Chapter summary:

Isobel is determined to become a vampire. She'll do whatever she has to, to make it happen. Damon Salvatore is exactly what she needs.

Pairings: Isobel/Alaric, Isobel/Damon.

Warnings: Explicit, consensual, rough sex.

Back home, on Isobel's return from Tennessee, Alaric was tense.

"So are you going to tell me who you interviewed?"

"A vampire expert," Isobel said. "I've said it fifty times."

Alaric sliced beef for the stir-fry. "I'm starting to hate this," he said. "A lot."

"Forgetting your vows already?"

Alaric let the knife clatter onto the board. "Enthusiasms and obsessions are not the same thing. You haven't even come to bed at the same time as me in months."

Isobel poured wine. "I'm making progress, babe," she said. "This isn't forever."

"So, kids when? When you finish? When you pass? You want a few years before… I mean, you still want kids? You said a dozen, I think. You said that. You did."

This is the normal stuff, she told herself. This is the stuff dreams are made of, but even as she thought it, she saw Henri's beautiful face, the capillaries beneath his eyes. His teeth.

"I don't know if I can," she admitted. Wasn't sure what she meant as she said it. Wasn't sure she could do normal, maybe.

"No one knows if they can have kids until they start tryin'." Alaric sliced capsicum into thin strips. Green beans. "Way of the world."

I can have children, she thought. Want to see the one I made already? Apparently she's the prettiest thing ever.

Isobel didn't say these things. Instead, she looked away completely.

Alaric stopped arguing, as he always did, and they shared a tense meal.

Tense days.

Tense weeks.

The problem was pain. Heart-deep pain and the promise of a button that could switch it off; no guilt, no ridiculous human concepts like love or loyalty that hold us back, just the hunt.

How it was possible to hold so much pain Isobel didn't know but it got worse, like a cancer, every day. She dreamed her eyes were black-red, her teeth sharp. She dreamed she switched everything off and went running amok through cities and countries and she drank from the necks of anyone who tickled her fancy and she left them piling up around her feet. She woke from these dreams with a smile on her face and tears streaking her face, and she cleared both away before Alaric could see her.

Isobel left a terse note one morning: 'Research trip. Explain later. Love you.' She packed her most drab clothes and flew to Philadelphia.

She paused at the airport to slip a persona over her features, and dress the part; black and grey. Makeup to make her look tired, exhausted. A little mascara rubbed onto the lower lid of both eyes to make it look as if she'd been crying. She inhaled some eucalyptus to make her eyes tear up, and took a taxi to John's office block. She called him from the corner of the street, sniffing.

"I have to see you," she begged, wrenching a sob from her throat.

John was silent. "I'll come to you. I'll fly. Anywhere. Where are you?"

"I'm in Philadelphia. I had to get away." She blew her nose, making sure he could hear it.

"Where are you staying?"

"Is there a bar or something? Near where you work?"

John gave her an address, and Isobel walked the six blocks. She refreshed her makeup – Jesus, she looked mentally ill and homeless – and found a corner booth. She ordered wine and waited for John to arrive. It took him less than an hour. Considering his job, it can't have been easy to get away. The first victory.

When their eyes met across the bar, Isobel reached out a hand, supplicant. Pathetic. By the time he had crossed the room to sit beside her Isobel was crying in earnest.

Method acting was best. Isobel had plenty of pain to draw from and the poured all of it out of her tear ducts. For long moments, she fooled even herself; John rubbed circles into her shoulders, genuinely affectionate. Touching, really; he smoothed her hair, made reassuring shushing noises.

"I'm losing my mind," Isobel said, and even that wasn't a lie.

"Talk to me, Is," he said, pressing kisses into her hair, her forehead, her temple.

"Vampires." Isobel sobbed again. "I'm obsessed. I…" she pulled away, tugged at John's tie, ran her fingers around his neck. "I have to know. I have to meet one. I just have to meet one. So I know, for sure."

John bought a bottle of wine, and held Isobel, there in that booth, until she wanted to claw his eyes out or vomit or both. "I've missed you," she promised. "Since… everything is so messed up, it's been messed up for years. I feel like I've made mistake after mistake… How's our daughter, John?" And then she kissed him, kissed him like she meant it.

John kissed her back.

"It's not too late. You can know her. Like I know her. She's… amazing, Is," he promised, and there was the boy again, promising to give up his life and look after Isobel and Elena forever.

"I don't want her to know me. Not like this." Isobel blew her nose again. Sipped at the wine. "John… I can't get past this. I need to meet one. I need to know one. Please. There has to be something you can do. What if…"

She felt nauseous.

"If I could get past this – maybe we could try again? Build something real?"

"What would you husband say about that?"

Isobel slumped into John's side. "He'd be relieved," she promised, and wasn't sure that was a lie either.

"Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?"

Oh, God. She was going to have to sleep with him. "I don't want to impose…"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, and after dropping some money on the table, he led Isobel out into the street to catch a cab. One arm around her waist, holding her up like a broken china doll. It went with the rest of the costume, so Isobel slumped helplessly against him.

John had done well for himself. His apartment wasn't the penthouse, but it was large, and during the day, it would be light-filled and glorious. Maid service, obviously. The largest television Isobel had ever seen.

"I'll organize for some food to be delivered. Do you like Thai?"

"Not much of an appetite." Isobel smiled weakly, and John caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"You need to eat, Is," he implored, and Isobel nodded. "I have to make some calls. You remember Zach?"

Isobel's eyes roamed the bookshelves. She wondered how many of the books John had ever read. American Psycho, almost certainly. Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance? Doubtful. "Yeah."

"He has two… uncles. I guess. Who might be able to help."

"Vampires."

"Vampires. I'll call him, maybe a couple of other… You want to take a shower? Freshen up?"

Isobel smiled, nodded gratefully. "There are towels in the… Oh, God, Is," John said, wrapping his arms around her. "You have no idea how much… I've missed you. We can do this. We can fix this. Get your head straight and try again."

He wouldn't stop talking. Like a sixteen year old girl.

"I'll go," she said, and slipped into the bathroom before she could be tempted to kick his testicles into his throat.

