Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously. Just playing in their world for a while.
Author's note: Thanks for the interest so far! Much appreciated. :)
I forgot to mention it in my previous note, but the Mikaelsons aren't Originals in this story. They're just regular vampires.
Anyway, here's the next chappie. Find out what happens when Elena goes on the hunt for Damon. ;)
Violence and strong language ahead, so beware if that's not your thing.
Chapter Two
Swish. Crack.
"Where."
Swish. Crack.
"Is."
Swish. Crack.
"Your."
Swish. Crack.
"Brother."
The vampire hanging limply from the shackles that kept him upright no longer reacted to each agonizing lash of the whip. The malicious torture device was designed specifically for his kind. The leather had been saturated with vervain so that the lacerations it caused were slow to heal, gradually draining him of his blood and leaving him in a constant state of weakness.
He was numb, inside and out. His captor's fits of rage were so frequent that he never had time to recover from a beating before the next was delivered. Was this the third time this week? Fourth? He'd lost count of the days, weeks, months he'd been confined to this dank dungeon.
The bastard wielding the whip grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced his head up so he could get in his face. "Answer me!" he snarled.
"Go fuck yourself," the vampire rasped.
Bracing himself for another barrage of blows, he was surprised when the sadistic asshole laughed instead. "So brave, Stefan. It's a shame it won't save you or Damon in the end. Soon he's going to slip up, and I'm going to find him. Then you can watch your brother die, knowing all the while that your efforts to protect him were useless. Doesn't that sound like fun?"
Wherever you are, Damon, stay as far away from this maniac as you can. His jailer continued to try to bait him, but Stefan shut him out until his voice was reduced to nothing more than annoying background noise. He shifted his focus to thoughts of his brother, the only family he had left. Part of him didn't mind the interrogations because it meant that Damon hadn't yet been found. Or worse, killed. Like his—
No, he couldn't let himself go there. Instead, he recalled a happier time, a time when his family had been whole. As he drifted in a dreamlike state, he pictured him and Damon sitting on the bank of the river, talking about their plans for the future while they watched the waterfall cascading over the cliffs in the distance.
"You can go anywhere you want, Stef. The world is your playground," Damon said with a grin, the sunlight making his pale eyes appear nearly translucent.
"What about you?" Stefan asked.
"I'll be around. We'll probably run into each other at a pub in Dublin or some burlesque club in Paris. Maybe even the Playboy Mansion. Hugh's getting up there. You could be his replacement." He waggled his brows while Stefan laughed. "Mother and Father won't be handing over the reins any time soon, so there's still plenty of debauchery to be had." Damon was rising to his feet when the sharp snap of a twig caught their attention.
They turned in unison to find a man standing at the edge of the forest—someone they both knew all too well.
"What are you doing here?" Damon asked, moving to stand in front of Stefan in a protective stance.
Something's wrong. He doesn't belong in this place. Stefan tried to speak, to stop the nightmare unfolding before him, but he was mute in the face of his worst fear. He watched helplessly as the man—no, monster—sped forward until he was practically nose to nose with Damon. His brother stepped back warily, but the bastard latched onto his arm and pulled him close once more.
"Stefan needs to learn an important lesson, and you're going to assist me in the teaching of it." A cruel smile twisting his lips, the interloper released Damon only to dart around behind him. He fixed Stefan with his cold, menacing stare, and then his hand shot out, punching through bone and muscle as if Damon were made of papier-mâché instead of sturdy vampire flesh.
No! The shock and horror written on Stefan's features were mirrored in Damon's, and Stefan looked on in disbelief as the light faded from his brother's eyes and he collapsed onto the ground. His murderer briefly glanced at the heart clutched in his bloody fingers before dropping it beside Damon's body in a dismissive gesture. Rubbing his hands together until they were both stained red, he spoke in an almost conversational tone. "Do you understand now? There's no escape. Soon, it'll be your turn."
Stefan finally found his voice, and it exploded out of him, the anguished scream tearing through the stillness and ruthlessly dragging him back to the present—
"How very rude of you, Stefan. Ignoring me again? You know how I detest that." The grip on his hair eased, and chilled fingers trailed down his cheek in a disturbing caress. "Still trying to block me out, I see. Too bad you're in no condition to fight."
