She is screaming when he bursts through the window, coming up like death behind her attacker. Grasping hands hold firm, one upon the shoulder and the other taking hold of hair close to the scalp—a heart stopping breaking and tearing sound fills the air—and her screams increase in volume as the body fell and the head remains aloft.
Silence permeats the blood splattered room, however, when he eases her into unconsciousness so that he can deal with the still conscious head in his hand.
"I've told you all before, she is mine and she is not for hunting."
After exploding the head, he gently picks her up and takes her to Meredith's so that he can clean up her bedroom.
"Bonnie?" his clean, damp fingertips caress her face to wake her.
"Yes?"
"You did the right thing, precious, he would have killed you."
"You killed him, though."
"Yes, but I've told them over and over again that you're mine—mine to drink from, mine to toy with if I choose, and mine to kill if it's ever decided that you must die. They are not to touch you, and those who don't believe me must meet similar ends to that one. It's a fact."
"To you," she murmurs, turning her head away from him.
Damon leans forward to press a kiss to her shoulder, not pushing the issue with her, and leaves. She is weak and doesn't need him to overly excite her by arguing with her.
He finds her standing in the sun. It's a bright day, and she's long since left the quiet bench beneath dappled sunlit shadows. It hurts his eyes, but he bares it for her. Her form, always slight and pliant and—to him—sexy, seems translucent. Her body is not beautifully thin, and her form is not beautifully curvaceous. This particular human being is dying, and is not far from the end.
In much the same way as light groping in public, to humans, is slightly erotic, taking a tiny nibble at her bare throat in full sunlight nearly undoes him. In the past few hundred years, Damon has learned to appreciate every type, age, and health of blood. The blood of the dying has always fascinated him, for the slight watering of the mouth for more, long after all traces have been swallowed and cleaned from his gums, is tantalizing. Hers tastes divine—there is a reason vampires have hunted her extensively in the past few years…despite his repeated dismantling of their skulls to prove his claim on her.
Bonnie is dying of grief, although none but he will tell her that as he whispers the truth to her now. The loss of friends, in response to her druidism, and the loss of innocence by way of life experience have conspired to stress her weak heart and immune system past the brink. Damon stands behind and supports her as he muses on his plan to aid her—absently nuzzling and licking the seeping wound on her neck.
"Precious, will you let me save you?" her eyes are closed against the bright sunlight, her head resting lifelessly against his shoulder, and he checks to see if she is still conscious.
"How are you going to save me from myself, Damon? Using your method I will look and feel like this forever," she murmurs.
"First I give you enough blood to begin to recover your strength, and when you are recovered, I will change you and take you far away from all of these memories. It's best for someone like you to have a change of scenery at a time like this."
"Can't you take me away and then work your magic?" her voice is soft, intermittent. It's only because she thinks the words as she speaks that he hears the entire sentence at all.
"Not for a short while, at the very least, cara, you are far too weak to do any sort of travelling" he says gently into her ear as he hoists her up and starts walking out of the sunlight and into the shadows of the forest.
Damon takes her Richmond, a bigger city which is easier to blend into. It's the bigger cities that people don't notice the pale young man and the withered redhead he supports—that boy is pale from taking care of a dying friend, they reason, and move on with their lives. Humans were a superior species, sometimes, to vampires. If one spoke to a biologist this would be because vampires did not reproduce sexually—in the biological sense—and humans did. No, to Damon, humans had a modicum of technical superiority because they cared for others of their species—it was something he had found they couldn't repress easily. Vampires rarely cared for the "greater good," of their kind, usually only for one or two for their entire lifetimes.
By this time she would have faded and died, but Damon religiously gives her sips of his blood in order to prolong her life—sometimes secretly stashed in a cup of red wine, otherwise worked into the times he gives in and kisses her for hours on end. He also feeds her constantly, taking her to fancy restaurants—not to show off, but for the rich food and tiny portion sizes.
Her body begins to gain definition again.
In the evenings she can't sleep due to the growing presence of vampiric blood in her body, and he allows her to stay up with him for as long as she wants or can. He never lets her watch the local news, however, because her family and friends have reported her as missing—likely kidnapped. Snatched in broad daylight from a park frequented by mothers and young children. Her face on the television is splashed on every channel as the ethereally beautiful Elena and the dark eyed Meredith plead for her safe return.
Damon, if Bonnie is sleeping, watches the news and smiles into Bonnie's hair—and says to the faces in the screen, "No."