Well, this chapter is a bit odd, to say the least. I couldn't resist playing out the mirror aspect I started earlier on, though, and this is what resulted. The reference at the beginning is, of course, to Major Arcana cards in a Tarot deck. The Priestess is a symbol of love, wisdom, mysticism, and serenity, among other things. The Empress is a symbol of fertility, power, sensuality, and nature. I leave it to you to decide which card represents Elena and which represents Katherine...or how they sometimes share aspects of both.
Also, before I forget, thanks again to all of you who have reviewed this particular fic. You've been amazing, and I can't fully express how encouraging and helpful you've been.
So, as always...please read, let me know what you thought, and have a good time exploring the darker side of Damon's imagination. :)
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The Priestess and the Empress are dueling for his memory, and there is no telling which is going to seduce him more tonight.
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It's summer and she's asleep next to him, lying curled up with one hand tucked under her cheek and her long hair streaming over his pillow. He knows that in the morning, when she's gone, he'll be able to smell her on the crisp cotton case...roses and amber with a faint hint of something exotic and spicy. The thought makes him smile, and without thinking about it he reaches out to twist a strand of hair between his fingers, savoring the silky feel of it. She's so beautiful, he thinks as the moonlight slices in through the window, and he wonders how in the world she ever ended up here, with him...how she came to love the black sheep, the older brother who somehow can never seem to merit his own fatted calf and shining ring. But for once in his life, someone has chosen him, and nothing can steal that knowledge from his hungry grasp. And as the curtains shift and sway in the warm breeze, he gently runs a finger over her bare shoulder and down to her half-closed hand before raising it, almost reverently, to his lips.
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The wind is whistling and the rain pounds against his windows, but it's quiet in here, just the sound of coals falling in the grate and the soft whisper of hands over bare skin. She's beautiful, he thinks as the firelight gilds her figure in rose and gold, and as her lips slide to his collarbones he tilts his head back with a tortured sigh. There's no part of him that she can't have, no corner of his soul that she hasn't ensnared. He is hers, completely and utterly, and when his hands tangle in her hair and his mouth meets hers, he feels her reckless laughter reverberate against his lips.
It's much later, when the fire has dwindled to a few glimmering sparks and they're lying breathless and sated on the Persian rug, that he finally regains the energy to raise his head and press an absent-minded kiss to her tumbling hair. She murmurs something unintelligible and shifts until her head lies more truly in the hollow of his shoulder; and without realizing it, he tightens the arm around her in an innately possessive motion. Cat-like, she smiles, and runs one long slender finger from the dip of his clavicle all the way down to the smooth flat stomach below. Even in this state of satiated exhaustion he wants her, and before he can be caught up in the whirlwind again he catches her hand and holds it firmly as her fingers twist fiercely in his grip.
"Let me," she whispers compellingly, and he almost gives in to the heat threading through her husky voice. But something about the moment, the contrast of the wild night and the warmth of the sleepy fire, makes him want to lie here and simply hold her, tangled together like embroidery threads on the untidy back of a cloth-filled hoop. So he twines his fingers through hers and rolls to his side, propped up on one elbow so he can look down into her shadow-lit, lovely face.
"You are..." he begins, and then can't finish the sentence, has to end it with a wordless sigh, because how can he put this thought into the king's English and expect it to make sense? She is both pain and pleasure, bright glory and the darkness his nightmares are made of, and he cannot find strength to let her go or turn away. Instead he finds himself stroking her cheek with one thumb, his fingers curled against the soft contour of her jaw, and he can see her eyes darken at the half-spoken words and aching touch. Slowly she sits up until she's leaning back on her forearms, head tipped back so that she's poised knowing and vulnerable beside him, and he closes his eyes against the sharp sting of mingled infatuation and desire.
