Heyy guys!
Well my dad flew back home, and I'm officially settled into my new house, so I should be able to write pretty consistently now :)
I'll do my best anyway!
This chapter is long, but a lot of the passage is from the book Bitten.
I modified it to fit TVD, obviously, and added/changed some things, but I'm disclaiming the jist of the background stuff.
The next chapter will contain a lot from the book as well.
I am by no means trying to plagiarize or take credit for what Kelly Armstrong has written!
Just clearing that up! :)
After these next couple chapters, the story will once more have more of my original writing, and will vear off to a different plot, but over all, this is a modification inspired by Bitten, and a few other movies/books.
If anyone has any questions, feel free to pm me! :)
I dressed appropriately for the party.
From the looks of the flyer, it was going to be a bit of a rager, which would certainly be fresh hunting grounds for our Mutt.
Hopefully we'd get lucky.
As I was putting on my makeup, Damon walked in and gave my outfit a once-over.
"You look good," he said.
It was a basic pair of dark jeans and a form fitting, purple top.
"But I have to admit, I prefer your face not layered up like a clown."
I glared at him through the mirror and went back to my makeup.
Like I really cared what he thought about my looks.
Behind me, Damon bounced on the bed, fluffing the overstuffed pillows.
He'd changed into a regular pair of baggy jeans, a grey T- shirt, and a loose linen jacket.
The outfit hid his build and gave him a collegiate, clean-cut look, the message here being as nonthreatening as possible.
I assumed Mason, or maybe Stefan, had helped him pick his clothes.
Damon didn't know the meaning of nonthreatening.
We waited until nine, before leaving, taking Alaric's Explorer.
Damon loathed the bulky SUV, but we needed the cargo space if we managed to capture this Mutt.
Later that night, once we'd gotten the information we needed, Enzo and Tyler would dispose of his body at the local dump.
And, even though I hated the idea of spending the evening with Damon, after what had happened between us, I soon found myself relaxing.
He didn't mention the previous night or say anything about lilacs or Enzo's texts.
By the time we got to town, we were carrying on a perfectly civil conversation about the length of time it would take for the police to clear the murder scene from the Pack's land.
If I didn't know him better, I'd almost think Damon was making a conscious effort to play nice with me.
But I did know him better.
Whatever his motivation, I went along with it, though.
We had a job to do and we had to be together to do it.
Duty came first in the Pack.
The address on the flyer led us straight to the abandoned warehouse, on the edge of town.
Judging by the music booming from within, it wasn't "abandoned" tonight.
"Makeshift club?" Damon asked, as techno colors shone about from the door that kept opening as people filed in and out.
"It's a rave," I told him, "Not quite a club, but not a private party either."
"Huh," he eyed the scene, "Well, I guess we better get in there."
"No," I hurried, grabbing his arm before he could get out.
"What?"
"You can't go in there," I insisted, "You're not going to blend in, and you're so uptight, they'll think you're a nark."
He gave me his best bitch face, but I didn't care.
"You have to stop thinking that I can't control myself," he shot.
I snorted.
"You aren't going in there alone," he insisted.
"I can take care of myself," I promised him, checking my reflection in the mirror.
"I don't care," he said, "We do this together, watching each other's backs, like always."
I hesitated.
He did have a point.
"Fine," I caved, "But if our Mutt is here, and we both go in there at the same time..."
"We'll probably spook him," Damon nodded, "So how about you go in first. Drive him to the door. I'll catch him on the way out."
I couldn't argue, "That's...actually not a terrible plan."
It was the closest thing to a compliment I could give him.
He smirked, "This isn't my first Mutt hunt, kitten."
Of course not.
We had hunted them down together, many times, over the last decade.
"I hoped my hunting days were over," I admitted grudgingly, "But, once more into the fire, right?"
Damon's head crooked, "Was it really that bad?"
My mouth opened, but no answer came out.
There was none I wanted to give him.
So, I cleared my throat instead, "You're right, we should get in there. How do I look?"
