Damon Salvatore wrenched Elena's slight figure into his arms, a measured distance away from Stefan, his younger brother, whose expression remained perfectly composed as always. But Damon knew that he looked on with horror behind those insufferably dark eyes.
He could feel Elena's pulse pounding underneath the soft, delicate surface of her skin—what it would be like to press his lips against the warm flesh of her throat, what it would be like to ravage her with kisses and to finally plunge into her, what she would taste like…
He could do it now. In fact, he was surprised that he didn't.
Instead, he slashed the skin of his wrist with his teeth, and pressed the bloody thing against Elena's mouth and nostrils, so that she would have no choice. He felt her writhe underneath his arms, her muffled screams echoing through the forest, but he held her fast. She would have to breathe sooner or later.
The pleading expression in Stefan's countenance failed to move him. For too long, he, Damon, had been the other brother. He would make his own fate, and he would seal it.
"Let her go first. I'm not going to give this to you until she is standing next to me…"
After a slight pause, Damon lowered his bleeding arm, suddenly feeling wretched at ever having manipulated Elena. She was no puppet. She was no Katherine.
His eyes darkened as his thoughts shifted, wanting to exact vengeance for her betrayal of his trust by snapping her pretty little neck. She had promised. And for that brief moment in time, he had wanted to believe she would be faithful. He wanted to believe in her. Most of all, he wanted her to believe in him.
He quipped something in return, although in the flurry of the moment, he could not recall the precise words. It was enough that Elena's hands had grasped his arm—her touch electrified him to his core. It was even better, perhaps, that her grip increasingly hardened, and her nails dug into his skin. He would have liked to think she was afraid of letting go. He knew it was the opposite.
"The problem is I no longer trust you to give it back!" he growled at his brother, as his mind returned to the reality of the scene unfolding around them all.
Stefan's convicting tone seared through the haze of his mind. "You just did the one thing that ensures I will."
And so, Damon reluctantly released Elena. She stumbled forwards, liberated from the jaws of the predator.
Come back to me.
He wanted to be the last soft, gentle memories in her head, just before he shattered her fragile human shell and cradled her broken body in his arms. He would watch over her unfailingly, as she became like him. He would watch as his blood, which rushed through her veins, nourished her back to life. A half-life. Even so, he would be hers. And she would be his.
The pain would not have been long. It should soon have vanished in the caresses he smothered upon her for eternity. He would have retained his own pledge of loyalty and love, even if Elena had not. A promise to protect her, to love her, to uplift her. More so than Stefan could have ever done.
Because Stefan was selfless and would never have dared turn her into a monster without her consent. Not like Damon.
Elena quickened her pace, and fell into Stefan's awaiting arms. She threw the other brother a look of sheer terror and loathing. And Damon knew that whatever trust, whatever belief, had formed in the few days of kinship between them, it had altogether disintegrated into nonexistence. And no matter what he thought, it hurt.
They, the destined lovers, vanished together into the darkness of the night.
Damon Salvatore lowered his sights to the book—the last means of hope. He would have her, whether it meant resurrecting the dead or striking down the live. Katherine, Elena—the lines blurred.
Yes, he would have her.
