Chapter 20: Totem

A/N: Part deux. As promised. Also, because I am not above begging, please please review with a cherry on top. Please?

Elena

There's a rush of air in my ears and an iron grip about my ribcage as the world turns to a swirling mass of color which blurs and bleeds together like the brush strokes of an impressionist painting. The air whips and thickens around me—howling its objection in my ears—as his body (our bodies) slice through it like a scythe. His arm is an iron vice across my chest, but it drops easily as we land.

The very second my feet hit hardwood floors, I turn on him, pivoting so hard on my heel that my hip only narrowly avoids a painful collision with the sharp edge of the wet-bar by the hasty slap of an open palm. As it is, the trembling crystal decanters cry out in tinkering protest at the close call.

"What the fuck, Elena?!" he demands before I can get a word out, glacial eyes blazing with cold fury. "Why would you even think about going in there?"

"We were just talking," I shout back, exasperated by his overprotectiveness. "You're overreacting, Damon. If you hadn't barged in there—

"He would have what? Kissed you on the cheek and sworn to do no harm for the rest of his godforsaken life? Like I haven't heard that one before," he scoffs, still beyond pissed even as the lingering fear begins to fade from his eyes.

I know he's only acting this way because he was scared for me, but I can't help my own irritation at his caveman tendencies. I'm not some helpless little girl that needs her hand held to cross the street, damn it. "He wasn't going to hurt me."

"Really?" he says, crazy eyes in full effect as he stares at me. "So the veiny eyes and fangs are just role-play for you two?"

"He was just trying to scare me!"

"Why are you so sure of that?!" he demands, nearly screaming in my face. "It wouldn't be the first time he tried to take a bite out of you."

While I'm clenching my fists by my sides in anger, fingernails digging half-moons into the meat of my palms, Nadia chooses this moment to enter the room. She takes one look at the two of us in our tense stand-off, fury etched in every line of our bodies, and smirks in wry amusement.

I can already feel the anger boiling behind my eyeballs before I even notice her hands. She tries to wipe away the evidence on her shredded jeans, but the viscous red fluid still clings to her hands in telling streaks of rust-red hues.

"What is that?" I ask obviously, teeth clenched as I gesture toward them.

"Hmm?" she says, feigning ignorance before pretending to 'discover' the blood on her hands. "Oh, I might have stabbed him a little." The raging inferno melting my eyes bursts through their sockets as I glare at her. If looks could kill, she would be a hunk of charcoal by now. "Just a little!" she defends, but I don't miss the blithe smile that flickers across her face when she recalls the memory.

"Oh, don't even give me that look," she says, dropping the act at the scowl on my face. "It would have been a hell of a lot worse if we hadn't shown up when we did. What the hell were you even thinking going down there?!"

I roll my eyes at her predictable reaction. "Damon already gave me this speech."

"Well, apparently you need to hear it again," she fires back, working herself up to her former irritation. Seems like a day for it. "God, you really have a death wish don't you? How you've survived this long is beyond me at this point."

"I'm not an idiot," I snap, fed up with their ridiculous parenting act. "You don't have to talk to me like I'm five."

"No? Well, your actions today would suggest otherwise."

There's a growl stirring low in my throat, blind rage coloring my vision, and for a moment I think I can imagine what it's like to be a vampire. Her mocking face dances a step closer before the bruising pressure wraps about my waist and I am once again hauled from my feet.

"Did you just lunge at me?" she asks, voice wavering between amusement and shock at my burst of violence. Honestly, I'm a little shocked myself. It's been a long time since I let my temper loose like that.

"Yeah, lesson number two in the Elena Gilbert survival course: Don't attempt to bitch slap angry vampires," Damon says, a laugh rumbling through his chest where it presses warmly into my back. "May not end so well for you next time."

"Not all of us are in love with you," Nadia smirks.

