Hey everyone, I know it's been a little while. Sorry for the wait! Anyway, I just want you all to know that from here on out, I'll be updating on a weekly basis instead of every couple of days. Life has gotten pretty busy and this story definitely takes a while to proofread. Like I've mentioned before, I'm my own beta, so that's part of the reason why I'll be updating like this from now on.
Anyway, I really want to thank every single reader out there who has clicked on this link, commented or done both. You guys make this story worth writing. I take every one of your comments to heart, so please keep on letting me know what you think!
So I know TVD came back last night, so big round of applause everyone! On the other hand, I'm still a little miffed that Bonnie is MIA for the next couple of episodes. Seriously, TVD needs her back on the canvas!
Sooooo, let this be your Bonnie fix for the week. :D Also, I really must give a shout-out to the fine folks I post with over at Fan Forum in the D&B thread. You guys are amazing and I know I've forced you to wait even longer for chapter 11, so enjoy this! My song picks are listed below, with one fantastic entry from Periodic Brilliance - "Devil's Dance Floor" by Flogging Molly.
Also, this chapter is named after a Coldplay song. It's listed below. Love them!
Enjoy guys!
"Devil's Dance Floor" by Flogging Molly
"Careful Where You Stand" by Coldplay
"Broken" by Lifehouse
Chapter 11: Careful Where You Stand
Gently swelling hills the hue of sage stretched out on either side of the grey Corolla as it worked its way around twists and turns in the country road. Cream colored clouds were scattered softly across the powder blue canvas of sky.
It was a calming vision, in such stark contrast to the heated string of emotions that dwell inside Bonnie Bennett's ferociously beating heart. The fist-sized organ battered her ribcage mercilessly, pulsating in time with the tune blaring from the speakers.
The spirited whistle of an Irish flute melded with the boisterous backdrop of heavy-handed drumming and raging guitars so characteristic of full-on, rebellious punk. Damon had turned the volume up to a level so loud, it bordered on obnoxious.
If there was one thing she was absolutely certain of at this very moment, it was the fact that she was in for one crazy ride with Damon Salvatore.
Being in such close proximity to him could be off-putting and frightening at times; it was also exhilarating...and pleasantly scandalous.
She deeply inhaled the unrivaled perfume of mother nature. It was cool and invigorating - and devoid of the pollutants she recalled filling her nostrils on her last visit to a major city.
A teasing grin slowly spread across her luscious lips at the sound of Damon's off-key rendition of 'Devil's Dance Floor' by Flogging Molly. She had to give it to him, though. He may not have been blessed with smooth vocal chords, but there was certainly no shortage of enthusiasm on his part.
His arms flailed from side to side, though every few seconds he allowed his hands to grip the steering wheel so they wouldn't end up plummeting into a ditch amidst his impromptu musical performance.
Bonnie giggled like a school girl at first, but panicked after colliding head first into his taut shoulder. Damon Salvatore was not a fan of speed limits and if anyone dared to call that into question, they obviously had never been on a road with him before in their life.
He tapped the wheel and flashed her a wicked, knowing smile. "Don't worry. I'll keep you safe."
"Maybe you should turn down the music first," she suggested, smiling uneasily.
"Not a chance," he replied, playfully smacking her hand away from the volume knob. "This is the way all music should be enjoyed."
"Loud?" She folded her arms over her chest and watched as a mischievous smirk settled on his uncommonly handsome face.
"But of course," he concluded, lacing his fingers through hers. "And with a hot witch sitting beside to you."
Bonnie blushed profusely, rolling her eyes in response. "Always the smooth talker."
Quirking an eyebrow playfully in her direction, the vampire recklessly rounded another bend in the road. "And you love it."
She had always been the dutiful friend. Then there was the well-behaved daughter and granddaughter routine. Perfection personified.
Yet somehow, someway, Damon Salvatore had managed to unleash a sense of fearlessness from within her. Perhaps that was the bulk of his allure...apart from the obvious drop-dead gorgeous genetics that definitely led to a series of overwhelming heart palpitations.
So much could be seen in a person's eyes if you only took the time to really observe them. They were the gateway to the soul. At least that's what Grams had reiterated time and time again.
She said that as cliched as the statement was, there was more than just a fragment of truth to it. Witches believed it with every fiber of their mystical beings.
You could gauge truthfulness, love and deceit, all by peering with care into the orbs of the one you seek. Needless to say, Damon's piercing blue eyes were enough on their own to induce any woman - young or old - into a state of utter lust and longing.
Bonnie clutched the red amulet that dangled from her brass necklace. Her cinnamon hued trench coat was belted tightly at the waist, showcasing the magnificent curvature of her shape. Her dark wash skinny jeans and blue suede ballet flats completed the casual, yet slightly tailored look.
She glanced sideways at the vampire beside her. He was such a classically beautiful man. His chiseled jawline and clean shaven exterior had been prominent features of her dreams for the past couple of weeks.
Of course, there were other more prominent features of him that also happened to appear, but this wasn't the time to be thinking about sex with Damon Salvatore.
They were on a mission and that meant no distractions...no matter how enticing the idea of pulling over to the side of the road and losing her virginity to him on the grass, in Ireland, beneath a clear blue sky was.
Her heart was inflamed, but not just by the sinful thoughts swirling through her brain. Anxiety and expectation over the Stone Circle were brewing inside of her.
Damon whipped around another corner, causing her body to jerk forward this time. "Could you please slow down?" she yelped.
Please let me arrive alive. Please let me arrive alive. Please let me...
"Listen, I know you and Stefan don't have to sit around contemplating your own mortality anymore, but some of us do still have a pulse," she reiterated for the second time on their little road trip.
She gripped his forearm tightly with both hands and glued herself to his body. Please don't let me go flying through the windshield.
"I like it when you get close," he whispered seductively into her ear.
The feel of his cool breath as it tickled the sensitive skin along her neck made tiny goosebumps appear. She leaned in closer, allowing her head to rest on his muscular shoulder.
Damon gladly inhaled the lavender fragrance of her hair. He pressed his lips against the luminous locks and snaked his free arm possessively around her waist.
"Guess it's safe to say you no longer hate me with the fire of a thousand suns," he grinned, his typical combo of smarmy 'n' smolder returning.
"Who said that?" She tilted her head and stared into his penetrating blue gaze.
"Oh, just some douche with a brooding forehead," he chuckled, remembering how adamant his brother had been that he and Bonnie could not have been the chosen two Tabitha wrote about in her journal.
"You mean your brother?" she replied, stifling the immediate desire to burst into laughter.
Sibling rivalries could be painful, hilarious and incredibly time consuming. Just ask the Salvatore brothers. They also just happened to be highly entertaining.
"Make fun of him all you want," she teased. "But beneath that exterior of yours, I'd be willing to bet a million bucks you genuinely care for him."
"Then consider yourself a million bucks poorer," he chuckled.
"Geez, you'd think 146 years would be enough time to teach you how to become a better actor. You're an awful liar - especially when you're lying to me," she playfully replied, sticking her tongue out at him in jest.
"Me? Dishonest?" he queried, feigning complete innocence. "I'm a little boyscout, remember."
"Pity then," she replied with a regretful sigh.
"Why is that?" he inquired, cocking his head to one side.
Twirling a dark lock of hair around her finger, she gazed sinfully into his eyes. "'Cause I sort of have a thing for bad boys. Know where I can find one?"
