Secrets of the Chase
Hunting
He was a predator by nature.
In his human days, he hunted the enemy who dared to forage in the Deep South he called home. Upon becoming a vampire he stalked his unwitting prey with his finely tuned skills, delighting in the familiar thrill he craved. And it always ended so predictably, he thought wickedly.
With a win.
But what about women? He smirked, swilling the dregs of brandy in his snifter. Damon Salvatore had a 100% success rate. Stefan's pretty boy looks proved no contest, for in every city he was noticed by women – be it a subtle lick of the lips to unabashed tramps whispering dirty words in his ear – he knew it took minutes to snag himself a pretty little treat.
Yet lately, he had found there was nothing to hunt. Damon sighed morosely, yearning for the tingle of the chase and the heady rush of success when he finally what he desired in his capable hands. Nothing else made sex and blood taste so sweet.
Chin up Salvatore. Let's see what could be on the menu tonight.
He swivelled around on the bar stool, propping up his elbows on the bar to peruse the current clientele. Dull housewife, desperate sorority girls, Matt's mother...
Bor-ring.
A ridiculous amount of clichéd easy lays that aptly reflected the pitiful town of Mystic Falls. He tipped the last of his drink down his throat, relishing the warm burn with a lick of his lips. His satisfaction was short lived and he swung round to motion the bartender for a refill.
Mystic Falls wasn't completely pathetic, he mused. There was one girl – just one – that embodied a challenge worthy of a chase. Beautiful, quick witted and kind, she was also the most dangerous; threatening the reprisal of a tragic love triangle he believed to have died years ago.
Elena Gilbert.
It was surprising really that Damon had left her alone for so long. He rarely listened to logic and common sense, instead living spontaneously and rejecting routine to follow a path littered with danger and excitement. He revelled in being the opposite to Stefan, shackled to a misguiding duty to do the right thing.
He shuddered at the thought.
Despite the allure, Damon had initially steered clear of the temptation – consoling himself with teasing remarks and fleeting touches. Instead, he had thrown himself into pursuing a way to free Katherine from her supposed tomb, a misguided bid to gain his Disney happy-ever-after. He grimaced at the reminder – he had been well and truly deceived by the sly little bitch, and his very reason for existence had shattered into tiny, little splinters.
Damon scowled, looked at the amber liquid in his glass before downing the contents in one gulp. Fuck it. It was time to return to his roots, to reclaim back his identity – the consequences be damned.
Elena Gilbert had become his prey, and the chase was on.
Elena gazed in abject horror at the scrap of material draped over the bed. Oh Jesus. She gingerly pinched the garment between her finger and thumb and lifted it up, peering at it this way and that.
"Erm, Caroline?" she called out hesitantly. "Where's the rest of my outfit?"
A low chuckle came from the bathroom where Caroline was preening herself in preparation for the night.
"You can't be serious?" she wailed. Surely only a hooker would wear such a thing? "Oh, I'm serious," Caroline replied gaily. "It's a fancy dress mixer Elena, a mixer that I alone painstakingly organized without so much as a hand from any of my friends."
Elena groaned, fighting an urge to stamp her feet. Emotional blackmailing was a common tool in Caroline Forbes's arsenal, but in this instance she knew arguing would be utterly futile. It can't be so bad, she reassured herself. Grabbing the dress, she held it up against herself in the mirror. It managed to cover her front, but left her back completely bare.
Wonderful.
She needed to think positively, she decided. Perhaps letting loose at the costume party would provide some relief from the painful reunion with her birth mother. Her stomach rolled at the thought of Isobel, her breaths becoming quick and shallow.
Cold and downright feral in her quest for the Gilbert trinket, Isobel had effectively destroyed the image of a maternal and vivacious woman who would welcome Elena with warm open arms. The wounds of losing her parents the past year had been painfully ripped open again, forcing Elena to come to the realisation she was utterly alone.
Isobel had not stopped there, oh no, she had continued to wreck havoc by twisting apart Elena's relationship with Stephen. Taunting words had alluded to the resurgence of a nineteenth century love story, bringing to light Elena's deepest darkest fears. Panicked by the thought, she had tried to keep her distance from both Salvatore brothers in a pathetic bid to protect herself – and the Salvatore brothers – from the prophesized love triangle coming to life.
It had been no easy feat. Whilst Stefan had understood her reluctance to be around Damon, he just couldn't understand why Elena wanted space from him.
*Flashback*
"Why can't I come round anymore?" he had asked quietly, looking at her beseechingly.
Elena's heart had lurched, leaving her scrambling for a plausible excuse. How could she admit she feared she felt something for his brother?
"I just need some time to process it all Stefan," she began hesitantly. "What with Isobel, my brother and Vicky – it's been a hectic couple of weeks. I'm feeling so overwhelmed."
Stefan had nodded his head, reaching forward to clasp her hands with his own.
"If that's what you want... I'll respect that. Just give me a call later this week okay?" He squeezed her hand, looking intently into her eyes.
Elena fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, until he finally let go and she expelled her breath in relief. He swung out of her window, pausing to glance back longingly at her before jumping down to his sports car.
Forcing a smile, Elena had waved weakly from her room until he had driven away.
*End of Flashback*
She shook her head at the memory of the night before. It had unnerved her at the intense feeling of discomfort she felt being alone around Stefan since she met Isobel.
She had idly wondered what Damon would have done if she had allowed him to comfort her that night. He probably would have broken an inappropriate joke, or stared at her hungrily from those piercing blue eyes making her shiver with awareness.
Stefan had cosseted her with lots of hugs and long speeches about how he would always protect her. She had grown frustrated, not wanting to be coddled like a little child. Still, she appreciated Stefan for all his efforts for she knew Damon could never provide the love and care his brother lavished upon her.
Forget the Salvatores, she told herself forcefully. The night marked the start of a new, exciting Elena that was unconcerned with the growing un-dead population of Mystic Falls, or anyone marked Tall, Dark and Dangerous.
It was time to shimmy into the hooker outfit and have some fun.
Damon's neck prickled with awareness as soon as she stepped into the bar. Anticipating the view he turned slowly to the door to catch the first glimpse. Goddamn. He choked in shock, his drink slipping from limp fingers to slosh expensive brandy over the bar.
She was dressed in a hot little scrap of material that barely covered the curves of her sinful body, commanding stares from all the guys in the bar. Damon growled, taking a deep gulp of his drink to fortify himself. He continued to stare alongside fellow patrons, noticing a velvety tail, cat ears and painted on whiskers which completed the age old ensemble of a slutty cat.
How could she take such a clichéd outfit and make it seem like a walking sex advert?
She turned to laugh at something her friend said, her long hair sweeping over her exposed back. He chuckled, holding his glass up to her in mock salutation. "Well, well," he drawled. "I didn't think the little minx had such fire in her." Always so conservatively dressed, this could only mean one thing to Damon.
She was a willing target, and he was primed to score.