As Stefan's footsteps receded, Damon's smile vanished and he glanced down at the book Stefan had been attempting to hide from him. The leather-bound tome was unfamiliar and smelled faintly of their father. What had Stefan been doing in their father's study? He had not shown interest in going in there before and Damon had not bothered to prevent Stefan from prying. With a thoughtful hum, Damon sank into the chair Stefan had vacated and opened the book, flipping through the pages. He supposed it was his own fault for not keeping Stefan out.
Giuseppe's handwriting stretched across several pages, detailing creatures of the night and their capabilities. Damon's lip curled at the absurdities mixed with facts. Entire passages were wholly nonsense, useless red herrings to ward off the ignorant. The only thing that gave him pause was the inclusion of Vervain. Snapping the book closed, Damon rose from his seat, his mind stirring as he made his way out of the library.
It would not do either of them well if Stefan got it in his curious little head to seek out the plant. Damon had gone to great lengths to acquire and preserve their quietude after Giuseppe's passing, and it would not so easily be ruined by mindless meddling. Stefan did not need to know anymore than what was permitted.
Seeking out Giuseppe's study, Damon entered the dimly lit room. His gaze swept over the dusty ornate furniture, the velvet lined chair, and the rows of worn books. A quick survey of the desk found nothing else of note missing, though he raised an eyebrow at the wooden stake which lay in one of the desk drawers. With a flick of his wrist, the drawer clicked shut and Damon's lips quirked at the irony. The leather-bound book disappeared into another drawer with little ceremony and Damon departed from the room. His fingers grasped the doorknob, and with a slow twist, the metal crumpled, sealing the room off from further prying hands.
Retreating to his own room, Damon glanced at his reflection in the standing mirror adjacent to the dresser. A stain marred the collar of his shirt and he changed into a fresh set of darker clothes, omitting the vest and suit jacket. The grime from his nails was washed away in the washbasin, the murky water tinted red, and Damon smoothed his hair with damp hands. Leaning against the basin stand, Damon listened to the faint noises in the dining room. He thought that perhaps he should send a couple of the servants into town for more food and to maintain appearances. Already he had been too indulgent. While compliance was easily achieved, someone from town was bound to notice sooner rather than later. Stefan, however, he could manage.
Pushing away from the dresser, Damon sauntered out of the room and lazily made his way down the stairs. The smell of cooked meats and seasoned potatoes wafted through the house, but it was the scent under that which stirred hunger in Damon. Swallowing thickly, Damon bit his tongue, tasting his own blood as his fangs threatened to extend. It had never crossed his mind, never warranted contemplating in his old timeline, and until now, he never would have considered.
How wonderful Stefan's blood must taste.
The house was still.
Damon moved through the dark halls with a silent grace, his footsteps nothing more than a whisper on the old wooden floors. Climbing the stairs, Damon slowly made his way towards Stefan's room, drawn as he often was in the quiet hours of the night. He nudged the door open.
His brother was fast asleep, the pale moonlight bathing Stefan in an ethereal glow. Stefan looked positively divine lying amongst the white linen, golden brown hair splayed across the pillow, and the frilled collar of his nightshirt opened to bare his neck. Damon's breath stuttered in his chest.
He could hear Stefan's heart beat rhythmically, each beat circulating the sweet scented blood he wanted to taste so badly. He could smell it from the doorway. Like honeysuckle and pine, light and rich, so enticing. Damon clenched his jaw, fangs grinding across his teeth as he took a hesitant step forward. He should not… He really should not… But, he was so hungry and craving Stefan's blood for weeks without a single drop was sheer agony. Not even the servants had been enough to sate his hunger.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Damon gently brushed away the errant hairs from Stefan's face and tucked them behind his ear. Wetting his lips, Damon dipped his head, whispering in Stefan's ear, "Wake up, Stefan."
Stefan stirred, rubbing his eyes. "Damon? Wha's wrong?" He asked in confusion, words slurring with sleep.
Damon smiled, cupping Stefan's chin as he rubbed his thumb across the smooth skin. "Nothing is wrong, Stef. You're dreaming. You will not feel any pain, and when you wake up, you will forget this ever happened."
Stefan's eyes glazed over as Damon's compulsion took hold. Damon's smile widened. "That's a good boy."
Pressing a kiss to Stefan's temple, Damon lingered, leaning over Stefan. His breath ghosted over Stefan's neck, lips brushing the tender skin. The steady thrum of Stefan's pulse was hypnotic, luring him in. His fangs, sharp and aching, hovered for a moment- just a moment- before piercing the flesh.
The initial resistance of the skin gave way to the warm rush of blood that filled Damon's mouth, full and intoxicating. Stefan's body tensed for a brief second, a faint gasp escaping his lips before fading quickly, lulled by the compulsion. Damon closed his eyes, savoring the thick, sweet blood flooding his senses. It was so divine, so uniquely Stefan, and Damon drank deeply, pressing closer. He could not swallow it fast enough, gasping and gulping with each pulse, blood slicking his lips and staining Stefan's nightshirt.
Somewhere in the house, the grandfather clock chimed the midnight hour, but all Damon could focus on was the errant heartbeat under him and the blood flowing over his tongue. The exhilaration roared in his ears, nearly drowning out the wet squelches of him desperately drinking every drop. His senses gradually returned to him as Stefan's shallow pants and the saltiness of sweat on his skin registered within his blood-hazed mind. Reluctantly, Damon withdrew his fangs, tongue eagerly lapping up the remnants of crimson that lingered on Stefan's skin.