My struggling stills, anger bleeds from the space before my eyes, and my face falls slack with shock. You could hear a pin drop in the silence. There's a snarl vibrating in my chest that isn't mine, and a stony tension in the body at my back. I hardly dare to check his expression, but Nadia seems unconcerned. In fact, she's looking rather pleased with herself. Bitch.

The only movement or sound in the room is the drop of air pressure as the front door creaks open across the hall. Alaric fills the entryway, and he looks pissed.

"Someone wanna tell me what the hell is going on around here?"

John

She even walks like an ancient. The clothes are right, style perfect, but everything from the curve of her back to the tip of her chin positively screams 'old world'. It's a wonder she could ever pass for human even in the last century. Then again, maybe it was this difference that set her apart and caught my ancestor's eye. Perhaps poor John Gilbert wasn't quite as blind as I thought.

"Hello, Mr. Gilbert," she greets, eyes cold and knowing as she reaches my table.

"Pearl. What a pleasure. I must admit, I'm surprised that you came."

"Jenna tells me that you wanted to discuss the sale of the building in person."

"Still, revealing yourself to me like this, it took quite a risk."

"I'm not stupid, Mr. Gilbert," she tells me, mild irritation in her expression. "You knew who I was when you requested the meeting."

With only the quirk of an eyebrow, the vampire makes me feel about 5 inches tall. I can almost feel my body shrinking beneath her contemptuous gaze, but all I do is smile. As they say, information is power. And, when dealing with the undead, it's indispensable armor.

"So tell me, what is it you wished to discuss with me?" she asks, gracefully lowering herself into the chair across from me. "I assume it has nothing to do with your brother's office."

Taking my cue from her, I explain bluntly, "There's a device my ancestor Johnathon Gilbert invented back in the day. Rumor has it was stolen. By you."

"Ah, I see," she says, smirking lightly as her dark eyes gleam with wry amusement. "Well, if you know that, then I'm sure you realized that I would have no intention of giving it to you."

"That's why I wanted to meet you. I'm planning on changing your mind," I tell her, my own smirk at least as smug as her own.

"Really?" she scoffs. "How so?"

"With my Gilbert charm. I know that you have a weakness for it. May I buy you a drink?" I gesture to the server, and he scurries off to place our order.

She remains unimpressed by this response, but I'm not too bothered by the lack of reaction. She'll be singing a different tune within the hour. Guaranteed.

"So, tell me, Mr. Gilbert," she says a short time later, feigning nonchalance. "Why should I let you have the device?"

"Because I can help you. I'm connected around here. The town council's eating out of my hand. They do whatever I say. And I know that you just want to live your life complete with a white picket fence, and I can help you do that."

"But the device doesn't work," her brow furrows slightly and, despite her attempt to hide it, I can see her confusion. "Why would you even want it?"

"It's a family heirloom. Call me sentimental."

She looks vaguely shocked by this statement, but the calculating glint in her eye remains as she regards me with suspicion. It's clear she isn't fool enough to trust me, but she has no idea what to make of this request. No idea what that 'family heirloom' can do. This is a point in my favor—my single advantage—and I intend to ride it to success. Me and the Gilbert charm.

"Johnathon was ahead of his time," she comments, nostalgia in her eyes as she sips her drink.

"I read his journals, they're very extensive. He actually wrote about you. You were his one regret. He loved you, and he hated himself for what he did to you."

"You're lying," she says instantly, trying and failing to disguise the doubt in her voice.

"No. On his last days, he wrote how sorry he was. You were the only woman he ever loved."

She tries to hide it, but I can tell by the slightest thawing of her expression beneath that cold mask of haughty indifference that I've hit my mark. Centuries old and still as pathetic as a teenage crush. It's enough to make me sick, and I can't contain my contemptuous snort in amusement.

"Good, God. You vampires—you're so emotional," I chuckle cruelly. "Johnathon Gilbert hated you. His only regret was that he didn't drive a stake through your heart himself."

The softness freezes over once more to black ice and cold fury as she towers over me.

"The device was destroyed."

"What?" I say, dumbly. That can't be right.

