I'm going to start ripping heads off any minute now. Guess what, she's even more special than I thought she was, oh shocker...not. I want answers and I want them now. I've been so damn lucky it was her I bonded with, because this stuff is powerful. So much so that, had I known the implications of blood bonding with a human I would have made sure to kill each and everyone I have ever fed from. I'm not my brother, so no fucking idea of how long that list would be. I might be a monster, but I'm no serial killer, so no creepy journals or closets full of names. Well, technically I am a serial killer; in the last two hundred years I've killed hundreds, probably thousands; what I mean is that I don't get all weird about it. Do you have a list with the names of all the chickens you've ever eaten?No, right? Yeah, yeah, I know, most chickens don't even have names, let alone feelings, or dreams, or anyone who will miss them, so I can't compare. She'd be proud that I came to that conclusion by myself and probably would hint at patting my head. I would growl threateningly, she'd raise that damn eyebrow, shoot me back my own smirk and I would end up fucking her against the nearest wall.

That's how we roll. And it's wrong, because, you know, I have a girlfriend and it's not her, as she likes to remind me. But see if I care. I swear, I'm not a cheater, have never been, not until she came back, but I can't stop myself. I'd give anything to change the way things are, but I've been racking my brain and I can't find a solution that doesn't end with her dead on the ground. That image is the star of all my nightmares.

You would think I'd stay away to keep her safe, because I love her too fucking much to even contemplate that scenario, but I can't. It's stronger than me. Hence our current predicament with Joe telling us how one in a billion she is, me nodding with an 'I told you so' on the tip of my tongue, and she biting her lower lip not to drown Joe in questions. Because if there is one thing my sweet girl knows how to do is question you to death. That curious mind of hers won't stop until we get all the answers we came for, so pause the head ripping. Why are we blood bonded if she's human and I'm not? Why has it never happened before? What are the other perks of our situation? And I say other because, boy, not feeling the ever-present hunger for even a minute is bliss; plus, accidentally projecting into her head that I had a massive hard-on and it was her damn fault for wearing that skirt and moving like a siren had an awesome result. Ask the restroom counter.

Now that I think about it, I'm used to feeling rather frustrated around her. It all started that first night, when I tried to compel her and couldn't, when I decided I was going to spend a ridiculous amount of time pounding her in every conceivable position, and ended up dissatisfied after a lacklustre oral session with Baywatch Blondie in the alley behind Mike's. Not even the prospect of feeding on the blond unnamed waitress that did such a poor job on her knees helped me whet my appetite. Don't get me wrong, I did feed on her. In fact, the only thing that stopped me from draining her dry was the fact that I had made up my mind. I would come back the next day and try my luck again with Sad Eyes, so I didn't want her on her guard because her co-worker was missing.

Speaking of said co-worker, in case you were wondering, no, I didn't pay her for her other services. There was no need really, she found me in the parking lot and threw herself at me. One would think that after blowing her off all night the girl would have some dignity, but alas, it was her who finally blew me (ups, sorry, rude). I had been waiting long enough for Sad Eyes to come back after that fucking oaf took her to see their boss, and I'm not a patient guy. So when Blondie offered I thought, why the hell not? I should have known better. I don't mean to abuse the chicken metaphor, but indulge me for a second. It's like when you have your mind set on deliciously spicy hot wings and you get boiled cabbage. It just doesn't cut it. Anyway, my hot-wings girl even wore a leather jacket, for God's sake. Honestly, can you blame me?

I spent the night at the best motel I could find (which was not much) going over the last few hours. I convinced myself that I wanted to stick around because I needed to find out everything I could about how she had avoided my compulsion. After all I had compelled the blonde not to scream and to forget the biting part and it had worked just fine, I didn't even break a sweat. The truth is that I was curious, and given that I had been mostly numb since I left Virginia, the feeling was quite welcome.

I didn't like one bit the way in which that thug had grabbed her. The dear Ron would soon occupy a privileged spot in my casualty list; yep, I do remember that name, you'll see why. Had I thought I could compel her to forget, I would have flashed in front of them and compelled the guy to get lost, if only because he was spoiling my plans for the night. But then again, it was none of my business and my first and foremost self-imposed guideline is not to expose my nature unless needed. In any case I assumed that she was screwing her boss on the side and that's why she was 'only the bartender' in a place where all the staff seemed to double-shift. That's ok, I'm not jealous baby.

When I went back to Mike's the next night, a lot of things had changed. Sad Eyes was nowhere to be found, at least not the shabby-dressed goddess that had aroused my... interest. In her place was a good old-fashioned temptress dressed to kill. Barely there black skirt, long toned legs in fishnets, fuck-me heels, and a blood red tight top with a plunging neckline: the whole shebang. Only her eyes looked the same, so damn sad. The heavy make-up could not cover that soul-deep ache, although to anyone else it did a pretty good job of covering up the fucking black eye she was sporting. I wasn't anyone else though.

'Hey Sad Eyes, how's Pappy doing tonight? You ready to trust me with him?' I went from the fastest hard-on ever to spectacularly furious in milliseconds.

She turned her head my way and her eyes widened, after which she immediately winced, if only for an instant. The girl was a pro at hiding pain, so this wasn't her first.

'A couple more months and I might let you pour all by yourself', enter that beautiful sad smile again, 'under supervision of course.'

'Be careful, I might take you up on that offer. I'm Damon,' and I offered her my hand over the counter. She looked at it briefly and then back at me with those piercing brown eyes. I remember thinking that this was how people had to feel when I focused my attention on them. Anyway, whatever she thought she saw in me was good enough for her to accept my hand.

'It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if you did', and looking me in the eye she gave me what I wanted, 'I'm Deirdre, but don't go telling people about it'.

Deirdre, how fitting that she bore the name of a tragic heroine. I held her hand for as long as I could without looking suspicious. No, I hadn't turned mushy all of a sudden, I was just testing one of my theories. Witches react to vampires quite noticeably; at least to vampires they don't know.

Her hand was warm, she still smelled like sunlight, and I could easily imagine a mile-long line of men who would gladly lay their lives at her feet just for a night between those legs. They certainly hadn't left her alone when she was wearing those ratty jeans; dressed like she was on that second night, they stood no chance in hell. I knew I didn't. But she was no witch, so plan B, where was she hiding the vervain? Oh, I planned to have so much fun looking for it.

I was kind of hoping that she would bent down again to pick up the bottle of Pappy, but she had too much class and gracefully managed to grab it by crouching just a bit. This time she did look at me after pouring, 'there you go'.

I couldn't help trying my hand, and without even the barest hint of a smirk I said, 'You didn't need the femme fatal get-up, you know? Those jeans suited you just fine'. That's me, crossing lines when I shouldn't. I expected her to blush at the compliment, that's what I'm used to with another pair of brown eyes anyway. I even expected her to tell me to shove my cheesy lines. I did not expect her eyes to get even sadder, nor for her to answer, 'my boss didn't seem to think so'. It seemed I wouldn't leave town for a while.