Damon brought the car to a screeching halt at the side of the road and quickly silenced the engine. If the fire burning in his eyes wasn't a solid indication of the desire she had stoked inside of him, then perhaps she should glance lower - precisely where his thighs met.
Before she could utter another syllable, let alone a full sentence, his lips plundered hers with the intensity of a volcanic eruption. She tasted sweeter than he remembered, a glorious culmination of berries, cream and butterscotch skin.
Her mouth was soft and pliant against his own. She moaned involuntarily, as his tongue slid across her lips, teasing, taunting and tearing her restraint to shreds.
Her fingers were entwined in his thick midnight locks. She smiled against his mouth when he raggedly whispered her name. "Bonnie..."
She loved the way it sounded as it rolled languorously off his tongue. It slid inside of her so effortlessly, wreaking havoc on her senses.
Bonnie craned her neck to one side, granting him greater access to the delicate expanse of skin. He tensed up immediately, eyes fixed on the healing puncture wound he had made the night before.
She placed her palm reassuringly against his cheek and kissed him tenderly. "It's okay. You won't hurt me."
Damon rained butterfly kisses along her jawline, gradually making his way toward her neck. She felt his lips, cold and velvety against her pulse point, suckling and nibbling gently.
The constant motion elicited another desirous moan from the little witch. Bonnie felt him pull away for a moment and stared up at him.
He was gazing at her with a look she had never seen in his eyes before. It even went beyond the possessive, predatory way he had watched her dancing in the arms of Matt Donovan.
It aroused her. It excited her. And it made her wonder...
Her chest rose and fell beneath his. The erratic pulsation of her heart seemed to grow louder and more furious. It was almost painful now.
Bonnie felt an overwhelming warmth gather at her chest. "Damon-" she groaned leaning against his chest now. "There's..."
"What's the matter?" he breathed, caressing her cheek with one hand.
"Something's wrong. Something's-" Her eyes widened at the sight of the red amulet flickering against her caramel skin.
Damon reached out to grasp it. Bonnie smacked his hand swiftly aside. "Don't touch it!" she shrieked. "Don't you remember what happened the last time you touched a witch's talisman?"
Good point. He could still feel the intense bolts of electricity as they seared the pale flesh of his palms.
It instantly rekindled memories of Emily Bennett and her broken promise. She may have been Bonnie's ancestor, but he still possessed a deep desire to ring her neck 'til her vision went blurry, her face turned blue and her pulse stopped.
Then again, she was also partially responsible for The Prophecy. It was her blood that tied the Bennetts to The Child. His child. Their child.
He watched as Bonnie placed the tips of her fingers cautiously on the ruby red stone. She slowly closed her eyes. He watched as her brows became furrowed and her forehead became creased.
Damon placed a hand on her shoulder. "Bonnie?"
Her eyelids flew open. "We're getting close. I can feel it."
"How?" he asked, coaxing her chin up to look him directly in the eyes.
"It's hard to explain," she began.
"Try."
"Because every fiber of my being tells me so," she offered. "It's swimming beneath the trees. Charging every blade of grass."
"What is it?"
"Energy, Damon."
They sped off again in the direction of The Stone Circle, the red amulet still aglow. He could hear her heart battering her ribcage with its weight.
Her chest heaved every now and then. She gasped loudly, but urged him to continue. They needed to get to the stones.
Yellow signs to their left seemed to suggest her vision had been right. They were very close.
Gradually a small white structure came into view. It resembled a quaint bungalow you might find nestled in The Shire. The sign beside it read: Information booth. Please pay admission fee inside.
"Fuck that," Damon snapped, bringing the car to an abrupt stop by the side of the road.
Within seconds he had leaped from his seat and was now by the little witch's side. Lifting her now frail form gently into his arms, the vampire held her close and began to run.
He moved with such swiftness, Bonnie found herself gripping the collar of his leather jacket even tighter. Branches and bristles brushed painfully against her skin as he moved through a thick cluster of woods.
She winced and immediately felt his arms tighten, pulling her even closer to shield her with his body. Bonnie peered up at the open sky and watched it begin to turn a murky, ominous shade of grey.
Soaring tree tops were all around as she continued to feel her body jerk from side to side. The wind howled around them, whipping Damon violently in the face as he raced onward.
Dizziness was setting in. She was certain this situation would result in her being hunched over on the grass, puking up the contents of her lunch.
Bonnie closed her eyes tightly to keep the nausea at bay for as long as she possibly could. She felt the vibration of his chest as he growled deeply.
Then it all stopped. Damon held her still for a moment so her head would stop spinning before her feet hit the grass.
Slowly and with a great deal of reluctance, he began to ease her out of their intimate embrace. Bonnie groaned against his muscular shoulder, as he held her upright.
"You alright there?" he asked, rubbing steady, reassuring circles on her back.
"Mmmhmm," she softly replied, still sounding a tad disoriented. "Just give me a sec."
Inhale 1,2,3. Exhale 1,2,3. Alright Bonnie, you're both here. Now figure out what it is about this place that makes you feel like you're having a goddamn heart attack!
She turned gradually in his embrace and found herself face to face with the ancient site.
It was enclosed by an assemblage of trees. Fifteen stones stood in a circular formation. There at the center, was the central boulder, mounted atop small rocks.
She reached behind and caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. Damon leaned forward and pressed his cool lips gingerly against her warm neck.
Magic lived here and it galvanized every Supernatural instinct of hers to the point of sensory overload. Unfastening his arms from around her waist, Bonnie cautiously approached the circle.
Not a camera-toting tourist was in sight. Not even the caretakers stirred. Thank goodness for small blessings, Bonnie sighed.
She pressed her palm against a frigid stone and shuddered in response. The wind had begun to pick up again. It whirled around her like a vortex enclosing her in its midst.
It wasn't difficult to imagine sacred rituals being performed on this particular patch of land. Something Supernatural flowed beneath their feet and it was greater than anything else she had ever felt before.
Bonnie sauntered toward the large boulder. She paused mere inches from it, examining its rough, cold exterior with her fingertips.
The petite witch closed her eyes and attempted to channel the flow of energy. "Faigh an fuinneamh laistigh de dom. Show me, Elora, cad a chiallaíonn sé go léir."
Damon watched as her luminous raven locks swirled rebelliously around her exquisite face. Her shoulders were relaxed, arms gracefully positioned as if to pray. Bonnie looked and sounded like a Queen.
She remained still for what seemed like an eternity. The blue-eyed vampire was by her side in seconds. He placed his hand firmly on her shoulder and watched as her eyelids flew open.
There was something particularly off about the Bonnie Bennett he now stood face to face with. The moss green of her irises had somehow gone cornflower blue.
She stared hypnotically ahead. "Bonnie?" Damon's hands were braced on her forearms, shaking her lightly. Nothing.
"Bonnie, what's wrong?" he persisted. She didn't even blink.
Damon glanced down at the amulet and noticed it had stopped flickering. She lifted her arms into the air and began to chant repeatedly.
"Elora Oh! Trí gréine agus gealach, spás agus an am. I beseech tú. Oscail na geataí! Elora Oh! Trí gréine agus gealach, spás agus an am. I beseech tú. Oscail na geataí! Elora Oh! Trí gréine agus gealach, spás agus an am. I beseech tú. Oscail na geataí!"
