Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Author's note: Just so everyone's aware, I'm using the Reviews area to respond to comments. Feel free to use it to let what me (and all the other readers) know you think, what you want or simply to say you're reading this fic. =)
~ Eleven ~
The house was empty that morning. That was hardly unusual, so Samar was unconcerned. The three weapon's cases were gone too, confirming her guess that the boys had gone hunting. Hunter-hunting, that is.
Bored, she turned up her stereo. She didn't need to, with vampiric hearing, but blasting music was one of the best parts of having the house to herself. Melancholic strains and angst-tinged wailing filled both floors of the house and the basement. Samar wandered through the house, letting the music rage about her like an invisible whirlwind.
Her room was painted dark maroon, decorated with black and ochre-beige. Blackout curtains made things more comfortable during the day, keeping out practically all the sunlight. No posters on the wall. Her hazel eyes lighted on the closed bookcase that was her shrine and she stared for a long moment. Inside lay the few remnants of her human life; a photo album, a high school yearbook, a video tape, a stuffed toy and a sketchbook.
All she had left of an imperfect, but – in hindsight – good life, filled with small, mundane worries. Close friends. Innocence. Security. Parents.
_Oh, Mom... Oh, Dad..._
Fear, longing and grief rose in her, a powerful, uncontrollable tidal wave. Her muscles tensed momentarily, on the brink of moving towards the bookcase. Forcefully pushing away the useless emotions, Samar flicked a lock of black hair over her shoulder in defiance of the tightness in her chest and turned away.
Tristan's room was across the hall from hers, and a mess. Entertainment magazines, his electric guitar and amplifier and clothes, were everywhere. A table held his hi-fi and precariously stacked CDs and cassettes. The ceiling and walls were covered with posters of musicians, women and expensive equipment. A person wouldn't be able to spot the bed without being told where to look. More posters covered the windows semi-permanently. Becoming a vampire had not improved his housekeeping habits. The only difference was that, back when he was still human, there would have been stray dishes holding crumbs on the table or bed or floor. Samar was thankful that he no longer ate _food_.
Despite that reassurance, Samar decided against venturing into that hazard area; there may be no rodents and other pests nesting in there but the tower of CDs looked ready to collapse on hapless trespassers, burying them alive.
She tried the knob of Makoe's room, but it was, as usual, locked. The antisocial, paranoid icebox never left it open when he wasn't in the house. Not that there was anything worth taking in there, Samar sniffed. All _his_ expensive toys were in the garage, after all.
Leon's room faced north and was lighted, but not glaring in the late morning. Samar sat at his table and poked at his odds and ends. Finding nothing of particular interest, she flopped on his bed – _she_ had no qualms about getting on _his_ bed – and propping her head in one hand, ran a finger along the spines of the books in the shelf above his headboard.
The Art of War. To Kill A Mockingbird. Animal Farm. The Screwtape Letters. A Tale of Two Cities. Of Mice and Men. Anna Karenina. The Good Earth. Dull, dull, dull.
The kitchen, unused, barring the occasional ice-cream binge or drinking spree, was bare and equally uninteresting. Arms crossed, Samar stared off into space. The music had stopped and the silence hung heavily in the air.
"I'm bored!" she announced suddenly, breaking the stillness.
She paused a moment, as if expecting a reply. When none came, she sashayed deliberately back into the living area. Her death-glare swept the room belligerently. A glint of metal caught her eye; she picked it up and dangled Big Bro's car keys between thumb and forefinger.
"Ah…" her soft, satisfied exclamation floated through the quiet and a devilish smile crossed her face.
* * *
Crystal found Jerrick in the library, in conference with yet another team of vampire hunters. She heard snatches of murmured conversation and deduced that he was explaining how a particular formation was to work. It was an odd scene; eight variously athletic individuals listening to a crippled, mild man explain attack strategy.
She leaned against the threshold, observing how Jerrick held and controlled the aggressive, restless hunters. Her mind absently ran through the preparations for the coming conflict. The noncombatants and most of the contents of the mansion were safely away. The house rang with sounds of hunters making ready to fight. Traps were set, blinds put in place, equipment checked and everyone watched their step to avoid blundering into snares or hunters' spontaneous sparring bouts. These had resulted in more destruction than Crystal cared to dwell on.
The meeting ended and the hunters filed out, talking among themselves. They acknowledged her in one way or another as they passed. When they had all left, Crystal crossed the room and threw herself into the chair opposite Jerrick, whose head was now bent over a large, ancient tome. In one hand, he idly flipped a pen.
Rather than wait for him to give her his attention, she declared: "You've spoken to our 'guest'."
"I have." He didn't take his eyes from the page and the spinning of the pen never faltered. She tapped a booted foot, indicating impatience.
