AN: I've finally decided to post this chapter as is, instead of rewriting parts of it, because I was procrastinating. Anyway, I hope you can all forgive me for my procrastination and enjoy this chapter!
To JennyMikaelson: I've already replied to your initial review, but I wanted to give you a little shout-out. Thank you for being my faithful reviewer!
To kadienewberg: Your reviews always put a smile on my face. Gracias!
To winxgirl1997: Thanks for the review! Here's your update.
To VampFreaks: Thanks for continuing to show support for my story!
To Guest13: Thanks for reviewing! I understand your reasons for not liking Klaroline. I feel that way about Delena. However, a lot of the other people reading this story do like it and are looking forward to it, and I've already promised to include it. Rest assured, though, that Klaroline will be fairly minor and will honestly not progress into anything serious. At least not for quite a while anyway. I just find it adorable that Klaus is so taken with a "little baby vampire." I hope that my including minor Klaroline won't deter you from this fic, but I understand why it would. Thanks again for dropping me a review anyway! Always feel free to tell me your thoughts.
Chapter 20
Previously . . .
Elena turned to Caroline and smiled, but her friend had not yet entered, looking confused. Her smile disappearing, Elena frowned at her friend. "Caroline, what's wrong?" she asked.
Caroline's eyes dragged up to stare at Elena before she backed away, slowly shaking her head. "Get out of there, Elena," she muttered, grabbing onto the porch railing and descending the steps backwards.
Elena's brow furrowed, and she glanced nervously throughout the house. "There's nothing here, Caroline," she finally said, turning to find Caroline was already standing on the path.
Caroline was watching her sadly. "I can't get in, Elena," she hissed, taking another step back. "Like I need an invitation."
Elena frowned. "Caroline, don't be ridiculous. Nobody alive lives here."
"I'm sorry," sobbed Carline, who turned tail and sped away so fast she created a wind that blew Elena's hair back.
Shaking her head, Elena sighed and turned to walk back out the door. Whatever had spooked Caroline, it wasn't worth sticking around just to run an errand for her boyfriend.
She frowned when, for whatever reason, her foot refused to move past the threshold. "That's weird," she muttered, setting her foot back down behind her.
"Elena?" a small voice behind her asked.
Startled, Elena swung around and stared up at the speaker, taking a step back.
"Jeremy?" she hissed in disbelief.
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For over seven-hundred years, he had faithfully served his master. He had come when his master had called and had obeyed his every command. He was dependable, loyal, and strong. He liked to think that he could handle whatever his master threw at him.
A time ago, he had been entrusted with monumental tasks that forced him to use every ounce of his strategic abilities. Back then, he had been challenged and pushed to greatness. Then, sixty-five years ago, his master had vanished from the face of the earth, and he and his companions had been left drowning in the enormity of their calling: to protect those of this earth unable to protect themselves.
Sven had risked much for his master's sake during Mshiagi's absence. He felt that he deserved some sort of praise: he would accept a simple pat on the back. However, Mshiagi was not forthcoming with praise. Rather Sven's master was more prone to berating him for his few mistakes than praising him for his far more numerous accomplishments.
He had once been great in the eyes of the supernatural world, feared by any who knew his name. Now, the vampires, witches, and werewolves of this world knew nothing of him or his reputation. Most didn't even believe the Guardians existed. He had been reduced to an old wives' tale told around a campfire to scare young children.
He expected to be reduced to such anonymity by the supernatural of this world, but even his own master had demoted him. Mshiagi clearly had some plot cooking in his ancient mind, but he had not bothered to let his children in on his plans. Sven had been given a task that required none of his exceptional skills. A newborn Guardian could have handled his task.
He was . . . babysitting.
Stewing in his thoughts, Sven sat erect in one of the hard kitchen chairs pushed up to the small breakfast table, a steaming mug of coffee gripped tightly in his hand. He had yet to take a sip, too preoccupied with piercing the pathetic human across from him with every ounce of frustration and hatred he felt. He had spent his entire Guardian life protecting such creatures, and the most they could offer him was a mumbled "thank you."
