AN: SIW's plot was built around chapters 14, 15, & 16 - the scenes in the Savannah hotel were Damon and Elena did the blood exchange and ended up sleeping together. That was the initial plot bunny that grew into the monster ensemble fic that SIW became.
This chapter is the beginning of the initial plot bunny that DaCP has grown from. I kind of feel like we're about to get into the real story, so to say this chapter is important is a vast understatement.
Please keep in mind, especially during the second flashback, that SIW was an alternate S3 and I've taken Alaric on a different path than the show.
I cannot wait to read your comments. Seriously. Love it or hate it, let me know. Enjoy!
Chapter 10 - Approaching Zero
Stumbling through the underbrush in her bare feet, Elena struggled to keep up with Landis' brisk pace. Protruding roots and jagged rocks tore at her flesh, making her bleed, but the pain barely penetrated the haze of her compulsion. Follow me, her sadistic captor had ordered with a push of power behind his cold blue eyes before he'd slipped into the thick forest surrounding her prison.
For a brief, glorious moment, she'd hesitated, contemplating the notion of running in the opposite direction toward the long, low building only two hundred yards away. She'd had no idea where she was or whether what she'd find in that building would lead to her freedom, but anything would be better than Landis and his revenge.
The moment had passed, however, and in another instant she'd found herself running after him, disgusted by her own body's betrayal in its haste.
Catching the long hem of her dress on a fallen branch, Elena tripped and pitched forward, hitting the hard, uneven ground silently as the compulsion prevented her from crying out in pain. Tears burned behind her eyes as she curled her fingers into the dirt and rotted leaves blanketing the forest floor. For once, as the compulsion forced her mercilessly back to her feet without allowing her to catch her breath, she actually wished for Landis' rough manhandling.
Why can't it just be over? Why can't I just die?
The thought shocked her – not because it wasn't true, but because it had taken so long for it to drift to the surface of her consciousness. She'd had it – the desire for everything to simply end – more times than she'd been able to count during the tumultuous year and a half after her parents had died. Every time her family or one of her friends had suffered because some supernatural entity had tried to get to her, the guilt and sorrow had been devastating. Death had seemed like the only escape.
Until Damon had shown her another way to be free.
Creeping out of Damon's bedroom, Elena slowly descended the stairs to the first floor of the Salvatore house. Every step made her wince, as the head wound she'd received during the werewolf confrontation throbbed, and she wondered if she had a concussion.
It can't be that serious, she thought, quickly dismissing the idea. Damon wouldn't have left her in his room to fall asleep if he'd been worried.
No matter how mad he'd been at her.
The house was dark, the first faint light of dawn just beginning to peak through the windows, and Elena shivered as her feet hit the marble floor of the foyer. The sounds of a crackling fire pulled her toward the soft orange light spilling from the living room. Eager for the fire's promised warmth, she padded quietly over the marble floor only to hesitate in the doorway.
She wasn't sure if she was ready to face Damon.
She'd defied him before, of course, countless times during their struggles with the various entities that had been out for her blood, but this time had been different. They were different. He was no longer her boyfriend's brother harboring a not-so-secret love behind his biting wit and harsh criticism. She was no longer the girl torn between her heart and her head, wrestling with her feelings for two, distinctly different brothers.
She and Damon had finally figured it out - together - and now, for the first time she'd disappointed him as the man she loved.
That knowledge hurt.
Don't be a coward, she chided herself, deliberately putting one foot in front of the other and entering the room. Her gaze was drawn to the shadows, searching them when she didn't immediately find Damon sprawled out on one of the couches or chairs, but she didn't find him, there either. The living room was empty.
"Damon?" she called weakly, barely raising her voice above a whisper. Relief warred with disappointment as she drew closer to the fire, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill that had spread through her body from the inside out.
Where is he? she wondered as the warmth of the flames failed to penetrate her skin. Glancing around the room, she noticed the neatly arranged crystal decanters of liquor on the makeshift bar and, hesitating briefly, made her way behind the couch, picking up one of the heavy glasses.
