Amazingly, this chapter is going to push us over the 100,000 word mark. Look at all those zeroes. One day and one chapter at time, we're getting there. I can't believe all of you have been willing to stick with this novel-length monster, but I'm so glad you have. The reviews and alerts brighten my day, as I hope this story brightens yours. But you don't want to hear me natter on. You want to see what happens when Damon and Elena are on the prowl.
Roanoke was a strange place. While at its soul it was a sleepy mountain town, it bustled with students from nearby Hollins University. It seemed as if everyone had been here forever, yet might drift away at any moment, never to be seen again.
It was the perfect hunting ground.
At first, after they'd made a brief detour to dispose of Sage and her progeny (if anyone ever drained the quarry, they were screwed), Damon had suggested heading into Mystic Falls proper. Elena had vetoed that idea quickly. What if someone saw her? Elena was still figuring out how she was going to explain this period, let alone trying to explain it when she had a mouthful of bar floozy. Worse, she couldn't stand to hurt someone she knew. Mystic Falls was a small town. Even if Elena didn't know everyone personally, chances were she knew their family, had gone to school with their brother or gone to church with their aunt. No, she'd demanded anonymity, and Damon had obliged her, driving an hour through the dark foothills to get here.
"I don't know about this," Elena said as Damon hunted for a parking space in the crowded downtown area. It was crawling with tourists gaping at the Roanoke Star as it cast sickly light down over the town from its mountain perch, mingled with students on the prowl for a good time.
"Just come along for the ride. If you don't want to eat, you don't have to. You'll be missing out, though. The mountain air does something to the blood. It's almost...fizzy," he said as he maneuvered into a parking space.
"First, that sounds really nasty. Second, these are people you're talking about, Damon. People with lives and families-"
"And pet kittens and hopes and dreams. You know, the cow in your hamburger probably had hopes and dreams, too. You just didn't have to watch as he turned into ground beef. That's the only difference here, Elena," Damon said.
Elena sputtered. "There's a lot of difference between a person and a cow. Even you can't pretend they're the same."
"Of course they aren't the same; poor Bessie had to die for your meal. We aren't going to kill anyone."
Elena threw up her hands in exasperation, and Damon caught one between both of his own, that playful smirk fading. "I promised that you could do this your way. And you can. As long as you aren't on the cottontail diet, I'm happy. But you should see this option. This is what you were made for."
Fire raced down her spine. The barest ache began to form in her canines, a sweet longing that begged to be released. Elena knew she would never be able to see people as animals, as creatures who existed purely for her sustenance. But she wanted to at least see. Even if she stood to one side and didn't join in, the curiosity to see Damon in action was unbearably tempting.
"You'll stop me? If I do...you'll stop me?" Elena asked, voice trembling. She hoped that she could be content merely to observe, but when she remembered that incredible need she'd felt for a cold glass of week-old blood when she wasn't even a full vampire yet, she wasn't sure she could be strong enough. And maybe Damon was right, just a little. Didn't she owe it to herself to try, just once? She never had to do it again if she didn't want to.
"Yes." He smiled, poking her in the sternum with one finger. "Even if it doesn't beat, you've still got that do-gooder heart in you. I don't want to see that disappear either, Elena."
"Okay. If you promise. Then I'll come. At least to watch," she said haltingly.
Damon leaned in, pressing a kiss to the place on her neck where once her own blood had pulsed and raced. Now it was still and silent, but his lips still sent a thrill through her. "It'll be fun. Feeding together...well. You'll see."
They stepped out of the car. Immediately, sensory overload stretched her, made every muscle in her body tense and coil, ready to pounce. Dozens of new inputs bombarded her. Smells came fast and furious, and not just the normal smells of cologne and cheap beer. Two women blowing plumes of smoke into the night reeked of sex, their scents mingled together. An exhausted man leaning against the wall of the bar, his pale face in his hands, reeked of rot and corrupted flesh. She was instinctively aware of the direction of the breeze, knew she had to stay downwind to avoid being scented herself, to avoid giving the game away.
Sounds were more distinct, faint vibrations from great distances reaching her ears. Every awful pickup line, every burst of laughter slammed into her ears. But undercutting it all was a constant thrum, a rhythmic cacophony of heartbeats, a gentle swish she realized was the sound of blood running in veins, billions of tiny rushing rivers.
Everything around her teetered just on the edge of overwhelming her, but somehow, she was able to sort through the millions of sensations, smells, sights, sounds. Her body knew how to do this. If she let it—and Damon—take the lead, Elena thought she might just be able to get through this. "How do we start?" she asked.
Damon slipped an arm around her waist and drew her down the crowded sidewalk. Music thumped out of the clubs, the bass reverberating in her chest. No one paid them any mind. They were just another couple out for a good time. Nothing to be concerned about.
Fools.
