CW: Violence, lewd dialogue, mature themes, wound detail, blood.
Dark Side.
Chapter 41: Flames and Starlight.
"Some days, I'm the ocean. Some days, I'm the sea. Tonight, I'm the lighthouse: at the edge, alone, and burning."
—The Lighthouse. Vasiliki.
Damon was having one hell of a week. Month. Actually, he could go as far as saying the year 2010 was just out to get him. But the past three days take the cake, he muses, pouring himself and Alaric a generous glass of bourbon. He offers Andy none, hoping the woman will realize she has overstayed her welcome and see herself out. She's made herself useful, and tastes delicious, but after dealing with Elijah and getting stabbed in the neck with a fucking pencil of all things, he's not really in the mood to deal with her eager infatuation.
"It's getting late," Andy says into the growing silence.
Alaric says nothing, doesn't even look up from the flames dancing in the hearth. Damon hums, tipping his glass her way in clear dismissal. Still, she lingers beside his armchair. Bathed in the firelight, the anxious hope brimming in her eyes is almost painful.
He gets a twinge of regret. She wants him to ask her to stay. He will not be doing that.
"Okay… I, uh, I'm gonna make my way out." Andy clears her throat after another tense beat.
"Goodnight." Alaric replies without a moment's hesitation.
To soften the blow, Damon sends her a dazzling smile, the one even Caroline can't fully resist. "See you later, Miss Starr."
Andy's brows furrow and she scrunches up her nose in mild disgust. "You know I dislike that."
"I don't care." He quips.
Though his smile is still in place, he means it. Andy doesn't catch that. She rolls her eyes, giving him her own enticing smile, close-lipped and foxy, eyes twinkling with promise. She might not be beautiful, but sex is something she knows how to wear well.
"You'll call?" she asks, her tone dripping with temptation so strong even Alaric shifts in his seat.
Her eyes are another story. The eager hope has returned. He hums, noncommittal.
"Okay—bye." She breathes.
Finally, finally, she turns to leave. Alaric waits until she's got her back turned to them to watch her go. Damon doesn't bother. He sips at his bourbon, briefly pressing the glass to his neck. The coolness of it is enough to calm the heated ache there so it is only a discomfort, a shadow of pain like an old bruise.
He groans in relief.
Alaric chuckles. "How's the neck?"
"Sore."
That earns him a full laugh, belly-deep and flowing.
"You're whining."
"I'm in pain."
"You could be dead." Alaric deadpans.
If it weren't for Elena's deal with Elijah, he very well might be. Elijah was ready to kill him, Damon had seen it in his eyes—that quiet promise of death, collected and precise. The notion that only Elena's bargain stilled his hand left Damon with a bitter taste in his mouth.
And a big problem to add to his ever-growing list, because Elijah was much stronger than Damon has foreseen. Stronger than Rose. Stronger than Cassie.
He frowns.
"He's going to be hard to kill."
Alaric scoffs like that's the understatement of the century.
"I wouldn't trust that dagger and ash business if I were you," he warns. "Not unless someone else has backed it up."
Another problem, since Katherine would do anything in her power to see him fail, Rose is gone, and Cassandra…
He needs to get rid of Elijah. He needs to find a way to kill Klaus. Preferably, before his brother loses Elena. Preferably, before Elijah makes good on his oath to kill Cassandra, before Klaus decides their truce is no longer viable.
Alaric clears his throat, snapping Damon of his musings.
"What is going on with you and the new girl anyway?"
The question catches him off guard. Despite their friendship, Alaric has never once asked about any possible romantic relations Damon might have.
"Nothing."
"Uh-huh." Alaric looks at him, unconvinced. "So, she's following you around like a puppy over nothing."
Damon sighs. She is, as he puts it, following him around like a puppy, and only a very small part of that is due to compulsion. He shouldn't have called her.
"She has a thing for me and is willing to tap a vein," he says. "And she's one of the few left with any influence in this town that is not taking vervain."
Alaric slides his now empty glass onto the coffee table, resting his ankle on his knee as he considers Damon. He rolls his eyes at the antics. No doubt he's about to be on the receiving end of a morality-centered tirade.
"And so you're sleeping with her."
"I'm not sleeping with her."
It is clear Alaric doesn't believe him. it's true, though. He called her because he was stressed, and she looks a little like Rose. Andy is nothing like Rose, but she is just as willing to listen to him rant about his love life as she is willing to let him drink from her. What's better, when she forgets about her own infatuation, she actually gives sound advice. Advice he's hoping to follow at some point—once he's taken care of Elijah and Klaus.
"Why?" Alaric asks.
His tone of voice is hard to interpret.
"Are you disappointed?" Damon asks, unable to help the way his entire face contorts in bewilderment.
"No. No, man." Alaric huffs out a laugh. "I just think it's odd that you're not sleeping with the hot, available news reporter."
This time, he has no trouble discerning the message hidden under Alaric's words. He drains his glass, placing it on the coffee table when he's finished. He hopes his silence makes it obvious he has no desire to talk about this.
"Ah, maybe it's because you want the hot, available vampire." Alaric continues, unaffected by Damon's warning glare. "You know, short, temperamental, has one mean roundhouse kick."
"Cassie's not temperamental." He protests.
"And you're not a psychopath on sabbatical." Alaric shoots back. "So, you're finally admitting it?"
"What?" he lets out a long-suffering sigh.
"That you want her."
It's not just want, he corrects.
"Seriously, Ric?" Damon groans.
"I'm just saying." Alaric shrugs; his lips lift into a knowing little smirk. "I've noticed some things."
Great. Of course he has. The only ones in this town not to have 'noticed some things' are Elena and Bonnie, and the latter probably does know, being friends with Blondie and all, she simply doesn't care. Even Donovan knows now, after yesterday.
God, this is painful.
"Next you'll be asking me to braid your hair." He grumbles to Alaric's amusement. "Why do you care, anyway? I figured you'd never want to speak her name, considering that, you know, she killed you."
"So did you." Alaric reminds him with a glare that has no real heat.