The fire flickered off of the bottles, illuminating the amber colored liquid inside. Elena frowned. How does he know which is which? she wondered, reaching for a bottle of something clear and removing the stopper. Sniffing at it to be sure it wasn't gin, she poured a generous helping of what she hoped was vodka into a tumbler. Vodka was safe. She knew she liked it.
"I wouldn't," Damon warned, suddenly at her side and making her jump.
"God. Damon," she stammered as alcohol sloshed over the edge of her glass and onto her fingers. "You scared me," she admonished gently, taking a step back to catch her breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she tried to catch his eye, but he was staring thoughtfully at the collection of expensive crystal. Swallowing, she glanced down at her glass and asked. "You wouldn't what?"
"Drink that," he said, gesturing toward her nearly full tumbler, but still avoiding her gaze. "I don't know why the Russians love it so much, it's not going to warm you up."
"Oh," she replied, fighting the urge to launch into another apology for nearly getting him killed as she contemplated the bottles. "What, um…what should I be drinking?"
"Nothing," he said, finally looking at her before adding with a completely straight face. "You're underage."
Her lips twitched, but the smile died as Damon maintained his inscrutable mask. Taking the drink from her fingers he eyed the nearly full glass. "Ambitious much?" he asked, raising a brow as he poured the contents back into the proper bottle.
"I can hold my liquor," she protested, earning her a derisive snort as he selected a different decanter. Pouring a ridiculously small amount into her glass, he pressed it back into her hand.
"What's this?"
"Brandy," he said as his hand lingered on the glass, his fingers brushing against hers. Elena's pulse quickened at the electrifying touch. They'd been together for months, but sometimes she still experienced a moment of surprise as she realized all over again that she didn't have to ignore what she felt for him.
"Damon," she whispered.
"Maybe you shouldn't," he murmured, shifting his gaze toward the lump on her forehead. Gently, but firmly gripping her chin, he peered at her with a detached interest that squeezed painfully around her heart. "You might have a concussion, be in shock or something."
"I'm fine," she insisted, raising a hand to cover his with her own, but he pulled his away before she could make contact.
"Whatever you say," he replied, stepping away from her as a cold, hard edge entered his voice. Elena watched him with a sinking heart, suddenly feeling even more ill at ease, as he poured himself a drink from a different decanter and walked away from her toward the opposite side of the room.
Something was wrong – very wrong.
She was no stranger to fighting with Damon. For a long time it had seemed that the wars of words designed to inflict maximum damage had been the only way they knew how to communicate. Their first interactions had always been an overwhelming mix of violence and passion, terrifying and intriguing her in equal measure, often sucking her in and pushing her to similar heights. She'd learned how to deal with his dizzying emotional extremes – relishing the challenge in a way that she knew couldn't be completely healthy.
Although, how did one define a healthy, normal relationship with a vampire?
Shaking her head, Elena took a sip of her brandy, grimacing as it burned down her throat, and tried to focus. She knew how to fight with a passionate, volatile Damon Salvatore. What she didn't know how to deal with was the cold, detached man standing next to her. A seed of doubt took root in her heart.
What if I can't fix this?
"Damon, will you talk to me?" Elena asked, wishing her voice didn't sound quite so desperate and weak. "Please? If you're still mad at me, be mad. Don't just…stand there like…like…"
Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, Damon asked. "Like what?"
"Like you don't care," she said, her voice breaking as her stomach twisted with nerves and nausea. "Like you don't feel anything. I screwed up. I know this. Let's talk about it so I can apologize and we can move on."
"What's there to talk about?" he asked, shrugging as he took a sip of what she assumed was his usual bourbon before turning to face her. "You just did what you always do, Elena. You risked your life for your friends. You courted death to make sure everybody else lived. Never mind the fact that you're human and breakable and completely incapable of defending yourself."
Elena bristled, hating the implication that she was a liability – no matter how true his assessment was. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is."