Damon took full advantage of the permission to size me up.
His gaze lasted a bit too long on my chest, but raked me over thoroughly, none the less, "Perfect."
I nodded, then moved to jump out of the SUV.
Damon grabbed my arm to halt me, and I turned, looking at him, "What?"
His expression was now serious, "Just...remember that you haven't hunted in a while, and we don't know much about this Mutt. If anything feels wrong; any sign of trouble, you let him go. I don't care if Alaric wants him, no Mutt is worth a hair on your head."
I blushed slightly, under the intensity of his gaze, but nodded.
He let go of my arm, and we got out.
I went around to the back of the building, as Damon positioned by a window.
Even with the music, if he focused, he'd be able to hear my voice.
The entrance was a basement door down a flight of steps
When I knocked, a bald man opened the door.
With a tilt of my head and a kill 'em smile, I was in, with a handful of free drink tickets.
Pathetic really, I'd been hoping for more of a challenge.
The hallway led to a massive open room, roughly rectangular.
A second-story catwalk had been converted into a narrow balcony with a makeshift set of stairs and no second-level railing.
With no railing to stop them, people were sitting on the edge of the balcony, tossing beer caps onto the crowd below.
Dusty boxes and old boards served as a bar along the left wall.
Scattered in front of the bar were a few tables and chairs, rusted, with faded coloring, as if they'd recently been pulled from storage.
I'd been worried this would be like a New York rave, where the average patron was barely old enough to have a fake ID.
Not exactly a party where I could pass unnoticed.
I looked young, sure, but I was definitely past the zit cream and awkward puberty stage of life.
I needn't have worried.
Mystic Falls wasn't the big city.
There were some underage kids here, but they were outnumbered by young and not-so-young adults, most sticking to Millers and marijuana but a few shooting the hard stuff as openly as they downed their drinks.
This was the side of Mystic Falls that town council liked to ignore.
If a local politician had wandered in here, he would have convinced himself they were all out-of-towners, probably the Whitmore college kids, partying it up.
The right side of the room was the dance floor, aka an unfurnished expanse of space where people were either dancing or suffering in the throes of a mass epileptic fit.
The music was much louder than it had been outside, which I wouldn't have minded so much if the tunes didn't sound like something the bouncers had recorded in the back room.
The smell of cheap booze and even cheaper perfume twisted my stomach.
I stifled my nausea and began to search.
It didn't take long to pick up the scent.
The Mutt was there.
Weaving in and out of the crowd, I followed the smell until it led to a person.
When I saw the person that the trail led to, I doubted my nose and circled back to double check.
Yes, the guy at the table was definitely our Mutt.
And I had yet to meet a less intimidating werewolf.
Even I looked scarier than this guy.
He had longish brown hair, a slender build, and a scrubbed, wholesome face, the age of your average college kid.
He looked familiar, but I hadn't committed all the photos in the Pack's dossiers to memory.
It didn't matter who he was.
It only mattered that he was here.
A flash of rage burst inside me.
This was the mutt causing all the trouble?
This baby faced brat had the Pack all in a panic, looking over our shoulders for guns and racing around Mystic Falls to find him?
I had to stop myself from marching over, grabbing him by the collar, and tossing him outside to Damon.
I resisted the urge even to go to him.
Let him find me.
He'd pick up my scent soon enough and he'd know who I was.
All Mutts knew who I was.
Being the only one of my kind had that effect, unfortunately.
From my scent, a mutt could tell that I was both werewolf and female.
Not exactly a Sherlockian feat of deduction to figure out who I was.
But I passed twenty feet from this Mutt's table and he didn't pick up my scent.
Either the smells in the room were too overpowering or he was too dumb to use his nose.
Probably the latter.
Knowing he'd smell me eventually, I turned to the dance floor.
Moving to the beat, I let my adrenaline flow, the heat would expand my scent.
As I swayed, I scanned the crowd.
I found the Mutt again easily.
With his simple shirt, ridgid air, and clean shaven face, he stuck out like an accountant in a mosh pit.