"The night of the Church fire, I lost in the flames," she tells me, making no effort to hide her glee at my shock. "It's probably a pile of melted metal by now. If you want it so badly, you're welcome to search the ashes for yourself. And after that, Mr. Gilbert, may you rot in Hell."

Her words settle over me and my stomach plummets, shock and fear combine as they churn and grind in a sickening mass of terror/anger/frustration that give way to an impotent rage which burns like liquid fire in my eyes as they follow her out the door. I may have lost this round, but like hell I'll let her off unscathed. Time to take these arrogant parasites down a peg.

Caroline

I'm driving my car down some old dirt road halfway between home and Grove Hill when it hits me. Or rather, I hit it. The landscape is familiar, if a little darker and eerier than usual though I can't begin to think why. Something about the tone of my thoughts, and this wordless, rhythmic mantra tapping out it's command on the inside of my skull. I can't quite put my finger on the what, but I know there's something I'm meant to do.

My right foot presses harder against the gas pedal, nearly parallel to the floorboard at this point, and the trees blur in gnarled, ominous streaks outside my window. At this speed, the sparsely populated tree line looks like a single solid wall of wood, and all at once I remember my task.

My hands whip to the side, pulling the wheel hard to the right, left elbow locked into the turn, and the car careens off the side of the road. I watch with wide, determined eyes as the copse of trees in front of me races for the hood, glaring through the windshield with their ruthless, snarling faces, and I know. This is how I die. But somehow, I'm not afraid.

Alaric

I storm through the front hall to find the three of them locked in what appears to be a comical cage match between a 17-year-old girl and an ancient vampire. Elena's face is a picture of rage and embarrassment, Damon's one of shock and reluctant amusement, as Nadia smirks on. So, just another day in the Salvatore/Gilbert soap opera. Noted.

"Someone wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?" I demand immediately from my stance atop the stairs, glaring down at them as they all turn to face me with varying degrees of surprise. Elena, at least, has the decency to blush and attempts to untangle herself from Damon's hold about her waist, but all he does is smile.

"Nothing to get your panties in a twist, Papa Bear," he jokes, allowing her to throw his arm away from her as she huffs with frustration. "Just teaching our little Xena here how to defend herself against the forces of darkness."

I roll my eyes internally. Typical. "I'm not talking about the boogeyman in the basement," I say, at the moment not remotely interested in the newest installment of their tragic love triangle. "I meant, what are you hiding from me about Isobel? I know there's more you're not saying."

Damon regards me with a single raised brow as I take the last few steps into the parlor. "And what gives you that impression?"

"Mostly the silence," I say shortly, addressing both him and his fake sister. "You were both way too interested in the subject from the beginning, so the fact I haven't heard a word from any of you about it in weeks is a little fishy. I know how much you love your secrets."

Elena takes my words in with shrewd brown eyes, and immediately rounds on him herself. "Damon, is that true?" she demands, somehow managing to sound both imploring and bossy at once. "Do you know something?"

"Damon," Nadia growls warningly, but his eyes are still locked on Elena's.

"Tell me," she begs, and from the indecision in his expression I can guess at the dewiness of those doe eyes. He doesn't stand a chance. "I have a right to know. And so does Ric. What are you two not saying?!"

Damon seems to struggle with himself a moment, completely ignoring the glare Nadia shoots his way, but eventually he relents. "...We think Isobel is working with Katherine."

"Ok..." I say slowly, unsure what exactly that means. It's hardly much of a secret at this point.

"That means she's with Katherine," Damon stresses, meeting my eyes pointedly. A disturbing thought begins to form in the back of my mind at the expression.

"Working with Katherine? To do what?" Elena asks, brow creased in confusion.

"Come now, Elena. You're a smart girl. Figure it out," Nadia says, annoyance still laced in her tone, but the look she turns on Elena is instructive rather than mocking. "What do you know about Katherine?" she prompts, voice soft and cajoling. "She had me turn her to escape the sacrifice. She's been running from Klaus ever since...