"What?" she demanded, eyes widening in shock as she stared at him. People were constantly risking their lives to keep her safe – Damon being the worst repeat offender in her circle of family and friends – and now he was trying to say it was a bad thing for her to do the same? Seizing the spark of anger his words had inspired, she slammed her glass down on the bar and glared at him. "What the hell are you talking about? Do you know exactly how many people have died for me? Because I do. I remember each and every one of them and now you're trying to say that I don't have the right to do the same? That is bullshit, Damon." Growing angrier by the second as he continued to stare at her impassively, she stalked toward him, invading his personal space the way he loved to do to her, before crossing her arms and retorting. "Are you going to try and tell me you wouldn't die for me?"
Damon rolled his eyes without bothering to dignify the question with a response as he took another sip of his drink.
Suddenly furious at him for holding her up to such a high double standard, she snatched the glass from his hand and threw it toward the fireplace. The crystal shattered with a satisfying crash as she muttered. "You're such a hypocritical bas-."
"You know I'd die for you," he interrupted with a blessed hint of passion as he trapped her with his penetrating gaze. "I know you'd do the same for me. That's easy. You'd die for a bum on the street you'd never met. You have the most infuriating death wish I've ever seen in a human and that is saying something, believe me."
"Then what are we even fighting about?" she cried in exasperation, throwing her hands out toward her sides as she gazed at him helplessly. "Damon, please. We know each other, we understand each other. Why-?"
"Because I don't want you to die for me, Elena," he replied, taking her face between his hands and wiping away the tears she hadn't even realized had fallen. His touch was tender, but his eyes blazed with intensity.
"I don't understand," she admitted, placing her hands on his chest and curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Her brief burst of passion had passed, leaving her an overly emotional wreck with a pounding headache. "What do you want from me?"
"I just…" His expression finally softened and he allowed her to see beyond his indifference to the residual frustration and fear that stemmed from his love for her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her close and kissed her forehead before murmuring into her ear. "I want you to live."
The trees had grown thicker, the branches lower, slapping at Elena's face and arms as she held them up to protect herself. Outwardly, her body continued to obey Landis' compulsion, struggling to keep up with his punishing pace as she followed him through the forest. Inwardly, however, she was back in that living room, reliving the fight that had changed and redefined her relationship with Damon yet again.
Elena had never considered herself special. She'd never believed that the accident of her doppelganger blood had been reason enough to justify the trail of broken bodies that had fallen at her feet, and eventually she'd decided that she must have been living on borrowed time. Death had already claimed her, had been after her since the night her parents' car had crashed through the wooden guard rails on Wickery Bridge. Every time she'd cheated it, Death had simply taken someone else in her place. Letting Death get its way had been the only answer she'd been able to find to save what had been left of her family and friends.
Falling in love with Damon had changed all of that.
Damon wanted her to want to live, to value it and hold it as sacred – the same way he did. Not every life, of course - this was still Damon, after all - but hers, specifically. He needed her to fight as hard to stay alive for the people she loved as she'd once fought for the right to die for them. Because death waseasy. Anybody could die for love or a cause and pass on to the next world with a sense of peace over a good deed done. Life, as Damon had explained it, was the hard part, especially when every day held nothing but the promise of longing and pain.
Resolving the fight hadn't been easy. It had taken her a long time to understand exactly what Damon had been asking of her - even longer to shift her thinking and act on it - but in the end she'd figured it out.
He needed her to quit acting like she was living on borrowed time.
It hadn't happened overnight, but looking back, Elena realized that that particular fight had been the catalyst that had helped her to move on. She'd started making plans and revisiting old dreams. Graduating from high school and getting out of Mystic Falls – goals she'd all but given up on while Klaus had been out for her blood – suddenly seemed possible. She'd brushed the dust off of the college brochures that Jenna – and then Alaric – had stubbornly been collecting for her and started pouring over them. The stories Damon had told her about the exotic places he'd been to no longer seemed out of her reach and she'd fantasized about semesters in London and summer internships in Paris.
She'd started writing again.
Mostly, she'd quit fighting Damon tooth and nail every time his over-protectiveness had threatened to smother her and had tried to look at it from his perspective. She was human. She was breakable and every time she'd stupidly put her own life on the line, she'd inevitably risked his as well.
