Chapter Seventeen: Oops - Did I Say That Out Loud?
Disasters always come in threes.
Disaster #1: their plan to infiltrate the Armory and steal the last piece of white oak.
Even though, Damon would like to point out, it was a perfectly good plan and should have worked.
After all, what better way to gain access to a secret armory than to pose as rich collectors seeking to add to their private weapons collections? Once successfully inside, they'd find the stake and wing it from there.
Arriving at the Armory, a solid twenty miles outside the city limits of Mystic Falls, he, along with Ric and Elena, found the building itself to be every bit as imposing as the name might lead one to imagine. It was, in a word, a fortress, possessing a notable lack of windows, thick stone walls, and a thick, iron-bound door. Thick enough to make even a vampire hesitate before attempting to punch his or her way through. You know, worst case scenario.
Alas, there was no need to punch his way through anything as the door opened swiftly after they knocked, and an extremely thin man with a ratty face stood there, staring at them with his beady eyes. Damon immediately disliked him.
"May I help you?" Rat Man asked this in a cold, nasally voice, indicating that the dislike was probably mutual.
Clearing his throat, Ric stepped forward, the chosen spokesperson for their little group. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Dr. Atticus Shane," he gave the fake name they'd come up with as a cover so smoothly, Damon was impressed, "Lecturer at Whitmore College on theology and the Occult, and independently wealthy, private, and very discerning collector of the supernatural. I was wondering if my assistants and I could maybe come in and take a look around and perhaps see if anything catches our eye?"
Rat Man's nose twitched, rat-like. "My pleasure, I'm sure, Mr … Shane, did you say? But I'm afraid that simply won't be possible as we're not open to the public." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did you say you heard about us, again?"
"Of course, I understand if this is a bad time," Ric hedged. "Is there a better time, perhaps, we could come back?"
"I'm afraid there's not."
Damon stepped up behind Ric and looked at Rat Man over Ric's shoulder, directly in his beady eyes, pupils dilating as he brought his Power fully to bear. "I think this is a perfect time, and you do want to invite us in."
Rat Man smiled unpleasantly, unaffected by the compulsion. His smile didn't stretch past his lips. "No, I really don't."
Faster than the human eye could follow, Damon flashed past Ric, only to slam into the threshold boundary across the doorway. He smashed his fist against the invisible barrier with a grimace. Dammit, there went any hope he didn't have to be invited in.
Rat Man stepped back from the door and made as though he were about to close it. "We take guardianship of the items in our care very seriously. We can't let them fall into the hands of just anyone."
Damon looked down at his hands, flexed them, made the veins on the back of his hands stand out. He then met Rat Man's beady gaze once more. "Sure you want to do this? Takes a lot to stop a vampire."
"We are not afraid." Rat Man closed the door, denying them entrance with undeniable finality.
"Well, that didn't work," Elena said behind him.
Ric tapped Damon's elbow. "Maybe it's time to call Bonnie and get her involved. Or the two Original vampires you have on speed dial."
"Bonnie is involved," Damon snapped, "we just need to get inside the damn place first."
"I don't think we're getting in."
"Of course we are. We just have to think of how." He refused to be thwarted. He hadn't been bluffing – it did take a lot to stop a determined, pissed off vampire.
Less than an hour later, he'd devised a new plan, or, as he affectionately thought of it, Disaster #2. It involved explosives and detonating enough of them to blast their way in.
Ric and Elena did their best to dissuade him from this rash course, but he refused to listen. There was a desperation driving his actions that he himself didn't even really understand.
So, fuck any more subterfuge, fuck Rat Man and anyone else standing in his way, and especially fuck this doing nothing when he was running out of time.
But when the bombs were done exploding and the smoke had cleared, the Armory still stood, unscathed. A few of the stones around the base were slightly blackened or singed. The only real casualty was the landscaping. Hopelessly obliterated.
It was fucking infuriating and time to figure out what to do next. They returned to Mystic Falls to regroup and replan. That's when Damon had the bright idea to ask Jeremy to ask Anna to do a little ghostly reconnaissance on their behalf. Since Anna could walk through walls, she was able to enter undetected and snoop around the inside of the Armory.
That's how they learned of the existence of the sprawling network of secret underground tunnels beneath Mystic Falls and its surrounding environs. So many tunnels, in fact, that it would be easy to get lost, wandering up and down the different passageways forever. Armory personnel used these to come and go in town virtually undetected.
Perfect. Now they just needed to find one of these secret tunnels. Then they could sneak into the Armory the back way, similar to how they'd sneaked into Klaus's compound in New Orleans. Though admittedly, Damon hoped for a much better outcome this time.
Oddly enough, Rebekah was the one who suggested searching the cemetery. When asked as to why that particular place, she shrugged offhandedly and asked if they could think of a better place to hide something.
Since she had a point, he, Ric, and Elena were spending the day combing through the Mystic Falls cemetery, hoping to stumble across the entrance to a secret tunnel through sheer dumb luck. Sometimes, good old leg work succeeded when nothing else did.
And at least they weren't doing nothing.
The day was pleasant, idyllic for a sojourn amidst the headstones and crumbling family mausoleums, through the heat and buzzing bees lured in by the scent of wild honeysuckle. The canopy of leafy branches overhead let in ripples of sunlight. Twigs crackled on the forest floor beneath their feet.
Elena was walking only a little bit ahead of him, leading the way.
She was dressed all in black. Black leggings, black boots, and a black tank top, a curve-hugging outfit that allowed her to move comfortably and inspired in him the need to adjust the fit of his own jeans more than once.