"Stop staring at me," the blonde human grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Sven had bestowed him with a mug of chocolate milk upon his request for something considerably stronger. If the human had been insulted, he had hidden it well.
"Or what?" asked Sven coolly, finally taking his first sip. Only his intense self-control and stoic manner kept him from spitting the dirt-colored substance from his mouth. He would have to remember to ask Gerald to make the next pot. Sven had always been useless in the kitchen, for as a child he had been taught that housework was women's work and a man's was slaving in the fields under the hot sun.
Sven would much rather spend his days indoors studying the greats and filling his head with more knowledge than it could hold than sweating like a woman in labor.
The boy tightened his grip on his mug's handle, his eyes boring a hole in the knotted wood of the table. Sven smiled to himself at seeing the boy's frustration. Oh, how he loved to make little humans squirm! Perhaps he should consider finding a vampire or two to slaughter (Mabel had told him that this quaint, little town had many) to appease his inner desire to dominate and to intimidate.
"No answer, I see," Sven said when it was clear that the boy was being uncooperative. "Perhaps we should pick a different topic of conversation." The boy continued to glare into his mug. "How do you like Tchaikovsky, Mark?"
"It's Matt," the boy growled into his chocolate milk.
Sven allowed himself to chuckle, for he knew that the boy would be more insulted by such a brushoff than by a harsh reprimand. "Forgive me, child," apologized Sven with a smirk gracing his lips. "I cannot remember things as well as I once could."
Before Matt could respond, Sven froze upon hearing a small sound toward the front of the house. Matt raised his eyes from his mug to stare at the Guardian, but Sven's attention was solely on the commotion at the front.
"Someone dares encroach on Master's territory?" growled the Guardian, rising slowly to his feet. Matt's gaze ducked back down to his mug, the sudden change in the tall man's demeanor unnerving him.
Throwing open the swinging door leading into the front parlor, Sven marched through the doorway and glared at the intruders. The girl at the front had yet to notice him, most likely because she was talking up at one of his Master's prisoners, but the second girl had frozen upon his entrance.
The dark-featured girl's eyes darted up to glare at him, but Sven could tell by how tightly she clutched the open book on her lap that she was wary. Returning the girl's glare, Sven strode swiftly into the room and stopped to stand before the child.
"Elena!" the girl hissed, her eyes not leaving him. Sven sensed when the girl at the front finally noticed him. However, he kept his gaze locked on the little girl sat before him. His acute senses had alerted him that this child was a witch the moment he had sensed them enter. He knew they had not been in the house long, but he had waited long enough simply listening in on their conversation to know what they were doing in his Master's headquarters.
"They weren't doing anything!" the boy at the top of the stairs hissed. Finally, Sven tore his gaze away from the girl to peer up at the strong-willed prisoner. He would never understand why Mshiagi had insisted that Sven and the others not be rough with any of the prisoners. His master generally did not concern himself with the comfort of his prisoners as long as they were kept away from the Dark.
"Jeremy," the girl at the front—Elena, the little witch had called her—asked shakily, "who is this?" She raised a trembling hand to point across the room at Sven.
Instead of answering, the boy sprinted down the stairs, swung around the banister, and stumbled his way toward his warden. "They didn't do anything!" he repeated, gasping for breath.
Sven sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "I never said they had, boy," he soothed, keeping his stance unthreatening. His master would want to deal with the witch once he returned from wherever he had gone.
Jeremy glared up at him, but Sven remained unruffled. "I am afraid," the Guardian began smoothly, "that you young ladies are unable to leave our headquarters. May I suggest you make yourselves comfortable until my master returns?" He noticed with satisfaction the uneasy shifting of the little girls. "I am certain he will want a word with you two before we can allow you to depart."
As quickly as he had entered, Sven spun on his heel and sauntered back into the kitchen. Disgusting though it might be, he was determined to finish his coffee before Mshiagi returned and he would have to endure the headache of explaining how he had allowed two little girls to enter and become trapped in their current residence. Mshiagi was not known for his understanding.