"Jerrick," she said reprovingly at last. He looked up. "Yes?" he asked mildly.
"How much does she know?"
"How much do _you_ know?" Jerrick countered. There was a pregnant pause before he said, "She's not ready."
"So you told her nothing?"
"Did I say that? No, I had to give her some kind of explanation; we need her cooperation, even if it's just petrified pacifism. Besides, she would not have been satisfied without some details."
"So, what lies did you feed her?" Crystal asked, scornfully.
The pale blue eyes returned to the book. "Whatever was necessary."
She made an indelicate noise at the vague answer and stood up, exasperated.
"I gave her the bare bones of the story. The public one, that is," he relented enough to say. "Not that it really matters; we only need to hold her for another day or so." Jerrick went on dismissively.
Crystal started pacing the length of the room with barely leashed energy. "What about Stefan Salvatore? The guards told me she asked for him."
"Let's wait until after tomorrow. I think she might have changed her mind by then."
* * *
He was running out of ideas.
Unable to find her with his mind, Stefan had done everything people did to find missing individuals. He had checked the hospitals, spoken to her work colleagues, checked shelter after shelter. Now, as evening shadows slanted across sidewalks, he roamed the streets and alleys. It had been almost a day.
Only a day, he told himself. He couldn't give up hope so quickly. ::But where could she be?::
His mind returned to gnaw at the two possibilities; dead or hidden from him. Not wanting to dwell on the former, he turned his attention to the second option. Who would take her and hide her from him? For a mad moment, he thought of his brother. But Damon had never succeeded in dominating Elena. Then again, he had never used his full strength, preferring to toy with her and manipulate her and her friends with his charm and power.
Would Damon use mind-control to bend Elena to his will? Had he loved her or merely wanted her, for her beauty and spirit, or simply to deprive Stefan of her? Yes, he was going crazy. But–
What if it was true?
::Elena!:: Not for the first time, he threw all his fear and desperation into the mental shout, sheer emotion lending power to his telepathy. The mocking voice inside commented that he was probably giving nearby psychics a headache. He ignored it, listening attentively for a response, however faint.
Nothing. Stefan wandered aimlessly, not caring where he was going. He found himself walking along the waterfront. The sunset was heartbreakingly romantic.
Stefan felt the corners of his mouth pulling downward. He tried to turn his attention to something else but it seemed that no matter where he looked, his eyes came to rest on couples in love. Strolling by, arm in arm or sitting on benches, feeding each other finger food. Old and young.
He watched one silver-haired pair, sitting together, wordlessly enjoying each other's company. After a while, the man got ponderously to his feet and extended a hand to help his spouse up. Hand-in-hand, they walked slowly away.
What he wouldn't give, Stefan thought bitterly, then cut the thought short. Savagely, he forced himself to think of something else. The ache in his jaw was a welcome distraction this evening. Stefan headed for a grove of trees that ringed a lake where wild waterfowl habitually came to rest at dusk.
* * *
Oh, this was going to be _good_!
Tristan's hazel eyes ran over the scene with delight; vampires, vampires and more vampires arming themselves. Some carried big, nasty blades and other medieval arms, but most were unloading cold metal – guns of all shape and variety caught and reflected the sunlight, creating thousands of miniature moving spotlights against the side of the dark house.
Hunters were constrained to wooden weapons, but vampires could be creative – so many things killed fragile humans so effectively. A disarmingly friendly smile flashed across Tristan's face.
He and his two hunt-mates had arrived late last night and settled down in an unobtrusive corner after informing Emery's second of their presence and identities. They had watched as notorious vampires came forward to join the hunt. They observed the moment of tension that came whenever one pair of rivals came face to face, then passed each other unmolested, bound by the courtesy decreed by Emery within his company. No one wanted to be the object lesson for the Dark One to show how strictly he enforced his rules.
And so, a growing number of bloodthirsty, short-tempered, vicious vampires prowled Nigel Emery's estate, took intelligence of the hunters' forces and layout when it was available, and awaited the call to attack.
This was going to be _so good_!
* * *
::Gather the horde.::
A yellow Post-It sat on the glossy surface of a writing desk, crumpled in anger and blatant against the dark wood. Beside it lay a dirk, a hint of violence, a wordless, explicit threat.
He had his back resolutely turned away from his writing desk and was staring out the window. Even as he watched, dark shadows slunk out of the night and gravitated to his lair.
For two nights and two days now, vampires had been arriving, leaving only to return with more of their brethren. Their numbers had swelled tenfold in that time. Unfortunately, hunters had been seen massing at the Enemy's headquarters as well.
He flung back his head in silent challenge. No matter; they were just a band of humans. Let them do their worst. What did he have to fear, after all?
He could not die.