She wore no makeup or jewelry, was completely unadorned except for a pair of small hoop earrings, and as a result, her arms and throat were bewitchingly bare, all that tan skin like flawless caramel, lightly gilded with perspiration from the midsummer heat. The feathery ends of her dark hair, loosely contained atop her head in a ponytail, brushed the nape of her neck with each step.
She looked like a huntress, hot as hell and ready to kick some ass.
The trees they were passing through grew more numerous, the undergrowth thicker, forcing them both to duck to avoid low branches. Elena stopped abruptly when the woods came to an end at the edge of a clearing. He caught up to her, placing his hand on the small of her back.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
She looked over at him, so wickedly handsome with his gleaming black hair and glinting blue eyes, and smiled. "Waiting for you."
He couldn't help but return the smile.
She turned back around, and he was able to focus on the scenery before them. Just ahead, in the sun-drenched clearing, was an old stone angel, rising stark and gloomy over the surrounding landscape of death, a forgotten sentinel in a forgotten corner of the cemetery.
Creeping vines of ivy wreathed its limbs and torso while moss and lichen grew unchecked in the voluminous folds of the divine robes. Even hunched over with the weight of its grief, wings folded, face cast down, it was easily twice Damon's height from its sandaled feet to the feathered arches of its wings.
A crow perched on its head, disturbed by their sudden arrival, took flight with an irritated caw.
Shading her gaze, Elena squinted. "Are we lost?"
"Aren't we all, existentially?"
She rolled her eyes at his poor jest.
"We're not lost," Damon assured her, ushering her into the clearing. He shadowed her footsteps closely as they moved closer, absorbing her nearness, basking in it. "The oldest parts of the cemetery predate the town's official founding of 1860. It's a lot bigger than most people realize."
"So, what you're saying is this would be a good place to hide the entrance to a secret tunnel?"
He lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug and pulled a flask from his jacket pocket. "Maybe." He thumbed the top off and took a drink.
She frowned at him. "I know there has to be a way in around here somewhere; I just wish we knew what it looked like."
"Hopefully, there's a flashing neon sign or something, so we don't miss it." He took another drink and saw her frown deepen. He made a reproachful cluck. "Judgy."
"I'm not." He raised both his eyebrows. "I'm not!" She wrinkled her nose, angelic and accusatory. "It's just … it's not even noon."
"It helps with the cravings. Nothing like a stroll through a graveyard on a lovely summer day to work up an appetite." Nevertheless, he tucked the flask away. With wide, innocent blue eyes, he asked, "You do want me to be a good boy, right?"
She crossed her arms, correctly sensing that he was mocking her just a little bit. "I want you to be better than what everyone says you are."
"And by everyone, I assume you mean Caroline."
"She did see us kiss." Elena uncrossed her arms and made a face. "Everyone saw us kiss."
"Let me guess – she's afraid my corrupting influence will rub off on you?"
"As long as that's all she thinks is being rubbed off."
Her response delighted him. "Ooo, saucy. I like it."
She blushed most intriguingly, the little doe-eyed nymph. "So, you're not still … drinking ... you know ... ?" She trailed off, letting her question dangle in the sultry summer air.
He covered his mouth and lowered his voice as though what he was about to was too scandalous for prying ears. "Fresh from the source?"
"Yes."
"Why do you wanna know?"
"Are you?" she persisted.
Purely for the reaction he'd get, his lips twisted in a slow smile, suave, playful, a little arrogant. "You know, if you want me to eat you, all you have to do is ask."
She raised her eyes to the sky. "Can you please be serious?"
"Fine. Tragically, no, I've imbibed nothing stronger than blood bags and bourbon for," he frowned and pretended to do some mental calculating, "far too long."
"Nothing but blood bags and bourbon and me," she corrected.
His mouth watered, remembering the precious times she'd shared her blood with him, every detail like crystal, and he experienced a dizzying rush of desire. "And you," he agreed.
A smile broke out across her face, a flash of sunshine, pure and dazzling. It took his breath away. Had there ever been a creature quite as beguiling as Elena Gilbert?
A few wisps of hair had escaped her ponytail, dangled at her temples. He reached up and gave one a gentle, affectionate tug. Time seemed to twist and slow, cocooning them in their own little bubble. The air closed in around them. Pulsed and shimmered with heat that owed nothing to the sun.
Elena's smile faded, and she stared up at him, deep into his eyes, seeing into him in a way that should've been uncomfortable, but wasn't. Because it was her.
His heart ached, filled with emotions he wasn't supposed to feel.
Leaves crunched, and a twig snapped behind them. Ric had returned.
Elena stiffened and drew back. Her hair slipped from his fingers.
Damon curled his lip. "Anything?" he asked, not quite able to rid his voice of its sullen edge.
"Not yet," was Ric's amiable answer.
Damon felt a strong urge to take another drink, which he put off by approaching the cenotaph. A serpentine crack ran the length of the base, right beside its sandal. He touched the fissure with his fingertips, felt the sharp stone edges cut into the pads of his fingers.
"How sad," Elena said.
He twisted, looking over his shoulder to see what she meant. She was looking at a second stone angel that had long ago broken off its base and fallen into the shallow stream that marked the outermost boundary of the cemetery. The angel lay amidst the mossy stones and reeds. The water had eaten its face away.
He pulled his hand back from the base. "I'm thinking less sad and more creepy."
She gave him a perplexed expression. "I don't understand. It's an angel. A broken one."
"Still creepy."
"Why are you anti-angel?" she asked, moving past him so she could walk towards the stream.
