Dark Side.
Chapter 20: Memory Lane. Part II.
Mystic Falls, 1864.
Cassandra stood by the double white-wooden doors that lead to the Lockwoods' extensive library. After conversing with Henry, she'd danced once with Frederick, held amicable conversation with Mr. Gilbert about his supposed scientific inventions, bit her tongue at Honoria's loud opinions on the war, and dinner remained four hours away. Which would have been fine, except she was famished.
"You abandoned me."
To her right, Damon walked towards her, easy, charming smile to his features. His hands were behind his back as he walked with the expected poise of someone of his station. He stopped a mere foot away from her, blurring the line between proper and indecorous.
"I did not." She protested.
In secret, her heart wanted to be angry with him. For escaping to have a word with Katherine, a word that turned heated soon, heated with the polar opposite of anger. Instead, she forced a smile into her face. Ever since his return, Katherine found him intriguing. Their time together was scarce; Cassandra was not about to taint this moment with jealousy.
"Henry needed to speak with me." She explained, feeling her anger dissipating the longer she beheld him.
"About what?"
"A massacre." She joked.
In front of her, Damon frowned, eyes wandered to somewhere to their right. It took her a minute to remember not everyone shared her morbid humor. Damon seemed haunted, and she wondered if maybe it had to do with something other than her crude words.
"Damon?" Cassandra tentatively reached for his face.
"Forgive me," Damon shook his head, accidentally bumping into her hand.
For the span of a breath, neither of them moved. He looked at her hand, delicately hovering a mere hair's width from his right cheek, blue eyes striking with surprise. She inhaled sharply, an attempt at controlling the sudden quick pace of her heart, as she, too, stared at her hand like a fool. Then, Damon's own fingers twisted around the palm of her hand. He lowered it until their hands hung between them, intertwined. If she had one wish turn truth in that moment, it would be that gloves existed not.
"What were you saying?" Damon continued.
"I asked Henry to look into the mysterious deaths that occurred two days past." She returned to the conversation. "They were actual animal attacks."
"That's good." Damon nodded.
"Indeed." She asserted, despite the fact her own statement had been a lie.
When his hand gave hers a tentative tug, she followed until the bulk of her skirt would not let her continue. Kiss me, she thought as she looked up at him, at his clear eyes, his breathtaking features, at the softness turning his face into an emotion she didn't dare believe, kiss me and forget the rest.
"Miss Woodhouse!"
Startled, Cassandra stepped away just in time to see none other than George Lockwood striding towards them. Once George reached them, close enough that he needn't raise his voice, but far enough that it became clear to anyone nearby this was not a private conversation, he bowed lightly to her, self-satisfactory smirk stretching his lips.
"I'd say I'm surprised to find you're being accompanied by Mr. Salvatore but—" at this, George turned from her to Damon. His eyes flashed with a possessiveness that was uncalled for. "He does have the advantage of living with you."
"I had no choice in the matter, George." Cassandra let got of Damon's hand in the most discreet way she could find. "Mr. Salvatore's ideal companion was already taken, and you don't expect me to attend alone, do you?"
Beside her, Damon's whole body tensed. She didn't understand why, her words were nothing but the truth. Had Katherine decided she wanted Damon to escort her, Cassandra would have ended up alone. Whatever reason had Damon straightening she ignored, but George caught the change in his demeanor with the same ease a predator locates prey.
"Well," he started. He seemed to stand a little straighter. A little prouder. "I'm sure a lady such as yourself would have plenty of suitors tripping over themselves to right that."
"One would think that." Cassandra agreed. "But it seems lately they're more preoccupied with informing me of the many ways they're the superior candidate." She raised an eyebrow, voice adopting a teasing tone. "None posed the question."
"Forgive me, please." George laughed, catching onto what she was referring to. "Would a dance make up for my foolishness?"
She pretended to think for a moment. Briefly, her eyes fell on Damon. On the tightness of his jaw, the intensity behind his eyes, the slight flaring of his nostrils. Neither Damon nor George were looking at her, Cassandra noted, but instead were regarding each other with care, almost like they were weighting their own competition.
