Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries isn't mine. Though I do have a secret plan to change that and make Damon my very own… *cackles evilly*

A/N: Since all of you so kindly reviewed on the last chapter, I decided to update AGAIN! :D

Chapter Nine

Damon reacted instantly, grabbing Elena's arm and whipping her behind him. "Get down!" he shouted, directing this to both Gilberts. Then he moved into a crouch and prepared for impact as the five snarling werewolves sprang towards him.

The first wolf, covered in thick black hair, slammed into him with the force of a freight train, jaws snapping and claws flailing in all directions. Damon was thrown to the floor, and cried out in surprise as the wolf's jaws loomed up in his vision, spittle raining down on his face.

He blocked his face with one arm just as the jaws came down, tearing into the flesh of his forearm instead. He locked his lips tightly together to keep a scream of pain from escaping, and directed a hard blow towards the wolf's snout with his free fist. The wolf fell back with a snarl of rage, the other four immediately taking its place.

Blood streaming down his left arm, he kicked out hard with both legs. Wolf number two went down with an ominous cracking sound, obviously not to get back up anytime soon. Wolves number one, three, and four attacked with a vengeance, evidently trying to get to his throat. He flipped around at the very last second, so that his back faced them.

He felt the excruciating sensation of a pair of jaws clamping down on the back of his neck, and a white light exploded across his vision. He was only dimly aware of the wolf shaking him like a ragdoll, with surprising strength.

And then Elena appeared from the fog, a kitchen chair held high over her head. With a cry of primal rage, she brought the chair down on his attackers, one wooden leg accidentally catching Damon on the side of his head. He slumped limply to the floor, dazed, vaguely hearing the angry yelp of Elena's hairy victim.

Stay awake, Salvatore! he ordered himself fiercely, just as the blackness began to overtake him. He couldn't pass out now, leaving Elena to fight the wolves alone. Who knew what they would do to her if he didn't stop them?

He wearily cracked one eye open, and saw Elena standing a few feet away. Brandishing the chair like a shield, she was fighting off the wolves with it and steadily being backed into the corner. There was no sign of Jeremy.

Swearing mentally, Damon shoved himself to his feet, stumbling. Two of the three remaining wolves turned their heads as they noticed his movement, and sprang towards him. Damon steeled himself, holding his arms out as though to embrace the pair as they pounced.

The strength of their impact sent him backwards, though he managed to keep his footing, holding them off with both arms. He crashed into the wall with an earth-shattering thud, what little breath he had in his lungs brutally forced out.

One of the wolves managed to get its head past his arms, and its gaping maw grabbed onto Damon's throat. He choked, already feeling his windpipe starting to collapse, and tried to dislodge the wolf. He threw several wild punches with one arm, while trying to keep the second lycan off him with the other. Wetness was trickling down his neck, which meant he didn't have much time left to win this fight.

Pressing his back up against the wall, he brought both legs up simultaneously and kicked his attackers with all his strength. The wolf holding his throat snarled before releasing him, though the other managed to avoid his blow and lunge even closer. It apparently intended to take the other wolf's place, with its jaws around Damon's neck.

Before the wolf could carry out its plan, Damon spun away, pushing off from the wall, and landed in a crouch a few feet away. He rose quickly, but not quickly enough. Both wolves raced towards him and threw him to the ground. They stood over him, jaws snapping, then lunged down at him.

Thinking dimly how the fight was starting to seem a bit repetitive, (the wolves attacking him, throwing him to the floor, then him getting up and the whole cycle continuing again) he lashed out hard and fast with both fists. One made contact with a wolf's nose, and it fell back with a roar of pain. The other kept coming, leaning in for the kill.

Damon threw up an arm and held the snapping wolf from his throat, highly conscious of the other wolf already getting to its feet. Squinting one eye to aim straight and true, he slid his leg across the tile and towards the wolf, just as it stood. His leg made contact, and there was a sharp cracking sound. The wolf flew backwards and crashed against the wall, going down hard with a yelp. It was obvious that the wolf wouldn't get up again anytime soon.

Damon turned his focus to the wolf attempting to tear out his throat, still blocking it with one arm. He started to attack with his free hand, but the wolf abruptly struck out with a paw, pinning it to the floor. He felt the wolf's claws digging straight into the bone, and tried to keep from shouting in pain.

His free arm was shaking under the strain of the wolf's assault, and sweat was running into his eyes. He blinked rapidly to get the sweat from his eyes, trying to ignore the way they burned uncomfortably. He was growing steadily weaker, and it wouldn't be much longer before the wolf succeeded, and managed to rip of his head.

He tried to think of something witty to say, so he could die looking brave and cocky instead of cowardly and weak, but nothing suitable came to mind. He wasn't even sure if he could manage to say anything at all, with all his strength focused on holding the wolf from his throat.

Sorry, Stefan. I guess I'm not going to be able to get you out of Kathy's clutches after all, he thought regretfully.

It was at that moment that the sheen of sweat of his arm allowed the wolf to slip easily past his defenses, jaws reaching to close around his throat…

A glistening silver blade, already wet with blood, flashed through the air. It punctured the wolf's side, and the animal froze with shock. It swayed, seeming more surprised than anything, then landed on the floor in a crumpled heap.

Damon stared back and forth between the dead wolf and Jeremy, who brandished the kitchen knife he held like a sword. There was a moment of stunned silence, which he didn't try to break. He had been expecting to experience death at that very moment, but now he apparently wasn't going to. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not.