Those big brown eyes turn inward as she considers this, face pulled in thought, but it barely takes a moment before I see the lightbulb alight in her gaze. "She wants to trade me for her freedom," she breathes, looking to the blue-haired vampire for confirmation, "doesn't she?"

Nadia smiles, satisfied. "There you go."

Elena mimics that smile, before a more disturbing conclusion occurs to her. "So...you think my birth mom wants to kill me?"

"No, Isobel wouldn't do that," I say, immediately rejecting this idea.

"How many times do I have to tell you, man?" Damon groans. "She's a vampire now. Human inhibitions don't really apply."

"I don't believe that," I say, as I always do. I don't care how many drunken nighttime confessions and bizarre advisements I have to suffer through with my new bar stool neighbor, I am never going to accept that. The thought is too abhorrent to even contemplate. "I don't believe that the Isobel I knew is just gone like she never existed. And being a vampire doesn't give someone license to do whatever they want. There's still a right and wrong here."

"Please, spare me the lecture," he gripes, waving away my arguments before I've even voiced them. "I know, I know. Humanity, sanctity of life, innocent until proven guilty. Yeah, I've heard it all before."

"This is getting boring," Nadia interrupts suddenly, directing her next question to Damon. "Can we tell them about the Brutus Magicus now?"

Elena spins to face her. "What are you talking about?"

Nadia smirks sarcastically. "Turns out, Isobel's not the only one buying what Vader's selling," she says.

My eyes pinch at that. "If this is about John—

"It isn't," she assures me, cutting me off with a shake of her head and a humorless smile. "He's a Gilbert. He'd have been trying to kill us even without the Katherine influence."

"She means the witch," Damon translates at my questioning glance.

Elena gasps in horror. "Bonnie?!"

Nadia throws her a look, but refuses to comment on her evident shock. To be fair, we really should have seen that coming.

"Damon saw her in the woods this morning with some unknown magic expert," she explains, eyes on mine. "I'd be willing to bet Damon's right testicle that someone is the source of the blood magic I sensed hanging around the night a certain teen witch got back to town. It's only gotten stronger since then."

I wince a little at her choice of words (I really could have done without that image), but ignore it in favor of the point. No need to encourage her continued attempts to gross me out. "And you think this other woman is working for Katherine?"

Damon grunts in agreement. "Seems a safe assumption given the circumstances."

I look between the two of them, their gazes weighty with unspoken words and turned on each other, and I ask, "So what are you suggesting?"

Nadia answers for them both. "That we put a stop to their alliance."

"Wait, wait, wait," I protest, immediately reading the danger in that suggestion. Neither of these two is exactly known for their impulse control, and we don't need more trouble than we've already got. "If this witch is as dangerous as you say, what makes you think she won't retaliate?"

"Not planning on giving her a chance," Damon answers mysteriously. I narrow my eyes at him, a silent question in the air, and he smirks, drawing a finger across his throat in an unmistakable gesture.

Elena recognizes the glib humor in this silent response as quickly as I do, but she's the first to shout her objection. "Whoa! We are not killing Bonnie!" she shouts immediately, glaring heatedly at both of our resident psychopaths.

"Relax," Damon says, sighing dramatically. "Aunt Hilda's up first this round. Bonnie can wait her turn."

Again, Elena is the first to react, brown eyes warring with blue as they fire at each other. Despite mine and Nadia's presences in the room, the air all seems to flock to their private glare-off as they stand locked with angry eyes. "No. No way," she asserts. "You're not killing anyone. That's not happening."

"This is not some random woman we're talking about," he fires back, exasperated. "This is an unknown witch with obvious black magic tendencies and the friendly ear of a certain teenage Bennet rather loudly disinterested in our well-being."

"So we kill her?" Elena scoffs. "That's your solution? Unbelievable. Why am I even surprised?"