"Perhaps two," said Cassandra with an excited smile that held no real meaning, one that looked genuine just the same.
Before her, George seemed to glow with satisfaction. He nodded at her before turning to Damon once more, chest out and the vilest pride there was tarnishing his otherwise pretty eyes. Because George was handsome, and she would probably even consider him, were he not a slave to the moon.
"Damon, would you mind if I steal her from you?" he asked. "I promise to return her at some point."
When he turned to her with another laugh, Damon's clear annoyance was the only reason she giggled. If Damon wanted to proclaim his love for Katherine, and kiss Cassandra like it was his last day on earth, all in the same day, then she was allowed some fun, too. Even if it was with a werewolf.
"No, of course, George." Damon nodded with a tight-lipped smile.
"Next song?" George asked her.
"Certainly." She curtsied as his lips touched the satin of her gloves.
Her previous desire, the one that willed gloves to disappear from earth, retracted when his mouth hovered on her knuckles. George parted from them with one last nod towards Damon. He flowed through the crowd as a boat glides through a still lake. His presence was impressive, and so much like an alpha's she was surprised it took him this long to trigger the curse.
"George is courting you?" Damon asked her.
"He sends me letters." She hummed, tearing her eyes from George's still retreating form to face him. "I believe he wants me as wife."
Her words shocked him so much it was insulting.
"Since when?"
"Since I met him."
"And you answer?"
"It's impolite not to reply to correspondence." She frowned at him, confused.
Why was he angry? He had no right to be angry. No right to be jealous. No right to be acting this possessive. He was the one who bed her, went to war, and returned three and a half weeks later only to fall in love with her best friend. She was the one stupid enough to continue to lie with him despite this fact, but that was an argument for another day.
"Do you reciprocate? Why have I not heard of this?" he demanded.
"It's a private matter." Cassandra retorted, observing. He was frowning, eyes hard with a coldness she had never seen him direct her way. "Is something the matter?"
"Not at all," was his quick reply, despite the glaring proof that something was, indeed, the matter.
"Right." They looked at each other, silence heavy with a tension Cassandra swore she could feel against her own skin. In the distance, the dancing song faded as it reached its final bar. "Well, I must leave you. George is waiting."
Damon simply nodded at her. Without another word, Cassandra turned and went. She peeked one last glance behind her. Her heart stammered inside her chest when, instead of catching Damon's outline and nothing more, her eyes leveled with his own. The coldness seeped out of him with one breath, replaced in turn by a strange discontent Cassandra could not rationalize. He sent her a weak smile. Cassandra looked away, much too proud to admit this was not as satisfying as she thought it'd be. The sight of him burned into her brain. She wondered, feeble, if there was anything about Damon she'd someday be able to forget. And if she even wanted to.
Cassandra sits once more on the porch swing, arms hugging her legs, chin resting on her knees. The sun is setting and the way the Gilbert home is situated gives her a perfect view of the retreating star. The horizon looks like an abstract expressionist masterpiece, all reds and oranges fading and blending into purples and deep blues. She breathes in deep. Elena lives far enough from downtown that the air here is pure, almost as pure as in the Boarding House. Not that Mystic Falls has much pollution to run away from. The cool late-winter—it is not spring quite yet, regardless of the fact that it feels like it is—breeze sends the nearby trees into a gossiping whisper. Cassandra smiles.
"You abandoned me."
Cassandra opens her eyes in time to see Damon close the front door behind him. He stands in front of her, one glass of what she assumes is bourbon in one hand. He's having fun today, and not just because of the constant shade he and Mason keep throwing at each other. Being around friends and eating a home-cooked meal, even playing silly games, has put him in a good mood. She doubts he'll ever admit it.
"I did not!" Cassandra shrugs, tilting a raised eyebrow his way. "I needed a break from the Teen Wolf vs. Dracula standoff."