The earth began to rumble beneath his feet. He could still hear Bonnie crying out, beseeching Elora to open a gate of some kind.
There was the mention of sun and moon. Then space and time. Whatever she was shouting, it seemed to be working.
Her sonorous cries were gradually drowned out by an ear-splitting screech. Instinctively, the vampire shielded his ears with his hands.
Violet electrical currents beamed out from the surrounding stones and gathered directly above the central boulder. They swirled together, mirroring the image of a giant whirlpool, threatening to consume all who lingered near.
Then, without warning, the mass of energy collided with the rock, sending a wave of power rippling across the expanse of field and trees. Everything in its path flailed backward like the a succession of carefully placed domino chips, tipped off by some instigating force.
He watched as Bonnie struggled to maintain her balance. Damon rushed forth, trying to reach the little witch, hoping he could free her from whatever state of entrancement had a hold on her.
The vampire made it only four feet closer when he was confronted by the skin blistering shock of an invisible force field. Whatever was inhabiting Bonnie's body at this moment didn't want him near. It needed to complete the spell that had already been set in motion.
"Bonnie!" he shouted, feeling helpless for the first time in his afterlife.
No. No! You have to break the seal. Break the fucking seal!
Gathering every ounce of courage, he charged at the barrier with all the strength he could muster. He could hear the sizzle of his flesh against the fierce heat and screamed like he had never screamed before in his existence.
Nothing had ever hurt like this. The possibility of losing her suddenly became real. Who knew what dark force lingered within her and just what it intended to do.
"Bonnie, hold on!" he yelped, groaning against the sheer physical torture of it all. "I'm...I'm coming!"
A bright flash of purple light erupted from the core of circle. The force field had disappeared within seconds and all that was left behind was a colossal plume of smoke.
Damon felt his body's regenerative properties stir to life again. His singed flesh began to slowly heal as he stumbled through the mist to find her. "Bonnie!" he bellowed, now unable to contain the fear and anger inside of him.
Then, from out of the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed a red light. It flickered beneath a thin sheath of dissipating smoke. He rushed toward it and gasped at the sight of her diminutive body lying lifeless on the grass.
Scooping her up into his strong arms, Damon cradled her like a wounded bird. He could still feel a tinge of warmth circulating through her.
Her heart was still beating, but faintly. "Bonnie?"
The need to nurse her back to health overwhelmed him. She couldn't die. She had to live.
Damon held her securely with one arm and brought his wrist to his lips. Distress and anxiety had already coaxed his transformation.
Thin yellow veins had descended like unruly little vines. His eyes had gone a deep, menacing charcoal shade.
He plunged his canines into his flesh and formed a wound sizable enough so she could drink from him. Damon allowed the first few drops to trickle into her mouth, before placing his wrist firmly over her lips.
The witch's eyelids flew open, frantic at first. She coughed as the syrupy liquid oozed down her throat. Her irises had returned to their extraordinary emerald hue.
Damon began to lift his wrist, but he felt her tiny hands reach up to clamp it back down into place. She wasn't done drinking and that pleased and aroused him all at once.
He felt her lips as they formed a vacuum seal against his skin. Her tongue swept across the puncture marks, lapping up every drop of crimson fluid.
When she was done, Bonnie leaned her head back and took a deep breath. Damon cupped her cheek with his right hand and nuzzled his nose against hers.
He would need to feed again soon. She had taken quite eagerly from his veins.
She breathed against his lips and held onto his sturdy shoulders. He brushed a lock of unkempt dark hair from her cheek and stared deeply into her eyes.
Tiny beads of sweat slicked her forehead while a crimson flush stained her chocolate colored cheeks. He seared her lips with a feverish kiss.
The thought of her perishing before his very eyes enraged him. Suddenly these feelings that bubbled and toiled at the pit of his stomach had become far more significant that he could have ever imagined.
Clearly this was a case of possession - but by whom? He needed a name - so he could kick some Supernatural ass. "What just happened?"
"Tabitha happened."
What? That crazy bitch did this? Why?
What was it with spirits harnessing Bonnie's energy and using her body as a vessel with which to complete their unfinished business?
Of course, he thought. The red stone had belonged to the famed witch, herself. Still, that didn't answer his other question.
What the hell were those streams of energy doing? And what did it all mean?
"Sh-she did it, Damon," Bonnie stammered, gulping hard. "She opened the gateway."
***
Tituba Bennett was no stranger to secrecy. She lived her life shrouded in the stuff.
Moonlight danced overhead as she stood by the window wondering how on earth her favorite grandchild had become enmeshed in so much drama. Oh yes, Emily had a little something to do with that.
She sighed, turning to find her best friend vigorously stirring a sapphire hued fluid into a pot of freshly brewed chamomile tea. They were preparing to make a late night phone call to Elena's aunt.
They couldn't very well tell her the truth. That was beyond complicated. Besides, it would out them, the Salvatores and Maya. Lord only knew how the townspeople would react.
If they still held onto the same prejudices their ancestors in 1864 coveted, every Supernatural within close proximity to Mystic Falls would be in trouble.
"You ready?" Maya softly inquired, staring up at her best friend.
She bore an unblemished alabaster complexion, save for the rosy cheeks she regularly sported. The full-figured fairy was such a good-natured soul that it was hard to believe she had any relation whatsoever to Rufus McCollough.
Tituba seated herself on the beige sofa and took the piping hot mug being so graciously offered to her. She took slow, steady sips, allowing the solution of herbs, plant roots and witchcraft to coat her esophagus.
Maya had taken the time to brew a concealment serum. It was meant to disguise the voice of an individual with the vocal chords of another.
In this case, Tituba would draw on Elena's connection to the jewel-encrusted hairpin she had worn to the dance and mimic her tones. Gathering all her fortitude, the witch took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
A faint itchiness began to rise in her throat. "The tingling sensation means it's working," Maya threw in confidently.
"So it basically works like a dandruff shampoo?" the witch smirked, quirking an eyebrow in her friend's direction.
"Ever the smart ass, Tituba Bennett." The blue-eyed fairy playfully chucked a fluffy pillow at her.
"One of my more appealing traits," she jested. "So let's get this-"
Her voice trailed off then. She no longer sounded like the wise old witch who lived at 54 Walnut Boulevard. No. She sounded much more like the 17-year-old with pin straight locks who lived at 67 Lockley Lane.
She grasped the hand-held firmly and began to dial. It took three rings for Jenna Sommers to finally press the 'talk' button and when she did, she was typically effervescent. "Hello there?"
"Uh...hey Jenna," Tituba began, remembering how casual Elena's rapport with her aunt was. Then again, they were only nine years apart. "It's me."
"Elena," she merrily chimed in again. "So, how was the dance? You and Bonnie have a good time?"
If you only knew. "Uh yeah. The best." She took a quick moment to clear her throat. "Listen Jenna, me and Bonnie have this huge history assignment due this week. It's a Civil War reenactment. We're really rusty. Bad even. No, worse. Awful!"
"I'm sure you're just overreacting," the chestnut haired woman offered. "Wouldn't be a first for anyone in our family."
"Actually, I was sorta...kinda hoping I could stay with Bonnie and Grams for a few days to work on it." An awkward silence fell between aunt and "niece" for what seemed like forever.