And that knowledge, that knowingthat Damon would risk anything for her-that he would diefor her-had been the final piece that made everything else fit together.
Damon couldn't die…and therefore…neither could she.
You don't want to die, she chided herself as the trees and underbrush began to thin. Gasping for breath, she followed Landis into a small clearing. This was her first real test. After the incident with Jules' pack, there really hadn't been another dangerous plight for her to tumble into. Life had been quiet and wanting to live had been easy.
Damon had made it easy.
He's going to find me, she thought as Landis came to a stop in the middle of the clearing and she collapsed to her hands and knees in exhaustion. The hem of her dress was caked with mud, bleeding all of the way up to her knees. Dark blood stains stood out against the white in sharp relief. Her feet ached and her palms where cut and bruised from pushing her way through the dense trees. Her skin was flushed and hot and her head ached, but she ignored all of that. None of it mattered.
Damon was going to find her - and Elena was going to make damn sure she was alive when he did.
"Lovely, isn't it," Landis mused, casually putting his hands in his pockets as he strolled toward the opposite side of the clearing. Propelled by compulsion, she rolled her eyes as she scrambled dutifully to her feet and shadowed him.
"It's better than the trees," she muttered, eyeing his impeccable, old-fashioned suit with annoyance. Why isn't he covered in mud?
"This is my favorite part," he said with all of the glee she'd expect from a five year old on Christmas morning as he picked up the pace for a few more yards before coming to an abrupt stop at the farthest edge of the clearing. "Amazing, isn't it?"
Elena's stomach dropped as she stopped as well and realized that the clearing hadn't come to an end because of the encroaching trees - it had stopped because of a sheer cliff.
"It's certainly not the tallest I've ever seen," Landis said as if he were narrating some sort of wilderness tour. "But the rocks at the bottom are a very nice touch, don't you think? Perfect for what I have planned."
Suddenly, Elena's promise to herself to live felt more like a desperate wish as she peered over the edge. The setting sun cast deep shadows on the ground far below. She'd never been good at judging distances and with the blood loss she'd suffered along with the confusing compulsion, all she knew for certain was that if she went over the edge, that was it. She was dead.
"W-What is your plan?" she asked, unable to tear her gaze away from the crumbling edge of the cliff. Swallowing her rising panic, she wished Landis would step away before vertigo outweighed compulsion and she fell into the abyss.
"I told you," he said lightly. "Revenge. But if you must know specifics…"
Suddenly, he was standing right next to her, one hand gripping her upper arm as he dragged her closer to the sheer drop off. Elena gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as she clutched at him with both hands.
"Please," she whimpered as she danced on her toes, fighting for purchase on the loose dirt and grass.
"Eventually, when I tire of our games, I'll let Damon know where we are," he explained, keeping his voice conversational as he thrust his arm out and used his supernatural strength to hold her out over the vast, open space. The hem of her dress fluttered in the breeze as a cry of terror escaped her throat, defying the compulsion. Involuntarily, she kicked her feet, clinging to her captor with all of the strength she could muster. "This is, after all, for his benefit."
Opening her eyes, Elena automatically looked down, her gaze drawn to the jagged rocks below. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think around the paralyzing fear surging through her veins.
Abruptly, Landis pulled her back in, holding onto her as she sagged against him, all weak limbs and ragged breaths. For once she was grateful for his possessive embrace as her shoulders shook in silent sobs. Chuckling with sadistic glee, he said. "I can't wait for Damon to get here."
Elena wasn't there.
Damon sagged against the doorframe of the empty cabin, disappointment cutting through him like a knife as his feeble hopes were dashed. He hadn't even realized he'd been harboring them, but at some point during the long drive from Mystic Falls, that fucking disease had risen up, placing a stranglehold on his heart.
Elena's absence wasn't Damon's only cause for concern, however. The room was soaked in blood - the rumpled sheets, the walls, the old worn carpet - making it look like a scene out of a bad slasher flick.
But this wasn't the movies and the blood wasn't fake – it was real and human and Elena's.