A wave of extreme tiredness swept over him, and he stared dimly up at the ceiling. He noticed a small crack right above the kitchen table, and made a mental note to inform Elena of it. Then she was standing over him, looking horrified but none the worse for wear. Jeremy had also apparently taken care of her wolf. She dropped to her knees beside him, reaching out like she wanted to touch him but stopping herself just in time. "Damon, oh my God. Are you all right?" she gasped out, her face very pale.

"Do I look all right?" he said cynically, trying to sit up. He found that such a movement was impossible; he was too weak. He'd lost too much blood from the fight. "Anything important missing? How about any irreversible damage to my devilishly handsome features?"

Elena shook her head mutely, his joke doing nothing to lighten her expression of dismay.

He managed to turn his head towards Jeremy, while willing his heavy eyelids to stay open. This was no easy task. He wanted nothing more than to let himself drift away into the darkness, now that all danger had been eliminated. Elena and her brother were safe. "Thanks," he said to Jeremy, without even a hint of sarcasm. He was too tired for sarcasm.

"No problem." Then Jeremy turned and wandered from the room, like nothing had ever happened. He left the bloody knife on one of the kitchen cabinets. Seconds later, the front door slammed behind him.

Damon felt his eyes beginning to close, the darkness starting to overtake him. But before he could slip away into nothingness, he smelled it. His entire body jerked, senses going into overdrive. "Elena, are you hurt?" he demanded roughly, trying to hide both his concern and looming bloodlust.

"What?" She glanced down at her arm, then her eyes widened. "Yeah…I must have cut myself on some glass, when the doors exploded…" She trailed off, a strange expression on her face.

"Don't even think about it," he said, realizing what direction her thoughts were going in. He tried again to sit up, to get away from her before she did something rash, but his body wouldn't follow his mental commands. Damn it, he swore mentally. The skin beneath his eyes was already cracking, he could feel it. He wasn't going to be able to control himself for much longer, not when he was injured this badly.

Elena reached down and grabbed a jagged piece of glass from the floor beside them. Holding his gaze for a few seconds, lips tight with determination, she slowly drew it along the small wound on her arm, widening it. Her features tightened in pain, and the shard of glass fell from her hand with a clatter.

"Elena…" he said, breathless. The skin of his face was stretched almost unbearably, and his fangs had already forced their way through. They were throbbing, not at all helping him concentrate on staying away from Elena.

"Come on, Damon, I know you're hurt. Just drink a little and get your strength back. Okay?" she said compellingly. She leaned closer still to him, throat working as she swallowed hard, and held her wrist over his face. As it hovered there, a tiny drop of red liquid dripped from the shallow wound and onto Damon's face.

He couldn't take anymore of the torture. Quickly glancing into her eyes to make sure she was still offering her blood willingly, Damon reached out and grabbed her wrist. Elena gasped, more from surprise than pain, as he swiftly lowered her wrist to his mouth and began drinking.

He drank deeply, hungrily, her refreshing blood trickling down his throat. It tasted even better than he had ever imagined, and drinking it was like receiving a glass of cold water on the hottest day imaginable. He closed his eyes with complete pleasure, the pain in his face and gums starting to recede. His whole body felt better already, the agony of his many injuries fading.

In fact, he was completely lost in his own little world of bliss until he heard Elena's soft moan.

Damon's eyes flashed open, and he immediately released Elena's wrist. She massaged it gently, face pale. "Sorry," he said quickly, sitting up. He could feel the delicious new blood circulating through his body, working at healing all the wounds. "You should have stopped me."

"You needed the blood," she said. "Besides, I don't think I could have stopped you if I'd tried."

"I won't hurt you, Elena." The words shocked even him as he said them; they seemed to flow from his lips without any mental urging from him. "Ever."

She blushed, finally meeting his eyes again. "Why are you like this, Damon? You're…really different than you were before you were trapped in the tomb," she said hesitantly.

"Maybe I like different. It keeps people on their toes." He roguishly waggled both eyebrows, then paused. They stared at each other for a few seconds without speaking, tension steadily building between them. Then he uncertainly reached out with one hand to touch her face. She flinched, but didn't move away as he gently stroked the side of her face. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, before he could stop himself. He instantly tried to drop his hand from her face, but she caught it and held it in place with one of her own hands.

"Damon–" she began, then her voice broke.

"What is it, Ms. Gilbert?" he asked flippantly, hoping she couldn't detect the unevenness in his voice.

When she continued to stare at him without speaking, he pulled his hand away and let it drop to the floor. "I should go," he said abruptly, climbing unsteadily to his feet. "Before something happens that we'll both regret."

Elena leapt up, slipping on a piece of glass but managing to regain her balance just in time. "Damon, don't go."

Damon forced the perfect amount of harsh anger into his voice when he spoke again, hoping to make her forget how much she obviously wanted him to stay. "Don't worry, Elena. I'll be back later tonight; we can make plans to rescue your precious Stefan then."

"No." She caught his arm as he turned to go, holding him back. "Damon…there's something between us. A…spark or something. I can't really explain it properly." She hesitated, blushing again with clear embarrassment. "I don't think you should–"

The doorbell rang.

They froze, staring at each other, then Elena sighed heavily. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," she said, hurrying towards the front door.

Damon quickly limped after her, ignoring the many protests from his legs. Given what had just happened with the five werewolves, who knew what else could be waiting when she answered the door? He wasn't going to chance letting her get killed after the fierce battle they had already gone through this morning.

Just as he managed to limp into the front entry hall, Elena had already reached the door. She frowned at him over her shoulder, eyes raking over his extremely disheveled appearance. Muttering something that Damon didn't quite catch, and certainly didn't ask her to repeat, she opened the door.

Alaric Saltzman, covered with his own blood, fell to the ground at her feet.

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