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When Mshiagi had first stepped into the dilapidated home where hundreds of witches had been burned to death, the spirits of the witches had screamed at him. He could feel their anger thrusting through him, demanding that he leave at once, but Mshiagi paid them no mind. As powerful as the witches together were, the most they could do to him was induce headaches. Granted, they were head-splitting headaches, but merely headaches all the same.
Pushing through the haze of the pounding in his skull, Mshiagi waltzed through the home in search of his quarry. Of course, his quarry was nothing alive, but rather a specific point in space. Mshiagi could sense that in this burning site was a bridge between two planes.
Even Mshiagi with all the power he possessed needed help when reeling spirits back from the land of the dead, known as the Other Side among the supernatural. Retrieving a soul from the Other Side was taxing, and Mshiagi could only do so when he stood at a connecting point. If he had had no access to such a point, Mshiagi would have simply stepped over the threshold separating the two planes and retrieved the souls through the more hands-on approach. However, that approach required Mshiagi to construct a makeshift body for the souls he brought back, for an empty body was often not available. When he stood at a bridge and yanked a soul over with the power of his will, then the souls would construct a remake of their old bodies so precise that the only genetic difference was less than a thousandth of a percent.
Mshiagi would never admit to being desperate, for he could just as easily seek out already alive souls and turn them instead. But he had quickly found that those he turned were more grateful and more loyal to him if he had given them a second chance at life. His two most faithful Guardians, one of them Sven, were testament to that fact. The two felt they owed Mshiagi their very existence, and would serve him no matter what the cost.
Upon passing by a small wooden door, Mshiagi felt the pull of the bridge stronger than he had before. He paused and smiled to himself, twisting the knob and forcing the door open with a gentle push of his inner power.
The headaches ceased as he merrily trotted down the creaky wooden steps, humming an old melody to himself. The pull of the bridge only strengthened as he continued to descend.
Allowing himself a small smile, Mshiagi stepped from the bottom step to the hard dirt floor and pranced into the exact middle of the room. "Lovely," he purred to himself, grinning like a maniac as he skipped in a small circle.
The spirits continued to berate him, but Mshiagi tuned them out as he projected his subconscious over the bridge and deep into the Other Side in search of his quarry. He frowned as he pushed deeper and yet could still not locate the soul he wanted. She had died only recently: she should not be so deep into the Other Side already.
"Pandora," he growled to himself. At her name, a dominating presence filled the room and chilled his spine. Mshiagi ignored the being now standing just behind him as his subconscious continued to soar through the Other Side.
"What are you doing, Mshiagi?" demanded Pandora with a hiss, clamping slender fingers down on his shoulder.
"That is none of your concern, Pandora," he replied emotionlessly. As angry as he was, his irritation disappeared when his subconscious finally enveloped his quarry, who screamed and fought.
As he moved on the side of the Living, his subconscious moved on the Other Side and latched onto his quarry. "Now, now, little one," Mshiagi chuckled, reaching out a hand and snagging onto the back of her neck.
Pandora squeezed his shoulder harder. "Stop it, boy!" she growled, trying to shake him.
As strong as Pandora was, she wasn't strong enough to shake Mshiagi from his trance-like state. "It was nice of you to help her, Pandora," Mshiagi mocked her as he dragged his quarry through the Other Side and ever closer to the bridge, "but I believe your services will no longer be needed."
"Mshiagi, I made her a promise!" cried Pandora, finally stepping away from him and stamping her foot in frustration. "I will not allow you to eradica—!"
Mshiagi interrupted her, "Is that what you believe I intend to do?" He smirked when she fell silent beside him. Pandora might be the only being capable of challenging him, but he was the only one who could—what did the kids nowadays say?—throw her off.
Before either could say another word, Mshiagi's quarry had reached the bridge, and now all he needed to do was reach through and bring her to the side of the Living.