Tituba knew full well that Jenna Sommers still had yet to grasp the concept of authoritative parenting. Who could blame her? She wasn't anticipating the sudden death of her only sister and teddy bear of a brother-in-law.
She had essentially been thrust back into the daily grind in Mystic Falls as an instant guardian - without the faintest idea where to begin.
"You said you would be home by tonight," she reminded the witch. "I gave you and Bonnie the whole weekend to whoop it up. You've got school tomorrow, Elena. There are rules in this house and...and they apply to everyone."
"But it's for school, Jenna," she insisted, trying to sound as shrill and whiny as she possibly could. "I'm begging you. This project - it's worth like, 50 percent of our final grade and we need all the practice we can get."
"Then invite Bonnie to our place," the young woman suggested. "You know I adore her to pieces. It wouldn't be a problem."
"But we're already in the...the..." Shit. She had reached her first roadblock.
Maya quickly grabbed a notepad nearby and began frantically scribbling her own brand of chicken scratch on it. Holding it up for Tituba to read, the fairy began pointing hysterically at each word.
"Its for Mr. Salty-man?" she read, sounding mildly perplexed.
"Mr. Saltz-man?" Jenna corrected her.
Tituba smacked herself on the forehead in embarrassment. "Yup. That's the one."
Of course Jenna Sommers would care if Alaric Saltzman were somehow involved in this grand scheme. She had the hots for him - big time. Anyone could see that.
"Isn't he on sabbatical?" she queried.
Roadblock number two. Double shit.
"Y-yeah," the witch stammered. "But we've been hearing that he might be back in time for us to present. A-and since this is worth so much of our grade, I really wanted to spend time going over every last detail with Bonnie."
She could tell by Jenna's drawn out sigh that she had worn her down significantly. "Please Jenna. I know it's really short notice and I'm really, really, really sorry. It's just that I've been...having all these nightmares."
"Nightmares?"
"About...college," Tituba offered hurriedly. "I'm so scared Jenna. What if we suck? What if we fail the assignment? Oh my God. It'll be on my transcripts. I'll be blacklisted. No Ivy League colleges will even take a second glance at me. No wait. They won't even take a first. Oh God. I think I'm gonna be depressed."
"Okay, calm down," Jenna soothed. "Sheesh, you sound just like your mother. You bucking for the Best Dramatic Actress Oscar or something?"
"Think I stand a chance?" she threw in playfully.
"I'll tell you one thing. You are most definitely your mother's daughter."
Tituba stifled a chuckle at the realization that she was pretty much home free at this point. "Does that mean I can stay?"
"Ugh," she groaned into the receiver. "Fine. But you'd better ace this little project of yours."
In the end they agreed Tituba would pick up some of Elena's belongings in the morning. It was also just enough time for her to swipe one of Jenna's belongings as well.
Besides, she'd need it to channel her voice each morning she had to phone the school's secretary to call in "sick" for Elena. The reality was, they had no idea when either teen would be home, but they couldn't risk Jenna going insane because her niece was being held against her will in Ireland.
No one could know about the world that lurked just beyond the limitations of perceived "normality." No one.
***
"You know what I love about your brother, Stefan?" Fiona grinned at the younger Salvatore as they began setting the table for supper.
Quirking an eyebrow at the dark-haired witch, he offered her a bemused expression. "There's something to love about Damon?"
"Shocking, isn't it?" she chuckled. "Look Stefan, there are some witches who can just reach out and touch you and instantly know the kind of person you are and then there are those who are slightly less perceptive."
"I'm guessing you're not the latter," he surmised, placing white china plates on the oak surface.
"How very perceptive of you," she giggled. "Your brother has a tendency to write people off in an instant. He doesn't trust easily. Doesn't love easily. He's been hurt - mostly by his own stubbornness."
Stefan scoffed at that last remark. "Doesn't exactly take magic to figure that out."
The witch ignored his hint of sarcasm. "He lies to himself a great deal."
"And that's something to love?" the vampire chucked in, with a roll of his brown eyes.
"No," she replied. "It's merely an observation. The thing I love about him is how hard he tries to project this Billy Idol, rebel version of a vampire - when in fact, he is much more emotionally affected than he lets on."
"Damon? Projecting?" he gasped, feigning shock. "Really?"
"A little less sarcasm, if you please," she replied, hands place defensively on her hips. "I realize you're frustrated, Stefan, but you've got to keep it together."
Taking a deep breath, he lifted his gaze from the table top. "I'm sorry, Fiona."
He couldn't help the way he had begun to feel since consuming his first serving of human blood in well over 100 years. He had become temperamental, moody and his body had begun to change.
If Damon were around with his "oh so lovable wit" right now, he would have diagnosed Stefan with a raging case of PMS.
Thank God Damon's not around right now.
There were certain changes that took place inside the body of a vampire when they switched from drinking animal blood to human blood. Draining mortals enabled them to do things they wouldn't otherwise be able to do.
Take Damon's proficiency in manipulating fog, for instance. Then of course, there was his very unique ability to transform into a crow.
Stefan, when fueled by mortal blood, had his own powers. He just needed to be on a steady diet of the stuff to evoke them to the fullest extent.
The Irish witch took a step forward and studied the forlorn expression on his face. "Chin up, lad," she began, wrapping her arms around his cool physique."We'll find the fair Elena. I'll do everything in my power to make sure you lot make it out of Ireland safely. D'you hear me?"
The gentle hum of her voice as it danced over his eardrums and the compassionate way she rubbed circles on his back made his undead heart suddenly feel warm.
He had never encountered such maternal tenderness from anyone in his 162 years of existence. His own mother died giving him the gift of life - yet another point of contention between the brothers.
"Thank you," he told the witch, as they unwound their arms from one another. "You've been so good to us. So kind."
If she had been perfectly honest with the young man right then and there, he would have known how much his genuine display of gratitude meant to her. For now though, she needed him to remain strong, not overly emotional.
Nodding at him instead, she returned to the subject of his brother. "You and Damon were close once, were you not?"
Sighing heavily, Stefan replied. "As close as two brothers could be. Then Katherine came along."
"Also a vampire," Fiona chucked in.
"Yeah. How'd you know?" Stefan queried.
Placing another fork onto the chocolate brown table cloth, she laughed. "It seems young Bonnie is experiencing a case of little green monster syndrome. Told me all about the undead lass using some very...colorful descriptions."
"So she really likes my brother," the young vampire exclaimed with a highly amused expression on his face.
"I'd say so," Fiona added, grabbing a bowl filled with fruit to place at the center of the setting.
"You know, I've never seen him act like this before. Not since Katherine," he concluded.
"His emotional crutch from 1864," the Irish woman grinned.
Offering her a side swept smirk, Stefan placed two long white candles on top of midnight hued medieval steel candle holders. "I think he'd beg to differ on your interpretation of her."
After a momentary pause, he continued. "Damon had it rough growing up. Our father always viewed him as a constant source of disappointment. They were total opposites. And when my mom died, things got worse."
"He was closer with your mother," she chimed in.
"Much," Stefan conceded. "My dad got lonely. Depressed. He drank a lot. I was just a baby at the time. The nanny spent most of her time taking care of me."
"So he took his frustrations out on Damon," Fiona assumed.
The brown-eyed vampire nodded. "The yelling used to be unbearable. He chastised Damon on a daily basis for being too soft. Too emotional."