"What exactly do you think they're doing out there?" Damon shouts, hands thrown out in frustration. "Because I've seen their little garden party, and let me tell you, they weren't meeting for tea and brunch. You're 'friend' is training to kill, Elena. Whether she knows it or not. And who do you think her first targets are gonna be when Katherine's little minion is done with her? Do you really want to leave that to chance?"

Finally, I have to interrupt. This conversation is beyond ridiculous. "All I'm hearing is a bunch of 'maybe's and 'might's, and I'm sorry to tell you that's just not enough to get the humans in the room on board with cold-blooded murder."

Apparently taking her cue from my intervention, Nadia groans from her corner. "Veles, there really is no winning with you people is there?"

Immediately, Elena rounds on her, all the fire and anger formerly directed at Damon easily finding a new target. "Well see, some of us have this little thing called a conscience, and we have a little difficulty with the idea of killing random people. Sorry if that puts a kink in your evil plan."

"Oh, don't worry. It doesn't," Nadia reassures with venomous sarcasm. "I don't know if you've noticed this, but I don't actually give a shit whether or not you approve of our 'plans'. We offered a solution, and from where I'm sitting it's the only one available. You don't like it, suggest an alternative. Otherwise..."

"Hold up," I interject, palms up and out placatingly as I attempt to bring back reason and calm to a room nearly exploding with tension. It feels not dissimilar to attempting to diffuse a bomb with a pair of tweezers and my good intentions. "Everybody calm down. Can we all just agree to cool it on the murdering till we actually have something to talk about?"

"She hasn't even done anything. Just because you suspect she could be working with Katherine..." Elena rants, words flying from her lips faster than her thoughts can keep up. "I mean, how do we even know she wants to hurt us? We can't just go around killing people you think might be a threat!"

"She's teaching her blood magic, Elena," Nadia snaps, her own frustration more than evident. "Do have the slightest idea what that means?"

Elena's temper is a force to be reckoned with all on its own, and Damon's anger is all protective rage and exasperation, a simmering heat stoked to a boiling tempest at the stubbornness the girl meets him with at every turn, but theirs are nothing compared to the black menace emanating from the smaller vampire. All without a hint of fang. Hers is terrifying.

"No. Of course you don't, because you're an emotionally immature, naïve, 17-year-old human with a martyr complex the size of the Grand Canyon who would happily spend an eternity sailing down the river of denial if it meant you got to keep your carefully crafted bubble of sparkling pink delusion!" she raves, probably fortunate she doesn't have to breathe. "What it means, princess, is that your beloved childhood friend is learning to channel power from blood sacrifice. It's only a matter of time before she'll learn to kill to do it. I should know."

I don't know if Elena's brave or suicidal, but she remains entirely unfazed by this tirade. If anything, she only looks angrier. "Bonnie's not you!"

"No. You're right. She's not," Damon jumps in, as careless as she is of the danger. "She's worse because she has no idea what she's doing! She's letting her newfound friend lead her down a very dark path, and none of us, especially her, have any idea of the destination. Except of course, Katherine's little plan to turn you over to Klaus to be killed in her stead. Or have you forgotten that little detail?"

Elena rounds on him instantly, easily sucking him back into their all-consuming vortex. The three of them are a thunderstorm of their own making, a huge black shroud gathering over them and locking them into their cosmic feud. I fade quietly into the background, hoping to stay dry.

"But you don't know that," she insists. "You suspect she's working with Katherine whose plan you think you know. So far, all you actually know is that she's teaching Bonnie to do magic you think incriminates her in something nefarious. Sorry, but that's just not enough to convince me that killing someone is the right choice."

"Oh, god. Relax," Damon groans. "We're not gonna kill her yet. Not till we find out what her endgame is anyway."

"She hasn't even DONE ANYTHING!" Elena explodes. The room echoes in the silent tension that follows her words. The walls fairly shake with it, reverberating in their endless, audible fury as the storm fades to a quiet, though vaguely ominous, calm.