"I'm not anti-angel." He snagged her arm and spun her into him. She hit the solid wall of his chest with a slight oomph. Her eyes widened and caught a direct ray of light, sunbeams glinting through whiskey. "I'm anti-these angels. Insufferably gloomy and broody types." He dipped his face very near hers. His eyes grew heavy-lidded. "Quick - ask me which type of angel I prefer." He waited a beat, perfectly chiseled lips quirking. "Spoiler alert – it's the naughty ones."
Her gaze dipped to that sinful mouth and got stuck there for several seconds. She wet her lips with the top of her pink tongue before she realized she was staring and snatched her eyes away.
He couldn't help but wonder what her sassy little retort would've been had Ric not been present.
Speaking of, Ric had moved around to the other side of the statue. He'd noticed the same structurally fatal crack in its base that Damon had. "It's not actually brooding."
Damon glanced his way. "What?"
"It's not brooding," Ric repeated. "It's guarding."
Damon failed to appreciate the difference. "Your point?"
"It's believed that angels serve as guards for the souls of the dead. Also that they sometimes guide souls on their way to Heaven."
Elena asked, "Who are these angels guarding?"
Ric leaned in close to the statue. "I'm not sure. There's writing, but it's faded and hard to make out."
"Can I see?"
Ric's smile was approving as he looked up at her from where he was observing the statue. "Come take a look."
He gestured her over and started pointing. The writing on the base was worn to faintness from years of wind and rain, but that didn't stop them from capturing the indistinct letters with the cameras on their phones, so they could puzzle over them later for clues.
Damon listened to them murmur together at length, waiting with what was, in his opinion, rather generous patience for them to get bored. He honestly didn't know why it mattered what the stupid things said, as he highly doubted they'd end up being helpful in any way.
Perhaps his dislike of the statues was irrational, he recognized that, but it didn't stop him from wishing they were away from there already. There wasn't much more of the cemetery they needed to explore, and if they could just wrap this up and move on ….
Though he couldn't deny, it wasn't the worst thing in the world to see his bestie and his girl – not your girl, his inner voice piped up, and he snarled at it to shut up – his bestie and his girl working together so well.
Seriously, it was great, except now he was bored.
Elena shifted her focus over to the half-submerged fallen angel and knelt, gently scraping away the leaves covering its face. Perhaps inspired by the convergence of beauty and tragedy, she aimed her phone to take more pictures.
Ric was still occupied trying to decipher to barely visible writing.
"Listen," Damon began, "you guys just keep doing what you're doing, and if you need me, I'll be - " He realized mid-sentence he was basically talking to himself, so the volume of his voice dropped. " - right over there."
He received no response.
More to kill time than because he actually thought it was worth looking, he wandered some distance, stalking the stream boundary as it meandered around the outskirts of the clearing.
Birds chirped nearby. Water burbled, and cicadas hummed chaotically. A pair of boisterous squirrels chittered somewhere off to his right, making the underbrush snap and crack.
Sounds that were all cheery and summery and perfectly normal, and yet a sinking feeling was developing in the pit of his stomach.
At the same time, the back of his neck twitched. Began itching unbearably.
He rubbed it. Goddamn mosquitoes. One must've bitten him. Which was odd. They usually recognized vampires as kindred bloodsuckers and steered clear.
That unsettling sensation in his stomach expanded, made a rush of goosebumps break out over every inch of his skin. Made chills race up his spine, like the prickling feet of some foul parasite. Made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight. Made him understand.
His sense of foreboding hadn't been mistaken.
Elena was in danger.
But where? How?
Power flared – not his - surged past him. He felt it.
And in spite of the distance separating him from Elena, a sound reached him, a sound he heard clear as day. A crack. A groan. Like a tree truck falling over …. He cocked his head. No, not a tree –
Realization dawned, followed by fear, spiking through his insides, sharp as a razor. Not a tree at all. A giant stone angel.
Elena was still busy taking pictures of the downed angel. She looked up at the splintering sound, of stone grinding against stone, eyes going wide as she realized the danger she was in, as a thousand pounds of stone angel teetered in agonizing slow motion before toppling full length towards her.
Transfixed, Elena didn't move. Couldn't move. Every single one of her muscles was frozen, no doubt from a combination of surprise and sheer fright, akin to a doe caught in the cross-hairs.
And for just a tiny, tiny fraction of a second, Damon suffered the same paralyzing affliction, his muscles locked in debilitating disbelief.
Ric came barreling in from the side and slammed into Elena, knocking her out of the way. With a sharp cry, she struck the earth hard. Her phone flew from her hand.
Fear released the vise-grip it had on him, allowing him a savage burst of speed that propelled him across the clearing. He seized the stone angel with both hands before it could hit the ground. It was massive, even for a vampire of his age and strength, and his whole body strained with the effort it took to hold it up.
Only once he was a thousand percent positive that Elena and Ric were both completely clear did he release his hold. The angel crashed on top of its brethren with the hard, crunching impact of stone on stone.
He quickly went to Elena's side. She had just started to push herself up to a sitting position, and he plucked a leaf from her hair. There was a large smudge of dirt on her cheek which she wiped away herself, hand trembling with fear and adrenaline. She was pale but insistent she was fine.
Damon cast an inquiring glance at Ric.
His friend nodded that he too was okay.
He turned back to Elena. "See? Told you they were creepy."
Elena rose, brushed leaves and debris off her leggings, and found her phone. "What just happened?"
Before he could think of something to say, an ominous rumble came from within the earth, like a freight train headed their way. Elena looked to Damon. "What - "
Not an ounce of hesitation. He grabbed her by the upper arms and whisked her away.
Ric wasn't so lucky. The ground crumbled, collapsing beneath his feet. Unable to withstand all the activity above, an old underground burial vault had imploded, taking Ric with it.