"Which one do you want?" Damon asked quietly. "They're all yours—all ours. They just don't know it yet." The masses of humanity parted around them. "Which one? Her?" He nodded to a woozy blond plodding along the sidewalk, shoes in her hand. "Him?" A tall man, shoulders slumped, leaving the bar alone.
Elena surveyed the crowd. Most were in pairs or groups of three or four. Once, she wouldn't have given these people a second glance. But now her eyes followed the groupings, watched the girl who lagged a step behind her prettier friends, watched the boy who lingered on the fringes of conversations, hovering like a ghost. It would be so easy to slide up to that boy, flash him a dazzling smile, lead him into a quiet corner and then...
"Him. I want him." He was scarcely older than she was, maybe nineteen, with a shock of sandy hair and a wide, guileless face. He hadn't quite grown into his lanky frame yet, didn't seem sure what to do with his hands or his feet, like some great gawky bird. After a moment of experimentation, Elena was able to home in on him and him alone. His heart kept a steady beat, almost bored in its lackadaisical rhythm. The blood ran freely in his veins, thinned ever-so-slightly with a few drinks. Elena wanted him.
Damon considered the boy, head canted to the side. "Interesting choice. But you'll have to go reel him in. If you wanna choose someone of the female persuasion, I'll do the honors myself. Or I could compel him, I guess, but that seems like cheating."
The boy was hers. He just didn't know it yet. Elena couldn't take her eyes off him as he laughed awkwardly at one of his friend's jokes, stealing a glance at the time on his cell phone. The laughter made his heart flutter in a way that made her stomach and points lower cramp in anticipation. "I'll do it," she breathed. "Where do I take him?"
"Two blocks. One north, one west. It's quiet there. We won't be disturbed." He squeezed her waist once and released her. "I'll be watching. If you need anything, say the word."
Elena nodded absently. A breeze brushed her face and he was gone. She made a note to ask him exactly how that worked. But for right now, all that really mattered were her and this boy. She sidled up to him, waited for him to notice her. It didn't take long.
"Hey," he said. He was looking over her shoulder, frowning. Elena knew that look. He was searching for a boyfriend. Wouldn't he be surprised.
"Hey yourself. I'm Elena," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Brandon. It's nice to meet you," he said politely. "You look like a Hollins girl."
"Oh, um, no. I'm not in college yet. I'm here on a campus visit. Sort of." Great job, Elena. Just fall all over your words there. Idiot. But this close to him, she could actually see the veins quivering beneath his skin, trace the line of blue that led to his heart and the lines of red that led away from it. Elena felt a familiar pressure building behind her eyes, and struggled to focus. Not yet. She couldn't show her hand yet. She rubbed at her eyes briskly, and the pressure eased, lurking just out of reach.
"If I were you, I'd go anywhere else. It's so boring here," he said with a sigh.
"Maybe you and I could make it a little more exciting? Just for tonight?" Elena felt ridiculous. Sex kitten was not her style. And she didn't look the part in her jeans and hoodie. But she was probably the only girl who'd talked to this lonely boy all night. And he ate it up. "I know a place nearby. You could buy me a drink."
He smiled, completely without pretense. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."
They walked away from the noise and into the darkness. Elena marveled at the night. It wasn't that the night was bright, it was simply that shapes which once would have been shrouded in shadows became distinct and crisp. A bat winging on the wind, a woman peering out of darkened windows, the pulse in Brandon's wrist, all were plain as the nose on her face.
They spoke of trifles, of nothing as they walked. Brandon worked in a factory but hated it, like he hated this town, dreamed of going somewhere bigger, somewhere exciting. Elena urged him to follow his dream, to go to the city and live the life he wanted. She was almost able to forget the way his pulse hammered in her ears as they walked. Until Damon melted out of the shadows.
The block he'd directed them to was abandoned—a few old warehouses, but mostly a wasteland of broken bottles and used condoms. Damon approached them, hands dug into his pocket, tongue darting over his lips. "Evenin'."
"Uh, hi," the boy said. He frowned, noticing where they were. "Where are we going, Elena? There's nothing here."
"Oh, you've found the right place. This is party central," Damon smirked, his eyes hard.
Elena didn't want this. This poor kid had to be at his shift at the factory in ten hours; he had a dream to pursue in some big city, making music or going to school or just being happy. And they were just going to attack him in this alleyway and send him on his way like it was nothing? "No, it isn't. You should go, Brandon. You were right, I was...confused. There's nothing here."
"I'm just gonna go." His heart was racing now, a hum that echoed in Elena's bones. Elena caught a familiar scent on the breeze. It was her. This boy's fear excited her, shamed her. She wanted to suck him dry; she wanted him to run for his life. He turned, but then Damon was in front of him.
"Aw, c'mon, Brandon. I know you weren't expecting to see me here, but there's no reason we can't all have a good time, is there?" Elena couldn't see Damon's eyes, but she didn't need to. Brandon's heart rate plummeted back to its calm, steady beat. Part of her missed the thrill of his fear.