She stood a long time under the shower. Ruining her carefully applied makeup, but perhaps it would be to her advantage if John thought he was being a white knight. Fixing Isobel.

Like there was an Isobel to fix.

By the time she emerged, in a fluffy white robe John no doubt kept in the cupboard for his menagerie of lady visitors – girlfriends, hookers, one night stands, whoever the were – the food had been delivered. Isobel poked listlessly at it, though she was hungry, and gladly responded to being prodded to eat. John poured white wine, and since Isobel suspected she was going to have to let him fuck her, she was glad for the fortification. The sweetness took the very edge off the spicy noodles.

"Tell me about your husband," he said, when they'd finished eating.

Isobel shook her head. Of all the betrayals she was perpetrating against Alaric, this wouldn't be one of them. "I don't want to think about him. Or talk about him."

John stopped to answer the phone twice, taking notes and muttering quietly. Excited, Isobel thought, though she tried not to react.

When the night was beginning to get late, and Isobel was a little tipsy, she yawned, exaggeratedly, and rubbed her eyes.

"I'm so tired," she said. "I feel like I haven't just slept in months."

John nodded.

"I can sleep on the couch," she suggested.

"No. You'll sleep with me." John looked so concerned, so sweet. "I want to keep an eye on you."

The thought made Isobel's skin crawl. "Will you just hold me? I just want to be held." Better than the alternative, and when she delivered the line with that look in her eyes, he wouldn't say no. This was an expression Isobel had practiced in the mirror, the one she used when she wanted to avoid a conversation with Alaric. Sad little angel, needing someone to take good care of her.

"I can do that," John said, and he did. Held Isobel close, kissed her mouth one more time, and let her sleep.

Such a relief.

When Isobel woke, John had a tray for her. Breakfast in bed. She sat up, smiling.

"What's this?" She yawned, stretched. Like a cat. Pulled herself to seated against the lush pillows.

"Breakfast. And… news." He held a piece of paper aloft. Isobel smiled, stretched. Reached for it.

John held it to ransom, and Isobel had to clutch his shirt in her fists, kiss him again, to get it. "You're amazing," she purred. "I can't believe you did it."

"Now eat." John kissed her forehead.

"Bathroom, first," she said, climbing down from the bed.

In the bathroom, she showered quickly, brushed her teeth. Dressed. Put on makeup, normal makeup, no more homeless schizophrenic. Tied her hair into a neat knot and the base of her skull.

John was smiling when Isobel left the bathroom, but it evaporated quickly. "Where are you going?"

"Home," she said brightly. "Thanks for this."

She folded the note, and tucked it in her bag.

John beat her to the door. "What are you talking about, Isobel? We have plans! We…"

Isobel set her features to pitying.

"You used me," John said, facing starting to fall.

"I used you." Isobel hitched her bag on her shoulder, and waited another moment.

"Why?"

"Oh, John…" Isobel cupped John's cheek, ran the hand further south; a finger over his chest, a tiny hand splayed over his hip. "Because it was so easy."

When she reached for the door handle, he didn't move. His expression never changed from utter betrayal. Isobel let the door click shut behind her, with no hesitation, and less regret.

On the notepaper, a name: Damon Salvatore, and a current – temporary – address in Raleigh, recently used to send documents for the Salvatore family trust. She had to work quickly.

"I'm only going to Raleigh for the weekend. What is the big deal?"

"If it's not a big deal, I can come with you." Alaric was pacing. Pissed. "I think it's time to let this vampire crap go. I mean, the research, the trips, it's become an obsession."

Isobel stood firm. "Well, this is important to me, Ric," she said, arms crossed over her chest.

"Why?" Alaric held his arms out, more expressive than usual. "Why is it so important? Explain it to me. I mean, make me understand. I mean, what's the point of this?" He ran his hands through his hair, shook his head in frustration. "You don't want kids. You're barely ever home. I just want us to be normal people."

"Maybe I don't want to. Maybe I want more."

She hitched her overnight bag on her shoulder, and left.

It was only a few hours later that Isobel knocked on the door of a penthouse apartment in Raleigh, and the door opened on one of the most beautiful men she had ever laid eyes on.

He had clear, aquiline features, lips meant for kissing. The palest blue eyes she had ever seen. Inky-black hair that looked like it would feel soft. He was dressed in slim cut trousers and a t-shirt just tight enough to show he was built like some sort of fucking god. He narrowed his eyes, looking Isobel up and down.

"Weird," he said. "I didn't order anything." His eyes settled not on her breasts or legs, though he took stock of both, but on her throat, and then back to her face.

"I'm…"

"Dinner? No. You're early for dinner. Lunch? Late lunch? Snack?"

"Are you… Damon Salvatore?"

"Are you… suicidal?" Damon leaned closer, and Isobel got the strong sense that he was smelling her.

"I…"

"Are you… suffering from some sort of brain injury?" Damon took her arm, yanked her inside. Shut the door behind her. "Who gave you this address?"

"I…"

"Oh, honey. Your death will go un-mourned," he said, and suddenly his fangs were out, his face had changed, and Isobel had about three seconds to fix it.

Into the costume box she went. A full persona. She could do nothing about her outfit, but she needed a different posture, different facial expression. Different attitude.

"Jesus. Grabby," she said, pulling away. "Got a surprise, that's all." Damon stood up a little straighter, intrigued. Isobel unbelted her jacket. Took a few steps into the room like it was hers. Draped the jacket over a chair. "Most of the vampires I've met have been… Unimpressive."

She mimicked Damon's early look at her, undressing him with her eyes.

"Hmm-mm," she said, like Damon was the meal. "You are something, aren't you?" Feigning boredom, she removed her gloves, placed them on top of the jacket. Crossed to the window. "Nice view. You're not burning up. Interesting." She said it like she couldn't be less interested.

"Who told you where to find me?" Damon crossed his arms.

"Henri. We had a nice chat," she said, sticking a hip out, cocking her chin. Smiling coquettishly. "I think he liked me."