He could feel Pandora's eyes boring into his back as he thrust his hand over the bridge and into the Other Side, latching onto his quarry. Mshiagi could feel her fear through that simple touch as he dragged her through.
"This is madness," Pandora snapped as the witch tumbled over the bridge and crumpled at Mshiagi's feet. "You merely want to torment her!"
"Please!" the witch spluttered, throwing her arms around the boy's ankles and holding on for dear life. "Please, I will do anything! Please!"
Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Mshiagi sighed. With Pandora's eyes on him, he didn't dare harm the witch clinging to him, but he had never intended to "harm" her to begin with. He understood the child's reasons behind her actions, though he might not have appreciated what she did.
"Because of you," he growled down at the trembling woman, "I was, shall we say, 'incapacitated' for over half a century." Feeling the wetness of her tears as they soaked through his jeans, Mshiagi would have shifted in discomfort if he could have without kicking the woman. "Do not think I have forgiven that grievance," he continued.
For now, Pandora was simply watching him, but Mshiagi knew better than to let his guard down. She was fully on the side of the Living, and her physical presence in this world granted her immense power over it. Plus, Pandora was infuriating and could very effectively make his life miserable if she so pleased.
"However," Mshiagi spoke again, making the woman freeze, "I seem to be short on Guardians, and it is so hard finding those willing to take up on my offer of turning them."
As he had suspected, the witch pulled away from him at his words and painfully pulled herself to her feet. A tall woman, Gloria stood roughly two to three inches over him, but her height advantage did little to calm her tumultuous spirit. Mshiagi smiled up at her, knowing that his very presence intimidated her.
"You turned me into a box, little girl," he murmured. Gloria flinched when he reached up a hand and cupped her face with it. She didn't dare resist as the boy tugged her into a tight embrace.
"I don't understand," she panted against his neck, shocked at how strong he was. She was pinned against his chest and unable to even squirm into a different position.
"You do not have to," the boy purred into her ear. Cradling her in his arms, he splayed one hand against the back of her head and rubbed the other up and down her back.
Gloria whimpered and forced herself to return the embrace, burying her face in his neck. His calming aura washed over her, and she felt her tears abating. For so long, she had lived in fear of the boy holding her, but with a simple embrace she was melting. "What did you mean by turning me?" she mumbled into his neck.
Mshiagi heard even though her words were quiet and muffled. "You know of my children?" Gloria nodded against his neck, unaware that Pandora was watching them. "You did not think that they were my biological children, did you?"
Gloria had never given it much thought. "I don't know," she mumbled.
When he pushed her away and held her at arms' length, Gloria ducked her head down and waited for a further explanation. "I am giving you a choice, little one," he soothed, his grip on her strong but gentle. "Become a Guardian and help me keep your goddaughter safe, or return to the Other Side."
What did he think she would choose?
Lifting her chin defiantly, Gloria's smile wavered as she made her choice. "Make me a Guardian," she mumbled.
Noticing Pandora for the first time, Gloria flinched and barely restrained herself from throwing herself back into Mshiagi's arms. She could not believe that she was suddenly turning to the boy for protection.
"We had a deal," Pandora growled, glaring at her.
Mshiagi turned and smiled ruefully up at the woman. "I'm afraid the deal is off," he chuckled.
"You are doing this on purpose," accused Pandora, turning the full force of her glare on the golden-haired boy still smirking at her.
Mshiagi shrugged. "Perhaps," he admitted as his inner power sliced evenly into his wrist. Gloria stared at the blood seeping out in alarm. "Or perhaps not," Mshiagi finished, grasping Gloria by the neck and pushing his bleeding wrist into her agape mouth.
"Drink, little one," he encouraged, wrapping his free arm around his newest daughter and holding onto her waist. "It will only burn for a moment."
Stepping away from him and shaking her head, Pandora sighed. "I will never understand you, sweetheart," she said.
Their eyes met, Mshiagi's saying more than his words ever could. Pandora pursed her lips and nodded. "You cannot hate me forever, Mshiagi," she sighed.