Stefan stood frozen for a moment, as the memories threatened to consume him. He took another deep breath. "He failed to understand Damon was just a little boy, trying desperately to cope without his mother."
"Did he ever..." Her voice trailed off, but Stefan knew precisely what she was insinuating.
He shook his head from side to side. "No. The abuse was far more emotional. Neglect, frequent insults - everything a good parent shouldn't be doing. They came pretty close to blows a couple of times, though."
"Over Damon's choice to leave the Confederacy?" she inserted.
"If you were between 18 and 35, you were drafted. No ifs, ands or buts about it. I was this close to having my life turned upside down by war," Stefan explained carefully.
Fiona sat down on one of the cushioned dining room chairs and urged him to do the same.
"He didn't want to go. He never believed in anything the Confederacy stood for. When he left them, my father was furious. Then Katherine came into our lives and finally Damon had someone to make him laugh, make him smile."
"Perceived happiness," Fiona insisted. "Think about it, Stefan. She gave him everything your father withheld - affection, acceptance, validation. Your brother was vulnerable and I'm quite certain Katherine was clever enough to realize that almost immediately. Of course he's going to miss her desperately. She was his life preserver - even as she was using him."
"I should have done more," he replied full of regret. "He needed me to be stronger for him. All I did was follow the dutiful, obedient son act to a tee when I should have been standing up for him."
Fiona reached out and grasped the young man's hand in her own. Then, very lightly, she coaxed his chin up with her index finger.
"You can be there for him now," she declared with a warm smile. "The road ahead will be paved with one obstacle after the next. There will be no shortage of danger, Stefan. The air is rife with wickedness. I can smell it coming from a mile away. What Bonnie and Damon have is nothing short of epic. It's been prophesied for 146 years now. That means enemies will come from far and wide to keep the bringer of peace from being born. Your brother will need you now more than ever. So here's a chance for the both of you to make amends."
***
Caroline Forbes had a sullen expression on her adorable face, as she twirled a strand of luminous blond hair around her index finger. Needless to say, she was still massively pissed that neither Bonnie, nor Elena had bothered to give her the 411 on why they had disappeared so abruptly from the dance.
Talk about being abandoned by your two closest friends! She sighed, nestled between Matt Donovan and Tyler Lockwood. Math class was supposed to begin ages ago, but alas, no sign of Mr. Rogers.
People sure seemed to be dropping like flies at Robert E. Lee. No one had even figured out where Mr. Saltzman had ventured off too since taking his sudden sabbatical. Yet another reason for Caroline to feel completely and utterly bummed.
Glancing to her left, she observed the handsome redhead's features. Sunlight streamed through the nearby window, casting an angelic glow on his skin.
Poor Matt, she sighed to herself. So adorable. So fit. So obviously heartbroken after being shafted by Bonnie at the dance.
She remembered the hopeful expression in his blue eyes and the way it had vanished the second his date flung herself free from his arms and ran from the gym after he tried to lay a big, fat, wet one on her.
"So..." she began awkwardly, trying to fill the silence with smalltalk. "You heard from Bonnie yet?"
Way to go, Caroline. Start off by reminding him exactly why he feels like shit right now.
His eyes wondered around the room for a moment, hoping no one else had overheard the blond girl's mention of his date. It was still pretty embarrassing, considering the fact that practically everyone had their eyes on them at the dance.
It seemed like every single person in the universe was privy to the fact that he, Matt Donovan, had a thing for her in the first place. How could he not?
She had been totally supportive when he and Elena had called it quits. Well, more like when the brunette decided she just had to quit him.
Then of course, there was the slightly more superficial element of his interest in her. She was astonishingly beautiful.
"Nah," he sighed, fiddling with the number 2 pencil on his notepad. "You?"
"Nope. Not a word," she replied bitterly. "Seems like Elena decided to fall off the face of the Earth again too. I can't seem to get a hold of her either."
Sensing his sudden discomfort at the mention of her other "bestie," Caroline inwardly chided herself for her habitual verbal diarrhea.
Why don't you just bring up his failure of a mother while you're at it too?
"What's up with those two anyway?" Tyler casually queried. "They weren't in class yesterday either."
Bitches! Caroline took a deep breath in before exhaling again. The thought of them off on some random joy ride, sans her bubbly presence was more than enough to make her blood boil. How could they?
"I dunno," the blond replied, unable to mask the resentment in her voice. "I'll tell you one thing, though. They'd better be here tomorrow 'cause we've got that stupid Civil War reenactment to do in U.S. History."
"Hey, isn't Stefan in your group?" Matt asked, trying desperately not to fall asleep on his text book.
"Yup," she answered, simultaneously doodling her first name with 'Saltzman' attached to it. "He's supposed to be bringing in the costumes. Apparently some old relatives left them behind."
She paused momentarily, realizing she hadn't seen him at all yesterday or today. "Wait a sec. Was he at football practice this morning?"
"Nope," Tyler answered, shaking his head in disappointment. "Dude totally ditched us - and right before the second most important game of the year. I'd say that's grounds for dismissal from the team. You agree, Donovan?"
Flashing his childhood friend a look that read 'Thanks for the sympathy, but get real,' Matt shook his head from side to side. "He's an awesome player. Maybe he had a good reason."
"Look, we've all got reasons," Tyler interjected. "Doesn't mean you ditch practice for 'em. Fair is fair. He should get kicked off the team."
On the surface, Tyler Lockwood seemed more like the male equivalent of Caroline Forbes - minus the penchant for up-talk and addiction to shoe shopping. He valued looks, status and to perfect strangers, he was the stereotypical rich, conceited Mayor's son.
Privilege and money could do a great deal for a person's social standing. He knew that firsthand, but nothing could compensate for the lack of role models in his teenage bubble.
Having an alpha-male douche bag as your father and a virtual Stepford Wife for your mother wasn't exactly conducive to rearing a down to earth child.
Matt Donovan was essentially the only person worth looking up to in his life. They grew up together and for all intents and purposes, they were like brothers - minus the matching DNA.
When Elena Gilbert broke his only brother's heart, Tyler Lockwood was ready to duke it out with Saint Stefan when he came rolling into town. After all, you don't just stand by and watch your best friend's girl wonder off with the new kid.
Not a chance. There are rules in the brotherhood. You kick ass, take names and most of all, have each other's back.
"What's up with this town?" the petite blond wondered aloud. "Everyone just keeps...dropping like flies. First the teachers, then the students. God, even my mom is totally non-existent these days. She spends more time on duty than she does parenting."
"Hasn't she always been a bit of a workaholic?" Matt threw in.
"Well yeah," she shrugged. "But now it's like she's this super cop to the millionth degree."
"I'd like to initiate a trade," Tyler chuckled. "Your super cop mom for my absentee father."
The handsome redhead quirked his eyebrow daringly at them. "You two really wanna play the 'boo hoo, my parents suck' game? Try having Kelly Donovan as your mom. Then talk to me about hard knocks."
Given the fact that Matt's aforementioned "mother" had been out strutting her stuff on the beaches of Miami for the past two years and sticking her tongue down some guy named Pete Ortega's mouth for half the time, he was coping pretty well. It was Vicki who found the separation significantly more troubling.
The fact was, money was becoming even more scarce to come by. Kelly Donovan hadn't left much for her children to live on to begin with. Matt was going to have to get a job if he intended on supporting himself - especially since no one else was there to do it.