"And to prove my point, you did act pretty shitty afterward."
"Yeah, well," Alaric grunts out a sigh, stretching. He's been tired lately, more so than usual. Juggling two lives is starting to wear on him. "The difference being that she apologized. And your brother is the one who used me as bait."
When he glares at the dancing flames before him, the anger there is impossible to cover.
Damon's still annoyed at Stefan himself. For all his talk of knowing Cassandra, Stefan should have realized sending Alaric would not have deterred her. They are lucky she didn't rip off Alaric's ring before killing him.
"Since you're such good friends with her," Damon starts, shooting him a glance. "You could drop in a good word for me. We're kind of—she's a little angry. And by angry, I mean pissed." He adds when Alaric offers no reaction to his words.
Alaric lets out a laugh, shaking his head before he can really start to pledge his case.
"Nope. Sorry, buddy," Alaric says. Damon frowns. He doesn't sound sorry at all. "I have enough on my plate with Jenna to be getting involved with your messy love life. Besides, if you fuck up any further, I have no desire of being anywhere near that blast zone. I have a feeling it'll be nuclear."
"Delightful." Damon shoots him a fake smile, bitter in its entirety. "Really, thank you."
Alaric laughs again. It ends in a quiet groan as he leans over to clap Damon on the shoulder twice. He bats at his hand, halfhearted.
"Right, I gotta go. I have—" Alaric rises, letting out a dismayed whine at whatever result his mental calculation has provided. "I have a hundred papers to grade, plus coming up with a lesson plan."
"Being the only history teacher in town sucks, huh?" Damon snorts.
"Don't." Alaric warns, starting for the door. "Crap, I'm supposed to see Jenna."
"It's all about that work-life balance, Ric." He singsongs after him.
"Shut up, dick!" Alaric calls back without missing a beat.
Damon laughs, getting his glass so he may get some more bourbon. He's only just reaching the decanter behind the couch when sudden noise alerts him of trouble. There's a light scuffle. A quiet huff is followed by the beginning of his name before it cuts off.
"Ric?"
Nothing.
"Alaric?" he calls, walking towards the entrance.
He keeps his eyes open for anything out of place. With the luck he's been having, anything could happen. Katherine magically escaping the tomb. Elijah deciding he's just not worth sparing. Jules back for some revenge.
Rounding the corner, he halts.
Alaric is sprawled on the rug by the door, a large hunting knife protruding from his stomach. Damon steps toward him before pausing. Whoever did this, he doubts very much Alaric was the main target, and there's no heartbeat anyway. He's not gonna do a reviving Alaric or himself any favors by getting distracted and also killed.
Nothing seems out of place, though.
He's about to take another step forward when he hears it: a faint change in the air. Even when he moves, it's too late.
A heavy weight drops onto his back, arms going around his neck as ankles work hard to take out his knees. He staggers backwards, blindly aiming for the wall.
The needle is nothing but a distant prickle in all the movement, but the vervain starts to affect him almost instantly. He slackens his muscles, waiting until his attacker lowers their guard to elbow them in the gut with all his strength. They release him, gasping in pain.
Damon turns around, his muscles screaming in pure agony.
His attacker is a scrawny shaggy-haired kid he's never seen before. One single punch sends him sprawling against the sideboard by the wall, knocking against picture frames and skewing the table runner.
Before Damon can reach him, torture the answers out of him, he's once more attacked from the back. He lashes out; another man shows up at the front, holding him in place with both arms.
These two are taller than he is, and pure bulky muscle. He struggles, not above showing them his fangs in warning. The asshole in front of him responds by moving away momentarily, only to come right back in with a stake.
The wood tears into his abdomen. His vision goes stark white, but he doesn't give them the satisfaction of seeing his pain.
When the second vervain shot comes, he does feel it. He feels the needle pricking his skin, the vervain slipping out of it into his blood. This time, when he slackens, it is not pretend. The two men release him, staying close just in case.
"Whew! He's strong!" the same kid who first attacked him exclaims, jumping off the table like his ass isn't bruised.
Damon knows different, knows exactly how hard he pushed him. Not that it matters, since everything is starting to move in circles, and his three attackers now seem to have tripled. No—only doubled, and it's not the vervain blurring his eyesight.
He groans, swatting at them with a too-slow hand. Everything burns and he's warm and cold all over.
"Where ya goin', buddy?"
He doesn't know who asks that. His vision is starting to tunnel. He's not too sure he's breathing right. What did they give him, super-charged vervain? Damn.
Something coarse brushes against his cheek and temple. He's made it to the floor somehow. His blood will be a bitch to clean out of the rug, he thinks vaguely. Keeping his eyes open is starting to be a real chore.
Footsteps, slow and controlled, alert him of someone else's arrival. Hopeless wishing tells him it's Cassie—none of this bodes well and he'd do anything to see her just for one extra second—but rationality reminds him her steps are never that heavy.
Indeed, the figure that appears at the threshold is not Cassandra.
It's Jules.
She walks toward him, fading in and out so she suddenly appears, crouched right above him.
"Hello, Damon." Her mouth twists into a saccharine smile. "It's so nice to see you again."
Aw, fuck is his last coherent thought before the world fades into darkness.
Damon wakes to pain. Biting and pulsing and hot. His veins are frigid with lead. His neck is throbbing worse than when Elijah jammed that damned pencil into his jugular.
He blinks, once, twice, only to discover the fogginess is in his mind, not a result of the remnants of sleep…
No, that's not right. He wasn't asleep, he was drinking with Ric and then—his vision clears enough that he can see he's on a chair. The maroons and sage greens under his feet are a pattern he's familiar with. The thick chain links dangling in front of him, surrounding his arms and torso, however, are not.
It all comes back in a single flash. Alaric's death. Being jumped by over-eager stunt men a little too trigger happy with their vervain. Jules. Her infuriating face had been the last thing he'd seen before losing consciousness, and now he's waking up chained to a chair with his mind wading through a vervain-addled swamp.
The irony of it all is not lost on him.
"Morning, sunshine."