He was sitting by himself, scanning the crowd with a hunger that stole the innocence from his eyes.
My vision was cut by the crowd for a moment, other dancers grinding around me.
When I finally got a clear view again, he was gone.
"Elena."
I didn't turn at my name, but the scent radiating from behind me told me that it was the Mutt.
I took slow steps through the crowd, until I was off the dance floor.
I walked over to the bar, and traded one of my drink tickets in for a bourbon and coke.
Then, I sat at the nearest empty table.
As I'd predicted, the Mutt followed me.
"May I sit?" he asked, pulling out a chair.
I swirled the ice in my cup, not meeting his gaze.
"No."
He started to sit anyway.
I looked up at him, "I said no, didn't I?"
He hesitated, grinning as he waited for some sign that I was kidding.
I hooked the chair with my foot and yanked it into the table.
He stopped grinning.
"I'm Trevor," he offered, "Trevor Ford."
The name tickled the back of my mind.
I mentally tried to pull forward his page from the Pack's dossier, but couldn't.
So he'd have to be a bitten, right?
He stepped toward me.
When I glared, he backed off.
I sipped my drink again, then looked at him over the rim.
"Do you have any idea what happens to mutts who trespass on Pack territory?" I asked, casually.
"Should I?"
I snorted and shook my head.
Young and cocky.
A bad combination, but more annoying than dangerous.
Obviously, Stefan had been right.
This Mutt's hadn't been told the stories about Damon.
A serious educational oversight, but one that would soon be resolved.
I almost smiled at the thought.
"So, what brings you to Mystic Falls?" I asked, feigning a bored interest, "The Grill tends to only hire high schoolers, so I hope you're not looking for work."
"Work?" A nasty smile lit his eyes. "Nah, I'm not much for work. I'm looking for fun. Our kind of fun."
I stared at him for a long minute, then got to my feet and walked away.
Trevor came after me.
I made it to the far wall before he grabbed my elbow.
His fingers dug into the bone.
I yanked away and whirled to face him.
The smile was gone from his face, replaced by an off putting expression of offense.
Like a spoiled child who had been refused sweets.
Good. Very good.
Now all I had to do was break away and let him follow me outside.
By then he'd be in enough of a temper that he wouldn't see Damon until it was too late.
"I was talking to you, Elena."
"Your point?"
He grabbed me by both arms and slammed me back against the wall.
My arms flew up to throw him off, but I stopped myself.
I couldn't afford a scene, and somehow the sight of a woman brawling with a man is always an attention-grabber, particularly if she can pitch him across the room.
As Trevor leaned toward me, an ugly smile contorted his features.
He reached up and stroked one finger down my cheek.
"You are beautiful, Elena. And do you know what you smell like to me?"
He inhaled and closed his eyes, "A bitch in heat."
He pressed into me, letting me feel his erection.
"You and I could have a lot of fun together."
I lifted my chin, "I don't think you'd like my kind of fun."
His smile turned predatory, "I've heard you don't get a lot of fun in your life. You've got this Pack breathing down your neck, smothering you with all their stupid rules and laws. A woman like you deserves better. You need someone to teach you what it's like to kill, really kill, not bring down some mindless rabbit or deer, but a human. A thinking, breathing, conscious human."
He paused, then continued, "Have you ever seen someone's eyes when they know they are about to die? That moment when they realize...you are death."
He inhaled, then exhaled slowly, the tip of his tongue showing through his teeth, eyes flooded with lust.
"That's power, Elena. True power. I can show you that tonight."
Keeping hold of my arms, he moved aside to show me the crowd.
"Pick someone, Elena. Pick anyone. Tonight they die. Tonight they're yours. How does that make you feel?"
I said nothing.
Trevor continued, "Pick someone and imagine it. Close your eyes. See yourself leading them out, taking them into the woods, and ripping out their throat."