The three of them glare with mixtures of resentment, exhaustion, and resignation as the rage rolls past. Nadia is the first to recover.

"Fine," she says, voice cool with calm acceptance though there's a gleam in her eye I don't like the look of any more than I trust this sudden about face.

"Whoa, what?" Damon echoes my thoughts.

Nadia shrugs easily. "If her highness wants to gamble with everyone else's lives, fine by me. Lord knows she'll never learn the danger of these naïve delusions if she never has to suffer for them. Call it a learning experience."

Elena glares at that, still stubbornly clutching the fraying ends of her dwindling fury. "Yes, because when in doubt, the first instinct should always be to kill someone. Where did you get that advice? Sociopathy 101?"

"Hey, I'm just trying to keep the damage to a minimum," Nadia chuckles darkly, hands up in seeming defeat. "The shit's gonna hit the fan either way. Your call. I'm swearing off."

"And what about Bonnie, huh?" Damon tries again, directing himself to Elena alone this time. It seems both of them are reluctant to end their feud. "Z just told you this is some seriously dark stuff she's getting involved in. This is what we call a preemptive strike. So we can stop the shit before it happens. Or do you not want to protect your friend?"

"Screw you, Damon. I am protecting her," Elena snarls, and once again the world narrows on these two and their battle for dominance. Nadia catches my eye across the room, and I can see by the tiny quirk of her lips that her wry amusement mimics my own. These two are hopeless.

"...Ok," Damon relents, gesturing loudly with his hands. "We'll try it your way. Wait till her death is 'necessary' or whatever. That's fine."

My eyes widen at that before narrowing suspiciously at both vampires. Elena looks as taken aback by this sudden agreement as I am, but she only has eyes for Damon. "Thank you," she says hesitantly.

"Oh, don't thank me yet. I have a feeling our definitions of 'necessary' vary slightly. That witch is on razor thin ice as far as I'm concerned," Damon warns, invading her space with a few quick steps that have my own hands clenched in protective anxiety. She doesn't so much as flinch as his hand settles softly on her hair. "But, just so you know, if she so much as winks at you in the meantime, I'll rip her heart out."

His voice is soft and full of savage promise, ice-blue eyes boring with an intimidating intensity down into hers, and I see her swallow nervously as she meets them. "Nothing's going to happen," she assures him, but the slightest trembling of her breath gives her away.

"We'll see," Damon croons, brushing her hair behind her ear while she stares up at him, the fabric of his shirt bunched tightly in her gripping fingers. My eyes narrow at the sight.

"Fine," she says shakily.

He smirks. "Fine."

My eyes again meet Nadia's across the way, and I note the odd expression on her pretty face. One side is scrunched in vague disgust, while the other smirks lightly in amusement. I understand completely.

"...Yeah," she sighs, eyes flicking between them, "not that I don't love to watch you two eye-fuck each other, but I'm suddenly in need of a cherry wine cocktail. Peace out, bitches."

Their eyes flash to her immediately, but she's already in the front hall with her hand on the doorknob.

"Mind if I join you?" I call after her.

"Not that kinda drink!" she shouts, the door slamming after her as she makes her escape.

I glance between my remaining companions, quickly weighing the pros and cons of this decision. Which is more revolting? Watching my student and reluctant drinking companion make goo goo eyes at each other, or witnessing my co-worker's revolting dietary habits? Not a difficult choice in the end.

"Yeah, I don't care."

Damon

The second the door closes behind the Teacher, she's on me. And not in the sexy way either. More the 'Damon is such a horrible murderous fiend, and how dare he not support my suicidal tendencies while I waste valuable time crying over collateral damage' kinda way. I should be offended or at least annoyed that she thinks I'm some disobedient puppy she can train to heel on command, but she's looking at me with such scorching heat in her warm brown eyes. Her cheeks flushed and heart pumping hard and fast as her blood boils with righteous indignation. And I can't be bothered to mind. She's the hottest thing I've ever seen.