"Henri likes anyone who will spend an hour or two listening to him talk about how much being a vampire sucks." Damon took a few steps closer. "But he has no way to know where I am and he values his life too much to piss me off. So I'll ask you again. Who told you where to find me?"

"I have… allies, in Mystic Falls."

"Honesty. Nice," Damon said. "I'm still going to eat you."

"You can snack, after we talk." She flashed a wide grin.

It was working. Damon looked interested enough not to eat her, at least not yet; no guarantees that would last, but it was something she could work with.

"What makes you think I'm going to talk to you?" Emphasis on 'you' – Isobel guessed the translation was 'impress me, bitch'.

"You will," Isobel said, and before she knew quite what she was doing, she began unbuttoning her shirt.

"Interesting," Damon said. "Do go on."

Isobel shrugged out of her shirt. "Do you like this?" She shaped her own breasts with her hands, running careful fingers over the pale pink lace and black ribbons of her bra. "Expensive, I'll grant you, but there's no price to be put on good quality lingerie."

"Is that right?" Damon could, no doubt, hear the speed of her heart beat. Still, his teeth were neatly tucked away, and if the tent in his pants was anything to go by, he was enjoying the show.

Isobel turned away; risky, she knew, but she felt safe, as long as she was being interesting.

"What's your name?" he asked. "Since you know mine, it seems rude not to share."

"Ava," she said, without missing a beat. She shimmied out of her skirt. "I'm undecided about the shoes. Leave them on? They go nicely with the underwear," she said, speculative.

"They'll help with the height difference when I fuck you into the wall."

"On, then." She turned, and took three steps towards him. "You want to unwrap the rest yourself?"

Damon closed the distance between them, one languid step at a time. "Are you crazy? I mean, legitimately mentally ill?"

Isobel shrugged. "Obviously. Just your type, right?"

"Hitting a few of my kinks, it's true." Isobel stood in place while Damon walked around her, drinking in the sights. To her shame – and equally, her relief – Isobel realized she was wet. Dripping wet. Damon took her left arm, heavily scarred. "And self-destructive. Hot," he said, like an afterthought.

She knew it was going to happen, but it still came as a shock, when Damon bit – hard – into her arm. She groaned, and tried to make it a moan. Let her eyes flutter shut.

Once she was used to the sensation, it was actually quite erotic.

Damon pulled away, after licking up the last of the rivulets of blood. The bite seemed to have been shallow.

"You walked in here and offered yourself up as a meal. You know I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk," he said, and not like it was a question.

"Promises, promises," she said airily. The girl she was just then; Ava, whore for vampires. "You didn't answer. Do you want to unwrap the rest yourself?"

Damon crooked a finger, beckoned Isobel to the bedroom. She sauntered after him.

He sat on the edge of an improbably large bed. "Take the rest off," he said. "Slowly," he added. "Get it right and you might actually walk out of here alive," he finished, feigning boredom. No part of Damon was bored. His eyes were blown black with lust, barely a ring of silver around the edge. His shirt was gone, revealing a perfect arrangement of rock–hard muscle, pale and cool. He had taken off his belt, and looked relieved when he was able to free his erection at last. Isobel made no attempt to hide the fact that she was staring at it; she smiled, slyly.

"That for me?" she asked.

"Hope you like it. You're going to have it in every orifice before the afternoon is out." He began to stroke, gently. "Get on with it."

The obvious thing was to take her bra off, first, which was exactly why she didn't do it; started with her panties, instead, rubbing at them first until they were quite wet. She moved one leg down a little, and then the other. Turned around as she bent over, shimmying them down her hips.

"Step back," Damon said. She stepped backwards until she was closer than arm's reach, and Damon reached. Two fingers in her pussy and a well-practiced thumb in Isobel's ass. More turned on than she wanted to admit, despite the sudden stab of pain, Isobel rocked her hips back into Damon's hand, and then stepped away. Stepped out of her panties. Shocked even herself by turning and stuffing them in Damon's mouth.

He cocked an eyebrow, removing them. "You're a little fucked up, Ava," he said. "I think I like you."

"Yeah? What do you want to do to me?"

"Everything I can think of, and anything you can. What's that necklace?"

"What do you think?" She smiled, running one finger over the tip of his cock. Christ, but he was hard. Maybe as big as Alaric, too, she thought.

She set Alaric's face aside in her mind. Couldn't think about him, wouldn't. This was separate.

"Take it off." He cocked his chin. "Now."

"You don't need to use compulsion on me," she promised. "There's nothing you could do to me that I wouldn't beg you to do."

"Is that right." Damon slipped his pants off, let them sliver to the floor. "You have some practice, begging? It's harder than you think. A lot of people carry around a sort of quiet dignity that rears its head up at the exact wrong moment. It's sort of a turn-off when someone starts blushing and begs not to have to beg. You know?"

Ava had no such quiet dignity. Ava was a slut, a dripping whore. She loved to beg. The very thought of begging was making Ava even wetter.

Isobel pushed Damon down onto the bed. "Dignity's for losers," she whispered, and bit Damon's ear. Hard. "Now may I please suck your gorgeous cock?"

"No," he said. Petulant. "You may not."

Isobel licked a wet trail down Damon's chest. "Please?" she asked, breathing in and out of his pubic hair, kneeling on the ground. She let tears spring to her eyes. "Please, Damon, please. I just want… I need a mouthful of cock." She mouthed her way up the underside, let her teeth scrape just hard enough so Damon's hips started to roll. She didn't wait for permission; took him in one mouthful, opening her throat as wide as she could, taking in all of him and more, tamping down the panic she began to feel as her air supply was threatened, as Damon fisted a hand in her hair.

"Fuck, yeah," he said, beginning to thrust. Every time he pulled away Isobel gasped for some air, but she didn't have much chance to. Tears sprang fresh from her eyes as Damon controlled her head, faster and faster, until he came without warning in her mouth. She swallowed quickly, relishing the chance to breathe. With a triumphant look in her eyes, she rolled back onto her feet, tossed her hair back.

"Are you crying?"

"No dignity," Isobel promised.

"That is awesome. Get on the bed. On your hands and knees. Forget the shoes. We can play with them later."