That's not entirely true. Half an hour ago, Caroline and Elena left in a hurry. Cass has a feeling it won't be long until one of the girls calls her, needing help. Being out by the porch ensures her a speedy exit. In front of her, Damon chuckles. It's a light short laugh that allows the pursing of her lips to ease into a small smile. He advances until he's close enough to take a seat next to her. His feet kick the ground; the porch swing sways back and forth, back and forth. His arm rests atop the backrest behind her.
"Didn't peg you for the runaway type." He comments, taking a sip from his glass.
Cassandra hums, bitter. Because while it was a throwaway comment, one that holds no real meaning, it stings. A runaway is exactly what she is. When he offers her his drink, she accepts it. Cassandra takes a generous sip; their eyes meet over the glass. It isn't bourbon, but scotch.
"Courtesy of the late Dr. Grayson Gilbert." Damon remarks at the pleasantly surprised look that crosses her face.
"A man of good taste." She takes one last sip before returning the glass to him, unable to contain the teasing tone coloring her voice.
"Debatable." He shoots back, eyes narrowed in faux-pensiveness.
Her scoff turns into a short laugh, arm idly pushing at his shoulder. Damon's only response is to kick at the floor again, restarting the previous light swaying. She resumes her meditation, turning once more to the picturesque Southern afternoon. Silence falls around them. Inside, Jenna is making coffee, joking alongside Mason and Alaric about her apparently embarrassing relationship record. While the house is a cacophony of laughter and good times, the porch feels like its own little world, silent but loud at the same time. The most comfortable atmosphere Cassandra has encountered in a while.
"I love the south." She sighs, leaning back until her upper back meets the varnished wood of the swing.
Damon makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, fingers absentmindedly playing with a strand of her hair. When she turns to him, he sends her a look that screams 'yeah, right.'
"Okay," Cassandra acquiesces. "I'm a liberal, so, yes, I hate it on principle but…" she trails off, once more breathing in deep. "There's something about the land here. It's different. Sometimes, I can even hear the trees think."
For a moment, silence blankets the two of them once more. There's nothing but birds trying to find a temporary home for the night, more whispers through the leaves. And the burning, lovely feeling of Damon Salvatore playing with her hair. Out of the blue, Damon hums.
"What?" she wonders.
"My—mother," Damon clears his throat. At the word, Cassandra turns to face him, surprise thinly masked by interest. "Had this black cherry tree out back. Every morning, I'd see her out in the garden; that tree practically grew with me." The breathy laugh that passes his lips is covered in pain. "She personally took care of it—and she would talk to it, about me, and Stefan, about town. She said it made the cherry tree happy. Trees have souls, she'd say."
He looks up from the glass resting between his legs at that, eyes meeting hers with a strange type of nostalgia. She wonders what happened to the tree, if maybe he ended up having to cut it down and that's why he looks half-guilty. Instead of asking, she keeps her eyes soft, face open, encouraging.
"Father said that was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo she'd picked up from the slaves. Threatened to cut the damned thing out." Damon rolls his eyes. His voice adopts the resentful, bitter tone she's familiar with, the one that appeared whenever Giuseppe entered their conversations. "Said he'd accuse her of witchcraft if she kept doing it. So, she stopped. The tree died right after she did."
"No." she gasps softly. "I'm so sorry."
Damon nods, taking another sip of scotch. That tree, whether he believed what his mother said or not, was the last remaining piece of Lily Salvatore her children had. Besides a cold tomb, it was a living, thriving piece of her. Losing it must have been hard.
"Your mother was right; trees do have souls." She adds, tone light despite the knot of sadness squeezing her own heart. "They are great conversationalists."
Her words have the desired effect. Damon looks at her, disbelieving laugh escaping him before he can stop it. Wow, she thinks, inwardly wishing he would laugh more.
"Is that so?"
"Mhm." She nods, humming. "You just need to be a good listener."
He thinks she's joking, trying to make him feel better. And while that's partly true, she speaks the truth. There are such things as tree spirits, and Dryads are lovely friends. Based on what Damon just told her, she wouldn't be surprised if Lily's tree was a Dryad in disguise, so badly stricken by the death of a friend that it died. Still, it's better if he thinks she's joking. Most people don't believe in the less mainstream supernatural creatures, so to speak. The last thing she needs is Damon thinking her insane.