Arm flailing, he disappeared into the darkness in a cloud of dust and dirt.
"Ric!" Elena cried in alarm.
Both Damon and Elena ran to the edge of the hole. He put a cautionary arm out in front of Elena in case more ground collapsed. "Careful," he advised. "No sudden moves."
Down in the hole, Ric sat up and spat out a mouthful of dirt.
"Do you see a tunnel?" Damon called.
Elena elbowed him.
"What?" Damon frowned at her. "He's already down there."
"Negative on the tunnel," Ric called back once he'd completed a three-sixty with his flashlight.
Damon crouched and stretched out a hand. "Grab on."
Ric struggled to regain his footing and reach for the proffered help. He fell back down, unable to suppress a small sound of distress.
"What is it?" Damon asked.
"Nothing, let me – oww." He collapsed a second time, a spasm of pain flashing over his face.
"What is it?" Damon repeated, more urgently.
"Something's wrong with my ankle."
"Broken?"
Ric stuck it out in front of him and tried to roll it unsuccessfully. "Don't think so. Must've just fell on it wrong. It hurts to stand, though."
"Stay here," Damon ordered Elena, and without waiting to see if she'd obey, he hopped down, landing lithe as a cat. "Up we go," he said, scooping Ric, a grown man, into his arms with no more effort than if he were a child.
"If you tell anyone about this," Ric warned.
Blue eyes flashed with badly suppressed amusement. "Not a soul."
Damon sprang up, high enough to clear the edge of the collapsed vault, trying his best not to jolt his friend in the process. He set Ric back down on solid ground, but even with help, Ric remained standing only with difficulty. His left ankle just wasn't able to bear much weight.
"Damon, give Ric your blood," Elena said.
He brought his wrist up, preparing to bite.
"That's really not necessary," Ric said, stopping him. Damon tried not to be insulted, but it must've shown on his face, because Ric hurried to explain. "It's really not that bad. Nothing a little aspirin won't cure. Some aspirin and a brace. The first aid kit is back at the car." He clasped Damon's forearm. "I won't be long." He began to limp painfully away. "I hope."
Elena seemed quite affected by what had just happened, as well as worried about Ric, and it was all she could talk about as they explored the remaining section of the cemetery.
Personally, Damon was vibrating with rage, both at himself for bringing Elena here and at the Magic for putting her in harm's way again, but he fought it off. She didn't need his anger right now. She needed him to snap her out of it. They both needed to snap out of it.
He interrupted her mid-grievance. "Okay, hello, earth to planet pity party. No more wallowing. Chin up." He stepped closer and rubbed soothing circles on her back, massaging the knotted tendons. "We're going to find these stupid tunnels and do and steal whatever we have to in order to kill Klaus and save you from the Magic who's determined to kill you Final Destination style and reunite you with the love of your life. This whole nightmare will be over soon, you'll see."
She stilled, just long enough for him to comprehend with crystal clarity his critical slip of the tongue. A second later, she tore herself from his grasp and whirled with a swish of her dark ponytail. "What did you just say?"
Fuuuuuuuuuuck. He opted for ignorance, but there was a betraying minuscule twitch of his cheek muscle when he murmured, "Hmm?"
Elena's eyes narrowed. "What was the last thing you said?"
"This'll all be over soon?"
Her narrowed gaze sharpened, blazed with anger, such that he feared sparks were about to start shooting from her eyes. "Before that."
"Chin up?"
"After that. I must've misheard, because it sounded like you said magic's trying to kill me. What do you mean magic's trying to kill me? Whose magic?" She spoke with exaggerated, icy calm, and it thoroughly alarmed him, more so than the flames threatening to shoot from her eyes.
He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, at a rare loss for words. How to explain without pissing her off even more … or was that even possible …?
Slowly, cautiously, he said, "See, thing is, it's not really a who. I'm sure you remember how you survived the sacrifice to break Klaus's curse. Well, not everyone is happy about that. And by not everyone, I mean, specifically, Magic. Magic Itself. The source of every witch's power. Your survival sort of threw a slight kink in the balance of nature, and you know how nature loves its balance. But it's going to be fine, because like I said earlier, I'm handling it - "
"So, what you're saying is a primal, underlying force of the Universe is out to get me. You're saying I'm cursed."
"What? No."
She went on like she hadn't heard him. "Or maybe it's just that the doppelganger doesn't get to have a normal life. Look at Katherine." Elena wrapped her arms around herself. "Our only crime is to be alive, and our fate is to die before we ever get to really live."
"Don't say that," he snapped, not liking this defeatist attitude of hers in the slightest. Those horrible minutes after Klaus had drained her, while he'd carried her back to safety, limp and lifeless in his arms and was then forced to wait helplessly by her side, not knowing if she was going to revive or not ….
He refused to relive anything like that ever again. It simply wasn't an option.
"Let's not overreact, okay?" He used a gentler tone and fought off the urge to reach out and touch her, mostly because it didn't take a genius to conclude she'd be less than receptive at the moment. "You're not going to end up like Katherine. If you'd let me finish, I'd be delighted to inform you there's another way. A much better way. All I have to do is kill Klaus once and for all, and everything will revert back to normal for you. Magic won't want to kill you anymore."
She was silent, absorbing all that she'd just learned. Then met his gaze with furious brown eyes. "And you decided to keep this from me why?"
"We thought you had enough to worry about. Why add to the list?"
She pounced like a hawk. "We?"
He winced. "Bonnie knows."
"Oh." She audibly ground her teeth together. "Who else knows?"