Isobel obeyed, crawling up onto the bed like a cat. It was a shock when Damon ran his fingers over the wet folds, spread out for him, and more of a shock when he followed it with his mouth; she gasped, a little.

"You're loving this," he marveled. "Good girl. Your life expectancy is getting better by the second. Spread your legs wider. And brace yourself." Isobel did, and then moaned, when with one swift movement he was buried in her completely.

He moved slowly, for a moment, but before she knew it, he was fucking her hard; incredibly hard, ferocious. She breathed harder, reminding herself, convincing herself, on every thrust, that the pleasure was at least equal to the pain. She called over her shoulder. "Fuck me like I'm another vampire, Damon. Like I can't be hurt. Harder. Harder."

Damon obliged, hands gripping her hips so hard the pain there kept her focused. She braced harder, against the bed head, and shrieked when he slapped her ass, suddenly, and then a second time, a third.

He just kept going; changing the angle, from time to time, moaning when she clenched her muscles down hard, pulling her hair when her head got too close to the pillow. Isobel let herself drift away, a little; asked herself how long the bruises would last, how she could keep Alaric from seeing them. She left Ava on the bed, still screaming for more.

Suddenly she was on her back, with her legs over Damon's shoulders. She reached over her head to brace herself again, Damon driving into her, hitting some secret spot over and over like a jackhammer, until suddenly she was coming, hard, her most intimate muscles fluttering like something alive and quite separate from her. She bit her lip, and tasted blood.

Damon's rhythm changed, suddenly, became a slower roll; he shifted her legs off his shoulders until she wrapped them around his hips, instead, and leaned so close to her face she thought he would kiss her, at last. Isobel saw that his face had changed, and as he came, he bit hard into the soft flesh of her shoulder.

Isobel was only just sensible enough to realize that pulling away would make it worse, so she moaned again, instead, told herself it felt wonderful.

And then she realized it did.

Dear fucking god it felt wonderful. The blood rushing through her veins, all in the same direction, towards that hot, needy mouth.

"Fuck, Damon," she breathed, and he flickered those dangerous eyes to hers. "Don't kill me, gorgeous. You're not done with me, are you?"

He dislodged his mouth, but his features remained monstrous. "Not yet. Give me a few minutes and we're going again. Not out of orifices yet."

"You gonna fuck me in the ass?"

"You know I am." He settled onto his side. "Take your bra off," he said. Isobel sat up, ignoring the aching between her legs, the sharp pain from the bites in her arm and shoulder. Unhooked the strap from behind, and then dropped one strap, the other. Slipped it off completely.

Damon cupped one breast in his palm. Caught the nipple in the crook of his thumb, and weighed the breast in his hand. "Nice," he said. "Very nice."

Isobel shifted her weight, straddled his body as he lay on his back on the mattress. Amused to learn that vampires could sweat, when so inspired. She spread wet heat an inch below Damon's belly button. Rubbed a finger between his lips.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I came?"

"I know why you came. Sexual services and a meal. I'll have to send my regards to your pimp. Does he owe me a favor?" Damon took Isobel's finger into his mouth, sucking it, even as she pulled it away again.

Isobel shuffled back, took Damon's cock in hand, began to tease it back to life. "Not only that," she said. Already bruised, inside and out.

"I hope you didn't come for the sparkling conversation. Because as soon as I'm done with you, I'm throwing you out, dead or alive. And without your clothes."

Isobel laughed. "Boring."

"Is that so? Impress me, then. Why would I leave you alive? Hands and knees again, good girl," he said. "The amount of lubricant I use will be in direct proportion to how interesting you are."

Isobel felt herself shake, a little, but Ava only laughed. "Then I promise I'll be interesting." Smiling, she climbed off Damon's body and knelt again, ass in the air. "Lick it first."

Damon obliged, chuckling, and Isobel tried to let herself relax. Maybe Ava was used to getting fucked in the ass but Isobel wasn't. With no warning, Damon shifted his mouth, bit into the flesh of her left cheek.

Isobel shrieked. Damon laughed. "Crying yet?" He licked away the blood.

Isobel felt two well-slicked fingers breach her anus at once, and she pushed back hard against the pressure, tried to relax further.

"You're not very interesting so far," Damon mused, rocking his hand in and out. "I'm betting you'd like me to take my time, here."

"I want you to turn me," Isobel said, and Damon rewarded her with a third finger.

"I like you about enough for a spot of afternoon delight, Ava," he said. "Not enough to risk running into you at society events for all eternity. Christ, you're tight. You have done this before?"

"Not much," Isobel confessed. "I…"

"Get more interesting. I'd start with the begging."

"You talk too much, Salvatore. Just fuck me, if you're going to fuck me," Isobel said – Ava said – and tried to ignore the distinct sensation of a tear as Damon took her with one deep, hard thrust.

The tears that poured came from Isobel's eyes, and Ava smiled through them, but every last one was for Alaric.

It was some time later, when the tears had finally stopped, and Isobel was weak and shaky from blood loss. She had bite marks on the insides of both thighs, on her right breast, at her jaw. Up and down both arms. She covered her eyes with her arm and tried to ignore the blood and semen leaking out of her anus.

Damon looked hale and whole, picture perfect, when she moved her arm.

"Stand up," he said.

Isobel climbed shakily to her feet, and Damon did too. He took her hand and lead her to the wardrobe, opening the door to reveal a full-length mirror. Stood behind her, settling his hands on her hips.

"This is what you're asking for," he said, directly into her hair, up against her ear. "Look at yourself. Can you do this to another human being?"

He stretched her arm out, to show her the bites in the soft flesh there.

"I know what I'm asking," she said, all the time, thinking, I'm sorry, Ric, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. She couldn't go home. Not looking like this.

Damon turned her head, tipped her chin. Kissed her gently. It was the first time he'd done so. So close to a real kiss, so tender. "You're an interesting woman, Ava," he said, and did it again, deepening the kiss quickly, and then stepping back a notch.

His face changed, again, and Isobel braced herself for another bite. Instead he bit into his own wrist, and held it up, an offering.