The boy's steely glare had not wavered. "I do not hate you, Pandora," he replied evenly. "I simply am not any longer interested in playing your little games."
Gloria pulled away from his wrist and fell to the ground in a coughing fit, blood seeping from between her lips. The two immortals looked on as the woman fell headfirst into her painful transition.
Mshiagi turned away from his new daughter for a moment to glare up at Pandora. "I agreed to help you in your ridiculous quest, Pandora," he sighed, "but that does not mean I will always fall into line like a little soldier."
Shaking her head, Pandora strode toward him and held out her arms. "Baby, you are no soldier," she hissed.
Mshiagi stood still as he was engulfed in her arms and kissed atop the head. Pandora's sway over him infuriated him, but she and only she could affect him so. The part of him that wanted to return her embrace and submit to her was strong, but the rest of him refused to bow down.
"So you say," he muttered into her shoulder.
Pandora sighed as she pulled away. "You don't need to meddle so much." She pouted down at him.
Mshiagi's lips twitched up into a smile. "Get out," he growled.
Whether she were intimidated or had simply decided arguing was not worth it, Pandora stepped away from him and bowed her head respectfully. "Do not expect me to leave you be," she admonished, "for I will never give up on you."
Mshiagi rolled his eyes. "I would not dream of it, Mama."
Pandora froze at his choice of address, pinpricks of tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. The two stared at each other for a moment, only being interrupted by Gloria's cries of pain.
Mshiagi took a step back and turned away. "I need to tend to my daughter," he said politely. "Do forgive me."
Pandora's tears had finally abated. "I love you," she whispered as she stepped back over to the Other Side.
Kneeling down beside Gloria and gathering her into his arms, Mshiagi bowed his head and sighed. "I know," he mumbled, pressing his lips to his new daughter's hair.
"Why does it hurt so much?" whimpered Gloria, clawing at his shirt and pressing herself against him.
"My blood is teeming with power that is now changing you from the inside out," Mshiagi deadpanned. "It should be over soon, though. Then we can bring back the others."
Gloria froze, ignoring the stabs of pain shooting up and down her body. "Others?" she hissed.
"Hush, little one," soothed Mshiagi. "That is my worry. Yours is completing your transition. The others will come soon enough."
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As always, Damon had not thought his plan through. He had barreled headfirst into battle without first consulting his trusty playbook. Although Stefan couldn't blame his brother per se—he was prone to such impulsive acts himself—Damon's poorly-executed reconnaissance was not going well.
Stefan had followed his brother without question, a poor judgment on his part, and he was now just as entrenched in Damon's harebrained scheme as Damon. He really should be able to see the "bright side" in all this, but Stefan was failing to rationalize their impulsiveness.
The idea had seemed perfectly rational when Damon had first presented it to him. As he dragged Stefan at almost vampiric speeds along the sidewalks running through Mystic Falls, Damon had laid out for him his plan, and Stefan had still followed. Normally, the two vampires wouldn't have been so cautious in their reconnaissance, but both remembered the haunted look on Rebekah's face while regaling her woes of chancing upon the "Devil Hunter." Stefan for one would never so flippantly dismiss what Rebekah claimed she had encountered. Neither he nor Damon knew anything about a legendary being who hunted "devils," but that did not mean that one such being didn't exist.
The trouble hadn't begun until the two vampires had been within sight of the home. Common sense dictated that the two should have remained hidden for as long as possible, but Damon had dictated otherwise. When Stefan had tried to slink along the perimeter of the home, Damon had latched onto his wrist and dragged him up the cobblestone pathway leading to the front door.
Damon could only be cautious to a certain point. Unlike Stefan, he had written off Rebekah's freak-out as the Blondie being Blondie and had thought little of it. The little caution that Damon had taken had been to satisfy his little brother.
Before Stefan could protest his brother's forwardness, the two vampires had been surrounded. Damon had frozen, staring glassy-eyed at the pale, ethereal beings ringing them. Two men and two women, trapping them at all four corners and piercing them with fear-inciting glares.