He tried not to let his brain make the mental calculations, tried not to weigh the magnitude of blood against the amount found in the human body, tried not to jump to the unbearable conclusion that Elena had lost too much to survive…
Failure swept through him, stealing his breath and rendering his mind blank save for one excruciating thought.
What the hell am I going to do without her?
Leaving the late afternoon sunshine behind, Damon followed Alaric through the doorway of a rundown bar on the outskirts of Mystic Falls. Neon signs hung from the windows and behind the counter while a fifty-year-old jukebox rattled out a Bob Seger tune from tinny hidden speakers. The place looked new in the sense that it had all of the modern conveniences necessary to legally operate in the state of Virginia, but Damon knew better. Although the original structure had accidentally burned down in the late 1880s – and been purposely set on fire during Prohibition – a bar had existed on the spot in some capacity or another for longer than he'd been alive.
At the moment it was known as The Bleeding Wolf – a name that he found endlessly amusing – and it was Alaric's new favorite drinking hole.
"I'd forgotten about this place," Damon said as they each claimed a stool at the end of the bar facing the door. "We should bring Lockwood here sometime."
Alaric chuckled, shaking his head as he signaled for the bartender. "You know, the reason I like this bar is because my students don't come here. If I wanted them to know what a pathetic loser I really am, I'd keep going to The Grill."
"It's cute that you think you've kept that a secret from them," Damon quipped, ordering a beer from the incredibly bored looking bartender.
They drank in silence for awhile as Damon watched the post-work happy hour crowd filter in and contemplated Alaric's invitation. It was hardly unusual for them to meet up for a drink – or five – after the teacher had finished up at the high school, but he knew that this time, something was different. Alaric was sipping his beer, nursing it with an air of restraint that he usually reserved for finals time, and there was a strange tension between them.
Something was most definitely up.
"What's on your mind, Ric?" Damon asked after they'd ordered the second round – bourbon this time. A preemptive strike against whatever his friend was waiting to drop on him.
"What makes you think something's on my mind?"
"Vampire's intuition," he replied dryly. Gesturing toward his friend's light beer, he added. "And you only drink that watered down shit when you think you need to stay moderately sober."
Alaric scowled, looking at the bottle in his hand as if it had somehow betrayed him. "You're really annoying, you know that?"
"Yup," he nodded, taking a sip of the top shelf liquor. "Now talk."
"Fine," the other man grumbled, twisting in his seat to face Damon more fully. "Elena told me about Atlanta."
Damon frowned. "I didn't know it was a secret."
"It isn't," Alaric stated as he began picking at the label on the dark brown bottle. "Not the part about Elena going to Emory, anyway. The fact that the two of you plan on living together…that I hadn't thought about."
Damon groaned internally. You've got to be fucking kidding me. Alaric wanted to have this conversation now? He'd been with Elena for nearly a year – practically joined at the hip as Caroline liked to point out. They'd spent most of their days – and the vast majority of their nights – in each other's company and as Elena's comforting but unnecessary pseudo-guardian, Alaric hadn't said a goddamn thing.
Until now, apparently.
Annoyed and at a loss for words, Damon let the silence build uncomfortably as he continued sipping his drink. Alaric's gaze darted his way a few times before he sighed and prodded. "Damon."
"What?"
"Aren't you going to say something?"
Like hell, he thought. If Alaric wanted to have this discussion, he could damn well get there on his own. "I didn't hear a question," he replied. "I mean, is this where you lecture me on the perils of living in sin?"
Alaric sighed. "Damon-."
"Because I hate to break it to you, but it's a little late to be worrying about my virtue," he continued airily, smirking as his friend groaned and covered his face with his hand. "I'm pretty sure my immortal soul is beyond help."
"You got that right," Alaric muttered, quickly chugging what remained of his beer and ordering another. "Look. This has nothing to do with…that."
"Well, thank god," he replied with exaggerated relief. "I'd hate for you to blame me for robbing Elena of her innocence since it's one of the few morally bankrupt things I haven't done."
Alaric sighed, taking another long pull from his beer bottle. "Can we move on?"
"That depends," he replied. "Are you going to tell me that Elena and I shouldn't live together in Atlanta?"
