Her mother waited just inside, as per usual, to ensure she'd made it home safely. This time, however, the woman had other concerns. "Who was that handsome gentleman, my dear?" she asked, an eyebrow quirked as she peered over the book she pretended to read.
Her mother played down her interest, but Elena could see right through the facade, as it was quite similar to the line of questioning she'd been on the receiving end of many times in her life—but more frequently as she neared the old age of twenty and five. Because, of course, to be unmarried at such an age did not suit either of them. Her mother wished to have her out of the house and to have a litter of grandchildren, and in her mother's words, Elena should wish to be wed instead of wasting away. And of course, Mrs. Gilbert very much wished that her daughter would find someone both handsome and rich.
Caroline's recent engagement to Mr. Lockwood, a family of means as her mother often pointed out, had caused quite a stir in the Gilbert household. All that to say, Elena knew better than to see this question as innocent.
In this case, Elena was unable to help herself. "He was quite handsome, wasn't he?" she said, a smile teasing at her lips. She could still feel the strength of his arm under her touch. Every time she looked at him, she felt a blush rise in her cheeks. For him to be interested in her was curious enough. For the most part, the Gilberts flew under the radar. People purchased her father's crafts, and her mother engaged in her fair share of gossip, but they were not well off by any means. Their home was small and on the edge of town, and hardly anyone remembered they existed.
Delight flooded her mother's eyes. "Well, tell me everything, then." She set the book down then, signaling her intense interest.
"Mr. Salvatore, that was his name," she started. Elena was not the kind of girl to speak highly of any man. In truth, no one had caught her attention in such a way before. "He saw me leaving Caroline's and offered to escort me home. He'd also heard about the stories and wanted to make sure I made it home safe."
Her mother smiled, folding one of Elena's hands between her own. The gesture was kind, almost too genuine. While her mother often inquired about her love life, they didn't spend much time talking about the things that plagued Elena's mind—and lately, that had been quite a bit. The gesture alone acknowledged all she'd been feeling. "I'm glad you've met someone," she said, squeezing her daughter's hand. "And a Salvatore, for that matter!" she said, slipping out of the gentle tone and back into one more suited to market her daughter to the highest bidder.
Elena was glad they didn't linger on the unspoken for too long, for it remained unspoken for a reason, despite her family's best attempts to elicit conversation out of her on the matter. Unfortunately, she just wasn't ready to speak about the details, to relive the moment. She revisited it enough when she closed her eyes, anyway.
"You've heard the name before?" Elena asked. "Salvatore?"
Her mother nearly gasped. "Of course!" A hand to her chest in disbelief. "An incredibly wealthy family, they've had a home in London for some time. Though I was certain last I'd heard it stood empty. Perhaps Mr. Salvatore came home to find a wife!"
Elena found a way to dismiss herself after that, the man's blue eyes flashing in her mind without reprieve. Maybe they would drive off the persistent nightmares.
Miss Gilbert had him absolutely spellbound. Not only her appearance, but the way she held herself, the way she smelled, and the way she looked at him. Feelings meant weakness. That had always and would always be the Damon Salvatore way. Emotions like love, devotion, and passion? They were for humans just as much as fear and cowardice. Damon engaged in absolutely none of it. To let one feeling slip through the cracks meant his undoing. And if he meant to stay safe in a city hellbent on killing him, cracks could not be afforded. Not that the city of London or any of its inhabitants had a real chance of contributing to his demise.
Certainly, there were civilians who knew more than they should. Those who saw the twin holes in a deceased woman's neck and connected the dots because of a book they'd read recently. But those people were just as easy to kill as the rest, no matter what knowledge they'd armed themselves with. They bled all the same.
Besides, the stories spread by those who claimed to know everything did nothing but encourage paranoia, and everyone knows the kill is much more fun when they run. But the product of Miss Gilbert was still a conundrum. The woman he'd met tonight seemed afraid at first, though she took no issue with walking with a stranger, telling him her name, or leading him to her place of residence. As soon as her views on the matter were questioned, that headstrong girl he'd stalked days, weeks prior snapped back into place, making his mouth water.
How he'd let her walk into the comfort of her own home, away from his easy grasp, was beyond any willpower he'd ever shown. In most similar cases, the girl would die before conversation began—unless he felt particularly playful. Which, in the case of Miss Gilbert, he did. But there were others too, unlike her in many ways. Not as interesting, not as brave. Impossible to describe. They waltz into his arms with ease, a nod to his alluring charisma perhaps, but also to their desire to escape by any means necessary or maybe to their altogether desperation. He played with those women until it became boring. Never more than a few days.
He gave them the attention they wanted while drinking from them just enough to keep them alive until he made the final kill. It satisfied, of course, but the routine grew boring all the same.