So, instead of pressing the subject, she lets it pass as a well-intentioned joke, and counts to twenty before posing a question that has been eating at her since breakfast.
"Can I ask you something?" she asks and waits for Damon to agree to continue. "Why hasn't your brother confronted me about a certain doppelgänger's fate?"
Whatever Damon was expecting her to ask, that wasn't it. He freezes, a deer caught in headlights. Ah, so she was right. They both actively avoided each other for the past week for the same reason.
"I didn't tell him," he finally says.
"What?" Cassandra blurts out, stunned.
"Well, I didn't see reason to worry him because a) it sounds like this curse or whatever—" he rolls his eyes. Cassandra bites her lip, deciding whether he really doesn't believe it's important or if he's pretending—"hasn't really caused any trouble in centuries, and b) Elena isn't in any real danger."
"Yeah, but—Damon, this is real. I'm not lying." She nearly exclaims, barely letting him finish. "There's a high chance Elena will be in danger. Soon!"
"Then I'll protect her." He shrugs.
"Ah, so that's what this is about." She nods, collapsing against the swing once more. Disappointment weights her stomach down and burns her ears. "You sweeping in and being the hero."
He could have given her a heads up. Hey, by the way, I'm keeping this a secret until I can one-up Stefan with it! Cassandra spent the entirety of last week freaking out. She didn't just tell him about the curse, she technically broke coven law by letting an outsider in on a sacred secret. Sure, the whole of the supernatural community used to know about the curse, but ever since Katherine unofficially became the last official doppelgänger, only a select few know about it still. And then, she could practically feel Stefan hating her from afar for keeping this secret. Except, it turns out, Stefan never found out!
"Maybe." Damon shrugs again, this time more noncommittal than dismissive. Cassandra hums, grumpy. Damon continues speaking, tone changing to something she cannot name, something smooth and vulnerable. "Also, I only know about three things about your human life. Only one of them came directly from you. What you told me the other day, was personal. I made you a promise."
She blinks, unable to keep her mouth from hanging open. Her heart starts to beat wildly inside her chest.
"So you really won't tell anyone?" she checks, cautious.
"Cassie, I promised." Damon insists, eyes serious.
The words send a rush of emotion surging through her veins. Her heart fills up, overspills. She would kiss him. Right here. Right now. Regardless of the fact that they're at a barbeque, playing human, where their biological age difference is less than ideal, where Jenna might see and hate him more for it. And, Cassandra thinks, he would kiss her back, thinks he wants to. Except she wants to be near Damon for eternity, and any chance of that would be ruined by the prospect of speaking her heart out to a man interested in another. No matter how many times she thinks Damon might be interested in her. Hope and Love are untrustworthy advisors. They have sent her toppling over the edge with no safety net in the bottom many times.
So, Cassandra simply hooks her arm with his, leans into his side until her head meets his shoulder. There, she whispers:
"Thank you."
Damon says nothing. He doesn't need to. They stay like that, in silence, with Damon every once in a while getting the porch swing to sway again. They stay like that and the world around them slowly changes. The sky turns more purple than orange until that color, too, fades into dark blue, and then that midnight blue that's near black; stars twinkle in the vast expanse that is the night sky. The temperature drops slowly. The front lights turn on their own. Cassandra fights the urge to sigh in bliss.
The chirp of her phone breaks the peaceful atmosphere around her. It's from Caroline: HELP!
"I need to go." She sighs, rising to her feet. "Say bye to Alaric and Jenna for me?"
"Sure." Damon nods.
He pauses, his mouth opens as he breathes in once, preparing to say something. Whatever it was, dies before it leaves him. Instead, he utters a small 'see you around.'
"Bye." She waves, already climbing off the steps.
Silently, she prays Caroline's cry for help stems from something Cassandra can actually fix and not something irreparable. Caroline better not have accidentally killed Elena.