He shifted guiltily. He firmly believed nothing good waited at the end of this conversation. "I don't really think these are the kind of details that we should be focusing on - "
"Who else? Caroline?"
He exhaled before nodding reluctantly.
"Jeremy?"
Another barely perceptible nod.
The air rushed out of her in a deflated sigh, and for some moments, she didn't speak. Only looked at him with her heart in her eyes, two turbulent wells brimming with the pain of this perceived betrayal. Then: "How long? How long has everyone but me known?"
"Once again, I'd like to point out that focusing too much on the smaller details is just going to distract us from the real - "
"How long, Damon?"
His tongue felt like lead. "Since the party at the swimming hole."
"You mean, the night you almost burned to death in a bonfire explosion meant for me."
"That's the one."
"Wow," she remarked softly. "That's a long time for all of you to be in some big conspiracy behind my back."
"It was a conspiracy to keep you safe." At her resulting expression, he was quick to backpedal. "Okay, I can see that didn't help, so forget I said that. Seriously, I know it was stupid, but we just had your safety and well-being in mind. Nothing more nefarious than that, I promise."
"You've been lying to my face for weeks."
He held up a qualifying finger. "Not lying."
"What would you call it, then?"
"Putting off telling you the truth, but - and this is an important but - with every intention of telling you eventually." He could tell instantly the nuance was lost on her, and he didn't blame her. The words had sounded inane to his own ears the moment he said them. He changed tact. "We didn't tell you, because you shouldn't have to endure this. It isn't fair. You should be worrying about your future, about achieving your dreams and having a family, about having a long and happy life, the life that you want. You deserve that, and I want that for you, more than anything."
For a long while she remained silent.
His hands came up, almost pleading. "Elena, please, I promise I'll explain everything, just let me - "
She raised a hand, palm out, as effective as a verbal lash in commanding him to silence. "Let's just finish what we came here to do, so we can go home."
Still emanating that crippling aura of disappointment, she turned and walked away, away from him, heading for the Salvatore mausoleum and its surrounding grounds, the last remaining section of the cemetery to be searched.
The doors to his family crypt were closed. A tangled arch of thorny vines and blooming red roses crept up and over the doorway, luxuriant in their untended growth. Both the building and the vines had been visibly left abandoned to their ghosts for decades.
The wrought-iron gates swung open before Elena with an unholy shriek. She walked past them and in through the double doors, through a gentle shower of rose petals falling like red snow.
All he could do was follow after her, though he paused for just a moment beneath the wild roses cascading over the entryway. With ghost-pale fingers, he plucked one free, careful to avoid the thorns, cupping the bloom in his palm, a red so vivid it resembled a jewel or fresh splash of blood. It exhaled a cool, moist perfume, an delicate offering for the senses that he took in with an absent-minded sniff before stepping into the mausoleum.
Stepping inside was like entering a different world, one that was dark and spider-infested and drafty, a marked contrast to the late summer heat outside. Cobwebs waved vaguely, feathery and low-hanging, disturbed by the wake of their passing.
His vampire senses quickly adjusted to the intense gloom, but Elena wasn't so fortunate. He watched her approach a massive, gilded candelabrum standing against one wall. She blew on the thick beeswax candles, making dust and cobwebs puff up around her, and produced a lighter.
She lit the wicks, and new flames sprang into existence, flickering and undulating, bathing her lovely features in their warm glow. They dispersed the dimness, stretching red and yellow fingers up the colored panes of a nearby stained glass window.
Able to see now in the semi-darkness, she moved on through the hushed, mostly empty chambers with their lazily drifting dust particles. She was obviously unhappy about sharing the same vicinity as him. Her anger was visible in the tense lines of her body. It was palpable in the air.
He did his best to give her space, stopping for a moment before his and Stefan's memorials, the engraved plaques high on the wall that marked their bodies' supposed final resting places. Allowing himself a brief moment for maudlin reflection, he ran his fingers over the names and dates, both the beginning and end of their mortal lives, so very short compared to the eternity they now endured. He felt the raised lettering, the banal platitudes added below.
A myriad of memories crowded in, washing over him – memories of childhood, family, growing up, that familiar turmoil of complicated and unresolved emotions. Memories of the events leading up to his and Stefan's human deaths, and the ensuing years of rage, rejection, and loneliness.
And memories of a pair of identical dark, almond-shaped eyes that a century and a half later tormented him still.
He slanted a look at Elena, who was facing away from him and inspecting a stand-alone tomb in the far chamber. Fate certainly loved its little inside jokes, didn't it?
He looked back at the wall just as a feminine gasp of pain arose, swiftly followed by a verbal obscenity. The curse echoed and rebounded off the stone walls and served to snap his mind back from the past.
As did the sudden tang of human blood on the air. "Everything alright?"
"Yes," she answered quickly without turning in his direction, "I'm fine."
"Why do I smell blood?"
She shot him a vexed look over her shoulder. "You know, sometimes you being a vampire is really annoying."
He approached. "You and me both. Show me."
With obvious reluctance, she revealed her hand and the injury to two of her knuckles, scraped skin, angry red and painful looking. "A spider startled me, and I banged my hand on the corner of the tomb."
He took the injured hand in his, a rasp of calloused fingertips on satin skin. At the moment of contact, heated sparks ignited and swirled over the surface of his skin, and he wondered if she felt it, too.
Her quickened breath said yes.
To quell any resistance to his touch, he smoothed his thumb around in a soothing caress.
"I saw Stefan's name," she said, eyes straying to the wall. "And yours."
"That's because Daddy dearest felt the need to immortalize his sons not as the traitorous vampire sympathizers they turned out to be, but as noble heroes who sacrificed themselves in the war. And then Stef ate him."