"Katherine..." he whispers, just before she leans up and nips boldly at his lower lip, taking what she wants without a single thought of anyone else in the entirety of his world. She'll have all of him, he knows it, and before it's over she'll leave him broken and empty, lying in the dust. But right now he'll give her anything she'll take, surrender everything he's ever cared for or desired, and leave the fate of the spinning world in her dainty hands for the sake of a single kiss.
"I want you," she murmurs in reply, and it's enough to send him free-falling over the edge he's clung to...hands battered and bleeding, scrabbling for purchase at the rock-strewn edge between torment and unspeakable pleasure. He's flying into the darkness, blind and dumb and lame with the intensity of his passion for her, and as the waters close above his head the last thing he remembers is the delicious agony of her teeth in his unprotected flesh.
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He's back at home, his real home, not the Boarding House, and she's flying down the steps as he runs to meet her, long glorious hair streaming like a gilded banner behind. He catches her halfway across the lawn and picks her up, swinging her in a madcap circle as their laughter rings out to the bright blue August sky. Her hands are clinging to his shoulders for balance and her smile makes him dizzier than their spinning, and in the midst of a breathless revolution he stops still and lets her slide down as he wraps both arms around her waist.
"I've missed you," she says, eyes sparkling up at him, and without thinking twice he dips his tousled head and kisses her hard, coloured joy exploding like fireworks inside his chest. She laughs once, a delighted little gasp of sound, and kisses him back. He cups her head in one lean hand, fingers curving around the shape of her skull, and when he can't think anymore he pulls her to his chest and lets himself breathe with her in one long elated sigh.
"Come on," he tells her, and they race hand in hand across the grass to the cool boundary of the forest; she looks back over her shoulder at him as she pulls ahead, and he can't help but laugh at the deliberate challenge in her smile. He almost beats her, and when they flop down, panting, on the bank of the little stream that trickles through the rich Virginia soil, he's fallen in love with the dark flush of happiness and exertion that's risen in her cheeks.
They pull off socks and shoes, dip their feet in the cool dark water and splash each other until they're both damp and mussed and she's giggling with a mixture of triumph and giddy delight. As they tire and her mood spirals down, she ends up with her head in his lap and her feet lying in the long wild grass, his fingers stroking through the tangled strands as he leans back against the base of a giant oak. She's playing idly with a feathery stalk, winding it through her fingers and over her hands, and he finds himself slipping into the trance of the humid afternoon and the purl of the quiet stream. This is all he's wanted, he thinks as the cicadas hum, and when he looks down at her she's silent and fast asleep. And so he sits there, drifting closer to the brink of slumber, and strokes her hair until he no longer has the strength to move his hand.
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He's pacing out the rage in the quiet night, letting the maelstrom of fury and pain roar through him while the stars wheel silently in their pre-determined courses high above his head. He hadn't known it was possible to hurt this much, hate this deeply, want death with the desperation of the well and truly damned. He needs his hands around her neck, his fingers choking the lies out of her slim white throat, his body trembling with release and hunger as he drains her of her power and then thrusts the sharp wood through her rotted, empty heart. He's shaking from the force of it, burning at the stake with the madness of his desire. And so when he turns and sees her, he can't believe the hand Fate has just dealt him, the ace of spades he is somehow about to play.
He stalks over to her, purpose in every silk-smooth motion, and takes her hands with a tenderness that's belied by the savagery of his gaze. Gently, courteously, he raises them to his lips, holds them there for just a second too long, and he smiles inwardly as she takes in a quick breath through her nose and pulls away.
"What's wrong, Damon?" she asks softly, and if he hadn't already known she was a lying devil through and through, that pathetic attempt at sympathy alone would have convinced him. God, how he hates her, both for playing him for a fool and expecting that he'd never find out just how deceptively treacherous she truly was. But now the shoe is on the other foot, and at the end of this night it'll be her blood painting his vengeful hands.
"Nothing, love," he murmurs easily, and somehow finds the self-control to cup her face in one hand and pull her to him for a lazy kiss. Their mouths meet and mingle in a familiar pattern, and he's pleased that the taste of betrayal is almost undetectable on his tongue. It's not until he pulls back and tightens the hand in her hair into a punishing fist that she realizes how deathly close danger has become.