"Will this… will I change, now?"

"Not unless I kill you."

Damon's eyes softened, and he held Isobel's eyes as she drank.

Fireworks, she thought. Fireworks going off in her brain. She held the arm with both hands, drank greedily, until Damon pulled it away. The wound closed instantly.

"Come on," he said, and led her to the bathroom. "It's okay. We're just going to get you cleaned up," he promised, and ran the water piping hot. While Isobel pressed her forehead to the cool tile, feeling Damon's blood light up every cell in her body like the best imaginable drug, Damon shampooed and conditioned her hair. He turned her around, then, knelt to wash her legs, to land gentle kisses in places where before he had put only teeth, and Isobel twitched, running her hand through his hair.

Damon stood again, to wash her breasts, her arms, and that's when Isobel noticed at last that nothing hurt, anymore; no bruises, no bites. She put her arms around Damon's neck, pulled his face down to meet hers in another kiss, and he laughed, softly.

"Go on," he told her neck. "There are some dresses in the wardrobe. Make yourself pretty. We're going out."

Isobel sat, composed, on the white leather sofa in the main living area, in a red dress that fit her almost perfectly; shaking a little, still, but not as badly as she had been, and with the pain gone, and the blood still doing interesting things to her vision she was relaxed; and if not happy, then something like it.

Damon didn't say a word; opened the door, and indicated that she should follow him out.

"Where are we going?"

"Dinner," he said. "Don't worry. I was thinking seafood."

"I wasn't worried," Isobel said.

Dinner was pleasant; the waiter was young and handsome and attentive, recommending wines to go with each course. He was intelligent, a college student, probably, bearing more than a passing resemblance to Ben.

He brought the bill, and Isobel put a credit card down.

Damon caught the waiter's eye. "We've already paid," he said, and Isobel watched as the waiter's eyes went wide and blank.

"You've already paid," he confirmed.

"But here's a tip," Damon finished, putting a hundred dollar bill into the man's hand. "It's a good tip, right?"

"It's a good tip," the man said, swaying a little.

"So, meet us out in the alley in about five minutes. Okay?"

"Five minutes," he agreed, and then shook his head, looking a little amused, and a little concerned. "I hope to see you both again."

"You will," Damon said. "Soon."

Damon led Isobel around the back of the restaurant, near the industrial sized garbage bins.

"What are we doing?"

"I'm educating you," Damon said. A moment later, the waiter came out. "Come here. Stand still. This is going to hurt more than anything you've ever felt before, but you're going to be very, very quiet. Okay?"

The waiter murmured an acknowledgement.

Damon let his real face slip over his human features. "Nice guy? Good knowledge of the menu, I thought, and he knows his wines," he said. "His employer will miss him. Probably has friends, maybe a nice girlfriend. Nice boyfriend. Whatever. Bright future ahead of him. Would you agree?"

Isobel nodded. "Yes," she said, and without a second's warning, Damon tore into the waiter's throat. Bit and sucked and kept sucking until the man's eyes glazed over, and the life left his body, and Damon dropped him to the ground.

"He's human. So he means less than nothing to me. Is that what you want to be, Ava? You want to be a monster like me?"

Isobel began to shake, but held her ground.

"Tell me. Is this what you want?"

"Yes," she said, "yes."

She took a step closer to Damon, enjoying the look of confusion in his eyes. "God," she said, settling her hands on his hips. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone so lonely in all my life."

She pushed the splayed arm of the corpse away with her foot, and stretched to kiss Damon's mouth. His lips closed over hers.

When he pulled away he looked shocked. Younger, somehow. Confused. "Go home," he said. "Maybe I'll be in touch."

And he was gone in a blur, and Isobel was alone.

Isobel sat in a diner for three hours, drinking coffee and sobering up, and then drove home to Durham, only a couple of hours away. She didn't really react to what she had seen until she let herself silently into the apartment at three a.m., and sat shivering in the kitchenette for a long time. Picturing the waiter's face.

Could she do that to another person?

Isobel stripped off her clothes; stuck the red dress in the bottom of the garbage, hid her lingerie to launder later, and ran a shower. Before long she was huddled on the ground against the cold tiles.

When the tears came, they came thick and fast, and Isobel covered her mouth against them, but it was too late. Sad and confused, Alaric entered the bathroom, and she reached for him. He turned the tap off, wrapped her in a towel, and carried her to bed, without a word.

For a terrible moment, Isobel thought he would want to make love, or worse, demand an explanation. He did neither, just drew her in close, wrapped his arms around her, and let her cry. In the morning, without a word, he made coffee, made scrambled eggs on toast, and fed her breakfast in bed. Fresh squeezed orange juice.

Isobel had no appetite, but she ate every scrap.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Alaric asked, a deep hurt in his eyes, folding the newspaper closed.

"No," she said. "But… I think… no more research trips, at least for a while, okay?"

"That will be nice," Alaric agreed, dropping a kiss on her mouth.

Isobel tried to keep her promise. No more research trips. She tried. She was an attentive wife, worked hard on her thesis, and only crawled out of her husband's bed with her heart beating wildly in her chest to hide in the bathtub and weep a couple of times a week.

One nice night Isobel and Alaric had drinks with friends and went home to make love, and it was like the old times; slow and sweet and satisfying, and Isobel tucked her face in the crook of Alaric's neck, moaning as she came once and then again, kissing every spot she could reach. They lay together afterwards, noses nearly touching.

"If you could turn off your emotions, would you do it?"

Alaric laughed.

"I mean it. Imagine, if you never had to feel sad, or lonely, or angry, or guilty… no shame… would you do it?"

Alaric as silent for a long moment. "But what about the good ones?"

"I think you could bluff your way through them," Isobel said, settling further into the bed. "You know? You told me before, love is… what you do, you know, not just how you feel."

"It would feel a little empty without the emotions."

Isobel traced the dips and planes of Alaric's face. "But it wouldn't. Because empty is a feeling, and that would be gone."

Alaric pulled Isobel closer, and she threw one leg across his hip. "No," he said. "I wouldn't. Pain goes away regardless, eventually," he said, kissing her nose, her cheeks, her jaw.