Unsurprisingly, Caroline simply wasn't convincing enough in her scheming to hold Elena off for long. It's a shame, really, because Cassandra's intention to somehow get Caroline to feed whatever Katherine is planning back to them is now a no-go. Which means the double agent's gonna have to be her, not the blonde. A job description Cassandra did not want. At all.
Cassandra found Caroline by the side of the road, still far enough from the Boarding House that poor Elena had quite a trek in front of her. Apparently, Katherine's direct order was to keep Elena away from the Boarding House until further notice, whilst, of course, filling Elena's head with a million and one reasons why her relationship with Stefan would never really work out. The easiest job in the world. Except Caroline was so ridden with guilt that she ended up at a loss of what to do.
The location was lucky; Cassandra estimates it'd take Elena's very human, not so exercise loving, body about twenty-five minutes to walk from where she and Caroline are all the way to the Boarding House. Except it took Caroline fifteen minutes to contact Cassandra—fifteen whole minutes that were seemingly wasted on freaking out—and it took her five to get here. The clear and utter incompetence displayed here is the whole reason why Cassandra stands, quiet, glowering at the venting blonde. Also, she was having a lovely time back at the Gilbert's.
"I mean, she's fine, right?" Caroline rants after explaining everything. "Katherine won't hurt her, right? I mean, she's been there since this morning, so she's probably long gone, right?" Honestly, how many times is she gonna say that word? Cassandra muses. "What could Katherine and Stefan do for a whole day? They don't even like each other. Well, Katherine does. But—"
"You have got to shut up." Cassandra snaps, harsher than usual.
Caroline's mouth flops close so quickly it lets out a minute pop. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. Cassandra sighs, aware that she's being rude and standoffish. It's just she really doesn't want to get involved. She's happy with being a background character in this messed-up story where the people she should not be friends with are the ones she cares about and her longest living friend is suddenly Satan in high heels. Yet people keep pulling her into the drama.
"Sorry." Cass grimaces. "I gotta go, okay?"
"Oh, my god!" Caroline gasps. "You think Katherine did something?"
"No!" Cassandra rushes. She makes sure her tone stays calm, even though she is everything but. "No, I'm just gonna check on them, see what she and Stefan talked about. You go home, okay?"
"Okay." Caroline nods. "Okay."
Cassandra doesn't wait any longer. She flashes to the Boarding House, making it there in a third of what it'd take a human. She isn't even past the door yet when her worries are confirmed. Katherine and Elena stand in front of each other, readied for whatever's about to come, and Cassandra wouldn't put it past Katherine to pounce. She moves, quick as a bullet, until she stands in front of Elena. Katherine sneers at her and leans back, nose up in the air. Behind her, Elena gasps, her human eyes to fragile to register Cassandra moving until she's right there.
"Have you lost your mind?"
"I see Caroline blabbed." Katherine pouts. "I guess that's it. Poor Matty's gotta go."
"Oh, enough, Kat." Cassandra rolls her eyes with her whole head. "You're not killing Matt. You're not killing anyone."
"Are you threatening me?"
Katherine's face darkens, she takes a step towards Cassandra. Behind her, Elena ceases to breathe. Cassandra narrows her eyes, insulted.
"Get out." She snarls.
The front door slams open. Katherine glances at it; a would-be-benign smile stretches across her face.
"Look at you, taking risks." Katherine gushes. The taunt makes Cassandra's skin crawl. The brunette turns around, starts walking to the door. "I don't need to be told twice."
She winks at them over her shoulder before flashing away. Elena inhales sharply. Stefan appears down the hallway, at a half-sprint, face stricken with fear. His posture relaxes when he only finds Elena and Cassandra, no psychotic ex. He barely gives the still open door the time of day before rushing past Cass and gathering Elena up in his arms. The two hug, near desperate. Elena's face buries into Stefan's shoulder; he kisses the top of her head. Silently, Cassandra waves the front door close again.
"What was that?" Elena asks.
It takes Cassandra a moment to realize the human girl is talking to her. She turns back to the two of them, a knot pressing down her chest.
"We—um, we have a spy problem." Cass manages.
"What?" Elena exclaims, shocked.
