A/N Holy crap - you guys have blown me away with your love for this story so far! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. The feel of it is quite different to the previous two. Thank you so, so much for all your reviews, Favourite Story adds, Favourite Author adds and Author Alerts. Each one makes me smile - especially the reviews as they let me know why you like it! Every single review is important to every author that publishes on here. Even if all you do is thank them for creating these stories for you. Feedback matters! :)

This chapter kicked my ass a bit, so extra special thanks to four talented fellow fic writers who preread, beta-ed and gave me loads of advice - Layla Reyne, JWAB, CreepingMuse and morvamp. Don't know what I'd do without you.

Chapter 3

I'm floating, drifting. Surrounded by a haze of dusty colours. So beautiful. So desperate. Silent as the womb. Am I back in utero? Am I dead? There's no way this could be Heaven. Someone's made a massive mistake if it is…

A voice abruptly drags me out of it. Suddenly I'm falling. I land hard. It doesn't hurt. Wait, yes, it does. Everything hurts. Fucking fuck - I'm a vessel of agony. But I'm paralyzed. Unable to move, to scream.

The voice is deep, rumbly. Knowing. It tells me I'm a piece of shit who deserves to die. Can't argue with that logic.

Blinding pain shatters my nerves and fractures my senses but I can't react. Can't even groan. Kill me already – what are you waiting for?

But the voice is gone. The ground under my back is cold. Can't open my eyes. Searing pain. Are those tears on my cheeks? No! Maybe.

So much time passes I swear I'm Rip goddamn Van Winkle. Where's my long white beard? Where's my Grim Reaper? Am I already dead? Why am I not dead yet? I have no perception of time – it might have only been a minute or two.

After awhile the pain subsides. The colours return, for a time. Pretty, pretty colours. Like flowers. I want to pick them. Present them to Elena gaily tied with a big pink bow. Who the fuck am I? I'm not sure I know any more.

Consciousness beckons with a whimper. Was that me? Where am I? My fingertips scrabble in the dirt. I can move. Sort of.

With a Herculean effort I manage to partially wrest one eye open. My field of vision is filled with pirouetting dust motes. As I study their intoxicating patterns my mind goes blank. My eyes are so heavy. So heavy. No hope of fighting it. They slip closed again.

Another groan.

Elena?

Forcing my thousand-pound eyelids up a fraction, I use every ounce of energy I can muster to roll onto my side. Every single solitary part of my body screams at the effort involved but at last I can see her.

Oh God. Elena. Limp on the ground. Her face is turned away. She moans again. I want to crawl to her, ensure she's okay, but those few feet between us stretch wider than the Sahara. I will die of thirst before I can touch her skin. Buzzards will peck out my eyeballs and suck the marrow from my bones.

I try to stretch out an arm. I swear each muscle battles against me but somehow I manage to make my hand reach out. Palm flat on the dirt, I press down and attempt to drag my body closer to her. When did I get so fucking heavy?

I think I move an inch. Maybe two.

It takes so long to get to her that I lose all track of time again. It's dark now. I think I passed out around the halfway point for a while.

My mind grows slightly clearer. Drugged. Gotta be drugged. What did they do to me? What did they do to us? There is no part of my body that is not screaming. My toenails are on fire. My thoughts ache.

Straining my arm out again, I finally catch the tip of one finger on her shirt. Almost there, almost there. I can do this. Stay awake, Salvatore. Just stay awake this time.

Using every last bit of strength, I push with my other hand and manage to propel my body up against hers. At last. I fling my arm over her shoulder and fall slack. Must rest for a minute. No choice.

Another whimper. Is that her? I think that one might have been me. I tug her arm slightly and her body shifts over against me. She's a rag doll in my embrace.

I exhale a relieved sigh. She needs blood, but she's alive.

"Elena?" I say but only a rasp comes out. My tongue feels like sandpaper scratching the roof of my mouth. I try to lick my lips but it barely moistens them. I try to swallow but my throat is an inferno. I need blood, too.

She needs it more.

"Elena?" I try again. This time her name is a croak, but it's audible. Barely. A low gasp from her. Her head lifts an inch, falls back down. More than anything I want to cradle her in my arms. I want to stroke her face. I want to make everything better.

Are we dying?