"Not exactly," Alaric hedged, meeting Damon's sideways glance without flinching. "I'm not Elena's father. I'm not going to try to tell her what to do."
"Good."
"And I'm definitely not going to tell you what to do since all past attempts have led to me having a broken neck-."
"Once," Damon retorted defensively. "I killed you once."
"But I'm going to tell you something that I know you won't want to hear," he pushed on, ignoring all of Damon's attempts to derail the conversation. "So just listen, okay? And understand that I still consider you my best friend."
Damon tensed as every instinct he had told him to run out of the bar before Alaric could utter another word. Ignoring them, he drew a deep breath. "Okay."
"Elena's happy. Really happy," Alaric began, staring at the surface of the bar rather than meeting Damon's eye. "You're actually really good for her."
"I love how you say that like it's a shock," Damon muttered, even though that fact still surprised the hell out of him every goddamn day.
"She loves you. It's obvious," the teacher continued as if he hadn't spoken. "And I know this Atlanta thing isn't some whim that she hasn't thought through."
"But," Damon supplied as he ordered another bourbon, suddenly wanting to get very drunk, very fast. "Get to the point, Ric."
"The point is, she's eighteen, Damon," Alaric said, finally meeting his friend's eye. "Yeah, okay, so she's probably the toughest, most world-weary and mature eighteen-year-old in history, but she's still only eighteen. It's been quiet since that fight with Jules' pack and hopefully it will stay that way. She's going to college, going to put Mystic Falls and all of this doppelganger bullshit in her rearview. She's got a chance, at a long life, man. A normal, human life."
Damon braced his elbows against the bar as all of the air left his lungs. Alaric wasn't telling him anything he hadn't thought of himself, but hearing someone else say it made his heart constrict painfully in his chest. "And you think she can't do that with me."
"I didn't say that," Alaric said, looking at him with a sadness that implied it was exactly what he meant. "Like I said, I'm not telling you what to do. Elena would hate me if she knew we were having this conversation, but I know you love her and I know you want what's best for her. All I'm saying is that maybe…maybe what's best for her is to end things now, so she can go to college and start a life without vampires, before either of you get in too deep."
Damon snorted as the bartender placed another bourbon in front of him. He was already in too deep. They both were. If Elena wanted out, there would be no easy way to do it. He'd try to be the better man, the one she managed to bring out in him, but he couldn't promise his best behavior to anybody.
Not without her.
Tempted to knock back the bourbon and blur away, leaving Alaric with the tab and a caustic 'fuck you' before he disappeared, Damon hesitated. His friend's concern for Elena wasn't without merit and he'd be lying if he said he'd never had doubts about her chance at happiness if she was stuck with him. What the hell did he have to offer her, really? She'd already brought up the idea of turning and forever. The longer they stayed together, the deeper he'd pull her into the darkness of his world, no matter how quiet things stayed.
"Thanks for the pep talk," Damon muttered, finally picking up his bourbon and taking a sip. From the corner of his eye, he caught Alaric's expression of surprise and confusion before he returned to his beer. They drank in silence for another hour before Damon acted on his previous impulse, threw some cash on the bar, and left.
Without the 'fuck you.'
Damon couldn't look away from the blood.
For one hundred and fifty years, blood had been the center of his universe and he'd thought himself immune to the human reaction of revulsion or fear upon seeing too much of it.
He'd been wrong.
Paralyzed, he stood in the doorway as the sight and smell of the cabin became imprinted on his memory. If he lived to be one thousand, he'd never get the image out of his mind. Every time he fed from here into eternity, the warm, rich substance would throw him back into this moment and he'd be forced to relive his failure.
I'm sorry, Elena, he despaired. I'm so sorry.
"It's still warm," Stefan announced.
Damon blinked, slowly, as if his eyelids weighed a ton.
"Did you hear me?" Stefan demanded, looking at him sharply. He was standing at the foot of the bed, one hand placed flat against the mattress, completely unmoved by the sight of Elena's blood spilled all over every surface.
"I-."
"It's still warm," he repeated, straightening as he glanced around the room. "The bed. We didn't miss them by much. Let's go."