Now all the two vampires could do was keep their cool and assess the situation. If Stefan were not clutching his brother's hand as if to say "Don't you dare," then Damon would certainly have already launched himself at at least one of the strange persons.
"Any bright ideas?" mumbled Stefan to his brother. He failed to hide the nervousness in his voice.
"The Salvatores, I presume?" one of the women spoke up, startling the two vampires. Damon tried to glare, but a bone-crushing squeeze from his brother quickly silenced him.
The shorter of the two men smirked at them, his grin lopsided. "Don't take the invasion of your home personally," he rumbled. "We're just following orders."
Damon snapped. Ripping his hand from his little brother's, Damon launched himself at the shorter man and knocked him back several yards. The two tumbled for several more yards, both fighting for dominance.
Damon snarled at the man beneath him, and the man growled, flipping Damon over with massive strength. Before the vampire could retaliate, he had been plucked up from underneath the man and casually tossed halfway across the yard.
As he sailed through the air, Damon could hear Stefan's cries of outrage. Damon hissed to himself, "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay!" as he crashed into the fragile Cupid statue erected in their side yard. Rolling over and gasping in shock, Damon barely had enough time to shield his face before the baby-faced statue with its stone arrow pointed at his heart toppled over.
Stefan could only watch in horror as the statue fell and its arrow pierced his brother's heart. Even though he knew Damon would be fine, Stefan screeched in horror, the sight of blood gushing from the gaping wound in his brother's chest enough to make him see red. He thrashed in his captor's arms, snarling and throwing himself forward.
"Hush now, little one," the woman who had first spoken cooed to him, her slender arms encircling his waist keeping him prisoner.
"I'll kill you all!" screamed Stefan, his fangs elongating and his eyes veining. Panting, he glared as the tall man who had thrown his brother trotted over and lifted the statue off his brother without a twinge of concern. Damon had lost consciousness, his head lolled to the side at an awkward angle.
Shaking his head and clucking his tongue, the pale man sighed. "Oh dear," he murmured, stooping and reaching out a finger to swipe it in the wound. "I'm afraid that might take some time to heal."
"Allow me, Mabel." Swinging around to face the voice, Stefan only had time to bite back his scream as the shorter man grabbed his chin and jerked it to the side.
As his neck snapped, Stefan's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and darkness overwhelmed his senses.
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"Do your best, Jeremy," sighed Elena, keeping a hand on her brother's shoulder. She, her brother, and Bonnie were huddled together on the leather sofa, listening to the sounds of a battle going on outside. The two girls had come to ignore the strange sounds they heard outside. Neither wanted to know what the Guardians, as they called themselves, were up to.
Jeremy's eyes remained trained on the ground, his face strained. "I can't, Elena," he hissed. "He already locked Ric and Matt up. I don't know what might happen!"
Elena frowned and leaned around her brother to share a long look with her friend. Nodding in agreement, Bonnie sighed, her eyes darting toward the small wooden door hidden near the stairwell that led to the cellar. "You never quite explained that," the witch piped up. Jeremy turned to stare at her. "About why Matt and Ric are locked up, that is."
Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut and clutched his sister's hand even more tightly. "We made a break for it," he hissed through his teeth, "and he caught us."
Elena frowned. "Who's 'he'?"
Jeremy's eyes rolled up to squint at his sister, the dull and haunted expression in his eyes disturbing Elena. "I don't know," he mumbled, biting his lip and ducking his head back down to go back to glaring at the floor.
Bonnie stood from her seat beside Jeremy and marched toward the front door. "This is ridiculous!" she grumbled under her breath. "I just haven't tried hard enough to get us out yet!"
Swinging the door open, Bonnie threw her hands up to begin her lengthy chant (her third attempt at lowering whatever barrier was keeping them trapped in the boarding house) when her brain registered what was happening in front of her. She saw the bad-tempered Guardian named Gerald snap Stefan's neck, and she gasped.