Another massive wave of exhaustion takes me over. It wants to drag me back under. Not again, not now. I fight it – I really do. I need to give her my blood. I need to fix this. No one cares, least of all the darkness. It smothers me.

My nostrils flare. Something's cooking. Burning. What is that nasty smell?

Jesus! My eyes fly open. Vampire fricassee! I find I can move enough to drag Elena and myself back into the shadows below the naked window.

I'm not wearing my ring - where is my goddamn daylight ring? Where is hers? Whoever did this to us was smart enough to take our rings. Fucking hell. Who took us?

She's still out. Her heartbeat is so, so slow. Her skin is dry. She has to have blood. I try to wrap my body around hers. Maybe I can shelter her when that deadly rectangle of sunlight edges close again.

I'm so weak. Burns aren't healing.

I must be delirious. I can smell blood, human blood. Grimacing with the exertion, I roll over. Even that small movement exhausts me. Moving nothing but my eyeballs, I scan the space we're trapped in. It's a cell of some kind. No sounds drift in from beyond the bars. I detect no humans anywhere nearby.

My gaze freezes at a spot on the floor just outside the bars. Am I hallucinating, too? I swear there's a blood bag on the ground, within reach. Well, on the other side of that wide swath of sunshine, but if I ignore the whole catching on fire issue I just might be able to snag it.

I have no choice in the matter - she needs it too badly. The real question is, can I get to the bag and back before being consumed by flames? I seriously take stock of that big patch of death. Shit. I doubt it. I'm still far too weak to do it fast enough. Can't see how my turning into one huge fireball will help Elena in any way right now.

But it's right there. Taunting me with its delicious aroma, its healing life-force. My mouth is moist now, seems a drop or two of saliva have found their way back after all.

So close. A dangling carrot, just out of reach. I deserve to suffer, I know I do, but the poor baby vamp unconscious behind me does not.

Someone's coming. I shuffle back and press against her, shielding her body as best I can with my own. I close my eyes. One arm lies flopped out in front of me and I know my fingertips are dangerously near the edge of that nasty strip of light.

A minute later I hear the deep voice from one of my previous hazy awakenings.

"So you've finally woken up?"

I don't move.

"Seeing as you're huddled in the shadows, I guess you've noticed your rings are gone. I've got your phones, too, in case you were wondering."

I hadn't been. It was a logical assumption. I relent and open my eyes a sliver. It's the Hunter, of course. I figured it would be. What's his name again? I knew it once. He's holding a rifle in one hand, down along his side.

His eyes never leave my face as he squats to pick the blood bag up off the floor.

"Want this?" He tosses it into the air lightly and catches it. It makes a dull slapping sound against his palm. My gums ache as my canines beg to be set free.

I don't answer. Instinctively, my other hand slips backward over Elena's waist and holds her to me protectively. She shifts a little. Has she regained consciousness?

"I know you want it. You want me, too. You want a lot of things." He stares at me so intently it feels like he can see my every last desire written across my soul. "You are consumed by your wants. What you're going to get, however, is death. Soon. Very soon. But not today."

Abruptly he tosses the bag through the bars and it lands in the middle of that rectangle of sunlight, not three feet from my outstretched hand.

Connor. His name is Connor. Need to remember that. Don't know why it matters but it does.

My smart-ass mouth begs to run off at him. To taunt him and cajole him until he loses his cool. It wants to wipe that calm self-righteous expression right off his face and see it replaced with the fury I know lurks below.

I eye the gun again and I don't say a word. It's probably loaded with wooden bullets. Elena needs the blood and I need to stay alive to give it to her. I realize with sudden surety that I'm so not ready to die yet. You'd think I would be, after everything, but my survival instincts have flared up in my insuppressible need to ensure her protection.

Shifting the arm in front of me closer to my side, I press my lips and eyes tightly shut and try to will him to go away.

Small favours.

When I open them again, he's gone. I listen for sounds of him moving about and detect none. It's still really sunny – why the hell does it have to be so fucking sunny? Why can't I get a little gloom when I actually need it?

I look at the blood bag in the middle of that glowing rectangle. This is gonna hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Pulling off my t-shirt, I drape it over my arm and hand.

