"Elena Gilbert! Long time no see, darling," Kol Mikaelson bellows, approaching her.
"Did you know I was coming, or is this just a coincidence?" Elena asks, looking at him pointedly before cracking a smile. She met the Mikaelson clan through her father. He and Mikael were frat brothers in college, and built a lasting friendship. She's close to all of them but has a soft spot for Kol. He's charming, witty, elegant at times and so funny. He works in Human Resources; his personality is perfect for recruiting new staff.
Elena can always count on him to put a smile on her face. Although, there's never been anything remotely romantic between them, they enjoy spending friend time together, movies, chats, going out for pizza, or hiking in one of the State parks. Since he met Davina, they don't see each other as much, Elena couldn't be happier for him. She's a great person and the perfect match for him.
"Enzo may have texted me," he chuckles. "Now, why don't you tell me why you're here?" he inquires, opening the door to the hospitality court. He straddles the concrete bench and sits down to face her.
"Elijah's being rather tight-lipped. I haven't seen Rebekah for a few days, so I came to see you," Elena explains. "Have there been any seemingly impossible blood thefts here?"
"You mean my brother and sister get first dibs?" Kol teases, feigning disappointment.
"Stop it! You're all my friends," she declares, playfully elbowing him.
"I know, darling, but I thought I was your number one," he needles, trying to keep a straight face.
"Kol," Elena sighs melodramatically, and lightly pats his cheek. "Of course, you are."
"That's more like it," he concurs with a wink. "Now that the inanities are out of the way," he jokes, "What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"Have you had blood stolen?"
"Actually, the police are interviewing staff right now. The latest is that a nurse saw something funny early this morning. According to the grapevine, a handsome, well-built man dressed in a leather jacket and dark jeans was nosing around the blood bank. At first, she didn't think anything of it, and who would?" He shrugs, adding, "Until her supervisor said that no one matching that description works in their department. White male, approximately five foot ten or so, dark hair."
"And did you experience a blood robbery and what about hospital staff, anyone hurt?" Elena queries, leaning in so no one can eavesdrop.
"Don't say a word, but yes, the guy nearly cleaned us out. They're trying to get some flown in, otherwise they'll have to postpone surgeries. As far as staff, that's the strangest part, no one remembers seeing anything."
"This is all so disturbing: dead women, blood missing from at least two hospitals, and oblivious hospital personnel. It's like we have a real-life Bela Lugosi running around the streets of Las Vegas."
"Don't let your imagination get carried away, Elena. It's probably some psycho," Kol suggests, shrugging his shoulders.
"How do you explain the victims drained of blood?"
"I have no idea, but you and I both know that vampires are mythical creatures, and this is real life."
"Perhaps? I need to run. It's good seeing you, and say hello to Davina for me," Elena calls over her shoulder as she departs.
It's past midnight. Damon's sitting in the casino playing craps. All the women are eyeing him enviously, and he's made a tidy sum. The brunette seated on his lap drapes her slender arms around his neck as if to say he's hers. She'll make a nice snack a little later in the privacy of his hotel room.
He smirks at the envious looks of the other men at the table, no doubt wishing those long legs are perched on their own laps. Picking up his bourbon, he empties the pour, lifts her to the floor and pockets his chips.
Gia is flying high from too many Cosmopolitans, Martinis and Blue Lagoons; she gladly follows along when Damon nudges towards the elevator.
As soon as they're in his room, Damon pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear, allowing his hand to glide down her neck and over her collar bone. Feeling her respond to his touch, he moves behind her, and lays a soft wet kiss on her shoulder. Gia melts into him, her bottom pushing against his hips. Damon wraps his hand around her waist, pulling her more firmly against him.
After pushing her hair out of the way, he extends his fangs and sinks them into her neck, drawing her life force into his mouth. One hand kneads her breast through her flimsy top while the other keeps her squirming body flush against his. When he finishes, he licks the blood from his lips, bites into his wrist and shoves it to her mouth. As soon as she's had enough, he spins her around to face him.
"You're going to go home and go straight to bed. If anyone asks, you spent the night watching tv and dozed off on the sofa."
"I spent the night at home," Gia replies mindlessly, and traipses out of the room.
A ribbon of sunlight creeps across the carpet, elongating with the rising sun; reaching Damon's eyes. Squinting, he throws his forearm over them as his mouth curls down irritably. A few choice words leave his lips for not making sure the drape was completely closed. He shifts onto his belly, burying his head under the covers. Twenty minutes later, he drags himself out of bed and rakes a hand through his disheveled hair in frustration.
After breakfast, he retrieves his car from the valet. When a blast comes over the radio about a murder victim, he changes his plans and drives to the scene.
