One week later.

There was a certain way that the moonlight shone on Elena's body that, had he any breath to breathe, it would have been taken from Damon's body. He stood in Elena's doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame. His chest was bare and he wore a pair of soft, dark drawstring pants that were primarily used while around the house late at night. He sipped slowly from his glass, the blood still warm and fresh from the kill. It was blood from a hitchhiker. Damon compelled him into submission and brought him into the cellar where he harvested the liquid gold before burning his body into oblivion. It was as easy a task as any.

Elena was lying on her bed, one leg hooked over the covers and one of her breasts exposed while the rest of her was buried underneath. She looked like a goddess as she was bathed in the moonlight, a soft hue of light and darkness. His eyes were soft then, vulnerable. He stared at her, lost in thought. She moved then, moaning softly, rousing his attention. He walked over to her and stood at the foot of the bed. From here he could see she was bathed in sweat. He moved towards her at the side of the bed. His brow furrowed and he put his hand at her neck. Burning. At her forehead. Burning. At her hands. Burning. The ripped the covers off of her and to his relief, she woke.

Elena looked at Damon through half lidded eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she paused, "until you woke me up."

"You're too hot. Something isn't right," he said.

"It's just warm in here. Let me go back to sleep."

"Sit up," he asked.

"Damon," she chastised.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her in sitting position. He took her knee and dragged her leg 'til she was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Ughhh," she blinked slowly.

Damon placed his index finger under her eye and pulled down her lid. Elena jerked away, annoyed.

"Damon, stop. I'm fine. Just let me sleep. I need more sleep. I'm just tired."

Damon sighed and watched her as she curled back under the covers. He paused before crawling in beside her. He felt the cool wetness of the sheets sticking to his skin and felt annoyed. He threw the covers off of the bed on onto the floor.

"You don't need those," he said.

But by then, Elena was already fast asleep.

When morning came, she was much of the same. Damon paced around restlessly, running options through his mind. He ran his hand through his hair and growled lightly. Just then, a sound and scent caught his attention. The mail man. He stared at the door and watched as letters spilled through the mail slot. He walked lazily and gathered the envelopes, running through them carelessly. He paused on a letter addressed to him written with lovely penmanship. Without reading it, he ripped it into ribbons with a sudden violence and threw it into the trash.

Blood. He needed to get Elena blood. He considered the departing mailman but he didn't want to deal with the mess of killing a government official. He honestly didn't think this would help her in the least but he couldn't stand sitting around like a helpless idiot any longer. He walked up stairs and into one of the guest rooms. This room was different. The walls were the color of white snow, yet you'd think you there was a hint of blue. The bed was soft, covered in white down comforter covered in plush pillows of pale pinks and lilac. Elena had been ordering things out of catalogs in a frenzy as of late and this room was her project. She had placed faux windows with beveled glass about the room with lighting behind them to create an artificial sun. It was bright. In the corner was a tall birdcage where a happy mockingbird flitted about and chirped. She sat at her vanity, humming to herself. She stared off in the distance as clutched her brush with its pearl hilt and slid it through her hair. She turned when Damon entered. God, she looked exhausted.

"I'm going out for a bit," he said.

"Okay," she smiled.

He bent on his knee and touched the side of her face.

"How are you feeling," he asked softly.

"Im just sleepy, honest. I'm okay."

Damon watched her for a moment longer before kissing her head. He stood and walked from the room.

Elena listened to Damon's footsteps and he departed. She set down her brush, her smile fading. She covered her face in her hands and felt the warmth of her skin.

Damon walked into the Mystic Falls Blood Bank with confidence. He had a book bag slung over his shoulder and could have easily passed for a student. He half charmed, half compelled his way into the back where he proceeded to fill the bookbag with bags of blood while the aide chattered away about her upcoming nuptials.

"Oh yeah? Really? Great?" Damon responded dryly, uninterested. "Okay, I'm going out the back now. You don't know what happened to the blood."

"I don't know what happened to the blood," she repeated like a parrot.

He moved quickly out of the exit and into his black jaguar. He slid on his Wayfarers and stomped on the accelerator, making his way back to the house. His mind was racing a while a minute. Being away from Elena right now felt criminal. He hated himself for feeling this way.

The first thing he noticed was that there was a mountain bike in the driveway. Then, that the door was ajar.

Damon sighed, and hopped out of the car.

But this was new. A flash of blonde passed by the foyer and Damon was on the alert. He walked inside and found a girl, not more than 15, moving slowly up the stairs. Damon furrowed his brow.

"Excuse me," he said, "who in the hell invited you into my house?"

The girl turned slowly, mechanically. She stared vacantly at Damon.

"I'm here for Elena," her voice was robotic.

Damon tilted his head in confusion and the girl began to ascent the stairs.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he called out.

He quickly bounded up the stairs and grabbed her by her forearm and brought her back down and into the living room.

"Who are you? Did Elena invite you here?"

"My name is Angela. And I'm here to see Elena."

Damon snapped in front of her face. She did not blink. In fact there was no expression on this girl's face what so ever. And knowledge came swiftly and suddenly to Damon that his eyes widened for a moment. This girl was being compelled.

"I'm here to see Elena," she repeated.

"Yeah, I think we got that part covered."

"I'm supposed to go to Elena," she said.

"Just—do me a favor, stop talking. You aren't going to see Elena."

The girl blinked slowly.

"Who sent you here," he asked, turning her face to him.

"Elena…"

Damon groaned, exasperated. And then that's when he smelled it. He looked down at the girl, her hand balled into a small fist.

"What's in your hand?"

She said nothing.

Damon grabbed her hand roughly and pried open her fingers. There in her palm was a pinch of darkness that looked like sawdust. But Damon knew better. He lifted her palm to his nose to be sure.

"Vervain," he whispered. Vervain seeds. He slapped them out of her hand and onto the floor.

Then he understood and the weight nearly crushed him. This girl was here for Elena to eat. Just like every other time he found someone in the house.

"What were you going to do with those?"

"Eat them," she said blandly.

"When?"

"Swallow these seeds right before you enter the room," she repeated.

"Who told you that," he said quickly.

She said nothing. He knew she wouldn't reveal any more than she already had. She was a pretty thing. Her nose slightly upturned, her cheeks chubby and rosy. Her mouth was soft and her eyes were green like a cat. A mindless cat. Damon snapped her neck viciously, a loud crack filling the living room. She crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Someone was poisoning Elena.