"What?" Damon asked stupidly, hearing his brother's words, but failing to comprehend as he slowly began to slide down the doorframe. Stefan was there before he hit the ground, hauling him up by the open flaps of his leather jacket.
"Focus, Damon," he commanded, dragging him out of the doorway and shoving him roughly against the side of the cabin.
"Jesus, Stefan, did you see that?" Damon asked, finally able to speak now that he wasn't staring at the physical evidence of his failure. "There's so much blood. Elena-."
"Needs you right now," Stefan interrupted, staring him in the eye. "She has to be close and…you're right. She's lost a lot of blood, so she probably didn't leave on her own. If you want to get her back, if you want to make Landis pay, you've got to get it together, okay?"
Closing his eyes, Damon dropped his chin to his chest and tried to ignore the thick scent of blood in the air. Stefan was right. Elena didn't stand a chance if he fell apart now. There would be time later – when Elena was home and safe – for him to drink away the image of the cabin splattered in her blood.
"Okay," he muttered, nodding his head as he opened his eyes. Shaking off Stefan's grip on his shoulders, he pushed away from the cabin and took a few steps toward the thick forest surrounding the resort. Drawing a deep breath, he said. "I'm going to go after Elena. You get Bonnie and then follow me, but don't get too close. Landis will be able to hear her coming a mile away."
"Why don't you take another minute," Stefan suggested. "I'll start after Elena and you can get-."
"No," he shook his head, searching the ground for traces of blood. There was no way he could find her by scent so close to the cabin. "No one knows Elena better than I do. I'll find her faster. Just bring Bonnie."
Hesitating, Stefan stared at him, clearly at war with Damon's wishes and his better judgment. Damon looked back evenly, divorcing his conscious mind from the useless fear and panic.
"I can still kick your ass," he reminded his brother. "Don't think I won't."
Stefan scoffed, rolling his eyes as the corners of his mouth lifted in the barest hint of a smile. Finally, he started backing away in the direction of the car. "We'll be right behind you."
Nodding, Damon turned toward the blood trail, following it into the trees. He moved carefully at first, visually confirming the sporadic smears of Elena's blood on low-hanging branches, the bark of a tree or a pile of broken twigs on the ground. Occasionally, he came across a clear, bare footprint perfectly outlined in a patch of mud - each time he found one, he felt a greater sense of relief.
Elena was alive and moving on her own.
The overpowering stench of blood lessened as he put more distance between himself and the cabin and within minutes he was tracking her by scent alone. Ignoring the shifting shadows as the sun sank towards the horizon, he relied on instinct, slipping into the mode of hunter with incredible ease.
He was so focused on following the trail that he almost stumbled into the clearing without pausing to assess the situation. If Elena's voice hadn't carried through the darkening woods, he might have tripped over them.
"You've made your point, Landis," she said as Damon grabbed at the trunk of a thick oak tree to keep from collapsing to his knees at the sound of her voice. A very big part of him had started to wonder if he'd ever hear it again. "I believe you, okay? You win. I'm completely terrified. Can we go back to the cabin, please?"
Damon closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the rough bark as a crushing helplessness made its way past his defenses. She sounded terrified and as desperate as he felt. It took all of his meager self-control not to charge into the clearing and carry her away to safety.
Focus, Salvatore. If you fuck this up, you really will lose her for good.
Drawing a calming breath, he lifted his head, peering around the massive tree trunk and into the clearing where he tried to assess the situation with a detached and clinical eye. He saw Landis first, standing at the far edge of the clearing with his back toward him.
"Eager to pick up where we left off, are you?" Landis asked suggestively, making Damon's stomach twist with revulsion. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the edge of the clearing for Elena. For one frantic moment he didn't see her, fearing he'd hallucinated her voice in his desire to save her.
Then Landis turned and there she was.
Wrapped in the monster's arms, she looked like a broken doll, all bloodied limbs and ruined white fabric. Damon dug his fingers into the rough bark as he again fought the impulse to rush in without thinking. He was fast, but so was Landis, and the other vampire could kill her before he made it half way across the clearing.