The chain softly swinging before him grows taut and pulls. Pain explodes, splinters, blisters into a red haze and stolen breath.
A collar. They put him in a collar. Like the dogs they are. Oh, once he figures out a way to get out of this, he's going to kill them dead.
"I saw this movie once," the asshole with his leash says. He's a sliver of a kid. Damon could use him as a toothpick. "Some torture porn flick." Great. He's being tortured by a depraved sicko acting out fantasies. "Anyway, they had this collar device that was really cool, so I just modified it and when I pull..."
He pulls on the chain, tighter and harder than before. This time, it's snow-white throbbing and heat licking down his chest. He cannot contain the sound he makes fully, bites back the groan into a grunt. It still has a wicked smile pulling at Toothpick's mouth.
"How's it feel? Nice?" he taunts without releasing the chain.
There's a faint ringing in Damon's ears.
"Bite me." He manages through gritted teeth.
"You won't live long enough for that."
The promise comes from his right. He looks just in time to catch the rest of his kidnappers entering the hearth room. Seven. Seven werewolves hooked on steroids against two.
Say what you will about Damon, at least he's fair. And doesn't get a little too excited over torture, unlike Toothpick here whose eyes glint like he's two tugs of that chain away from completion.
God.
He can't go like this.
One of them drops Alaric's body unceremoniously on the floor in front of him. He catches a glimpse of his ring before Alaric's hand tumbles from his torso onto the floor. Something unspools deep within his chest, slow and lazy like taffy.
"Sorry about your friend." The werewolf who dropped Alaric is the same one who promised him death before the next full moon. He doesn't sound sorry at all. Shrugging as if to say you understand, he adds: "collateral."
He does understand. His heart is beating out a mamba and pain is blurring his sight, but he does understand. Despite the fear, he recognizes this for what it is. He's used that tone before. He's inflicted pain and promised death. He's been tortured. The next full moon is still weeks away. They know that as well as he does. But a few weeks of pain is nothing when he spent years getting sliced as a lab rat. He is well acquainted with physical pain.
Damon offers him a tight-lipped smile. The only offense he can manage when Toothpick won't release the pressure and his throat feels like it's being passed through a cheese grater.
"Stevie, enough." Jules calls, pushing off the doorframe where she's been observing this whole thing, serene. "We need him to talk. He can't very well do that with that thing shredding his vocal chords, can he?"
Toothpick, Stevie, releases the chain at once. The loss of tension sends Damon careening backwards, the back of his head slams against the high back of the chair. Somehow, being released hurts more. He tastes blood on his tongue and can't tell if it's because the scent is so pungent in the air.
"Where's the moonstone, Damon?" Jules asks like she's asking about the weather.
Damon can't help but laugh.
"What's so funny, leech?" another one growls, stepping forward and puffing out his entire upper body in some sort of showdown.
Yeah, he's not doing this.
"Oh, if you only knew the irony of this moment right now." He muses with a final laugh.
He tests the chains at his arms, frowning when they're sturdier than he'd hoped. Three werewolves step closer to him at the motion.
"Let me tell you how this is gonna go. You're gonna torture me, I don't talk, someone loses a heart." Damon shrugs. He makes eye contact with Jules and croons, "last time, it was your boy Mason."
A muscle ticks in Jules' neck. He gets a total of two seconds to enjoy it before a blurry of movement has a bright burst of pain setting off like a firework across his leg. The werewolf currently stabbing him doesn't release the stake, but instead pushes it deeper into Damon's thigh, twisting it for good measure.
"I'm gonna rip your heart out." He glares.
The werewolf shakes his hair off his face with a flick of his head and smiles, wild and full of intent. "You first."
Jules hums. The sound is light and contemplative and he's suddenly not chained to a chair surrounded by a bunch of mutts, but sitting on the steps leading up to Cassandra's wrap-around porch, his arm around her shoulders, her nose scrunched up against the glare of the sun as she pretends to think about whatever not-so-serious proposal he just made.
The memory leaves him empty.
Jules walks forward, slow, like she has all the time in the world. Three werewolves step back, positioning themselves directly behind him in a straight line. Another three cover his flanks. One joining Stevie with that blasted leash, the other two settling at his left.
Jules stops directly in front of him, leaning her hands on her knees. She's getting awfully close, leaving no doubt who's in control here.
He should have let Cassie kill her. Scratch that, he should have killed her himself.
"And it's gonna be so gruesome," she starts with a voice smooth as sin. "You're gonna wish you'd find yourself a different girlfriend."
Damon stills. The very air around him seems to pause and wait.
"What?" There are so many thoughts eddying in his mind his head is empty. "I thought you wanted the moonstone."
It dawns on him, their numbers, their strategic positions. They're not afraid he'll escape. They're no intimidating him by stressing how outnumbered he is. They are all waiting for the huntress who raked through them like a farmer with a scythe against wheat, swift and effective.
"Two birds, one stone." Someone grunts behind him.
He doesn't know which werewolf says it, all he knows is the way his heart is threatening to climb up his throat as the burning of vervain is replaced by chilling panic. He tries to break the chains around him once more, this time giving up on subtlety. It aggravates his injuries, his thigh screams and the nails slip deeper into his flesh. Pain is the waves crashing against the cliff face in a storm, harsh, unrelenting.
"You're not touching her." He swears.
They might be fighting. She may never smile at him again, but he'll kill them all before they even get close enough to ruffle a single hair on her head.
"And you're not going anywhere." Stevie gloats, tugging at the chain still in his hands like one would a ringlet of hair. "Not with the amount of vervain we gave you. You might be strong, but we know how to keep vampires on a tight leash."
Stevie grins at the end. A few chuckles escape the rest of his captors. All except Jules, who remains in front of him, standing tall and strong.
Damon is lightheaded, and exhausted. His vision keeps blotting out with spots. Alaric is still dead, and even if he weren't, there's not much he can do here.
"Your little girlfriend thinks she killed all of us." Jules explains. "But I always have some of us stay behind, just in case an operation goes awry. Now, she's going to come home to find your desiccated body in her living room, your heart across the room."