Pain goes away?

If only.

The switch was a near daily obsession and it was for that reason that one Thursday afternoon Isobel wrote Alaric a note to say she had an opportunity to interview an expert in… Charlotte, packed her best underwear and a couple of slinky outfits and drove to Raleigh before she could lose her nerve.

She stopped at a motel to shower, change her clothes and do her hair and makeup, to settle Ava the whore across her features – the outfit matched properly, this time – and then she drove to Damon Salvatore's apartment block.

She knocked on Damon's door, amused by the sultry music she could hear filtering through. It took several long moments before he answered, and Isobel had more than enough time to settle her fuck-me smile across her face.

"Ava," he said, leaning heavily against the door jamb. His shirt was open, he had blood dripping down his chin, and he looked more like a predator than he had when he'd drained the life from the waiter. "My favorite unraveled academic. You heard there was a party?"

Academic?

Isobel's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't show it. "Well done, Mr. Salvatore. You caught me out. May I come in?"

"Always room for one more," Damon said, gesturing her in, a smile hooking exactly half his face.

In the living room four girls were dancing; he'd been feeding from them, clearly, but they were on drugs, too, amphetamines, perhaps, and she couldn't count the number of empty tequila bottles in the room.

"Wouldn't have picked you for a tequila drinker," Isobel admitted. "It's a little déclassé," she added, watching the girls dance; they hadn't noticed her. Two more were making out on the couch like they weren't sure how it was done.

Damon stood alongside Isobel, draping an arm around her shoulder. "University of South Carolina," he confided. "The girls are kind of slutty."

"I remember," she said. "Are they compelled?"

"You think I need to compel sex? Please," Damon said. "But yes, they are. A lot. Even the sluttiest of the slutty won't let you drink from them in general." As he said it, he eyed Isobel. "Speaking of which. Go to my bedroom. Take off all your clothes. Unless you're wearing thigh highs?" Isobel cocked an eyebrow. "Of course you're wearing thigh highs. Take everything else off. I'll deal with the sorority," he promised.

Isobel placed a chaste kiss on Damon's cheek. To prove a point, she thought, though she wasn't sure what her point was.

In the bedroom, she closed the door behind her.

The safest approach, she thought, would be to do exactly as he asked, and wait as long as it took for him to arrive, but she decided to take her time, instead. Collected a hanger from the wardrobe to hang her dress and coat. Took off her heels (ridiculously expensive; she'd paid cash, so Alaric wouldn't see the purchase on a credit card bill) and placed them neatly below the dress.

Her underwear, she draped artfully over the bedside light.

She walked to the ensuite bathroom to check her reflection; her makeup was perfect, and her mascara had been chosen specifically to run, if Damon decided to make her cry again.

Thigh highs stayed on, as per specification.

Isobel lay on he bed, resting up against the pillows, and let herself remember the last time she was here, touching herself gently as she remembered Damon's teeth in her thighs, in her breast. The brutal pace of their fucking, the rhythm of the head board hitting the wall. The loss of control.

Before long, she was wet enough so Damon wouldn't do much damage.

It was nearly fifteen minutes before he entered the room.

"Did you kill them?"

Damon shrugged. "Too much hassle. Six bodies? This is the penthouse. Healed them and sent them home, compelled to fuck each other until they can't see. They'll be the lesbian face of USC by the end of the weekend."

"Hot," Isobel said. "Very inclusive of you. A penchant for girl on girl, or do you have more altruistic motives?"

"I am all about tolerance. I can smell your hand, Ava. What were you doing before I came inside?"

"You want me to tell you, or show you?"

The smile was all Ava's, as was the hand running over one breast and then the other.

"I have to choose?"

Damon leaned against the door, watching.

Isobel shook her head. "Choosing is boring. I was…" she ran her hand over her belly, slipped a hand between her legs, rolled her hips a little when the finger met its mark. "I was remembering the last time I was here, and I was getting myself ready for a repeat performance. Seemed only polite to be dripping wet and ready for you."

"Polite." Damon sounded amused. "I do like you." He stripped his clothes off, quite methodically.

"You don't want help with that?" Even as she offered, Isobel didn't stop her hand, shifted to bury two fingers in the silken, wet heat she found there. Damon sneered.

"More efficient this way."

Naked, and with his erection huge and angry looking, resting against his belly, Damon regarded Isobel again.

"You should be terrified."

"Who says I'm not?"

"I can smell hormones, pheromones, adrenaline… I know when someone is afraid. You're not. You're sincerely turned on, but you're not afraid. You know I'll probably hurt you again, and yet here you are."

"Come here," Isobel said.

"You're giving me orders?"

"I'm extending an invitation. Come here, Damon Salvatore, if you want to," and then he was there, straddling Isobel on the bed. "I'm not afraid of you. The worst you could do is kill me, and then this is all over."

Damon shaped her breasts with his hands. Surprisingly tender.

"That's not the worst I could do," he argued. "You don't really think that, do you?"

Isobel smiled.

Damon lowered himself onto her body, teased and kissed her throat. Teeth, grazing, no fangs. He claimed her lips as he entered her smoothly, and Isobel wrapped her legs around his hips. "Not many people knock on my door, Ava, and even fewer do it twice." He built up a more urgent rhythm, and Isobel moaned softly, arching up against his body, taking his bottom lip in her mouth. "What are you really after?"

"I told you. I want you to turn me."

"And your husband? What does he think of this plan?" Damon laughed, deepening the kiss. "I don't miss much," he said. "You can stick your ring in your purse, but it leaves an impression on your hand."

"My husband has nothing to do with this."

"You never know. He might be into it. Maybe you should bring him with you, next time," Damon said, almost a growl. Isobel had to close her eyes against the thought of Damon and Alaric together. Alaric unspooling under Damon's hands, Damon gripping his hips tightly.

More than once, Isobel had regretted telling Alaric he could never touch a man again; more than once, she'd fantasized about seeing Alaric with someone else, all hard bodies and sharp angles, the ferocity she always imagined between men. The thought had her even wetter, buzzing and aching, rolling against Damon's hips until she felt bruises blossom.