"We should let him go. Just let him walk away. Please." Her mouth said all the right things, but she moved closer to the boy.
Damon looked at her with half-hooded eyes. His tongue darted out, moistening a patch on the boy's throat. His pulse danced. Elena couldn't look away.
"I'm not really into that, man," Brandon said, only moderately perturbed by the strange man licking his neck.
"You are tonight. Now shut up," Damon ordered. The boy fell silent. Then there was no need for words.
A drop of Damon's blood floated to her on the breeze as his fangs broke free. Instantly, it was devoured by the overwhelming, contradictory, delicious aroma of the boy's blood. Damon moaned against the boy's neck, then threw his head back, the faintest rim of scarlet painting his lips. He laughed into the night. "Good choice. You have to try this."
She didn't want to. He was so young. He had a name. He had a family. But his labored heart and his gasping breaths sang to her, enticed her.
Before she'd made a conscious decision, she stood beside the boy. Her fingers stroked his neck, fascinated at the complex network there, the way the veins quivered as they attempted to make up for the blood that was draining away.
"Drink," Damon ordered. And she did.
Elena plunged her fangs into the boy's neck to their very hilt, crying out at the sheer pleasure of penetrating him, owning him. Then the blood was rushing into her mouth and she was sucking, nipping, lapping at his neck. Anything to get that blood to flow more quickly, to devour more and more. This was nothing like the bagged stuff. This was warm and vital, tasting of nothing she'd experienced as a human. It warmed her, pooled deep in her belly, raced through her limbs and for a moment, made her heart seem to beat again.
Damon came to stand behind her, and she ground her hips against him in an unconscious movement that made them both moan. He stroked her hair. "That's it. Listen to his heart. Do you hear how it hitched? Every time it does that, you're bringing him one step closer to the brink."
She heard it. Heard the weakness, the languor that seemed to have consumed the muscle. But she didn't care. None of that mattered. All that mattered was this blood, this communion. She drank and drank, lips smacking obscenely against his flesh. The boy was silent.
"That's enough. Right there, that pace? That's when you know you have to stop," Damon said. He moved to the boy's other side, beginning to tug him from her arms. "Let him go, Elena."
She didn't want to. There was still more, still more that belonged to her. Every time his heart skipped a beat, every time it slowed a fraction more, Elena's thighs clenched. He was dying so she could live. What could be more beautiful than that? He was a purposeless, sad thing. She was helping him, and he'd live on in her and she didn't want to stop.
"Elena!" Damon succeeded in tearing the boy from her arms, and she reached for him with a wordless animal cry, the loss of that warmth and that comfort and that life nearly sending her to her knees in despair. "That's enough."
But it would never be enough. Even if she drained this boy dry, drained his entire family, this entire town, it would never be enough. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I didn't want to. Oh, God." How could she have given in? No. She could have killed him, had wanted him to die sweetly in her arms. Elena's hands fluttered to her face, and came away sticky with blood. It was everywhere.
"Don't be dramatic; there's nothing to be sorry for. He's gonna be fine." Damon eased the limp boy to the ground and started to bring his own wrist to his mouth.
"No. I did this. I have to fix it." As much as she wanted to curl up in the corner, to let Damon take responsibility for her, this was her hunt. She had to finish this.
The pain barely registered as Elena bit into her own wrist. She knelt over the boy, cradling his face with one hand. "Thank you," she said. Elena pressed her wrist to his mouth, let her blood nourish him, completing the circle. He drank. Elena stroked his cheek as the circular holes in his neck knit together.
She pulled away, and just as she had, he struggled to grab her wrist again. "No. Brandon, you don't want any more of that." Elena felt a strange push from behind her eyes, and the boy immediately stopped his attempt to reclaim her wrist. Elena blinked up at Damon. "It's that easy?"
He just nodded, eyes unreadable in the darkness. She turned back toward him. "You're going to go home. Get a good night's sleep. Take a vitamin. In the morning, you're going to put in notice at the factory. And you're going to do what you want to do. And you're going to try your hardest to be happy."
"Very noble, Elena, but remind him that he isn't going to remember any of this while he's off chasing his dreams," Damon said drily.
"Oh. Right." Stolen blood flushed in her cheeks. She'd forgotten that part. "You won't remember any of this. You went out. You had fun. You got tired and went home. Do you understand?"
"I understand. I think I'm gonna go to Chicago," he said thoughtfully.
Elena couldn't believe how simple it was. She just had to want something, then tell someone? It was so simple. It was so dangerous. "Good. Now go home, Brandon." She stood, offering him a hand up. He accepted. "And thank you."
"Sure, I gotta go find my friends. See ya." He waved and trotted back toward the busy bar district.
For a mad instant, Elena wanted to run after him, grasp him by the hair and tear his throat open and dance in the scarlet geyser. But Damon had his arms around her, and she relaxed against him. She had enough for now. Enough to survive, enough to continue to live and fight. It would have to be enough.
"Welcome to my world, Elena."