"I'd pay to see her face," says the werewolf directly to his left.
In a twisted way, Damon is curious himself. Would she care? Would his death wreck her as viscerally as her supposed death did him?
The comment makes Jules smile.
"And then, I'll wait until it's the full moon again, and I'll sink my teeth into her, just so she can have the slow death she deserves." Jules adds, serious despite the smile that graced her lips before. "Do you think she'll hallucinate you? Call out your name into the void as her brain melts away into nothing? Too bad you won't find out."
Her bottom lip juts out in a mocking pout.
"But first," she nods at Stevie. The chain pulls. He bites the inside of his cheek until the tang of blood is flooding his mouth, but he does not cry out. "Where's the moonstone, Damon?"
"You mean this?"
They all turn at the voice. Stevie drops the chain like it scalds him.
Elijah stands by the step where the parlor meets the hearth room, twirling the moonstone with his fingers in lazy circles. The sight is so surprising Damon worries he's grown delirious. He won't give himself room for hope.
Elijah places the moonstone on the sideboard behind the couch, gesturing to it with an elegant flick of his hand.
"Go on, take it."
He's dripping enough confidence that Damon wants to grit his teeth. Still, the werewolves have the numbers, and so aren't as wary as they probably should when faced with the Original.
One of the werewolves behind Damon runs forward, making for the moonstone. His heart is out of his body before his fingers even touch the smooth surface of the table. Another werewolf attempts the same. He's faster, fiercer. His heart thumps onto the rug, his body follows.
Elijah looks like he's choosing toppings at a Subway and not picking off werewolves one by one. He flicks a bead of blood off his lapel, raises his eyebrows only just.
"Who's next?"
Stevie looks like he's about to piss himself. Jules readies herself, to fight or flight, Damon can't really tell. Before she can decide, however, the two werewolves beside him erupt in painful cries. It's so sudden Damon flinches without meaning to.
They're arching off their back, knees buckling even if they remain upright. Their arms flail, hands clawing at their chest, or trying to slap at their back. Blood, dark and quick, blooms at their chest.
"By the way, there's someone behind you." Elijah's warning is a bored afterthought.
Cassandra appears out of nowhere, materializing behind the wailing werewolves like a scene cut.
"Boo!" she whispers. Her voice is freshly poured acid.
Too fast for him to register, she jerks backwards. The werewolves fall to the ground with one last gasp. Before he can open his mouth to warn her about the werewolf advancing behind her, she's turning around, hand arcing through the air.
The werewolf gags, a shudder racks through him, his hand convulses in the air. It takes Damon a moment to realize she's drawn a dagger through his forehead to the hilt.
Faintly, Damon hears the sounds of death behind him. The air is ripe with blood and decay. He can't look away from her, though. The elegant control of her movement. The steel in her eyes. Violence flatters her almost as much as being bathed in candlelight does. It is mesmeric.
Look at me, he thinks, undone, look at me.
She doesn't.
Cassandra drops the last of her kills and walks in front of him, passing by close enough for him to touch were his arms not bound. The warmth of her seeps into him, like his body is desperately trying to leech it off the space between them to keep the chill of poison at bay, to steal a piece of her forever.
He follows every step she makes, turning his head when she reaches his blind side. Pain slithers up and down his neck. He doesn't care. Pain is inconsequential.
Only now does he realize Jules is gone. Escaped, since her body isn't anywhere around him. Elijah stands next to Stevie, pinning him in place with his eyes alone. The previously cocky toothpick is now a trembling leaf about to fall.
"I'm sorry, please." Stevie blabbers when Cassandra stops beside him. "Please, my lady Death."
The epithet clangs through Damon. It rings through his very bones. Lady Death.
"Lady Death?" Cassandra laughs, tilting her head back and exposing the alabaster column of her throat.
The sound makes Stevie flinch into himself. A muscle twitches in Elijah's jaw.
"So you know who I am. And you still hurt the people I care about." She shakes her head, disappointed, before turning to Elijah. "What is that?"
"Hubris? Insolence?" Elijah suggests. Cassandra sucks on a tooth, faux pensive. "Stupidity?"
Cassandra snaps her fingers. "That's the one. Thank you, Elijah."
She smiles at the Original, sweet and conniving all at once.
"Oh, not a problem." Elijah dismisses.
Damon feels like he somehow walked into an alternate reality. Between them, Stevie follows the exchange with increasing panic.
"Please, just let me go," he pleads, sounding like he's two breaths away from actual tears. "I—I wasn't gonna do anything, I swear."
"That's not what I heard." Cassandra tuts. She's almost gentle but for the deadly glint to her eyes. The pure power that seems to be radiating of her, amplifying the tension. "In fact, I recall you being quite eager."
"Something about torture porn." Elijah recalls.
"No!" Stevie gasps. "No, I wasn't. That was—"
"Is that what gets you off?" Cassandra interjects, humming.
For some reason, Elijah straightens, takes his eyes off Stevie and sets them on her. All at the sound of that little hum.
"Pain, that's your fun quirky kink?" Cassandra mocks. It's so genuine Stevie actually goes red. Damon can't help the way his mouth threatens to pull into a smile and decides the blood loss has messed him up beyond repair. "Do you like torture, little boy? I don't see how you would; you're a slip of a thing."
"Easy to break." Elijah concurs.
"No." Stevie shakes his head. "No, I don't."
Cassandra lifts a hand, brushes the back of her knuckles against Stevie's jaw, touching him for the first time. Stevie scrunches his eyes closed and flinches as if she'd smacked him.
"Are you sure? Because I am really good at it, aren't I, Elijah?"
She is no longer smiling. She is every bit the predator she has always been. Damon's heart skips a beat.
"Sublime."
If he didn't know better, he'd say the emotion that colors Elijah's voice is pride.
"Please, no." Stevie begs, finally raising his head enough to look at her face. "I'm sorry, please."
Damon catches the moment his begging resonates within her. He also catches her decision not to care.
"Okay." She nods, and breaks Stevie's neck with one smooth crack.
