Chapter 2
Klaustrophobia
It was Damon. She knew it was him embracing her, but this knowledge gave her no comfort and she felt the first tendrils of fear weave their way into the confusion. She did not need to hear him speak to know it was him, feel his hand on the side of her face, because the lips on hers were supernaturally tender and she was sure that this man was not Stephan. He would never gag or harm her, he would not make her cry and make muffled pleas.
Damon watched her struggle with the ropes before he undid them – knowing that if she did try to escape she would not get far and his conviction would only be stronger. He would always love her, of course, because she resembled what he had thought was Katherine, before she revealed herself as a beast. She reminded him of a past where he was happy, and when he knew she was his. He had never been one to settle for less that what he wanted, but this woman writhing on the floor at his feet made him think that he could – just this once.
She gasped for breath as he removed the gag from her mouth. She blinked up at him when he removed the blind fold, her eyes hooded by dark wet lashes and more beautiful than his memory recalled. She did look delicious as she stared and he bent down at her side; He parted his lips slightly and lowered himself to her.
He licked the sides of her mouth where the wounds were ripe and oozing blood. She wanted to turn her head away, to make her lips inaccessible to him, but she was frightened to think of what he would do if she bore her neck to him. It was better to let him have access to her mouth than to her artery.
She opened her mouth to ask what the hell was happening, but he moved in before she could speak. She felt his tongue fill her little mouth like a gag and make her choke. He drew back again only when they both knew it would hurt her too much to scream.
He touched his mouth against her cheek before he spoke, breathing cold air into her ear, "I don't want her any more." he told her, planting cool kisses on on the side of her head. She had bruises all over her face, and the dark patches were just another temptation. He wouldn't kill this one, he told himself, as if he were trying to convince his inner beast to behave, even if the smell of her blood made warning himself that he could not kill her so much more difficult. He wanted her alive. He wanted her to be his.
He let his fangs extend and the creature take control; he could shut himself off as he killed her, and not have the image of her slowly growing pale at the forefront of his mind for an eternity, or until the apocalypse came, or when Klaus found out the truth. Not that Klaus would care about one insignificant human, he thought wearily, not an original as old as he. Damon knew from personal experience that after a century and half you stop feeling regret for your kills – you turn-off. He did not care about Elena, or Katherine, or Klaus, any more than he cared about himself. He would not die because of what happened this night.
Elena saw the a face at the window that she did not recognise immediately, and couldn't save her without an invitation. Klaus.