"What are you doing?" she gasps, and he finds it laughably easy to ignore the fear that's suddenly bright and glassy in her eyes. He smiles, teeth flashing white in the glow of light from the distant house, and she must sense what he's about to do, for suddenly she shrinks back and tries to wrench away.
"Don't..." she whispers, and the pleading in her voice is unbelievably real. For a moment he pauses, something half-remembered and entirely human twinging in his gut, and then he ruthlessly tamps it down and brings his other hand up to roughly grasp her small chin.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out who you really are?" he asks her conversationally, enjoying the fact that he's in control of the situation and she's not. She's staring at him as if she's never seen him before, and he tightens his grip a little until she winces with the pain. "Don't try to lie to me again," he tells her coldly, his voice promising death and honesty as he tilts her face up to stare into those huge dark eyes. "I won't listen this time around."
She closes her eyes and he realizes that she's trembling under his hands. Slowly he lets go of her chin and looks at her, one eyebrow a perfect arch. She can't be trying to pull this stunt on him, he thinks in disgust. The woman he knew would have spat and snarled like a wildcat if he'd tried to lay a hand on her in anger. But this girl seems broken somehow, diminished by the bone-deep hatred in his fingers. And as he watches in amazement, a single tear slides out from under her thick lashes and trails its way like silver down her cheek.
"Damon," she says, murmurs it like a prayer, and when she opens her eyes there's such a world of heartbreak in them that it momentarily takes him aback. "Don't do this. Please."
And it's the sound of her voice breaking, begging him, that finally sends him spiraling over the edge. He tightens both hands around her slender neck, a gruesome necklace made of bitterness and deceit. He can't kill her this way, he knows full well. But he doesn't mind making her suffer on the way down to meet the Reaper.
So he tightens his hands yet again, squeezing until she can no longer choke and gasp for air, watches as her body shakes and her lips go ashen and mottled and then a lovely blue. He can feel the blood spurting desperately under his fingers, racing through her veins in a fruitless attempt to ferry oxygen to her brain. But it is useless, and finally he tires of watching her writhe slowly and presses down hard on the carotid artery until finally she stops struggling and goes limp in his waiting arms.
He lays her down on the leaves at his feet and waits for her to cough, to choke, to roll over and try to fight back with scratching nails and fire in her eyes. But as she remains motionless, the alarm bells that he'd so brutally silenced begin to ring more loudly in his head, clanging until he can barely stand to think over the deafening noise. Somewhere in the cacophony his mind makes the connection that his hands could not, and he falls abruptly to his knees beside her body, desperately searching for a spark of life, the memory of her pounding heart suddenly overwhelming his senses as his murderer's hands try to pump the air back into her empty lungs.
He cannot, and in his gut he knows there is no hope. Finally he lifts his mouth from hers, stops trying to breathe the life back into her, and simply holds her, a frozen weight against his empty chest.
"No," he shouts soundlessly, his lips forming words although there is no air to give them life. "No. Elena."
And as the silence envelops him he looks up at the uncaring stars and cannot bear to leave his dead.
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He shoots up, chest heaving, drenched in sweat, the dreams swirling around his skull and pressing in on him until he could hardly stand to breathe. Staggering, he rises and goes over to the window, opens it wide and drinks in the hot dank air. Deep in the distance lightning flickers and he can hear the faint rumble of the approaching storm. Despite the charge of electricity in the atmosphere and the smell of rain sweeping through the breeze, he can't keep his eyes fixed on the horizon. It was a nightmare, he tells himself over and over again. He'd never hurt the woman they both loved, never mistake her for her corruptible, corrupted ancestress. It could never happen. He won't let it happen. But no matter how many times he reassures himself as the storm breaks and the rain sheets down into the fathomless night, he cannot stop the helpless trembling of his hands.
There is blood and terror riding in the sky tonight.