Stefan tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. "Stay out of my goddamn head," he whispered.
"But I do so enjoy it when—" The buzzing of a phone kept him from finishing whatever vile thought had been slithering through his brain. Reaching into his back pocket, he fished it out and checked the display. "Mmm. It's the delectable morsel I'm in the process of enticing into my bed." He patted Stefan's face. "Be a good boy and wait here, will you?"
When the door closed and the lock slid into place, Stefan released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The blood loss made it nearly impossible to concentrate, but he forced himself to stay alert so he could listen in on the one-sided conversation taking place just outside his cell.
"Well, hello, Caroline. And how are you this fine evening?" His torturer chuckled at the woman's response. "No plans for tonight?"
The fake gentleman routine raked across Stefan's already frayed nerves. Did she have any idea what this guy was really about? He sincerely hoped not.
"Elena left you to fend for yourself, did she? Pity. She'll miss out on another opportunity to chastise me with her sharp tongue." He paused as he listened to her reply. "Elijah sent her on a mission? Where to?"
Stefan perked up as he detected the abrupt change in tone. Gone was the playfulness, replaced by an intense curiosity. Interesting.
"Come now, sweetheart. Why the secrecy? We're all on the same side." He fell silent again while she spoke. Unfortunately, the quiet was short-lived. "What!?" he roared.
Stefan jumped at the shout that echoed off the walls, making his ears ring. A renewed sense of unease caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.
"I have to go. I'll call you back later." The man's rapidly retreating footsteps indicated he was leaving the dungeon and heading back upstairs. Stefan was grateful for the reprieve, but he couldn't shake the fear that trickled down his spine. Something was wrong, and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach told him it had to do with Damon.
###
The woods were quiet. Unnaturally so. Elena was almost glad when a crow alighted on the tree beside her and filled the air with its raucous cawing. Anything to cover up the crunching of leaves and twigs beneath her feet. This encounter would be tricky enough as it was; she didn't want to announce her arrival prematurely.
She stopped when a whiff of blood reached her sensitive nose. It wasn't fresh, but it was enough to tell her she was on the right track. Up ahead, she spotted a patch of disturbed earth and took a moment to examine the ground. More traces of blood. Had he buried the bodies Elijah had mentioned? Unfortunately, she didn't have time to do any digging, literally or figuratively.
When she finally reached the house, she circled the entire property in order to scope out the best means of gaining entry. The place was enormous, bigger than she remembered. Then again, she hadn't been concerned about the square footage when she'd been here last. There were several doors—one leading to the cellar, another off the kitchen, and an impressive set of French doors that opened onto a verandah. A few of the windowpanes were cracked and others were missing entirely.
The front entrance was ajar, and she paused to consider whether it was left that way on purpose as an invitation to a trap or whether the broken hinge simply prevented it from closing. She eyed the gap between the massive slab of wood and the frame. If she was careful, she could probably squeeze through it without disturbing the door and alerting the mansion's crazed occupant to her presence.
Elena stepped closer to the entryway and listened for anything that might indicate a murderer was lying in wait, prepared to lop off her head the minute she crossed the threshold. When all remained still, she slipped through the narrow opening just as a gust of wind blew the door open wider, making it groan loudly. Fuck. So much for stealth. Her hand instinctively went for the knife hidden at the small of her back, and she gripped it tightly.
The air inside was stale and thick with dust. She picked up on the scent of blood here as well—stronger and fresher than what she'd found in the forest. Heavy draperies kept the interior dark with the exception of a few places where the fabric had been torn from the rods. Definitely the perfect haven for a killer, she mused. Lots of room to hide. Crappy lighting. It was like a horror movie set designer's wet dream.
She wandered through what had been a Great Room of sorts but now looked more like the site of a recent demolition derby. The space was littered with broken furniture, and the floor and carpets had dark red stains on them. At the foot of the staircase was a wall of photographs, all of them obscured by cobwebs and grime. Correction: all but one.