"Point taken," Tyler acknowledged with a nod.
Caroline glanced back up at the black-rimmed clock. Twenty minutes had elapsed and still, no sign of Mr. Rogers.
She was about to shift her gaze away when she caught sight of two uniformed officers escorting a young blond girl down the hallway. Her name was Meredith Richards.
She was a junior at Robert E. Lee and not particularly popular to boot - thanks in large part to her obvious eccentricities and fascination with death. Just this past weekend, she had come quite close to a firsthand encounter with just that.
Both of her friends - also juniors - were abducted...or so she said. The young girl had spent the entire weekend in the hospital under observation and answering police queries.
"You guys," Caroline exclaimed, smacking both young men on the forearms. Any excuse to lay a hand on those muscular specimens, she giggled inwardly. "You hear about what happened to Meredith Richards in the woods over the weekend?"
"Looney Tunes?" Tyler chucked in. It was his own personal "term of endearment" for the little Richards girl.
"She's back," the perky blond threw in. "Just saw some cops escorting her down the hallway."
"Wasn't she attacked?" Matt offered, leaning forward. "They said her body was bruised and battered on the news."
"Yeah well, get this," she continued, beckoning them forth with her index finger. She lowered her voice just a touch. "She told the cops they were attacked by a man...with wings."
"Like in The Mothman Prophecies?" Tyler scoffed, unable to stifle the immediate inclination to laugh until his face turned blue. "Like I said, Looney Tunes."
"Yeah well, sounds about as looney as Vicki telling me she was attacked by vampires," Matt recalled, shrugging his broad shoulders.
An awkward silence now hung between the trio. Vicki Donovan was still a particularly sore subject for both young men to discuss.
For one thing, Matt was still reeling internally because of his sister's apparent lack of consideration for him or anyone else for that matter. Just like her mother, she had chosen to run from every one of her problems.
Tyler pretended to be immersed in the equation on the blackboard. So much had transpired between him and Vicky - so much he was now secretly ashamed of.
He treated her like bonafide trailer trash and cast her aside in front of his parents. Not to mention, he could still remember the night he had tried to force himself upon her. Her desperate pleas rang in his ears like a blaring alarm.
"So how exactly do you know all this?" he asked, turning to face Caroline again. "Your mom letting you in on top secret police business now?"
"No," she answered truthfully. "I'm just a really good listener," she smiled.
"I believe there's a technical term for what you're doing," Matt smirked, penciling a New Orleans Saints jersey onto a sheet of paper. Carefully, he drew his name on it with his team number placed just beneath. "It's called 'eavesdropping.'"
"Maybe," she slyly replied. "Anyway, I overheard her telling Officer Rodriguez all about it. They both seemed really...on edge. More than usual."
She scrunched her nose then. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the pretty blond stared determinately ahead.
"Uh oh," Matt beamed. "I know that look."
"What look?" she innocently responded.
"The look that says you're getting ready to stick that pretty nose where it doesn't belong," he chuckled.
He thinks you're pretty. Nicely done, Forbes!
"Just think of me as Junior Detective, Caroline Forbes," she offered with a curt nod.
"Alright Junior Detective," Matt continued. "I've got an assignment for you. Where the heck is Rogers? We've been waiting her for half an hour now."
She carefully scanned the hallway once more for any sign of the portly, aging man. Not a single one. "Sorry, Detective Forbes is drawing a blank right now...but if you leave your name, number and a brief message, she'll be sure to get back to you later," she replied, mimicking her voicemail to a tee.
Leaning forward, the football ace laughed heartily. The sight of him suddenly experiencing genuine pleasure again made Caroline feel a tinge of warmth. It was nice being able to make someone as sweet as Matt feel good. Besides, he's a real looker.
"So, you guys wanna hit up The Grill tonight?" Tyler threw in, leaning against the back rest of his chair.
"Count me in," Caroline replied. "After all, what else am I gonna do? Hang out with Bonnie and Elena? Oh yeah, that's right. I no longer exist to them."
"Well their loss is our gain," Matt chimed in, causing her to blush involuntarily.
Dinner with two sufficiently hot, impressively athletic guys. Not bad, Caroline Forbes. Not bad at all.
***
"It seems you two have stumbled upon the Kenmare Portal," Fiona surmised.
She sat on the chocolate brown sofa, rubbing Bonnie's back in a soft, circular motion. Damon stood with his arms braced defiantly on his hips, a wicked scowl marring his handsome features.
His brother sat on the cracked leather armchair, watching the firelight as it danced beyond the hearth. He could feel his body going through a gradual metamorphosis.
The mortal blood supply Fiona was feeding him had begun to stir in him the same wild creature that used to take hold at midnight. A little bit of the old Stefan was getting set to unleash himself upon the world again.
"Where does it lead?" Bonnie meekly inquired.
Fiona Reid had heard a great deal about the legendary Portal since the age of six. It could only be activated with Elora's blessing.
The great Witch Goddess did not bestow that gift lightly. Only those most in need of escape would be granted access to the gateway.
"Anywhere your heart desires," the Irish woman exclaimed. Tucking a lock of silky raven hair behind her ear, the brown-eyed woman sighed. "It would appear that you, Bonnie Bennett, are the vessel of choice for the spirit world."
"Why?" the young woman asked, watching as the copper-skinned witch rose and began to pace by the fireplace.
"You may not realize the great deal of power that resides within you, but it's there. Everyone in the Supernatural world knows The One Witch is destined for greatness and that includes the dearly departed who seek a body in which to carry out their unfinished deeds. Tabitha is no longer alive and therefore devoid of her powers in their fullest extent. She needed to harness that which flows through your veins in order to open the gateway."
"Why did she need it opened?" the green-eyed witch continued, feeling the cushion sink somewhat as Damon sat beside her.
"My dear lass, everything happens for a reason," Fiona answered, offering up one of her infectious smiles.
"Bonnie nearly died this afternoon because of your ancestor and that's your flimsy excuse?" he balked defensively, sapphire eyes wide with rage.
"You wouldn't have allowed it to come to that," the petite Irish woman responded. "She knew that." Momentary silence. "For whatever reason, that portal needed to be activated. Tabitha was the last witch to flee Ireland using the Portal, therefore the onus fell on her flaxen head to re-ignite the power that lurked beneath the soils of the Druids' Circle."
"Tabitha used it?" Stefan chimed in.
"How d'you think she arrived in Mystic Falls so suddenly?" Fiona supplied. "Her mum and dad were murdered by The Fior. They needed to keep her safe - so they sent her to the New World, using a little old world magic."
"Why were they killed?" the younger man queried, rising to his feet.
Fiona's copper skin gleamed against the firelight. It was a rich, flawless hue she had inherited thanks to her Pakistani and Irish heritage.
"For being a hybrid sympathizer," she replied with a shrug. "Most of Edwin Bellwain's best mates were hybrids - and powerful ones at that. The Fior couldn't stand the idea of so much power concentrated in the hands of the 'impure bloods,' so they started ransacking their homes and killing their families. Tabitha's parents, being as open minded as they were, became targets."
"A cleanse of sorts," Stefan offered.
"Like the one that happened in Mystic Falls all those years ago," Bonnie inserted. "Well it won't happen again. Not if I have anything to say about it."