"Yeah, but it's okay." Cass comforts Elena. "I have an idea."
Do you? Her brain whispers. It feels like it's laughing at her. Except that she might have an idea. Katherine is too lazy to change tactics now, not to mention the fact that she thrives off fear. So, them knowing she got Caroline to play spy changes nothing. It just means she gets to celebrate the fact that she got one on them. Cassandra's idea is simple. Let Caroline keep doing what she's doing but make a point not to say anything if she's in the near vicinity. Therefore, every single thing they all say from afar—but within hearing distance of Caroline—the blonde will give to Katherine. And if that doesn't work, if Katherine is displeased with Caroline for giving her up… well, Cassandra will take one for the team. If only so Caroline doesn't lose all her friends. Even if it means Cass will.
Mystic Falls, 1864.
Cassandra's room was cool. The bay windows opened all the way; the breezed pushed the curtains into a light sway as moonlight trickled into the chamber, illuminated the dark floorboards a light grey. She had only lit one thin candle, having expected no company when she first arrived. A fact that changed twenty minutes into her changing for the night.
Damon sat on her made bed, clothed still in the formal attire of this evening. They had all returned from the Founders' celebration a little over an hour ago, just as the clock struck two in the morning. They had spoken for a while, with her trying quite hard not to think of that strange moment they'd shared earlier. Until, that is, Damon posed a question that surprised her. She stood in front of him, curious above all else. Damon simply looked up at her, eyes the epitome of scared innocence, heart rate quickened.
"You should remove your coat." She suggested, fingers pulling at the front buttons of his black coat.
Damon nodded, removing his coat at the same time she pulled at his necktie. Once that was done, she pushed his legs with her own and lowered herself down until her bottom rested on his left leg. He'd given her a good reason as to why he wanted to do this. A good reason followed by a statement that made her curious enough to agree. Not that she thought he would honestly go through with it.
"I need to ask you one more time..." she started. Damon nodded, his previously fearful gaze turned into one filled with curiosity and something else she could not pinpoint. "You want me to drink from you."
"Yes."
This time, she allowed a smile as she nudged his face away. The movement revealed the smooth, tantalizing skin of his neck. The artery running through it palpitated in a soothing rhythm. She breathed in once, leaning close to him. When her lips brushed against the skin right above his jugular, Damon's entire body tensed. Just as she suspected would happen. He cleared his throat. She looked up at him, at his closed eyes, and held breath. Moving away from his neck, she turned to the side and grabbed a hold of his hand. For some reason, it made him wince once more.
"Breathe, Damon." Cassandra whispered, one hand pushing his curls away from his face.
Damon let out a breathy laugh as air finally entered his lungs, wide eyes jumped from his hand on hers and her face. Perhaps this wasn't such a horrible idea. Whatever he had seen, or heard, about being fed on by a vampire clearly had left an impression. Katherine was not the most considerate of feeders. Damon deserved someone who would treat him gently. So, she removed the white glove from his hand and laced her fingers with his.
"We don't have to do this." She suggested as her thumb brushed against his knuckles. "Just because Katherine doesn't appreciate—"
"I said I wanted to." Damon scowled.
"Alright." She shrugged once before letting go off his hand and lunging for his neck without warning.
The breath caught on Damon's throat, yet, he remained still. Instead of sinking her teeth into him, just as she desperately wanted, she pressed one closed-mouth kiss against his neck. And another. And another until she kissed every inch of his neck, from his jaw to his clavicle. On her way back up, she parted her lips, left hand playing with the hair in the nape of his neck. She kissed his neck slowly, every once in a while letting the blunt edge of her teeth softly dig into his skin. Cassandra kissed him until his shoulders relaxed and his hands found her body and his heartbeat started beating faster again for a whole new reason.
She pressed her nose against his neck, momentarily thinking she should stop this whole thing. Except he smelled delicious and his growing arousal awakened this superior hunger within her. She had his permission. She knew, deep down, that once Katherine gave in fully, once Katherine allowed this to happen between them and he discovered how wonderful and intimate exchanging blood could be with the one you loved... he'd never want to repeat this with her.