A shudder ran through him, "Can you see their eyes? Can you smell their blood? Can you feel the blood, everywhere, soaking you, the power of life flowing out at your feet? It won't be enough. It never is. But I'll be there. I'll make it enough. I'll fuck you right there, in the pool of their blood. Can you imagine that?"
I looked up at him and remained silent.
Instead, I slid a finger down his chest and over his stomach.
For a moment, I toyed with the button on his fly, then slowly slid my hand under his shirt and stroked his stomach, tracing circles around his belly button.
As I concentrated, I could feel my hand thickening, the nails lengthening.
This was something Damon had taught me, a trick few other werewolves could do, changing only part of the body.
When my nails had become claws, I scraped them over Trevor's stomach.
"Can you feel that?" I whispered in his ear, pressing myself against him, "If you don't step away right now, I'm going to rip out your guts and feed them to you. That's my kind of fun."
Trevor jerked back.
I held him tight with my free hand.
He slammed me against the wall.
I dug my half-formed talons into his stomach, feeling them pop through skin.
His eyes widened and he yelped, but the roaring music swallowed his cry.
I looked around, making sure no one was paying attention to the young couple embracing in the corner.
When I turned back to Trevor, I realized I'd let the game stretch on for too long.
His face contorted, jaw stiffening as the veins in his neck bulged.
His expression was one of pain, and his joints began twisting out.
His eyes flashed into slits and his cheeks sloped upward to meet his nose.
The classic fear reflex of an untrained werewolf.
The Change.
"No," I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the nearest corridor.
As I searched for an exit, I could feel his arm changing beneath my grip, his shirtsleeve ripping, his forearm pulsing and contracting.
I was almost at the end of the hallway when I realized there wasn't an exit, only two bathroom doors.
The men's room door opened, and I could see the line inside.
Fuck.
I glanced back at Trevor, hoping his Change hadn't progressed beyond the point where it could be fluffed off as a physical deformity.
No such luck, unless the bar's patrons were drunk enough to overlook someone whose face looked as if giant maggots were squirming under his skin, as it spouted fur.
I spun Trevor around and saw a storage room door a few feet away.
Shoving him ahead of me, I sprinted to the door, then snapped the lock, opened the door, and thrust him inside.
As I leaned against the door, my mind raced for a solution.
Could I get him out?
Oh, sure, just slap a collar and leash on a 150-pound wolf and lead him to the door!
No one would notice.
I cursed myself.
How had I let this happen?
I'd had him.
At the moment where he'd offered to show me how to kill a human, I'd had him.
All I had to do was say yes.
Pick some guy leaving the bar and tail him into the street.
Trevor would have followed me and Damon would have been waiting.
Game over.
But no, that hadn't been enough.
I had to push it, to see how far I could go.
"Shit, shit, shit," I muttered.
From behind the closed door, there was a deafening roar of pain, one that even the music down the hall couldn't drown out.
Two passing women turned and stared.
"My boyfriend," I explained, trying to smile, "He's sick. A bad batch. New dealer."
One of the women looked at the closed door. "Maybe you should get him to a hospital," she said, before continuing on her way.
I exhaled.
"Damon," I whispered, "Where are you?"
I wasn't surprised that Damon hadn't busted down any doors when Trevor cornered me.
The one thing I could appreciate about the man.
Damon was protective, but never underestimated my ability to defend myself.
He'd only come to my rescue when I was in real danger.
I wasn't in danger now, but I did need his help.
Unfortunately, wherever he was hiding, he couldn't possibly see me in this hallway.
A crash echoed from inside the storage room.
Trevor was done with his Change and was trying to get out.
I had to stop him.
And to stop him, I almost certainly had to kill him.
Could I do that without causing a scene?
And what about what Alaric had said?
He wanted the Mutt questioned.
Another crash resounded from the room, followed by the sound of splintering wood. Then silence.
I yanked open the door.
Tattered scraps of clothing covered the floor. On the south wall was a second door leading back into the warehouse.
In the middle of the cheap plywood was a gaping hole.
Fuck.
To be continued...
;)