As he spoke, she continued to accept his gentle touch, so he brought her hand up and placed his lips to the damaged knuckle, a butterfly kiss, tasting her flesh and the stickiness of her glistening blood. An explosion of flavor on his tongue. An abundance of pure energy.
Even just that slight amount made him stronger. And hungrier.
"Don't." Despite her half-hearted protestation, she didn't try to pull away.
He looked up at her, lips hovering a centimetre above her hand, lips tinged the color of her blood. "Just trying to help."
She regarded him for another moment, cool and distant, with eyes of unfathomable depths and indescribable beauty. When she'd reached some sort of decision – and who knew what that decision was? – she turned her face away, ponytail swinging reproachfully.
But she left her hand in his. Her delicate, injured hand.
He didn't require a second invitation. His breath whispered hotly across broken skin, followed by lips and tongue, teasing where the layers had been scraped off, cleansing away the blood and giving her his own by nicking his tongue with a fang.
She sucked in a sharp breath, but the pain quickly fled as her knuckles healed.
When he had finished, she took her hand back, but he took heart from the fact that she remained near.
Unable to resist the urge to touch her some more, he smoothed back a lock of hair clinging to her temple and lifted up the rose he'd impulsively plucked from the entry way. He'd initially thought to maybe lay it by one of the graves, but now he settled it behind her ear.
The red petals lay like velvet against her skin, a bright splash of color in her dark hair, and suddenly she looked not like an ordinary girl, but one from a fairy tale, enchanting and magically beautiful.
Her gaze collided with his. Flared and didn't lower. "I'm still so angry at you right now."
He considered briefly going the easy route and pointing out that everyone else had also lied, not just him, but he supposed it had been his idea to keep it a secret from her, so … sigh. "I know." Another sigh. "I know I should've told you a long time ago, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine things would take this long. Klaus was supposed to be dead weeks ago."
"All those times you asked me to trust you, to let you handle everything, and I did. I trusted you, even though I could feel something was off. That's why you were so sure the girl from the party who tried to stab me wasn't compelled. Because you already knew the truth. Because you were lying to me."
"Elena, I am handling things. I mean, I'm going to."
"You lied to me." Her voice broke, was barely audible.
Why did she keep repeating that? It was killing him. "I know."
He reached up, gripped the back of her head, fingers tangling helplessly in her bound hair. She smelled of fresh lavender and pure sunlight, so delightfully intoxicating, especially when blended with the sweet musk of the rose balanced carefully behind her ear. He inhaled greedily, stirred to his depths and beyond.
This time, she did resist his touch just a little, neck and jaw muscles tense. "By not knowing, I've been putting everyone around me in danger. You almost burned to death, Caroline was stabbed, and Ric might've wound up with way worse than a sprained ankle … because of me."
"You're not responsible for any of these attacks."
"No, but I am responsible if any of you gets hurt protecting me!" She pierced him though and through with her desolate, haunting gaze. "I deserved to know."
His hand tightened, her skull a fragile thing in his palm, like an egg shell. "I did what I thought was right at the time, but I was wrong. Surprise." His tone lost any glibness. "I'm sorry I hurt you. That was the least of my intentions." His eyes closed, briefly, and he rested his forehead on hers. "It always is."
Her lashes fluttered down, casting half-moon shadows on her cheeks. Her nose brushed lightly against his. "Do you understand why I'm so upset?"
He nodded, their noses brushing again. "Because I'm an idiot who can't see straight when it comes to you?"
She smiled faintly. "Something like that."
Her hands found their way under his jacket and settled on his chest. Her palms burned straight through his shirt like branding irons, marking him soul-deep. "I know your intentions were good," she said, "I do, but it still hurts. You can't make decisions about my life without consulting me. You can't treat me like I'm not strong enough to handle things."
"Trust me," he said, hoarsely, "after seeing the way life has piled tragedy after tragedy, horror after horror, upon you, and yet you've somehow managed to find a way to survive it all, I know you can handle anything. I just wish you didn't have to."
Her lashes lifted. He hoped he wasn't imagining the slight thaw in her regard. He couldn't bear her sadness. Or her disappointment.
"Yeah, me, too." After another moment, she whispered, "Damon, I don't want to die."
"Nothing is going to hurt you," he vowed fervently, "not Klaus and especially not some vindictive ancient magic that can go to hell. I'm going to fix all of this for you. Your life will be normal again, and safe, and all of your friends and family will be safe, and Stefan - " He faltered for just the barest instant before recovering. "You'll have Stefan back, and everything will go back to the way it was before. I swear it."
"And we'll be honest with one another?"
He nodded, though that hardly seemed important given the other, more pressing issues at hand.
"You don't have any other secrets you're hiding from me, do you?" she asked.
He almost laughed out loud, her question was so absurd. Secrets? Sure, just that I'm in love with you, and I don't know how I'm going to find the strength to let you go without begging you to stay and choose me, instead, even though I could spend every day of the rest of my life trying to atone for my past and I'd still never come close to deserving you.
"No. Do you?"
"No," she was quick to deny.
He let the lie go, mostly because, well, he had no interest in fighting with her any further, even though he knew for a fact that she did lie and kept all kinds of stuff to herself. Crucial stuff like the truth about her feelings for him, and simple stuff like her nightmares.
Stuff that hurt.
He slid his hand free of her hair and stroked the back of her neck, warm and velvety. "Good."
She swayed closer, irresistibly drawn by the magic of his touch. This time the emotions swirling through her eyes definitely weren't figments of his imagination. There was some anger still, it was true, and sorrow as well, but there was also confusion and the gentle simmering of anticipation and desire.