What did not bore the vampire, however, was the beautiful Miss Gilbert, disrobing and slipping under the covers as he watched from the crook of a tree just outside her window, a shadow in the night.
He watched even after she settled into a deep sleep, quietly opening the window from the outside and stepping through it with grace. Damon moved across the room without a sound, soon standing over her bed. Before he could think, a hand reached out to caress her cheek, warm and flush even in sleep. A finger ran along her lower lip, traced her jawline, down her neck, the exposed bit of her collarbone. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything. It had been long determined, predestined even, that he would have her, but he made the conscious decision to take her at that moment. Not now, with her asleep under his heavy gaze, but soon—his brain started to turn with a plan, how to seize her perfectly to suit his every desire. This would be no ordinary kill.
The vulnerable human girl began to thrash, whimpering in her sleep and murmuring words he didn't understand. Nightmares were so inherently human he'd nearly forgotten about their existence. He was the nightmare, and thus those horrible dreams did not affect him, even during rest. He felt a pang of something. Something that he'd not thought of in many years. A human memory, so long past, of nights like these. The memory seized him so wholly that he had to take a step back from the girl with tears now collecting under her eyes.
Heavy footsteps fell away from him, disappearing down the hall. He was much smaller, only a child, and his brother Stefan sobbed endlessly next to him. His own cheek throbbed, but the anger felt was not for himself but for his far more vulnerable brother. He nearly stood, wishing to go after his father for the pain he'd inflicted, but he only stumbled backward. What good could a child do to a man such as their father, anyway? It would only get them both hurt once more for certain, and while he could stomach the pain himself, he wished only to keep his brother safe from further harm.
The moment played behind the vampire's eyes. It could not be stopped. Perhaps that was what held him still the most, the lack of control. It was only the memory of ripping his father's throat out that unfroze his muscles and allowed him to move again. He focused his mind on the girl, pushing those memories far away. Ones of both his long-deceased father and his estranged brother.
He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with her and wrap his arms around her delicate frame, protecting her from the nightmare that plagued her subconscious. It could not be construed as actually caring for this woman, of course. These desires were akin to the kill, of which he would eventually inflict on her. He wanted the closeness, wanted to learn her, know her, steal her away before he took her life. Nothing more.
Her bare feet pounded against the pavement as she ran far and fast. Despite the heavy, heaving breaths leaving her body and all the energy exerted, she could never run fast enough. When she turned to look behind her, checking to see how much ground had been covered, a scream fell off her lips as her eyes met those of her childhood best friend. "Matt!" she called, trying to find a bit of him that wasn't beyond saving, trying to access something in his eyes. Nothing left within him responded to her cry.
His neck split open without interference of any kind. A clean cut from side to side, bursting at an invisible seam. Blood sprayed out, coating her face, neck, and chest in an unrelenting stream as his head lolled backward as if on a hinge. Her hands shot out to stop the bleeding, which, of course, did not work. It only covered her in more of her friend's blood, the substance now coating her hands and dripping down her forearms. Someone screamed, high pitched and ear-shattering, and there was a good chance it had come from her own mouth. But the second her hands touched his neck, everything became hazy and warbling, her mind detached from her body, floating above, watching the scene from a third place where she became even more helpless.
She woke with a choking gasp, sweat beading at her hairline. She turned her hands over, examining every square inch of her skin for blood that had long since been washed off. It took several deep, calculated breaths to calm herself, and even then her body still shook slightly as she lay down once more.
Matt's death had changed her fundamentally, and as much as she tried not to think about it, thoughts plagued her at all hours. Who cared about vampires, really, when there were monsters just as human as she was stalking the streets, stealing from people already poor? Because neither Matt nor Elena had anything to offer the man who'd jumped them. She ran at her friend's command, and Matt's struggle with the criminal, the thief who stole nothing but his life, had ended with her cradling his dying body in the street. So no, she didn't care about fairy tales.
And sure, maybe she should have been afraid of the night still, for if vampires didn't lurk in the darkness, certainly other types of monsters did. But she could not find it within herself to back away from the only time of night when the city experienced a quiet calm—even if that calm had once been spoiled by her own screams.
Maybe it was twisted, what she was doing, taunting the monsters, saying come get me. After all, they'd already taken from her once. What was stopping them from doing it again? Or maybe it was a sick sense of immunity, now that she'd already lost a friend. What more could they take? Her life? She didn't hold much value to it these days anyway.
It didn't take long for sleep to come over her once more, pulling her under like a drug. She never noticed the open window or the tattered curtains billowing outward.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Really glad you guys are enjoying this one. I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I hope you like the little bit of insight into both of their personalities and motivations! At Dawn updates next!