Stevie falls knees-first and then face-first to her feet. No one spares the body a single glance.
In the blink of an eye, Cassandra is standing in front of him, expression bereft of that vicious hostility. He feels like utter shit, and his brain is a befuddled mess, but he can't help thinking she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
"You understand now, Cass, why I always get rid of my enemies." Elijah comments conversationally, like they're having a tea party and didn't just murder seven werewolves.
"Hmm, gotcha." Cassandra replies, tone dripping with sarcasm.
Her dainty hand finds the chains around Damon's torso. The blood seems out of place next to her polished nails. He blames the drowsiness and muddling of his brain on the vervain cursing through his system, idly burning at his blood. No other explanation as to why the first words out of his mouth are these:
"How did you do that?"
"Oh, I married a Gemini." Cassandra shrugs. She motions at her neck, where a thin chain of crimson and purple flowers is braided together with bright green leaves, "Also, this."
If anything, the answer leaves him more confused.
She tugs at the chains once; they break away immediately. She does the same to the ones on his arms.
Quietly, he observes her. His heart swells until he can't breathe; warmth spurs from his chest, blanketing him slowly. Just at the sight of her. Damon's so mesmerized, he doesn't notice her taking the stake embedded in his thigh until she's already pulled at it. Unconsciously, he lets out a pained groan.
"Sorry!" she flinches.
The stake clatters to the ground at the same time she lowers herself to her knees in front of him. Their eyes meet. The stark panic in hers brings his stomach down to the floor. His clumsy hand finds her elbow; his mouth opens to confess.
Elijah clears his throat behind them. Cassie twists around until she's facing the Original, hands still firmly on his thighs.
"I'll be going now." Elijah informs her.
"Of course." Cassandra nods. The moment hangs. Elijah doesn't move. "Thank you, Elijah. If—"
"You owe me nothing." Elijah interrupts.
With nothing else to be said, Elijah flashes out of the room as fast as he arrived. Cassandra turns back to him; her fingers dig into the seam of his jeans' leg.
"I don't know how to take this off." She laments, eyebrows inching together, hesitant fingers fiddling with the collar's lock.
"Just take it off." He shrugs.
Quick an easy is the best way to go. Especially considering how much the damned contraption hurts.
She bites her bottom lip, breathing in once, before nodding.
The second her fingers pull at the lock, pain surges through his neck, every single wooden spike burning as they bury deeper into his body. His mind swims through a thick pond of hazy thoughts and the idea that maybe he's lost more blood than he thought flitters through his head before it evaporates. Cassandra's fingers slip and skim, unwillingly pushing the collar closer to him. He grits his teeth, tries not to show it hurts.
"Almost done, I promise."
Her voice is a small soothing murmur. Surprisingly enough, it works. He feels himself relax, manages to breathe in once.
The collar's clasp comes undone with a hollow clank. After that, it's easier, less painful. Cassandra pulls the front part first, as quick as she possibly can without being careless. Then, the back. Damon's pain-muffled mind can't register where the torture device ends up. All he knows is his sight flashes red, and for two seconds all he feels is searing pain.
"Done! I'm done!" Cassandra exclaims, voice one pitch too high to be natural.
Her hands press against his neck, cooler against his damaged skin. It takes a second for him to realize she's trying to stop the bleeding. Blood trickles down her arms, in big enough amounts that thin trails reach her elbow.
"We just have to wait a few seconds and you'll be good as new." Her lips stretch into a wavering smile, attempting to be reassuring.
Without thinking, he flops forward, head tilting until he's a breath away from her. His arms encircle her small body, hands crossing to rest on either side of her waist. She pulls back, a quarter of an inch. Nothing, and yet, it feels like a gorge.
"Damon." She warns with a breathy tone that's nothing but chaotic. Panic flickers across her face.
"I just need a minute," he says. His tone is increasingly pleading. He wonders when he turned into this, when he forgot his own promise not to let another woman affect him like this, not after Katherine. Hell, not after her. "Give me a minute. Please."
She doesn't protest. Doesn't move. Just looks at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks and he takes that as an invitation. His forehead presses against hers; the tip of his nose brushes against her left cheekbone. Softly, so softly Damon almost doesn't notice it, she melts into his hold, lets out a barely audible sigh. His eyes close.
If he could, he'd live in this moment forever.
He thought he was going to die. Jules had made it very clear. He didn't mind the prospect much. He doesn't think the world would be that much different without him in it, except all he desperately wanted was to see Cassie one last time.
See her, and hold her, and tell her he loves her. Probably always has. Definitely always has. He was just too head bent on winning Katherine to notice. Or, he'd been too preoccupied with that demanding hurricane of a woman to accept he loved Cassie too. Because if Katherine was—is—a tornado, Cassandra is an ocean, and it took him years to realize he'd rather drown than be torn apart. Even if it hurts more.
"I could give you some of my blood." Cassandra suggests when two beats past and a particularly stubborn wound still oozes blood.
"No," is his immediate response.
"Blood is blood." She insists.
You'll heal, is what she means. Except he doesn't want it. This is not how he's tasting her blood again. Not like this, not when he knows what it means.
"The first time I drink from you as a vampire won't be so I can heal from some wound, okay?"
She breathes in deep, before letting it out shakily. Damon opens his eyes, realizes they're still close together. Cassandra doesn't move, keeps her eyes closed, eyelashes dancing against her cheeks to the fast rhythm of her heartbeat.
"Okay." She nods once, before retreating until there's almost a foot between them.
Disappointed, he knows this is it. His minute is up. Her eyes open, meet his for a fleeting moment. They're a murky green he hasn't seen before and stick to his neck like it's the only spot she's allowed to see.
"You stopped bleeding."
Her words are followed by receding hands that leave him cold and exposed.
Cassandra stumbles to her feet, clumsy and evading, like the room is on fire, like vervain is seeping through the floorboards and eroding her skin. She all but runs up the hearth room's steps, past the dining table, and into the kitchen.