He finished his command. ::Tonight, we take the hunters' stronghold.::
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Author's note: Just so everyone's aware, I'm using the Reviews area to respond to comments. Feel free to use it to let what me (and all the other readers) know you think, what you want or simply to say you're reading this fic. =)
~ Eleven ~
The house was empty that morning. That was hardly unusual, so Samar was unconcerned. The three weapon's cases were gone too, confirming her guess that the boys had gone hunting. Hunter-hunting, that is.
Bored, she turned up her stereo. She didn't need to, with vampiric hearing, but blasting music was one of the best parts of having the house to herself. Melancholic strains and angst-tinged wailing filled both floors of the house and the basement. Samar wandered through the house, letting the music rage about her like an invisible whirlwind.
Her room was painted dark maroon, decorated with black and ochre-beige. Blackout curtains made things more comfortable during the day, keeping out practically all the sunlight. No posters on the wall. Her hazel eyes lighted on the closed bookcase that was her shrine and she stared for a long moment. Inside lay the few remnants of her human life; a photo album, a high school yearbook, a video tape, a stuffed toy and a sketchbook.
All she had left of an imperfect, but – in hindsight – good life, filled with small, mundane worries. Close friends. Innocence. Security. Parents.
_Oh, Mom... Oh, Dad..._
Fear, longing and grief rose in her, a powerful, uncontrollable tidal wave. Her muscles tensed momentarily, on the brink of moving towards the bookcase. Forcefully pushing away the useless emotions, Samar flicked a lock of black hair over her shoulder in defiance of the tightness in her chest and turned away.
Tristan's room was across the hall from hers, and a mess. Entertainment magazines, his electric guitar and amplifier and clothes, were everywhere. A table held his hi-fi and precariously stacked CDs and cassettes. The ceiling and walls were covered with posters of musicians, women and expensive equipment. A person wouldn't be able to spot the bed without being told where to look. More posters covered the windows semi-permanently. Becoming a vampire had not improved his housekeeping habits. The only difference was that, back when he was still human, there would have been stray dishes holding crumbs on the table or bed or floor. Samar was thankful that he no longer ate _food_.
Despite that reassurance, Samar decided against venturing into that hazard area; there may be no rodents and other pests nesting in there but the tower of CDs looked ready to collapse on hapless trespassers, burying them alive.
She tried the knob of Makoe's room, but it was, as usual, locked. The antisocial, paranoid icebox never left it open when he wasn't in the house. Not that there was anything worth taking in there, Samar sniffed. All _his_ expensive toys were in the garage, after all.
Leon's room faced north and was lighted, but not glaring in the late morning. Samar sat at his table and poked at his odds and ends. Finding nothing of particular interest, she flopped on his bed – _she_ had no qualms about getting on _his_ bed – and propping her head in one hand, ran a finger along the spines of the books in the shelf above his headboard.
The Art of War. To Kill A Mockingbird. Animal Farm. The Screwtape Letters. A Tale of Two Cities. Of Mice and Men. Anna Karenina. The Good Earth. Dull, dull, dull.
The kitchen, unused, barring the occasional ice-cream binge or drinking spree, was bare and equally uninteresting. Arms crossed, Samar stared off into space. The music had stopped and the silence hung heavily in the air.
"I'm bored!" she announced suddenly, breaking the stillness.
She paused a moment, as if expecting a reply. When none came, she sashayed deliberately back into the living area. Her death-glare swept the room belligerently. A glint of metal caught her eye; she picked it up and dangled Big Bro's car keys between thumb and forefinger.
"Ah…" her soft, satisfied exclamation floated through the quiet and a devilish smile crossed her face.
* * *
Crystal found Jerrick in the library, in conference with yet another team of vampire hunters. She heard snatches of murmured conversation and deduced that he was explaining how a particular formation was to work. It was an odd scene; eight variously athletic individuals listening to a crippled, mild man explain attack strategy.
She leaned against the threshold, observing how Jerrick held and controlled the aggressive, restless hunters. Her mind absently ran through the preparations for the coming conflict. The noncombatants and most of the contents of the mansion were safely away. The house rang with sounds of hunters making ready to fight. Traps were set, blinds put in place, equipment checked and everyone watched their step to avoid blundering into snares or hunters' spontaneous sparring bouts. These had resulted in more destruction than Crystal cared to dwell on.
The meeting ended and the hunters filed out, talking among themselves. They acknowledged her in one way or another as they passed. When they had all left, Crystal crossed the room and threw herself into the chair opposite Jerrick, whose head was now bent over a large, ancient tome. In one hand, he idly flipped a pen.
Rather than wait for him to give her his attention, she declared: "You've spoken to our 'guest'."
"I have." He didn't take his eyes from the page and the spinning of the pen never faltered. She tapped a booted foot, indicating impatience.