"Shut up about my husband," she said, a hint of threat. "He'll never know what I've become. People disappear all the time. Fuck, Damon, just a bit harder," and Damon obliged, one arm wrapped tight over Isobel's back, the other holding one hand over her head, urgent and controlling.

Isobel was riding aftershocks when Damon came with a grunt, sinking his fangs into her arm.

Again that sensation that all the blood in her body wanted to rush out of the wound, cells magnetized perfectly to Damon, Damon's mouth, all things Damon.

(This, she banished as well; the image of Damon feeding from Alaric; she set it aside, where it couldn't cause such deep, sweet ache.)

Damon bit into his only lip, then, dropped it into Isobel's mouth. Again that sensation of a drug. She sucked at the wound until it healed, turned that into a kiss.

Damon rolled onto his back. "Come here," he said, and Isobel rolled into his arms.

"You're in a cuddly mood, for someone who spent the afternoon fucking sorority girls."

Damon said nothing for a long time. "You were right, what you said," and Isobel couldn't imagine what he meant. "It is lonely. You sure you want all of that?"

Isobel thought about it. "Everyone's lonely. There must be compensations."

"Why do you want to turn?"

"Who wouldn't? The world changes, you stay the same. You can experience everything, taste everything. Make people do what you want. And… there's the switch," she said, tried to make it sound like an afterthought.

"Ah. The switch. Henri tell you about that?"

Isobel nodded, lifted her head, to see Damon's face. "He did. He said he never switched it off, though. Have… have you?"

"Did you not see the room full of compelled sorority girls? Did you not watch me eat and kill a waiter I very nearly genuinely liked? Seriously, Raleigh has a shortage of waiters who know wine. I'll miss him, sort of, next time I want a recommendation for something that will go well with lobster béarnaise," he claimed airily. "Emotions are for sissies."

Isobel rested her head on Damon's shoulder again.

"Why did you change?" she asked. This felt like dangerous ground, but Damon was a little drunk, and perhaps she'd asked in just the right way; Damon told the story of Katherine Pierce.

Katherine Pierce.

Isobel betrayed nothing, but she was certain she had heard the name before. In the research materials she had been given by Chuck Taylor.

Damon pulled away. "What?"

Isobel smiled. "What-what?"

"Your heartbeat changed." Damon held Isobel's eyes. God, he's beautiful, she thought, and fluttered her eyelashes prettily.

"I am a girl, Damon. It's a fantastic love story, sad as it may be. And you've locked your heart up since? A pity," she said. "But maybe it's better."

Damon sat up. His features set in marble. Mouth an angry slash across his face, brow set to furious, he glared. "Better?"

Isobel sat up too, shrugging. "Love fades," she said. "You and Katherine… you'll never have to go through that."

Damon growled. "Get out. Now."

Isobel smiled, uncertain. "I thought we could go and get something to eat. And…"

"Are you deaf, or stupid? I said get out," he repeated. "Before I do kill you."

But that's what I want, Isobel nearly said, but hesitated; what if she hadn't had enough blood?

He stalked to the bathroom and ran the shower, while Isobel dressed quickly, and prepared to leave.

Before she did, she left a note.

I'm sorry. Call me, if you're prepared to do this. Or if you get sick of sorority girls.

She signed it hastily, added a phone number, a disposable cell she had bought for this purpose, and returned to the hotel room she hadn't thought she'd need.

Alaric wasn't there when Isobel got home the next afternoon; didn't come home until Saturday lunchtime. Drunk, and miserable. Wouldn't meet Isobel's eye. Dropped onto the couch.

Isobel sat in his lap, slumped against him. "I'm sorry," she said. Alaric draped his arms around her, spoke into her neck; "You always are," is what he said.

Isobel led him to the shower, kissed him everywhere she could reach, brought him to orgasm with a skilful hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered; "I'm sorry, my Alaric, I'm sorry," she promised, she lied, over and over again.

The next night, Alaric slipped into bed, alone, as he usually did, now; his assumption was that she would join him, or not, when she was ready to. Isobel climbed onto the bed, straddled him. "I have something for you," she said, with a smile on her face; after a shaky start, the weekend had been pleasant, if tentative. She produced a small jewelry case.

Alaric smiled; his eyes lit up in the way they did, sometimes, though less now than they had. "Surprise gifts aren't fair," he said. "I always feel bad for not getting you something."

Isobel chuckled softly. "Just open it," she said. Nudging him. Alaric shook his head, incredulous.

"Oh… That's a… giant piece of jewelry." He pulled the ring from its tiny nest. Isobel had been carrying the ring around in the box since Elena was born. Couldn't bring herself to wear it, let it taunt her with the inescapable knowledge that vampires weren't real, and that John Gilbert loved her. She smiled. Vampires were real and John hated her. Time to pass the ring on to someone who might need it.

"I know. It's ridiculous. Just tell people it's a family heirloom Nobody questions that."

"Where'd you get this?"

Isobel shrugged falsely. "If I told you, you'd laugh at me. But promise me that you'll always wear it." She slipped the ring onto Alaric's big hand, settling it there where it might do some good. "It'll protect you from all the things that go bump in the night." Might even protect Alaric from her, if it came to that. She only hoped it was true, that it really would keep him safe.

"A ring to ward off the demons, eh?"

Isobel fought the tears that threatened to spring from her eyes. I'll miss you, she thought. You were the best thing about this life. Please be safe. Please find someone else to love. You deserve that.

She didn't say these things; said, instead, "Consider it a – a token of my love, my affection, and if nothing else, an apology for being so crazy."

"Well, you are definitely crazy." He wore his worry and his fear so plainly on his face, but Isobel told herself there was something else there, too; enough exhaustion so that maybe it would be a relief when she disappeared.

She traced his jaw, the shell of his ear, the bow of his mouth, with her thumb. "I'm selfish, and I'm obsessed, and I'm a horrible wife. But you love me anyway."

Alaric pulled her down for a kiss. "Yes, I do," he said, running his hands over her ribcage, her hips. "Come to bed," he whispered. "Come to bed, Isobel."