Damon stands at the same time the kitchen faucet spurs on, water slamming against the sink tile. The sound is so sudden, so out of place in the otherwise quite home that it becomes deafening to Damon's still hazy senses. He looks down at himself, at the large blood stains running across the navy blue of his shirt. The fabric sticks to him, burns as the vervain still in his blood meets his skin.
It takes his weakened body longer than it would to make the trek Cassie did in three seconds. By the time he arrives, standing by the kitchen island with his heart in his throat and black spots dancing across his eyes, the faucet is turned off.
Cassandra dries her hands with haste, shoulders tense enough that he can see the muscles in her back jolting and expanding, only to retract again. She throws the kitchen towel on the counter beside her; its white and stone-grey squared pattern is tinted pink with his blood.
"Cassie…" he starts, stepping further into the kitchen.
"The sacrifice is going to happen." She speaks before he can continue. The words freeze him to the spot. His breath hitches. "It is the only way for Elijah to kill Klaus permanently. He's luring him in with the chance to finally break the curse, but he's waiting until he has a vampire to do it. If I were you, I'd kill him before he does."
She talks slowly, methodological, with the practiced and detached formality of politicians. For the first time since he met her a hundred years ago, he glimpses what she must have been like, centuries ago, as human, married to a Prince, daughter to a Duke. It's strange, like he fell into an alternate universe and found a Cassie that is still Cassie but isn't.
Her words fall into place in his brain. The sacrifice is going to happen. Elena, he laments numbly for the length of two heartbeats, sorry, brother.
"The ash-tipped dagger works. You can't use it, though. It'll kill you, so Ric's gonna have to do that. Once it's in, it must stay in, or he'll come back."
"But then, we can't use it on Klaus." He protests weakly.
He feels like the floorboards are falling from underneath his feet. After all, he thought he had a plan, a plan to get rid of both menaces with minimal collateral damage, and here is Cassandra, ripping said plan to pieces.
"It won't work on Klaus, anyway." She sighs. Her shoulders seem to collapse in on themselves. Her head drops. "Go ahead and say whatever you thought you wanted to say."
Her voice loses the clinical tone to it, adopting instead a rough edge. She sounds wretched, bitter, infinitely exhausted.
"Cassie. Cassie." He beacons, taking a step closer. "Look at me."
She doesn't move.
After a moment, her hand comes off the sink, leaving a watery pink imprint behind on the white tile, and the back of it brushes against her cheek. Her shoulders rise and fall with a difficult breath. When she turns to him at last, her cheeks are damp, her eyes glisten with tears.
Words get stuck in his throat. He's never seen her cry. He's seen her bloodshot-eyed and pained, but tears have never fallen from her eyes in his presence. She is much too proud for that, regardless of whatever times of vulnerability they have shared in the past. The sight of her, of her tear-brimming eyes and reddened nose, shakes him greatly. To the point where he doesn't know what to say.
"Lie to me."
"What?"
"Lie to me." She repeats. Her tone is akin to begging. "Say you're happy I came back. Say—say I did the right thing by turning into a vampire. That you're not all better off without me. Lie to me and say I didn't ruin your life."
The tears flow down her cheeks, unchecked, seemingly forgotten. He looks at her, silent. She thinks he's angry, he realizes, that he's upset because once more she's the bearer of bad news.
And he is angry. Furious. Because yesterday she put herself in danger in the most reckless way, and today she apparently spent hours reacquainting herself with Elijah over tea and biscuits. But this is—this is a lot. Damon doesn't really know what to say, where to start.
"But whatever you do, don't tell me the truth… because I don't think I can—" her voice breaks into a sob she stifles with an embarrassed hand. It takes a moment for her to continue, "I can't accept any more truths today, Damon."
Her bottom lip trembles. Tears stream down her face without her being able to control them. Cassandra drops her face into her hands as she half turns away from him, hidden, undone.
Damon doesn't know what to say. He's never been good with words. Every time he tries, he just makes it worse. So, he strides forward, gathers her up in his arms. Her hands fist around the front of his shirt.
"I'm so sorry, Damon." She whispers. "I shouldn't have let Jules live. I didn't think!"
It feels like a bucket of icy water drops on him. She was already here, invisible, when Jules told him why they came.
"It's okay," he says close enough that his lips brush her ear. "I'm okay. We're okay."
"I should have never—he never, all that time, he never—I am going to fucking kill her." Every sentence is broken by a heaving inhale, a new thought. Damon frowns, not following her quick track of thought. She's not just distressed, she's enraged. "I should have told you the truth decades ago."
Yes, you should have, he thinks but bites his tongue. He's still a little achy, is not in the mood for another argument.
He pulls her closer, one hand running down her hair over and over until her back stops shuddering with quiet sobs and her breathing resembles a more normal rhythm. He drops his face, pressing a kiss to the top of her head without thinking. It's an action he did when he was human, and he finds himself surprised at how often her presence reawakens his old self.
"My mother was right. Everything I touch is cursed." She mumbles after a beat, moving until her cheek is pressed against his chest.
Damon frowns at the words, once more wondering if maybe he and Cassie have more in common than he thought. Once more curious as to what kind of girl she was before vampirism and time changed her. Cassandra looks up at him, lips stretched into a strangely amused smile.
"I know, right? She was a formidable woman… which is another way to say she was terrifying." She jokes lightly.
"More than Lady Death?" he counters.
Cassandra grimaces before her mouth stretches into a crooked smile.
"One of my many nicknames. It happens to be the only one I like." She does like it. Very much. She's almost gushing. "Does it scare you?"
Her tone is still teasing, but there's an undercurrent of concern under it. Her eyes dim.
"Nothing about you could scare me." Damon adjusts his hold on her so they're closer, her head tucked under his chin again. He takes a deep breath in, and continues, "worry me, yes. Piss me off... sometimes." Cassandra snorts at that, hands splaying between his shoulder blades. "Besides, I'm hardly a saint myself."
She leans her chin on his chest, locking gazes with him. It's not the most comfortable, but she seems as unwilling to peel herself away from him as he is releasing her.