On this inside, Damon felt a twinge of pride and elation at the site of her so determined and fierce. She had truly begun to embrace her role as The Chosen Witch.
He placed his arm along the backrest of the sofa and relaxed against the pliable softness of it. Instinctively, she leaned into him, resting her head against his chest.
Stefan tried to suppress his amusement and fondness for their apparent acceptance of one another. Maybe this time things would be different.
Damon had Bonnie and he had…
He placed his head in his palms and groaned against the smoothness of his pale skin. Elena needed to be okay.
Fear and uncertainty swirled around him like an unstoppable vortex. The Three couldn't have just fallen off the face of the Earth. They had to be around here somewhere.
And when he found them, they would be sorry. They were no longer dealing with a vampire who subscribed to absolute self-discipline when it came to blood consumption.
This was a different Stefan Salvatore.
***
Bonnie sat in front of the cherry finish dressing table, staring at her flawless caramel complexion in the mirror. She pinched her cheeks relentlessly until they turned a flattering crimson hue.
She was a veritable bundle of nerves sitting there in silence, while her heart pitter-pattered like the eager feet of a running toddler. She observed the way the white cotton nightdress clung appealingly to her curves.
Just last night, a pair of smooth pale hands had roamed over every expanse of exposed skin. His cool, wet lips had brushed over her stomach, while his throbbing erection pulsated against her thigh.
Bonnie felt her breath hitch in her throat. He was intoxicating – every sleek inch of him.
She examined her full pout with her fingertips, recalling the way they had attached themselves to his wrist, consuming every ounce of blood he was willing to offer. The red fluid had always been so revolting to her before.
This time it had taken on a different flavor. It wasn't entirely metallic, nor was it unbearably salty. It was rich and it re-ignited her to the bone.
Reaching for her short robe of the same hue, she belted it loosely and opened her door. The little witch began to saunter in the direction of the bathroom. Her neck swiveled slightly as she passed his door.
Keep walking, Bennett. You need your rest.
She tucked one romantic curl behind her ear and paused for a moment, soaking in the warm, cozy feeling of the old cottage. It reminded her of the countryside abodes you might find in fairy tales.
First there was the beautifully thatched dark roof. Then there were the iron framed, diamond pattern windows.
Fiona had scattered an array of multicolored pillows throughout the home. Persian rugs sheathed the hardwood floors, while medieval-looking light fixtures dangled from the ceilings.
Embers burned bright red in each of the fireplaces. There was one in the living room and another in Damon's room. There was also one in the library beside Fiona's chamber.
It was a glorious room. Solid oak wood bookcases lined the walls. They were crammed with masterful literary finds and spellbinding reads.
Emerald, maroon, blues and browns were arranged side by side. At the center of the room was a red, black and brown Persian rug.
A sofa the color of chestnuts sat on top of it, while the deep-set fireplace stood before it. Over the mantle, a painting of Ballynoe Lane had been placed meticulously. It was filled with lush greens, deep browns and an overwhelming sense of whimsy.
If only Elena were here. She'd love this place.
The thought of Stefan so deeply grieved by the loss of Elena broke her heart to pieces. She had come to regard the younger Salvatore as a close friend. He had more than proven himself to her and anyone else who every doubted the validity of his feelings for her best friend.
He wasn't the only one who exceeded her expectations.
Bonnie turned on her heel and stared at Damon's bedroom door, full of wonder. She felt an overwhelming temptation to knock on the wooden barrier.
Staring down at her current angelic ensemble, she began fidgeting with the soft belt on her robe. She straightened every inch of wrinkled fabric out.
"Ahem."
She turned swiftly in the darkened hallway. Stefan watched her knowingly, causing her cheeks to flush instantly. Bonnie averted her gaze, opting to view the floorboards instead.
"Stefan," she giggled nervously. "I was just…going to the bathroom."
"Isn't that Damon's door?" he smiled kindly.
Nice one, Bennett. "Oh…" She feigned complete innocence; despite knowing full well Stefan was already on to her. "I uh…I guess I forgot."
The brown-eyed vampire nodded and stepped aside, allowing her to pass. Bonnie's hand was on the doorknob, when he cleared his throat again.
"Ahem."
"Yes?" she inquired, turning around again.
Stefan leaned in and whispered into her left ear. "I think he's in the library."
Rather than maintain the pretense of being totally oblivious, she chuckled softly. "Thanks."
With that, the younger Salvatore made his way back to his quarters and offered her a parting wave before shutting the door behind him.
Bonnie sighed to herself. He's just a guy. Sure, you're all hot and bothered right now. And you kinda, sorta have a thing for him…and he saved your life. Oh, who am I kidding? Obviously not Stefan.
She slowly sauntered toward the library door and clutched the brass handle. Turning the knob ever so gently, the little witch leaned her head in and caught a glimpse of a roaring fire.
It illuminated every inch of the intimate space. She tiptoed through the door, not a blue-eyed vampire in sight. He had been here, though. That much, she was certain of.
There before the fireplace was a colorful array of pillows in vibrant jewel tones. Books on history, poetry and magic were scattered nearby while a single glass of red wine stood on the coffee table.
She couldn't resist the urge to lie against the softness of the pillows while the fire crackled deliciously into her ears. Grasping a large, thick red throw from the sofa, she covered herself from chest to toe and cracked open one of the discarded books.
Bonnie devoured every word of Rudyard Kipling's "Blue Roses." She read aloud:
Roses red and roses white
Plucked I for my love's delight.
She would none of all my posies –
Bade me gather her blue roses.
"Half the world I wandered through, seeking where such flowers grew."
The deeply masculine voice hissed into her right ear, as a cool breeze wafted through the room. "Hello fire starter," he purred, pressing his lips tenderly against her cheek.
Bonnie turned to find him half lying on the sofa, reading over her shoulder. "When did you get here?"
"I was already here," he smirked. "Sitting by the window sill," he pointed at the cushiony area behind her.
"Behind the curtains," she finished, shifting slightly to allow him room to spread out beneath her.
His chest was pressed intimately against her back, while his arm encircled her tiny waist. Damon held the blue book up against the firelight and finished the poem:
Half the world unto my quest
Answered me with laugh and jest.
Home I came at winter tide,
But my silly love had died
Seeking with her latest breath
Roses from the arms of Death.
It may be beyond the grave
She shall find what she would have.
Mine was but an idle quest –
Roses white and red are best!
By the time he had finished reciting each word, the vampire craned his neck forward and with deliberate slowness, trailed his lips along her smooth jaw line.
"Damon," she breathed, reaching behind to weave her fingers into his mess of hair.
His black silk shirt was completely unbuttoned, allowing her to feel the tautness of his abdomen against her back. She felt his right hand move forward, beginning to untie the knot she had carefully roped together.
The vampire's glacial fingertips slid beneath the flimsy fabric of her robe and began to roam over the white cotton nightgown with lace trim. His hands slid leisurely down the length of her body, before snaking up beneath the seam of the dress.
She felt his hips begin to swivel in a circular motion against her derriere and closed her eyes. He brushed his knuckles gently against her stomach and allowed his lips and teeth to graze her neck.
He watched as the flames cast a decidedly captivating glow on her butterscotch complexion. The sound of her heart pulsating rapidly inside of her chest only served to titillate his senses.