The line of bright pain is closer to me now. I ram my hand forward and the cotton protects me from the worst of it. Snagging the blood bag with one finger, I attempt to pull it back fast. Too fast. The shirt catches and falls off and my skin begins to steam and sizzle. Fucking fuckity fuck! I haul both the bag and my arm back against me, nursing my hand against my chest. Goddamn it, that stings.

Bracing the rubber tube of the blood bag in my teeth, I immediately rip off the cap. I suck back one small mouthful, just enough to hopefully give me a smidge of energy and kick-start my healing. I sigh in sheer pleasure. Holy hell, that's the stuff - ambrosia to every single sense. It takes every last bit of willpower I have to not drain the entire thing. I drag the tube from my mouth and push it between Elena's cracked lips, squeezing the bag to force some blood down her throat.

She makes a slight gagging sound at first, then begins to swallow greedily. A relieved smile splits my face. The plastic sack is empty in no time flat. I don't blame her.

Mentally bracing myself, I dash my hand out to snag the discarded t-shirt as fast as I can. It could come in handy later to have that layer of protection. And what's a little more pain at this point? Every last bit of me hurts anyway. Inside and out.

I lean back against the wall and contemplate our situation. Without more blood I'm gonna be in even worse shape before long and then I won't be able to figure out a way to get us out of here. It's also worth noting that we're going to have to shift positions soon. Our band of shade against the back wall is growing ever thinner.

"Damon?" Her hand's on my arm. The dangerous soft sweetness of my name on her lips interrupts my thoughts. "Where are we?"

Oh fuck. She's better but she's talking and we're trapped in a cell and I'm too weak to attempt to escape. Which mean I'm stuck in a small space, made even smaller by the wide swath of glaring no-mans-land creeping across the middle, with the one person in the entire world who's capable of inflicting the greatest degree of torture on me.

Whether she realizes it or not yet, she's got me held prisoner here just as surely as the Hunter does. And as soon as she does click in to that fact, she's gong to start to talk. And I have absolutely no way of shutting her up or shutting her out.

Focusing my gaze on a cobweb-strewn corner, I reply, "I have no idea." Not a hint of snark in my voice, just tired resignation. Then, because I can't not, I add, "You okay?"

She pauses, presumably checks herself over, although I'm not watching to see, then hesitantly answers, "I think so. Are you?"

No. No, I'm really not. I'm fucking light years from 'okay' right now. "Yeah," I reply, because what else am I gonna say? No, I need blood or I'm gonna pass out and maybe die but I gave it all to you 'cause your well-being means a fuck of a lot more to me than my own?

I don't think so.

As I watch that line of sunlight shift ever closer, I realize we're going to have to move, like, imminently. I'll go to the left and she can go to the right. Except she won't if she knows that's my plan. She'll insist on being beside me. I really need her on the other side of the cell with that glaring patch of death dividing us. It's almost touching my boots now.

"They took our daylight rings," I tell her, in case she hasn't noticed.

She sucks in her breath as she realizes I'm right. "Oh God. We need to move, Damon." I hear the sound of her shuffling to the right. Not that she had a choice. She couldn't go left without going over me.

At first I don't move and I know she's watching me, waiting for me to follow her into the shadows. The light begins to creep over my boot. No pain; the leather protects me for now. My jeans will, too. So I sit for a while. My skin grows hot below the denim, but not so hot I can't take it.

"Damon? You need to move." What, no 'please'?

The light is now edging over my knees, as gentle and searing as a lover's caress. I keep still. Try to conserve my depleting energy. The need to sleep is seeping back into my brain. Into my bones.

"Damon!" She's anxious now.

I wait it out as long as I can stand. Then, when the heat hits my midriff and the thin cotton of my shirt is permeable enough that my skin starts to scorch, I move. Slower than I'd like to, but as fast as I can. To the left.

I hear her sigh but she doesn't say a word about it. I'm strangely disappointed. Then I'm disappointed in myself for thinking that way.

I know I'm gonna pass out in a moment, I can feel it. I turn toward the wall and wrap my arms around my head. Elena's fine, for now. The Hunter – Connor – will likely be back soon. I should be making a plan to try to get us out of here, but I know my fickle body is too weak to carry out any such plans. A rude awakening will surely be coming, but for now I let myself give into it and fall into oblivion.