"It was never the innocent," she says it in a way that makes him wonder whether she knows how shocked he'd been when finding out she'd killed those people in the mountains. "Though I suppose that might also depend on perspective."
"You were a hunter." He shrugs like it's not a big deal. "Hunters kill."
"I was the best huntress there was," she corrects with no small amount of self-regard. "And it did get me a reputation in the supernatural world."
He hums, tipping his head as if to say of course, my mistake.
"If I'm completely honest, though... it didn't originate from my hunting, but my magic. You know, with me being a necromancer and all." Ah, so that's why she likes it. "It just so happens it also suited my... other extracurriculars." She jokes with a playful little shake of her head.
Damon can't help it, he snorts.
Her smile grows wider until she's all teeth and crinkly eyes and scrunched up nose, freckles mapping constellations across her face. There's a patchy bloodstain on her left cheek. Somehow, she looks even more stunning, and alive, and if Damon's ever been certain of anything in his life, is that he'll do anything to be with her. Even wait another century if that's how long it takes to make it all up to her.
It takes Damon fifteen minutes to clean himself up and change into fresh clothes. Somehow, it's enough time for Cassandra to take care of the mess downstairs.
The bodies are all gone. The chains, nowhere to be seen. The chair and rug have been scrubbed off blood and Alaric's still-dead body has been placed on the sofa in front of the hearth. The air is fresh with citrus, the scent of night, and some flower he doesn't recognize.
She asked him to go get cleaned up—he'd assume it'd been so she could make a speedy exit, which is why her presence in the kitchen stops him dead.
She's sat atop the kitchen counter, legs crossed at the ankles as she gazes out of the open window. She turns when he comes in, lips curl into a greeting half smile.
"You're still here." He observes, walking until he's standing right in front of her.
The height of the counters makes it so they're eye to eye.
Cassandra doesn't say anything for a while. Just looks at him in a way that makes it hard for him to figure out what she's thinking.
"I've been thinking about us," she says at last. His heart stutters. "You know, our situation." Right. Of course. What else? "It is dire. Our friends could die. We could die. Politically speaking, I am backed into a corner."
"Okay," he says when all she does is look at him like she's expecting him to join the dots.
"I don't have time in my personal life to deal with more games, Damon." She explains. "My feelings for you are not something that should be used or toyed with because I—I really don't have the patience to keep giving you chances."
Are. She said are. Not were, or used to be, but are. He's clinging to that with both hands.
"I wasn't." It's half an assurance, half a hasty protest.
He really wasn't, though. Sure, maybe the first time they slept together after she returned, but after that, he'd drink up any opportunity to be with her like a parched man in a desert. He just kept being led astray like the idiot he is.
Even when he was human, he reached a point when he cherished what little time they managed to spend together more than any long night he spent with Katherine. He knows that he would have given himself to her wholly, had she not left.
He held on to the love he had for Katherine, because it served as a nice and warm distraction from the ever cold and ruthless pain knowing Cassie was dead brought him. It's why it hurt so much to find out she was alive, why it felt like the worst betrayal of his life. He didn't let himself voice it, never let himself put name to the emotion out loud.
"I do have feelings for you. Deep, strong feelings and I—"
He's always known she deserves better. Someone who won't lash out. Someone who isn't as damaging, as damaged as himself. As far as he's concerned, Cassie deserves the world and that's not him.
Except he still wants her, still aches for her in a way that leaves him breathless.
In front of him, Cassandra's eyebrows flatten. She looks away from him and back, front teeth nibbling at her bottom lip.
"Don't look at me like that." She huffs, feebly swatting at his torso with the back of her hand.
He raises his eyebrows, not aware he's been looking at her any certain way.
"Why?" he asks with the same light tone she spoke.
"Because I can't breathe when you do," she says. Her fingers tug at the buttons of his shirt. "Because I don't want you looking at me like that unless you mean it."
"I do mean it." They're so close her knees are flush to his abdomen. "I adore you, Cassandra."
Her breathing hitches at the words. He feels light and his mind is reeling and it has nothing to do with the vervain from before. They seem to have rocked closer together without realizing because when she speaks next the ghost of her words are a tickle at his chin.
"Prove it to me."
He dips his face to the right, angles forward. His hand finds the curve where her waist meets her hip. She's so close he can taste her perfume.
Cassie shifts before his lips can meet hers.
"Not like that." She admonishes.
Still, she doesn't move any further away. He clenches his fingers around her flesh, relishes how she arches into the touch.
"Cassie."
He just wants to kiss her. Her lips, her neck, that little dip between her collarbones, the valley between her breasts, her breasts. Oh, they're fantastic, sublime. Don't even get him started on that tiny freckle by her left nipple, or—
"You said it yourself, sometimes sex is just sex," she reminds him, pushing off him with both hands on his shoulder. "It doesn't mean anything."
Maybe it's the little twinkle in her eye, or how one of her hands moves to play with the hair at his neck, whatever it is, it loosens his tongue.
"It does with you."
Cassandra snorts. Her nose scrunches up. He has the insane urge to hold that nose between his teeth.
"Ah, see, you can't flip it around like that just because it now fits the angle you're taking."
She finishes with a mock stern tone and pursed lips. He rolls his eyes, moving until his arm is encircling her waist and she has no choice but to spread her knees to accommodate for the closeness.
"I meant Rose. Sex with Rose meant nothing." Her amusement fades at the seriousness of his voice. "It was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it. I should have gone straight to yours and told you."
She blinks owlishly at him, with all the youth and anciency she possesses.
"Told me what?" She prompts.
His throat goes dry. Every word he's been bouncing around in his head floats away from him before he can grasp them. He wants to deflect the question, change the subject, mess this up on purpose before he can do it on accident. But Cassandra is looking at him with such gentleness… such soft curiosity.
He considers for a little too long. Her curiosity deflates into resignation. She makes to jump off the counter; his hands on either side of her, flat against the table, stop her.