It was the least she could do, and she did it.

Isobel kept the disposable cell phone on silent and close to her body at all times, but Damon didn't call.

She moved all the vampire materials to her office. She learned it all inside out. Every photocopied journal page and newspaper report.

She procured books she spent too much money on and confirmed her suspicions that Katherine Pierce was, indeed, Katerina Petrova, her Bulgarian ancestor.

From time to time, it occurred to Isobel that if she went to Damon, to tell him this, he'd be a lot more cooperative, but she kept silent. It never did to reveal your entire hand.

Months passed. Isobel was the best wife she had ever been; and if it was a costume, what of it? It was, she hoped, the last one she would ever need to wear. Surely as a vampire she would finally be who she was always meant to be. And Alaric deserved the best of her, for the time they had left. She wore brighter colors than usual, red lipstick. She coaxed Alaric into bed, made love to him until he was snoring softly, and worked once he was asleep; and that meant they fought less than when he went to bed night after night alone.

Isobel woke one morning with Alaric smiling over her, tracing the curve of her jaw with the back of his palm. "Hey, pretty girl," he said.

Isobel grinned, and stretched, glancing at the clock radio. "Hmm… it's not even seven o'clock yet."

"Which means you shouldn't be awake for at least six hours."

Isobel linked her hands over her head. "I hate morning people."

"I'm going to be home late tonight."

Isobel nodded. Gym night, and then boys' night. "Love you," she said, meaning it. Holding his dark eyes, and then mapping his mouth again. She found she took any opportunity to catalogue Alaric's features, these days.

"And I love you too," he said, kissing her forehead.

When she eventually got out of bed, Isobel decided to work from the apartment for the day, where the phone wouldn't ring, where students wouldn't stop by. She emailed her assistant, Vanessa, to let her know, took a long shower, and settled in with an oversized cup of coffee.

Around three, there was a knock on the door. Isobel opened it without a second thought. Opened it to a pair of bright blue eyes and a beautifully cut suit.

"Ava. Going to invite me in?"

Isobel froze. "What are you doing here?"

Damon sighed, resting his foot up against the barrier that kept vampires out of homes they weren't invited into. "I'll make this simple. Invite me in, or I'll start snacking on your neighbors."

"Come in," she said, pushing the door shut behind her. "Jesus, Damon. How did you find me? I said to call."

"Turns out there is exactly one A. Saltzman in the whole of Durham," Damon said, inspecting the apartment. Looking at books on shelves, letting his fingers flutter over everything that took his fancy.

"Saltzman?" Isobel's heart unfroze, and beat like mad.

"I saw it on your credit card. Told you, I don't miss much," he said. "Pour me a drink."

On the way to the kitchen Isobel quietly collected two photo frames to hide under the sink. So Damon thought her surname was Saltzman – didn't mean he knew Alaric's name. "Wine? Tequila? There might be some vodka in the freezer -"

"No whiskey? Tequila, then," Damon said. "Edgy, Ava. Problem?"

"Wasn't expecting you to show up here."

"So I see. Not your usual… costume," he said, and it made Isobel wonder just how much he had guessed about her. "And I felt bad," he said, not sounding like he felt bad at all; bored, perhaps, in need of a diversion, certainly, but not bad. "I rarely throw a beautiful woman out of my bed. But I was feeling ornery." He accepted the glass. "If you want to do this, we're doing it here, and now."

Isobel's heart sank. "Not here," she said. "Not here."

"Here. And now. Or you'll never see me again." He took the bottle, topped his glass up, more full than before.

"Damon. My husband…"

"Ah, yes," he said. "Ideal. In a minute, you and I are going to fuck, because I'm in a mood. And then I'm going to feed you my blood. And then I'm going to drain you dry. Couple of hours after that, you'll wake up hungry and your husband will be the first thing you eat. Ties up the loose ends very nicely, don't you think?"

Isobel started to shake. "No," she said. "No."

"You want to be a killer. A monster. That will be your initiation. Now take your clothes off."

Sex could be a good distraction, she thought, so she went willingly. Damon wasn't tender, just took her, like it was his right; flipped Isobel onto her stomach, didn't even undress, just pulled his pants down to his knees, standing by the bed while Isobel lay roughly across it. Damon was controlling and rough, jerking Isobel by the hips.

Isobel felt herself respond, after a while, but mainly, she was plotting, planning; Alaric would be late home. She could get away long before he arrived. She had to focus on that. He'd be safe. She'd just be gone.

Worst came to worst, Alaric had his ring. Isobel couldn't kill him, right?

Oh, god. John believed the ring was real. That didn't mean it was.

"Why now?"

"Because I have to leave for a while. Not sure how long I'll be gone for. You begged for this, Ava. You want this? You get it now." He came with a grunt, not bothering to wait and see if she was there yet, and pulled away.

Isobel felt tears rise. "How long will I be dead?"

"Couple of hours," Damon said. "I'll be long gone. Put your clothes on," he added. "I'm sure you have a little dignity."

Isobel was shaking, but she did as she was told, careful not to drip vampire semen all over the bedspread.

Damon was sitting on the couch, drinking the last of the tequila directly from the bottle, when she stepped out of the bedroom. Isobel made one last try. "Could we go to a hotel?"

Damon narrowed his eyes. "Pathetic," he said. "Goodbye, Ava." He stood and crossed to the door.

"No. Wait. Do it," she begged. "Just do it."

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Alaric, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…

Isobel barely registered that she was drinking from Damon's wrist, but she was; drinking hard. And then the tables turned, and he was drinking from her; rough, urgent, from a tear on her throat, so painful, so painful, and she realized she was crying again.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Alaric, I'm sorry, forgive me…

And the door opened, and before Isobel felt the light die in her own eyes, she saw Alaric over Damon's shoulder.

Not late. Early, hours early.

I'm sorry, Alaric.

She wanted to call out, warn Alaric; or maybe she wanted to warn Damon. She couldn't think clearly enough to do either, and didn't have the strength, but for a second, her mind flashed on Alaric's ring; if she couldn't save him, she hoped to god it would.