So, she gave into her true nature at last. Her fangs expanded; her eyes took their real form. Placing one last kiss, she sank her teeth into his neck. Damon didn't even flinch. Sweet, warm blood flowed into her mouth, quenching her thirsted throat. There were no words to explain how maddeningly delicious blood was, like the nectar of gods. Smooth, soothing, nurturing and so much of Damon.
She moaned into his neck, inadvertently sucking harder. The hand on the other side of his neck moved down, sneaked into the inside of his white shirt. Her fingers splayed against his muscled chest. The air left Damon in quiet pants; his hands anchored her to him, one arm snaking around her torso until his fingers reached the other side of her, one hand buried in her hair. Whatever apprehension he'd felt moments earlier nowhere to be seen now.
She did not drink as much as she wished to. After twenty breaths, she pulled back enough to see the damage. She hadn't been as careful as she had wanted. Still, it was pretty mellow: one clean, round bite mark in the slope of his neck shone with fresh droplets of blood against the silver moonlight.
"Was that painful?" She asked, looking up at him.
Damon didn't speak. Instead, his hand slid up her body until it reached her face. His thumb brushed underneath her eyes, his own filled with nothing but amazement. It was only then that she realized her face was still her own. She'd forgotten to morph back into her human mask. Slowly, she forced her fangs to retreat. The veins under her eyes disappeared, taking the redness with them.
For the span of three consecutive breaths, neither of them spoke. They regarded each other against the pale moonlight and the dying flame of an idle candle nearing its death. He looked paler than normal; a furtive glance down confirmed her suspicions. The bite wound still bled freely. Silently cursing at herself, she bit down into her own wrist and offered it up to him. Damon looked at her with confusion.
"Vampire blood has healing properties." Cassandra explained. "I'm afraid you're going to have to consume some, lest people grow suspicious."
"My father, you mean." Damon scowled.
Katherine, I mean, she thought. Aloud, however, she simply agreed, before once more presenting her wrist to him.
"May I drink from your neck?"
The request surprised her so much she had no time to school her features into one of pleasant amusement, as she usually would. Damon misunderstood. His shoulders dropped; his eyes clouded with rejected concern.
"Forgi—"
"No, it's alright." She rushed past her words; hands hastily gathered her long hair to one side.
A strange kind of fear struck her heart. Once more, she mourned this moment, regardless of the fact she was still living it. Ignoring the chill crawling up her chest, Cassandra pressed her nail into the side of her neck. Blood spurted from the horizontal laceration she produced, warm and trickling down her neck. Damon leaned, careful, until his lips touched her neck, tongue tentatively lapping at the blood leaving her. Unconsciously, her eyes slid close.
I love you, Cassandra thought, so sudden, so strong, her mind stilted. It rang true. She loved him so much she wanted to get lost in him. She loved him so much she wanted to crawl into his chest and live beside his heart. He was so radiant. A half-broken fallen angel.
I love you, she thought but she didn't say it. Instead she quietly, fervently wished he were a vampire, wished he could read it in her blood, wished they could be connected body and soul without him simply tasting her blood because she said it'd heal him. With him understanding the meaning and being able to experience it like she did.
The door to her room slammed open in one swift swoop. The two of them broke apart; Damon sprung to his feet. Cassandra sighed. She was in no hurry to face their intruder, because while Damon clearly feared his father or brother were the ones entering a private, compromising moment, Cassandra knew exactly who it was.
"Katherine." Damon breathed.
Katherine stood three feet away from Cassandra's bed, face morphed into a look of utter pain and betrayal. Her eyes jumped from Cass to Damon and again.
"What is this?" Katherine questioned. "When I asked for you to leave me alone for a moment—I did not mean for you to choose her over me."
Oh, Morgana, Cassandra lamented. Her hand rubbed at her forehead, tension building behind her eyes. She walked right into a trap without noticing. Damon took a step forward, panicked.
