surrounded by a damp chill.
She’d walked for miles, but nothing changed. She might not have believed she was moving at all, except for the ache in her feet. When she stopped and stood still, the fog was just the same.