A congregation of flashing lights and police cars are on sight in an ordered kind of chaos. Damon parks his Camaro and jogs up the street. He squeezes through the onlookers, stopping when the yellow tape precludes him from getting any closer. Catching a glimpse of Detective Mikaelson, he hones in on the conversation.
"What do you have?" Elijah asks a uniformed officer, having just arrived on scene.
"Her name's Sofya Voronova. Worked the craps tables at the Golden Nugget. Her manager said she stopped by for her paycheck."
"Does she fit the pattern?"
"Yes, but this one's different," the cop explains, lifting up a sheet to reveal a dead dog's body.
"A dog?" Elijah spouts, looking at him strangely.
"This is supposition, obviously, but she probably sicced him on her attacker; he killed them both."
"We have to catch this psychopath," Elijah fumes, looking around, he catches a glimpse of Elena. Shaking his head, he approaches her. "I don't have time for an interview today."
"I understand. I'll come to the station tomorrow." Perusing the scene, she catches a brief glimpse of the dog. A tautness assails her middle, and she turns away, only then making eye contact with him. They lock eyes for several seconds 'til he winks at her.
"Unbelievable," she mumbles under her breath, looking away when someone bumps into her. He's nowhere to be seen on second glance.
"Elijah!" Elena calls aloud and ducks under the crime scene tape.
"Elena, I told you I don't have time to talk," Elijah chides her.
"I just saw the man. He has a BOLO! Why didn't one of your officers speak to him?"
"He was here?"
"Not anymore," Elena replies sarcastically.
"The BOLO was canceled. Damon Salvatore came to the station. We talked. He knows nothing."
"Damon Salvatore...that's his name?"
"Yes."
"He knows nothing? That seems a little hinky," she suggests, shielding her eyes from the sun.
"Nothing's hinky, Elena," he replies, his voice rising slightly.
"But, Elijah, he's been at every scene. Did he give you a reason?"
"Elena, I. Am. Busy," he grits out, his brows furrowing in frustration. "He knows nothing about the crimes. Now, go!"
"Fine, I'll leave," she snaps. "But I don't know how you could've cleared him already."
"Enough, Elena. Go!"
"This is not over," she warns, glaring at him as she backs away.
After nearly emptying her water bottle, Elena slips her earphones on her head and begins recording her podcast.
"Her name was Sofya Voronova. She was 5' 7" and weighed 120 pounds minus the weight of ten pints of blood. Her black Doberman was found lying dead beside her body. Sofya worked one of the craps tables in the Golden Nugget Casino on Freemont Street. This blood thirsty fiend has now claimed six victims, all women and all mysteriously drained of their blood. The police haven't officially linked all the murders yet. I'm told much of their evidence is on a 'hold-back' basis, meaning they're not releasing it to the public. My contact did tell me that they're working on the assumption that a serial killer is loose in Las Vegas.
If there are crimes you want me to showcase, send the information to elgilbert55 at gmail dot com. We'll see you next time.
I'm Elena Gilbert and this is "Someone Knows Something".
Sunlight saunters in and Elena pours herself a cup of coffee. On a hunch, she types Damon Salvatore into the search bar. She's a little surprised at how many men have that name. Clicking images, he doesn't appear among them. Sighing in frustration, she grabs her bag. Although she has no idea where to find him, she's hopes to find the proverbial needle in the haystack.
Several hours later, and with nothing to show for it, Elena stops at the Fashion Show Mall for something to eat and to run into Lush.
After getting herself a strawberry lemonade and a pretzel, Elena finds a table by herself, which is no small accomplishment considering the mall is always flocked with tourists and others who prefer shopping to gambling. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she emits an audible gasp. It's cool, yet she finds herself leaning back into it as she looks over her shoulder. She nearly falls out of her chair when the object of her pursuit is staring down at her.
"Mind if I sit?" he asks. His mouth twists into a lopsided grin, his attraction to her is the sanest kind of madness.
Mesmerized, she absently nods her head, her gaze never leaving his as he pulls out a chair. She's never seen eyes quite like the color of blue that his are. For a fleeting moment, she loses herself in those icy pools of his-their thousand hues of blue are indescribable. The attraction that swirls between them is a little unsettling; he might be a killer. Elena nervously licks her lips, unable to define the effect he's having on her. When he picks up her drink and takes a sip, she snaps out of it.
"First of all, get your own," she barks, yanking it from his hand. "And second, I've been looking for you."
"Was it something I said?" He quips, waggling his eyebrows teasingly.
"Ha. Ha," Elena deadpans. "What did you say to Elijah?"
"I figured you were the busybody who put me on his radar. I told him what I'll tell you; I had nothing to do with the crimes," Damon affirms. Reaching out, he takes her hand. "Don't ever do that again."