"That you were never just a friend to me. That you have always been so much more," Damon starts speaking without a single clue where he wants to go. But she's stopped trying to leave, so he keeps going. "That the only reason, the only stupid reason I distanced myself from you back then was because my father thought you were the perfect woman, the ideal wife, and I didn't want to give into his wishes."
He shakes his head. What a stupid reason. Cassandra's mouth furrows into a contemplative pout. Her eyebrows twitch like they're trying to say really?
"I still couldn't bear the days I didn't see you." He confesses with a tiny shrug. Discomfort pulls at his chest. He's too aware of exactly how much of himself he's putting out there. Her fingers brush against his wrist, feather light. "I fought for over a month on the wrong side of a war, nearly dying more than once and the only thing keeping me going were your letters. I spent nearly a decade waiting for death. If it meant I'd see you again, death would do me fine."
She gives him peace, more than anything or anyone ever has.
Cassandra's eyebrows inch together, not quite a frown, but there's no denying something he said bothered her. She shakes her head.
"It wasn't just your father. Katherine—"
"She was another mistake. I didn't realize it until I turned!"
"Okay."
"I haven't given you reason lately to believe me, I get that." He insists. "But I—" fuck. Why is this so difficult? He can't even look her in the eye. "You are everything."
"Damon!" She calls, a breath of a laugh passing her lips as her hand grazes his neck. It's only then that he realizes in his search for the perfect words he's grown near frantic. "I said okay."
"Okay?" he repeats, sure that he's hearing wrong.
Cassandra nods. Her hand brushes up and down his arm, shoulder to wrist, feather light and slow.
"Show me how you feel, Damon." She requests. Her fingers dance a pattern across the plane of his chest. His skin heats and tingles wherever she touches. "Give me a reason to say yes to you."
The request is daunting, considering he really has no idea what he's doing. But Damon can never say no to her, especially when she's touching him like this and looking at him like that.
He smirks, leveling her with that look that never fails him, playful and appraising and full of promise. "You want me to court you?"
Delight lights up her face at the word choice. It robs him of breath.
"If you so desire," she shrugs, blasé. Her arms drape over his shoulders. He takes the liberty of stepping between her thighs. "Maybe then we'll be something."
Her elbow on his shoulder, she runs lazy fingers through his hair, following the movement with her eyes. It sends shivers down his spine; he has to stop himself from closing his eyes and groaning in pleasure. Getting his hair played with shouldn't be this nice.
"Damon?"
"Hmm?"
He notices he has closed his eyes and opens them in a snap. Any amount of embarrassment that might have twinged his stomach vanishes when he sees her staring at his mouth.
"Maybe we could kiss just once."
"Just once?" he pouts.
He cups the side of her face with his hand, tucks his fingers at the nape of her neck, thumb caressing the spot in front of her ear. Cassandra releases a shaky breath, pulling him impossibly near by the arms around his neck.
"For now," she says against his mouth.
Each word is a kiss in itself.
He wonders if she knows he'd take whatever she gives him.
Even if it's just this one kiss. This one kiss he'll make last until she's sick of it.
A/N: I;m so sorry! I've had this chapter written and waiting editing for so long and just... forgot? I fell down a world-building rabbit hole for my original novel absolutely convinced that I'd posted this... only to realise yesterday I hadn't even edited it. At least it's a little longer than usual?
Onto reviews:
Eennio: the relationship between the Originals and Cassie is so complex it gives me grief so I'm glad you enjoy it! Hope you like this chapter xx
WinchesterDixonBros: Huntress Cassandra is the best isn't she!
AB0918: Caroline and Cassandra are my favourite to write. They're such good friends and love each other so much my babies. I hope you like this one! x
Nerdalertwarning: I love writing the action bits, it's so exciting! I'm glad you liked them just as much. Also, you're pretty much the one who made me realise I had, in fact, not updated, so thank you for the reminder and... your wish is my command apparently?
Plumsoda: Don't worry for your absence, life gets in the way! Thanks for dropping by again! God, I'd been dying for that convo between Elijah and Cass, too. Everyone always tries to attack him, and here's Cass happily playing politics with him like it's business. I love it, love how they're both calm but really, really not at the same time. Cassandra and Caroline are the best friendship across the board, I'm sorry that's just how it is lol The update came a little late, so I'm sorry about that but I hope you like it! I'm doing good all things considered, thank you so much for asking and I hope life is treating you well!
Wikked: I'm so happy you loved the story! Klaus won't arrive yet but you will be seeing some flashbacks soon where he's heavily involved. Yes, Katherine is such an interesting character, they will not be enemies, is all I'll say at this point. Are Damon and Cassie meant to be? is such a common question among readers, but I think that's what I like about them? How much about a successful relationship is down to 'fate' and how much is actually putting in the work to be together? We'll have to see...
GUEST: Right, I'm gonna assume you're the same guest for every single time since you've mentioned several times that you are the same guest who was reading instead of studying and many other instances. You're so nice with your reviews :') I can't believe you've reread this several times?! That's crazy and so... I don't know sobering? Thanks?! "could finally taste her soul on his tongue" was my favourite thing to write. I've always seen it as getting the same pleasure and emotional connection as sex but twice as strong and so much more intimate, kind of like 'yeah sex is nice but have you ever exchanged blood with the love of your life and learnt the way of their soul' kind of thing, so... yeah, glad you liked it! Cass x Klaus reunion... oh BOY it's gonna be a big one isn't it? And that headcannon is canon! I just have sprinkled it subtly enough that you've picked it up but not seen it happening! Klaus definitely is, Nik when it's affectionate/she's not pissed off, Niklaus when she's a pissed/annoyed/they're fighting or she's talking to others who know him as Niklaus, and Klaus when she's 'on his enemies' side'. I sort of already have a beta, just friends willing to hear me rant at them, but thanks so much for the offer! I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Also guys I've got a tumblr which is sawnsastark where I could answer any questions you may have or pester me about updates and I can answer quicker than here, because I really only go on when I'm updating, but I'm on tumblr frequently!
See you hopefully much much sooner than this time because wow that was totally me being a scatter-brain. anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think! xx
for the record, UPDATED: 02/05/2021.