Lifting the portrait from the wall, she studied the family pictured within. Giuseppe and Lily Salvatore were seated, their two sons standing behind them. Stefan's arm was around Damon's shoulders, and all of them were smiling like fate wasn't about to turn their world upside down. She noticed a bloody fingerprint next to Stefan's face that marred the otherwise clean surface of the glass.
"Well, well. Seems I have a mouse in my house," said a harsh voice from somewhere above her. The top of the stairs? The rafters?
"Mice are the least of your problems," she countered as she hung the photo back on its nail. "Are you gonna skulk in the shadows, or are you going to come out and play?"
She turned around when a soft thud sounded behind her. In keeping with the slasher-film theme, the vampire's face was streaked with dried blood, and his black hair was matted. His clothing was torn and dirty, his shirt one tenacious button away from falling off completely. Despite his unkempt appearance, there was no mistaking the hypnotizing eyes that locked on hers. "So it is you," she murmured.
"Come to haul me off?" He sized up her petite frame. "Elijah must be getting desperate," he drawled.
She smiled at the obvious tactic. "Baiting me won't work, Damon. You know the rules. Did you think he'd just look the other way while you murdered dozens of innocent people?"
"Who says they were innocent?"
"I'm not here for a morality debate." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Judging by the Nightmare on Elm Street vibe you're rocking, this is only going to happen one way, and that's the hard one. Might as well get on with it, shall we?"
"Your funeral." The whites of his eyes began to turn crimson, and his upper lip curled back, revealing a set of fully elongated fangs.
"I have a pair of those, too," she hissed, letting her own teeth descend. Figuring he'd dart away if she charged him, she feinted to the side. What she hadn't planned on was the hand that grabbed her arm, spun her around, and used her own momentum to send her airborne. She crashed through the staircase railing and skidded to a stop on the upper landing.
Shaking off the surprise of his sudden attack, she saw him start up the stairs and pulled her knife free. His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of the blade, but she didn't hesitate as she launched it at him, burying the weapon to the hilt in Damon's shoulder.
"Fucking hell!" he snarled, and she heard the sizzle of burning flesh as he yanked the knife out and let it clatter to the floor.
Using the distraction to her advantage, she took off down the hallway, heading toward the ballroom she recalled from the party. The more space she had to maneuver, the easier it would be to get the drop on him. She pushed through the double doors, turning the lock behind her to buy herself a few extra seconds. She made it to the opposite side of the cavernous room before the doors burst open and splintered wood scattered across the floor.
He advanced on her, his furious glare making alarm bells sound in her head. This wasn't a game. She knew without a doubt that if she let him get close enough, he'd kill her.
Damon stopped a few feet away, and she noticed the wet spot on his shirt where his wound continued to bleed thanks to the vervain-infused blade she'd used. "If you wanted to dance, why didn't you just say so?" he sneered.
As soon as she opened her mouth to fire back, she knew she'd fucked up. He moved faster than she could track, and she tried to slip past him at the last minute, but he caught her in a brutal grip, her joints creaking in protest. Warm lips brushed her ear, sending shivers racing over her skin at the eerily intimate contact. "I bet you taste delicious," he whispered.
Elena struggled against his hold and drew her leg back in an attempt to nail him in his tender bits with the heel of her boot, but he squeezed her tighter until one of her ribs gave way under the pressure. The spike of pain had barely registered when his fangs sliced into her throat, adding fresh agony to the mix.
Shit. She had to act quickly before her brain completely fuzzed out. Inching her fingers into the waistband of her pants, she located the vervain dart she'd stashed there and discreetly removed the cap. She carefully lowered her arm and prepared to jam the needle into his thigh. Just as the tip scratched against the denim of his jeans, his hand dropped away from her waist and clamped onto her wrist. He released her throat and proceeded to make obnoxious smacking noises while licking his lips clean of her blood.
"I was right," he sighed. "Too bad you're more trouble than you're worth." He brought her hand up—still clutching the dart—and jabbed the sharp end into the other side of her neck. She gasped as the vervain burned through her veins, and she sagged in his arms. She fought to stay conscious, but darkness was already creeping into her field of vision. The last thing she heard was Damon's voice mocking her as she lost the battle.
"Sleep tight, princess."