"Talk to me then. Who are you, and what is your interest in the murders?" Elena stares at their conjoined hands, entranced for a moment, before pulling it back.
"What's your interest in them?" he returns, taking her drink again.
"I've told you already. I have a true crime podcast. It's a curious case- women drained of their blood, and that's not all; two hospitals have had their blood banks raided."
"That is perplexing..."
"You can trust me, Mr. Salvatore."
"The diligent Detective Mikaelson told you my name?"
"Yes, and I told him I saw you at the Golden Nugget yesterday. He told me in not so many words that you're not a suspect."
"Well, Miss Gilbert, it's been nice talking to you. I have to run," he discloses, empties her glass, winks, and walks away with a little sashay of his hips.
"Oh, no, you don't," she grumbles, and hurries after him.
It's dusk now, and the parking garage is mired in shadows. Elena looks around, catching a glimpse of Damon as he walks out from behind a pilon. She catches up just as he reaches the Camaro.
Damon isn't surprised. There's no denying that Elena is an attractive woman, and her relentless attitude is a definite turn on. Were he not who he is and she not who she is – adversaries - he'd consider telling her the truth. If the looks he catches from her are any indication, she'll give as good as she gets. And boy would he love to test out his theory...
"Hey," she calls aloud to get his attention, watching as he turns around.
"If you wanted some, sweetheart, you should've said so..." he smirks, raking his eyes over her as she closes the distance between then.
Elena's eyes snap up, meeting his for a split second before darting away. She shifts in her black leather pumps, attempting to compose herself.
"I want you to talk to me. And don't deny it, you know something!" she accuses, hoping he doesn't pick up the nervousness in her voice.
Leaning forward, he purrs in her ear. "Why do you want to know?" before tilting back a fraction of an inch, watching her eyes darken and her cheeks grow red.
"People are dying," Elena sputters, finding herself unable to take her eyes from his. Next, she's being pulled between him and the Camaro. Damon steps closer, backing her up against the side of the car and pressing his body along hers. Elena gasps, her eyelids fluttering shut for a moment as his knee parts her thighs and both of his hands come up to frame her face, his thumbs softly stroking her cheeks.
"Good to know before..."
"Before what?" she asks breathily.
"Before I do this," he replies, and crashes his mouth to hers.
Elena's lips move firmly, kissing him back with equal fervor, and when Damon moans first, she plunges her tongue inside his mouth, sliding it against his. Her arms wind around his neck of their own accord, one hand tangling in his hair, while the other dips beneath the back collar of his shirt, scorching his skin as she claws at his shoulders, struggling to hold herself up on weakening knees.
Damon pushes her more firmly against the car, giving her the support she needs, as his hands skirt down her body, fingers caressing the sides of her breasts and causing her to thrust her hips against his leg. He counters with a thrust of his own, his length growing harder by the second, and there's no way she can't feel it pressing against her.
She groans and bucks again, desperately seeking friction, and Damon knows this isn't the place, not for a woman like her. Besides, he'd hate for mall security to give them a warning about public indecency.
Right on cue, a jovial "You can do it!" comes from a passing car followed by a convertible full of kids wolf-whistling and pounding on the horn. Damon chuckles when he feels Elena's lips curve into a smile, as their desire-fueled fog begins to clear. Pulling back, he brushes his mouth against her ear shell.
"I have to go," he announces, winking at her.
"Hey, wait a minute," Elena protests, snapping out her lust-filled haze.
"What?"
"You can't just leave!" she protests, glowering at him.
"Yes, I can," Damon replies haughtily, before opening the car door and sliding in.
"No, you can't!" she grits out between clenched teeth.
"You're hot when you're angry," he teases her, and, with a waggle of his brows, he slams his car door shut. He quickly rips out of the parking space, squealing the tires as he goes.
Elena stares in disbelief til his tail lights are no longer visible. What is she doing, acting like a cat in heat with the way she was rubbing against him? Thinking she'd made some headway with him, she's left angry and confused after that euphoric kiss. She blurts a string of colorful metaphors in frustration. A part of her wonders if any of it is real...because having his mouth on hers, she's never felt anything as mind-numbingly magnificent as that.
And if he thinks he can get away from her that easily, he's got another thing coming. More determined than ever to find out what makes him tick, she stomps to her car, inherently knowing that she'll soon see Damon Salvatore again...but that's a chase for another day.
Thank you all so much.
Hinky: a feeling of suspicion or heightened concern, as if something were off kilter, out of place or simply not right.
Huge thanks to everyone and to Morgan and Eva. This story wouldn't be what it is without them.
Chapter title: 'Running With the Devil' by Van Halen.
Have a wonderful day/evening and we'll see you next time.