"Good," she echoed back.
A smile played on his lips as he trailed the tips of his fingers, feather-light, over the skin bared above her black top, lingering along the curve of her shoulder, dipping into the hollow above her collar bone and skimming across the swell of her throat.
It was enough to make her skin shiver and her heart pound like a nervous filly. She fisted her hands against his ribs. When she didn't say anything, didn't demand that he stop right that instant, he grew bolder, daring to stroke her bottom lip with his thumb, praising its lushness with a sweeping caress.
Her lips parted, though whether to breathe in or cry out, he was unsure, for she did neither.
Bending his head, he took the lobe of her ear between his teeth, barely dimpling the flesh, mindful of the tiny gold hoop earring she wore.
Instantly, her mouth closed, that exquisite, perfect mouth that drove him completely insane, and he waited for her hackles to rise at the liberty he'd taken, for her to bristle and spurn him. To withdraw, at a minimum.
However, though she'd tensed once more, a rebuff never came.
Focusing everything on her, to the exclusion of anything else, he made an art of licking and sucking her ear. Slow, sensual pulls on her lobe. A shivering drag of teeth. Tender bites and kisses. He was very thorough.
Her hands flew up, grasped his forearms. "Damon," she gasped.
The sound of his name on her lips, her warm breath as it puffed past his ear, brought him to full aching hardness.
His lips shifted lower to the area just below her ear, kissing and lapping gently with his tongue. He nuzzled her cheek, her jaw, before carefully venturing his way to the outer corner of her mouth, to those lips that were so lush and pink.
Gentle as summer rain, gentle as rose petals floating slowly down to the ground, he spread kisses along the full curve of her bottom lip, traced the erotic bow shape with his tongue.
One of his hands glided down her back, fingertips massaging the valley of her spine with gentle but increasing pressure, coaxing her to relax, willing her to open, to part her lips and let him back in. Willing her to give him a chance to turn her anger into something far more pleasurable.
His hand finally came to rest in her low back, urging her subtly closer. He wanted more. More kisses, more breath, more softness, more her.
"Sweet, beautiful girl," he crooned softly, barely a whisper, "tell me how to make this up to you. Tell me how to make it right. Anything, just say it, and I'll do it."
She impulsively reached up and grabbed onto his shoulders as though she'd push him away, but she didn't. Nails gouged the smooth, black leather of his jacket, and he wished more than anything that they were both naked, so he could feel the ecstasy and the ache of her little claws curling into his actual flesh, drawing blood, sexy red lines on pale white skin.
"Right now …," she said, husky and a little hesitant, "please, just … kiss me."
Like frayed silk, his thin veneer of control unraveled. He yanked her to him and sealed his mouth over hers in a hard, demanding kiss.
The moment their lips met, she melted, giving in to his demand, arms winding around his neck, breasts flattening against his chest. Her nipples were hard points that he felt even through their clothes. The heat of her body infused his every pore, made him feel almost alive.
He lost all track of time as, mouths open, tongues seeking, they kissed and kissed. Her arms drew tighter, pulling him closer, as though impatient for more, while he could do nothing but drown helplessly, her warmth and scent and taste flooding his senses in the most sublime way.
Before her, he'd thought he understood what desire was, what love was, but, as it turned out, he'd never fathomed something as deep and true as his feelings for Elena. It had never been real before, but it was real now, and nothing would ever convince him it wasn't. Or that she didn't feel it, too.
At one point, he pulled her hair free from its ponytail, letting it tumble down her back in a rippling wave. He tangled his fingers in it, clenched handfuls, alternately tugging and stroking, hungry to muss that silken mane.
She nipped his bottom lip sharply, a bit wild, then gentle, suckling the exact the same spot for a second, making his dick jump eagerly.
Feeling raw with need, he pressed her back to the edge of a tomb and raised her up on it.
Without hesitation, she wrapped her legs fiercely around his waist and drew him against her, cinching him in close. He bumped the tomb, raising a small cloud of dust, the heavy stone shifting with the force of the impact, but he hardly felt it. The lid was knocked askew, opening a gap of a few inches between the top and the side.
Easy. Show a little restraint, he cautioned himself.
Not so easy to do when he needed her like a drowning man needed air, when his mind was inundated with nothing but thoughts of ravaging her, of being deep inside her and pushing her beyond rational thought until she screamed her release and his name endlessly to the heavens.
Did it make him an utter bastard if he wanted to take her right here in his family crypt?
Probably.
But, god, he couldn't keep his hands off her, and he need to reassure himself that she was still his. For now anyway.
He moved purposefully between her thighs, the rolling pressure of his hips creating friction against sensitive nerves. Her head bowed back at the welcome sensation, and he took advantage of the opportunity, pressing a heated trail of open mouthed kisses down her throat and tucking a finger under the waistband of her black leggings.
"Wait," she protested weakly, fingers wrapping around his forearm, "we shouldn't do this here."
He responded in a dry rasp. "I know."
Peering down between them, he saw she was wearing little satiny red panties. The brilliantly colored scrap of cloth matched the rose in her hair, taunting him, turning him into little better than a rutting bull. He pushed unerring fingers inside, beneath to slick, velvet skin.
"Oh, god." Her grip on his forearm tightened, holding him in place. "Damon, we need to stop."
Of course, they did. He massaged in gentle circles. "I'm trying."
She laugh-gasped in disbelief and tilted her hips so he could better reach certain spots. "Doesn't seem like you're trying very hard."
"But I am," he disputed with a sly grin, "very, very hard."
A finger probed, then slid into the tight haven of her body.