"Jerrick," she said reprovingly at last. He looked up. "Yes?" he asked mildly.
"How much does she know?"
"How much do _you_ know?" Jerrick countered. There was a pregnant pause before he said, "She's not ready."
"So you told her nothing?"
"Did I say that? No, I had to give her some kind of explanation; we need her cooperation, even if it's just petrified pacifism. Besides, she would not have been satisfied without some details."
"So, what lies did you feed her?" Crystal asked, scornfully.
The pale blue eyes returned to the book. "Whatever was necessary."
She made an indelicate noise at the vague answer and stood up, exasperated.
"I gave her the bare bones of the story. The public one, that is," he relented enough to say. "Not that it really matters; we only need to hold her for another day or so." Jerrick went on dismissively.
Crystal started pacing the length of the room with barely leashed energy. "What about Stefan Salvatore? The guards told me she asked for him."
"Let's wait until after tomorrow. I think she might have changed her mind by then."
* * *
He was running out of ideas.
Unable to find her with his mind, Stefan had done everything people did to find missing individuals. He had checked the hospitals, spoken to her work colleagues, checked shelter after shelter. Now, as evening shadows slanted across sidewalks, he roamed the streets and alleys. It had been almost a day.
Only a day, he told himself. He couldn't give up hope so quickly. ::But where could she be?::
His mind returned to gnaw at the two possibilities; dead or hidden from him. Not wanting to dwell on the former, he turned his attention to the second option. Who would take her and hide her from him? For a mad moment, he thought of his brother. But Damon had never succeeded in dominating Elena. Then again, he had never used his full strength, preferring to toy with her and manipulate her and her friends with his charm and power.
Would Damon use mind-control to bend Elena to his will? Had he loved her or merely wanted her, for her beauty and spirit, or simply to deprive Stefan of her? Yes, he was going crazy. But–
What if it was true?
::Elena!:: Not for the first time, he threw all his fear and desperation into the mental shout, sheer emotion lending power to his telepathy. The mocking voice inside commented that he was probably giving nearby psychics a headache. He ignored it, listening attentively for a response, however faint.
Nothing. Stefan wandered aimlessly, not caring where he was going. He found himself walking along the waterfront. The sunset was heartbreakingly romantic.
Stefan felt the corners of his mouth pulling downward. He tried to turn his attention to something else but it seemed that no matter where he looked, his eyes came to rest on couples in love. Strolling by, arm in arm or sitting on benches, feeding each other finger food. Old and young.
He watched one silver-haired pair, sitting together, wordlessly enjoying each other's company. After a while, the man got ponderously to his feet and extended a hand to help his spouse up. Hand-in-hand, they walked slowly away.
What he wouldn't give, Stefan thought bitterly, then cut the thought short. Savagely, he forced himself to think of something else. The ache in his jaw was a welcome distraction this evening. Stefan headed for a grove of trees that ringed a lake where wild waterfowl habitually came to rest at dusk.
* * *
Oh, this was going to be _good_!
Tristan's hazel eyes ran over the scene with delight; vampires, vampires and more vampires arming themselves. Some carried big, nasty blades and other medieval arms, but most were unloading cold metal – guns of all shape and variety caught and reflected the sunlight, creating thousands of miniature moving spotlights against the side of the dark house.
Hunters were constrained to wooden weapons, but vampires could be creative – so many things killed fragile humans so effectively. A disarmingly friendly smile flashed across Tristan's face.
He and his two hunt-mates had arrived late last night and settled down in an unobtrusive corner after informing Emery's second of their presence and identities. They had watched as notorious vampires came forward to join the hunt. They observed the moment of tension that came whenever one pair of rivals came face to face, then passed each other unmolested, bound by the courtesy decreed by Emery within his company. No one wanted to be the object lesson for the Dark One to show how strictly he enforced his rules.
And so, a growing number of bloodthirsty, short-tempered, vicious vampires prowled Nigel Emery's estate, took intelligence of the hunters' forces and layout when it was available, and awaited the call to attack.
This was going to be _so good_!
* * *
::Gather the horde.::
A yellow Post-It sat on the glossy surface of a writing desk, crumpled in anger and blatant against the dark wood. Beside it lay a dirk, a hint of violence, a wordless, explicit threat.
He had his back resolutely turned away from his writing desk and was staring out the window. Even as he watched, dark shadows slunk out of the night and gravitated to his lair.
For two nights and two days now, vampires had been arriving, leaving only to return with more of their brethren. Their numbers had swelled tenfold in that time. Unfortunately, hunters had been seen massing at the Enemy's headquarters as well.
He flung back his head in silent challenge. No matter; they were just a band of humans. Let them do their worst. What did he have to fear, after all?
He could not die.
He finished his command. ::Tonight, we take the hunters' stronghold.::