Pulling back, Damon admired the puncture wounds, licking the blood from his lips as he reigned in his heavy breathing. His eyes drifted to Stefan's oblivious expression, unaware of what was transpiring despite his body reacting. It trembled and perspired, dragging in shallow breaths and still Stefan looked straight ahead dazedly. Damon's thumb traced the line of Stefan's jaw and tilted Stefan's face towards him. Biting his own wrist, Damon tore the flesh and let the blood drip into Stefan's mouth, watching intently as Stefan swallowed reflexively. The torn flesh knitted itself back together and Damon ran his tongue across his skin to clean it.
"Go to sleep, Stefan." Damon murmured. As Stefan succumbed to sleep, Damon stood and slipped out of the room. Shutting the door quietly, Damon leaned against it, thumping the back of his head as he closed his eyes. Stefan had tasted so good.
Shoving off from the door, Damon walked down the hallway to his room, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. He would need to be careful if he continued feeding on his brother, and now that he had tasted Stefan's blood he had no intentions of stopping.
Not until he was ready to turn Stefan.
Stefan awoke to brilliant sunlight filling his room. A groan escaped his lips as he rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut. A dull headache pulsated behind his eyes, making his temple twitch from the pressure, and nausea crawled up the back of his throat. His head felt heavy, full of fog, and fragments from the day before filtered in. It was all disjointed, and a sense of unease filled his gut as he tried to remember last night. Had Damon been in his room? He frowned, trying to grasp the elusive details, but they slipped through his mind like water through his fingers.
A sudden clarity had him bolt upright. The book!
Rubbing the grit from his eyes, Stefan hastily decided he should confront Damon. He needed to know why his brother was behaving so oddly and why he had taken the book. Vampyre, his mind whispered and Stefan stubbornly shoved the thought away. It could not be true… A cold chill passed through him and Stefan shuddered as he tossed the sheets aside. He dressed quickly, paying no heed to his appearance in the mirror, and buttoned his shirt before slipping on an everyday vest. He contemplated wearing a coat too. The early autumn chill was beginning to get to him and the room had grown cold. He frowned.
Annie was always so particular about keeping the fireplaces at either end of the house warm, even in the height of summer. With autumn settling in the fireplaces should be roaring and she was mindful of how easily affected by the cold Stefan was. Shivering, Stefan pulled on his coat and opened his door. Perhaps Damon would know what was wrong, he hoped Annie had not fallen ill.
Walking down the stairs, hand sliding across the railing, Stefan found Damon standing by the parlor windows, staring out at the morning light filtering through the trees. A glass of amber liquid in Damon's hand refracted the sunlight, casting a prism that was swallowed in the long shadows and Damon's silhouette appeared even more imposing. Stefan hesitated, suddenly unsure of himself. Damon turned momentarily, a thin smile stretching across his face.
"Good morning, brother," Damon greeted, "Sleep well?"
Stefan swallowed the unease climbing the back of his throat and forced himself to meet his brother's gaze. "I… need to talk to you, Damon."
Damon raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk twisting his lips. "Is that so? About what?"
"About yesterday," Stefan shifted uncomfortably, "I cannot remember everything. But, there was the book I found."
The smirk fell from Damon's face leaving a cold expression in its wake. "You're tired, Stefan," He replied flatly, sipping his drink, "You should rest today."
Stefan sighed in frustration. "It is not because I am tired. I am forgetting hours at a time, and you made me give you that book yesterday!"
Damon's eyes darkened. "You should not have been trying to hide it from me."
"You've been acting strangely, Damon." Stefan countered, stuffing his hands in his pockets to hide the way they trembled.
Damon scoffed, downing the rest of the alcohol. "Do not tell me, little brother, that you believe those fairy tales Giuseppe wrote about?"
The accusatory inflection instilled shame within Stefan and his eyes slid to the floor. Perhaps the book held no truth, yet there had to be a reason for Damon taking it away.
"Really, Stef," Damon said, reaching out to grasp Stefan's jaw, "I am doing everything to keep you… safe. The least you could do is trust me."
"Trust you?" Stefan parroted, wincing at the tightening grip, "How can I when you're keeping things from me?"
Stefan grunted softly as Damon's fingertips dug into his skin and pulled him forward. Damon leaned in, noses nearly touching, and blue eyes seeing straight through Stefan. "No more of this. You will obey me and you will not defy me. Understood?"
"Yes, Damon." The words tore themselves from Stefan's lips and he felt betrayed they had been spoken.
"That's a good boy." Damon hummed approvingly before relinquishing his grip on Stefan and gently pushing him away. "Now go on. Leave it alone."
The fog twisted in Stefan's head and he blinked in a vain attempt to regain a semblance of clarity. He did not want to leave it alone. He wanted answers as to why he could not remember hours at a time, why was Damon behaving strangely? Why had Giuseppe written those things, why was the house so cold? The questions piled on his tongue, but refused to be uttered, and Stefan made a distressed noise in the back of his throat.
"I told you, Stefan. Leave it." Damon's voice cut through his thoughts.
"What if I do not?" Stefan demanded quietly, not quite meeting Damon's hard stare.
"You will."
Stefan's defiance dwindled as Damon's words hung in the air like a threat. The tension in the room suddenly felt suffocating, and Stefan doubted he would be able to challenge his brother. Without another word Stefan turned and left the room, shoulders hunching as Damon's steady gaze followed him out. His knees wobbled and his head swam. He felt so cold and the house was oddly silent, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for what would happen next.
For the first time in his life, Stefan felt scared of Damon.
A/N: Pretty little Saint Stefan. Annie is in fact, not okay.
Also, here we are folks! The beginning of the worst...