"No! No, I would never—"
Silence followed his declaration. Cassandra pressed her lips into a fine line, not expecting those words to hurt so much. Katherine glanced at her. Fury boiled inside her at the arrogant glint in Katherine's eyes, at the proud straightening of her shoulders. Damon did not notice. He was too busy pleading at Katherine with his whole soul for forgiveness.
"That's quite enough, Katherine." Cassandra rose to her feet. "Thank you."
"I told you." She shrugged.
Within a heartbeat, her façade broke. Her shoulders relaxed; her lips stretched into a smile. Damon stood between them, the epitome of confusion. Cassandra sighed, walking until she stood in front of him.
"Cassie—"
"Shh." With the sleeve of her nightgown, she carefully wiped at his chin, at the smudged stain of her blood. Breathing in once, she met his eyes. "You will forget this."
"Red, that's not fair!" Katherine protested. "I won."
"Be quiet." Cassandra snapped over her shoulder. "After Katherine asked to be alone, you returned to your room. You did not come to me. We did not exchange blood. Katherine never came. You will forget this." She compelled him.
"I will forget this." Damon repeated with a monotone voice.
"Go back to your room, Mr. Salvatore." She nodded; eyes stuck to his face.
Damon didn't say anything. He did not blink. He simply sidestepped her and walked towards the door, not registering Katherine on his way there. The door closed behind him softly. Katherine pouted; arms crossed behind her back.
"You are not fun at all."
"And you are a horrid person." Cassandra snapped. "I am your friend, Katherine. What could embarrassing me and hurting him possibly accomplish?"
"I saw you earlier today. You two almost kissed, in a public place no less." Katherine shrugged.
"What does that matter?" Cassandra scoffed. "You want Stefan!"
"I want both of them!" Katherine retaliated.
Cassandra shook her head. In this moment, she did not recognize Katherine Pierce. She had no clue who this woman before her was. Cassandra had always wanted Damon. Katherine had always wanted Stefan. She was doing this just to spite Cass. It was working, tremendously.
"You don't even love him, Katherine." Cassandra pointed out.
"Neither do you." Katherine scoffed.
She didn't say anything. She didn't even flinch. Sadly, after so long a time, there was very little either of them could hide from the other. Katherine caught onto what she wasn't saying, what she was trying not to think of, within seconds.
"You do." Katherine gasp turned into a disbelieving laugh.
"Leave." Cassandra glowered at her. "Now. I will not ask twice."
With one last huff, Katherine turned and left. The door slammed behind her. The sound of it ricocheted against Cassandra's head, infinitely loud. She flinched, collapsing on top of the chest by the foot of her bed. Sighing, she leaned her elbows on her knees, buried her face in her hands. Her heart raced, attempting to leave the restricting perimeter of her ribcage. Her skin burned.
Time blurred around her. It could have been minutes, or perhaps hours, she did not move. Until, that is, the very distinct sound of bed springs squeaking reached her ears, directly from her right, accompanied by clear noises of pleasure. Damon's room. That… abhorrent bitch. Cassandra rose to her feet again, appalled. Katherine was being loud on purpose, fervently saying his name like she meant it. Fine, she thought bitterly, let's play.
Hastily, she dressed in a riding skirt and long-sleeved blouse. On her way to the stables, she made sure to slam each and every door she came across. The whole house was to know she was leaving at half past three in the morning. Hell, the whole damn town could know, too.
The ride to the grand mansion took her a grand total of ten minutes. She jumped off her horse, pausing only long enough to give the startled servant the reins. Cassandra stalked towards the main doors, rapping her knuckles against the polished wood twice. They opened after three more consecutive heartbeats. Though given, hers were quicker than advised, so they were probably not fair judges of time-passing.
"Miss Woodhouse." Marcus, the butler, greeted her, schooling his features into a formal nod that barely hid his surprise.
"George Lockwood, please."
She stood tall. Her tone did not leave room for refusal. Katherine wanted to play games? Very well, but she was adding a piece to the gameboard. A piece that had clearly affected Katherine's supposedly new favorite one in a negative light, when it showed clear interest in Cassandra herself.
UPDATED: 16/01/2020