"I don't...I don't really care," she admitted, letting her head rest weakly against his shoulder as she put up no effort to fight her way out of his grasp. "I just don't want to be here."
How do I do this? he wondered, looking around the woods for an answer. A stake was the obvious choice, but the ground was annoyingly lacking in any broken branches substantial enough to do the job and if he tried to break one off of a tree, he'd blow his cover.
A quick burst of pain exploded behind his eyelids, there and gone in less than a second, but it was enough for Damon to realize that he was no longer alone. Glancing over his shoulder, he found Stefan and Bonnie nearly a dozen yards away, hiding behind a tree similar to his own. Frowning in irritation, he gave the witch a look that had her holding up her hands and mouthing 'sorry'. Behind her, Stefan shrugged as if to say 'what now?'
Pursing his lips, Damon held out his hands, shaking his head helplessly.
Bonnie and Stefan's faces fell in an almost comical unison before the witch's eyes lit up. Pointing toward the clearing, she pantomimed sending Landis a magical migraine. Damon started. It was actually a brilliant plan.
Could it really be that easy?
Looking back into the clearing, his heart sank. Of course it fucking couldn't. The sun had dropped further during the silent exchange and Damon noticed something that the long grass had kept hidden.
The clearing ended in a cliff and Landis was holding Elena less than two feet from the edge.
Fuck.
Eyes wide, he turned back to Bonnie and shook his head vehemently, pointing toward the oblivious pair. Her face fell, taking on an ashen pallor as she immediately understood. If she were to hit Landis with one of her patented brain whammies, chances were way too likely he'd let go of Elena. In her current state, Damon wasn't sure she'd be able to stand on her own and the edge was just too close.
"Very well," Landis said, brushing Elena's disheveled hair away from her face as she cringed and struggled weakly in his grasp. "We'll say goodbye to this place until Damon arrives."
To hell with it, Damon thought, taking a breath and stepping out from behind the tree. "Why wait?"
Whirling in surprise, Landis clutched his prize tightly to his body, taking a step closer to the edge of the cliff. Elena gasped, staring at Damon for several seconds before sagging in her captor's arms and breathing a sigh of relief.
"Damon," she murmured in a weak, tear-filled voice that broke his heart. "I knew you'd find me."
"Sorry it took so long," he said before hardening his gaze and turning his attention to the vampire. Landis had recovered from his initial shock and was now looking at him with a mixture of hatred and glee. Adrenaline surged through Damon's veins as he wracked his brain for a plan. "Let her go, Landis."
"Why?" he asked. "Will you let me live?"
"No," Damon replied. "But I might make your death quicker."
Landis pretended to contemplate his offer. "Hmmm…not much incentive there," he replied. "Especially considering we've just arrived at the main act. Everything up until now has all been a preview."
"What do you want, Landis?" Damon demanded, trying not to let his anxiety show as the vampire took another step backward. "You wanted to know what I'd do to get her back, well the answer is anything. So, name it and let's get on with it."
Landis smiled. "What I wanted was another couple of days to play with Elena. You ruined my timetable, Damon." The vampire grinned, nuzzling his face into Elena's hair as she squirmed in his arms to get free. "Although, I have to admit, I've started to see the appeal of this one."
"Landis," Damon warned, his temper flaring at the possessive way the monster was touching her.
"But I am nothing if not flexible," he continued, shifting his grip on Elena and holding her away from his body by the upper arms, almost in offering. "You love her. Not as a toy or a favorite blood source. You really, truly love her as an equal. A human," he added in disgust. "That's pathetic."
"Damon," Elena murmured, wincing as Landis' hold on her tightened to the point of pain.
The vampire smiled, his gaze hardening as his eyes grew cold. "What I want, Damon Salvatore, is for you to suffer. It'll begin with this."
Damon's eyes widened as he suddenly understood. Forgetting Landis, forgetting everything, he moved, blurring across the clearing and diving for Elena at the same instant that the other vampire tossed her over the edge of the cliff. His laughter echoed in Damon's ears.
It wasn't until she was hurtling through the air, falling towards the rocks below, that he knew he was going to be too late.