"Stop it!" she cried, thrusting out a hand as if she thought that could stop them. When it hit the barrier, her power disintegrated and spiraled out to slowly dissolve in the barrier's fibers. Glowering in frustration, Bonnie watched uneasily as Gerald dragged Stefan up the cobblestone path backwards and Sven appeared from the side of the building with Damon draped over his shoulders.
Gerald glanced over his shoulder and spotted Bonnie, whose agape mouth and shocked expression only amused him. "Hello there, darling," he laughed. "Would you mind moving aside so that I can get past you?"
From behind Bonnie, a soft presence approached her, and she stiffened. She relaxed when she recognized the hand that dropped onto her shoulder as Elena's. "Bonnie, what's going on?" Elena asked her breathlessly.
Bonnie knew that Elena could see Stefan's unconscious form from where she was standing. "Stefan!" shrieked Elena.
Bonnie stumbled back into the room and swung around to face Jeremy. "Do something!" she cried.
Jeremy glared at her, and Bonnie remembered whom she was speaking to. "Right," she mumbled, swinging around and assessing the situation as quickly as she could.
Her thoughts were slowly forming as the Salvatore brothers were lugged through the door and tossed in a heap on the ground. "Stop it!" screamed Elena as she pounded on Sven's chest. "Leave him alone!"
Bonnie raised her hand, chanting under her breath and glaring at the pale man who now dared to raise a hand at Elena. His head jerking up to stare at her, Sven advanced on her and hissed before his eyes suddenly widened in alarm and he quickly backed off.
"You should be afraid," Bonnie growled under her breath, interrupting her chant for only a moment.
"I am very sorry for the lot fate has assigned you." Bonnie's blood ran cold at the melodic voice behind her, and she swung around.
The golden-haired, sapphire-eyed boy beamed at her. "Let me help," he purred, stepping forward.
Bonnie gasped and fell backward. She would have crumpled to the ground if the strange boy hadn't latched onto her wrist.
"Let go of me!" she shrieked, sudden fear overwhelming her.
Pulling her up to his chest as if she weighed nothing, the boy chuckled and rested his hand against Bonnie's forehead. "I'm afraid I can't do that, little one," he laughed as he dug his fingertips into Bonnie's forehead.
"NO!" Bonnie screamed in both pain and terror as she struggled. "What are you doing?! Stop it!"
The fingers pushed through the bone in her forehead and pressed against the frontal lobe of her brain. "I know it hurts," the boy soothed, "but it will all be over soon."
Bonnie gasped as the boy began to pulse with a white-hot heat. The fingers imbedded in her began to sear the inside of her skull. She screamed wordlessly, and her knees gave beneath her.
His vividly-blue eyes widened with power as the boy drained the young witch within the folds of his power. "Just a little bit longer," he purred.
Dull eyes staring up at him, Bonnie gasped for the last time and crumpled to the ground. Pulling his fingers from the girl's forehead, the boy stood as he wiped the stained fingers on his worn-looking jeans.
"There, you see, children?" the boy teased, turning to the slender woman with her hair wrapped up in a bun. "That is one less witch we have to take care of."
On her hands and knees, Elena hurried over to her friend and bent over her, reaching out a tentative hand to press it to Bonnie's damaged forehead. "What did you do to her?" she sobbed, glaring hatefully up at the far-too-cheerful boy.
The boy smiled down at her. "I drained her," he answered simply.
A small sound startled Elena, and she swung around to meet its maker, heart clenching in pain. Standing only a few yards away was a woman with satiny-smooth, pale skin and tightly-curled silver hair. "I see you ridded yourself of my competition," the strange woman teased the boy.
The boy turned to her and grinned, stepping over Bonnie's body as if she were not even there and embracing the tall woman. "Now, now, little one," the boy chided. "You and the others must be introduced to the family before you start asking questions."
Sighing, the woman smiled down at him, although her smile was wary. "Yes, Master," she murmured.
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Thanks for reading!
AN: I hope to update soon, but I'm a horrible procrastinator. Drop me a review to spur me on! I love hearing your thoughts on and suggestions for my story. I always try to reply, whether privately or publicly.