The feeling of his moist tongue as it moved languorously over her pulse point was enough to make her quiver with delight. He suckled heartily, breathing raggedly against her skin.
Her hips began to oscillate in unison with his. "I want you," he whispered seductively into her ear.
Even if the words had remained unsaid, the feeling of his arousal protruding against her bottom would have clued her in.
Damon turned the witch in his arms and stared into her emerald eyes. They were glazed over with such passion, lust and expectation.
He allowed his sapphire orbs to rake over the length of her diminutive body before grasping her securely and rising to his feet. She now found herself hauled up against the muscular contours of his chest, while her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist.
Bonnie's arms encircled his neck while she peered up at him from beneath a thick fan of dark lashes. Leaning her forehead against his, she took a deep, shaky breath.
Transfixed by her luscious lips, he swooped in with a searing kiss. His tongue brushed languorously across the pliant pillows of her mouth.
He needed to be inside of her.
Damon prodded her lips continuously until finally they parted, allowing him the opportunity to slide into the warmth and sweetness of her mouth. Their tongues mingled with one another, lapping up the taste and texture of one another.
Intoxicating pheromones filled his nostrils, as he dismissed the white robe, allowing it to cascade to the floor. He held her in place with one hand, while the other slithered beneath the nightgown, feeling every silken inch of caramel skin.
His icy touch made her shiver with ecstasy. She could feel his full lips brushing against her skin, raining soft kisses along her throat and shoulders.
His fingers slid beneath the thin straps of her gown, prying them lower until finally one tumescent peak revealed itself. Damon launched himself forward, suckling ravenously on the chocolate hued nipple.
Bonnie arched her back involuntarily, allowing him greater access to her breasts. He quickly unsheathed the other supple mound and savored the taste of her.
His tongue flicked teasingly over the swollen nub, eliciting a moan of absolute pleasure from her. He gently nibbled, before suckling with all the urgency of a man possessed by the pure, raw want.
Damon watched her intently as she leaned back, immersed in the pure elation of being worshiped on the most intimate level. Her eyes were alight again because of him and this moment of passion they had been yearning for.
She stared intently into his ice blue orbs and licked her lips in anticipation. "Make love to me," she breathed, cupping his cheeks with both of her hands.
He couldn't explain the feeling inside of him at the sound of her words, so sincere and full of affection. "Making love" wasn't something he had done in his afterlife.
It was always casual sex or sex for blood. One nameless face after the next, one drained body to discard in the woods after another.
This time it was different. This time he really wanted only one person in the world. It was Bonnie.
That same vivacious, young girl he had attacked in the woods had somehow managed to invade his cold, black heart.
The realization of it all shocked him. Of all the seeming impossibilities, this one was the greatest in his life. Yet here he was, about to make love to the little witch and he was going to be her first.
He placed her gingerly on the soft red throw and took a moment to drink in the image of her lying there so stunning and vulnerable all at once. Damon quickly rid himself of his silk shirt and felt her warm palms begin to probe the hard ridges of his stomach and chest.
He grinned at her response to him. The vampire braced himself on his elbows and gradually lowered himself onto her petite form.
He scorched her lips with his, relishing the tender feel of her mortal flesh against him. Bonnie allowed her fingers to travel down the expanse of his muscular back and shuddered when his fingertips slid the thin fabric of her nightgown completely from her virgin body.
Damon lifted her derriere gently and removed her white lace panties. Bonnie breathed against his lips, brushing aside a damp, rebellious lock of hair.
His eyes had become shadowy, almost charcoal in shade. Thin yellow veins had begun to bleed themselves into vine-like existence beneath.
She pried his lips apart with her fingertips and observed the sudden protrusion of fangs. He gulped hard, observing each facial response to his transformation.
Bonnie ran her fingertips along the razor-sharp canines and flinched slightly. As gentle as she had been, they had still managed to pierce through her flesh.
A minuscule drop of blood seeped from the barely noticeable puncture wound. Damon tried to turn away, but what she did next enthralled him.
Instinctively, the witch placed her wounded thumb into her mouth and sucked. Allowing a single droplet to linger on the surface of her tongue, she kissed him feverishly.
The taste of her was ambrosial, while her thrusts against his still clothed groin were earth shattering. He wanted to taste every inch of her.
Bonnie allowed her hands to travel beneath his navel in order to swiftly unbutton his dark wash jeans. Damon tore them from his body in seconds and true to form, hadn't bothered to restrict himself with boxers or briefs.
She giggled inwardly. I knew it!
Bonnie ran her fingers through his midnight locks and inhaled his musky fragrance. Beaming up at him, she took a deep breath. "Damon."
"Mmmhmm?" he replied, still bewitched by her beauty.
"There's s-something you should know," she stammered nervously. "I've never done this before…with anyone."
Silence hung between them for a moment, as he watched her intently. Pressing his lips against her forehead, the vampire began to trail searing kisses down her throat, before arriving at the valley between the gentle swells of her breasts.
Damon grinned at her before planting kisses all along her toned stomach. His tongue darted out against the skin as he slide lower and lower.
Bonnie stretched her arms out overhead as she felt the slickness of his moist tongue as it found its way beneath the crest of dark curls at her apex. It darted skillfully against the sensitive nub hidden by her delicate lips.
He flicked his tongue repetitively before nibbling gently and suckling with great intensity. "Ooooh!" she moaned, feeling her hips bucking forward.
She was so wet and more than ready to feel the true extent of his desires. Damon carefully slid his full, hard length inside of her, moving gently in tune with the motions of his little bird.
Her dark wavy locks were fanned around her head on a pillow, as he placed a hand supportively on her hip. Though the pleasure was becoming increasingly more intense, so was the slight pain.
Damon had anticipated this and began to slow down his spirited thrusts. Placing his hands on the sides of her face, he peered into her green eyes and brushed his lips across hers in a feather light stroke.
"It'll only hurt for a second," he whispered, loving the way their sweat-slicked bodies were now fused together.
"You promise?" she softly replied, staring up at him.
"I promise," he answered, brushing aside an unkempt strand of hair from her deeply flushed face.
The expression of trust in her eyes left him completely dumbfounded. The feeling of her moist core surrounding his throbbing erection was beyond anything else he had ever felt.
He began to move his hips in slow, circular motions against hers again. Bonnie matched him every step of the way.
Damon kissed her hungrily and kneaded her breasts with his palms as they ground into one another continually. The sensation building up inside of her was all encompassing.
Her breathing became ragged as they thrust into one another quickly. Feeling her restraint slipping away, Bonnie's nails raked over his taut, sinewy shoulders.
Damon yelped in both physical pain and immense elation. "Ohhh…Bonnie…"
They were so close. She felt herself brimming with ecstasy as he plunged into her and plundered her lips in one fell swoop.
"Damon," she moaned aloud.
Holding her closer, Damon felt as she came first, quivering around his erection. Then came his climax. "Oh!"
They shivered against one another as the sweat continued to glisten on their skin. Bonnie and Damon stared at each other for the longest while as the firelight danced nearby.
The vampire pressed his lips against her forehead, before claiming her mouth once more. Grasping the matching beige throw from the sofa, Damon flung it over top of them and gathered his little witch in his arms.
There they slumbered through the night.
Holding each other felt so right.
Lips to lips
Hips to hips
Arms entwined
Love-struck, my heart feels so inclined.