He groaned involuntarily, grin vanishing. She was so wet and hot already. So good.
Her muscles contracted around him, and she whimpered, kitten-like, growing wetter against his hand. The crypt was inundated with the unmistakable scent of her arousal, life and death mixing in the air in an erotic blend.
Another finger joined the first, slow, sure strokes through molten silk, swirling to increase her pleasure. Pleasure that made her bite her lip and moan, the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.
She put her hands on his chest again and let them slide down his front, savoring the well-honed muscles, fingers eagerly searching for and then finding the fastening of his pants. She undid his belt and began working the zipper down.
In her haste to gain access, one of her elbows accidentally flared out, knocking over an unlit votive candle some long ago mourner had left on top of the tomb they were using to make out. The candle rolled across the angled surface and disappeared down into the gap between the lid and the tomb. The gap they had created.
Somewhere in the hormonal fog that enveloped his mush of a brain, it dawned on him that the sound the candle made as it fell hit his ears the way a rock falling down a well would. Deep. Dark. Distant. Not at all like the sound of a candle falling a short distance and landing on top of a decayed corpse.
Displaying a super human effort of will, he lifted his head, or tried to, as Elena had possession of his bottom lip. It took a second before she realized his intent and reluctantly let him have it back, so he could speak.
"Did you hear that?" he asked hoarsely, trying to gather his scrambled wits.
Elena blinked. Her face was flushed, and her lips glistened from his kisses. She looked innocent, yet debauched, an undeniably sexy contrast. "Um … no?"
Certain he would come to regret this, he withdrew his fingers from her body, despite the way her muscles clenched at him as if she could keep him inside her, and gestured for her to hop down.
With a puzzled and frustrated look, she did so, and he shoved the lid the rest of the way off, a weight that would've staggered five men. It fell to the crypt floor with a heavy thud.
Looking inside, he discovered not a body, but a hidden staircase, a dark, gaping maw leading down, deeper into the bowels of the earth beneath the Mausoleum.
He stretched out his Power in an unsuccessful attempt to penetrate the absolute darkness. If anything unpleasant was about to erupt, he wanted enough forewarning to get Elena out of there.
After a few seconds, when all that was expelled was stale air, he drawled, "Well, would you look at that? No neon sign, but I'll take it."
Elena raked her hair back from her face, casting a look down. "Think this goes all the way to the Armory?"
"Only one way to find out."
Though it was impossible to see more than a few feet down, even with vampiric eyes, they both continued to stare. Damon had no idea what thoughts were running rife through Elena's head, but he was busy thinking how it would be utterly foolhardy to charge blindly down there.
It would be reckless. Insane, even. The smart thing to do would be to wait for backup and come up with a proper plan.
But, then again, on the other hand, he could hardly just leave without at least checking things out a little bit first, doing some reconnaissance. His groin throbbed futilely, realizing it was about to be put on the back burner. With a grimace, he adjusted himself and turned to Elena, intending to tell her to stay put, but when he saw her gathering her hair back up in a ponytail, he already knew how this was about to go down.
"Okay, I'm in." She straightened the hem of her shirt. "Let's go."
Admiration for her spunk coursed through him, and he was pleased to notice she'd left the rose in place behind her ear. Nevertheless, there wasn't a chance in hell he'd permit her to accompany him down there into who-knows-what kind of danger, and surely she knew that.
"Easy, O Warrior Princess, no one said anything about you going."
"You can't leave me. You promised."
"Yeah, that was cute when you were trying to argue your way into a car ride. Not so much anymore." Hoping it would work, he ordered, "Stay here. Wait for Ric."
"No way. If you're going, I'm going."
"You do realize I could simply tie you up and leave you here until I return?"
"With what rope?"
Since threats weren't working, he appealed to logic. "I'll be able to get in and get out a lot faster if I go solo."
"I won't slow you down," she said stubbornly. "It's my choice."
"Even though this might be your worst choice yet? And we all know you've made some terrible ones."
"There's no way I'm letting you do this alone. We're a team."
His lips twisted dryly. "Oh, is that right?"
She was clearly puzzled by his response. "Of course. We're in this together. Always."
He scowled, but couldn't deny he was pleased by her sentiment. They were in this together.
For so long, Stefan was all he had, dysfunctional as their relationship was.
But now, there was Elena, and their love for Stefan was one of the things that united them. She was the only other person who shared his urgency to rescue Stefan, the only other person who understood how much he missed his brother, and how much he needed to hurry up and make things right with him. She was the only other person who understood how cosmically unjust it was for Stefan to be suffering in Damon's place.
"Fine, but stay close," he growled, capitulating with ill grace. No doubt he was leading them straight into the jaws of Disaster #3.
She nodded.
"And I'm going first."
"Okay."
"And under no circumstances are you to put yourself in danger."
"I won't," she protested indignantly. Like she hadn't done exactly that a dozen times before.
"And this?" He motioned back and forth between them. "Just for the record, we will be finishing this later. And you've definitely earned another spanking. Maybe even a thrashing."
She put her hands on her hips. "Fine, and I'll still be mad at you later. Just for the record."
His eyebrows went up.
"What?" she retorted. "You don't get to just use your sex to distract me and get out of trouble."
"Now I'm dying to know. What do I get to use 'my sex' for?'
She gave him a prim look. "We can discuss that later."
His lips twitched. God, he loved this girl more than anything. "We will definitely be doing that." Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick text to Ric. He then stuck it back in his pocket and looked at her.
"Right, then," he said. "Ready?"
She nodded.
Disaster #3, here we come.
Thus, with Damon leading the way and Elena close behind, they descended together into the darkness.