"I can't believe you, Damon," she seethes, and fuck me if that doesn't make me want her all the more. "After everything, you were really just going to kill her?! Isn't what we did to her Grams bad enough?"

"What we did?!" I fire back, because, yeah, she may be sexy as hell all full of rage and screaming at me, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna take that shit lying down. "Those back-stabbing bitches were going to leave Z in that tomb to rot! And I seem to remember you being pretty solidly on my side in that argument!"

"She only went in there for you!" she growls, her hands on my chest shoving me as hard as she can in her fury. I humor her by swaying a little.

Also, who does she think she's trying to kid with this? Sabrina and her grandmother, Glinda the Bitch Witch, promised to help us. They agreed to it. It wouldn't matter if Z was in there skinning puppies for a new fur coat, that doesn't give them the right to turn traitor. She can't seriously think any of that was my fault.

"She went in there for Anna, same as you. I was over it!" I rant, circling her predatorily before I realize I've given my feet the right to move.

"Like hell you were!" she accuses, mouth set in a stubborn frown as she attacks. "Stefan told me what happened. The night Katherine was taken? The night you've been punishing him for for a century and a half. Even after you found out she wasn't in the tomb!"

"That's what he told you?" I scoff. Is she kidding me with this? "That I hated him for tattling?! Sorry to break it to you princess, but that's the least of your boyfriend's crimes."

From the look on her face, I'd say that's exactly what he told her. And of course she bought it. Heaven forbid Saint Stefan ever suffer the consequences for anything. Of course it's not poor Stefan's fault he's a mass-murdering psychopath with a blood addiction. He's the good brother. Bullshit.

"G—I can't believe this," I say, though of course I do. This is what it always comes down to with us, isn't it? "Even after trying to eat half the town like some blood-crazed tweaker, he still casts himself the victim."

She growls with frustration, fists clenched at her sides. "It's not about that!"

"No?" I ask sarcastically.

"No!" she sneers. "It's about you and your revenge complex over a woman you claim to hate!"

What the fuck? Suddenly it's my fault now? She cannot be serious.

"He almost killed your best friend!" I remind her bluntly. And loudly. "What the fuck does it matter if I still hate him?"

Her eyes blister with white hot rage, her chest heaving as her heart thunders in her chest, and I can already taste the unhinged truth in the air before it escapes her parted lips.

"Because how do I know you're not still in love with her?!"

Her eyes go wide with shock and mortification as the words echo around us, and she stares at me in horror, clearly terrified of my reaction. My blood is still pounding hot and angry in my ears, filling my own gaze with dark, possessive, heat as I wordlessly advance on her. Tangling my fingers in her long brown hair, I force her lips to mine.

Caroline

The first thing I know is pain. Stabbing, sharp, and searing hot like shards of glass lodged in my chest, burrowing deep inside my lungs and rattling around with every wheezing breath. I feel sure if I look down, I'll see them poking through my skin and shirt sticky wet with leaking blood.

My eyes itch to check, to see for myself if the rest of me—all glass and nails—still exists, but my head feels miles away. My world shrunk down to the pounding thunder of my brain, as though my eyes had tried to break through crunching metal and glistening shards and my body left behind. The seatbelt dangles uselessly behind me, the airbag snug and safe inside the wheel, and my hands lay crushed between them.

My left arm from shoulder to wrist is useless, torn from its socket and elbow snapped on impact. I can see the bone protruding from my skin and I almost gag at the sight. The bones ache and creak as I reach tremblingly for the door with my right, pulling and shoving with all the force my hand can lend to free myself, but I only manage about 8 inches before the door sticks fast in the folded frame. Good thing I've always been slender.

I barely get one foot on the ground before my knee gives way, buckling under my weight, and I crash to the dirt below. I swear I can hear the sounds of glass and metal clattering against the shattered bones in my chest as I fall, knocking the wind out of me before I even hit the ground.

Surprisingly though, the pain only lasts a minute. The longer I'm out here in the open air outside the constraining torture of my wrecked car, the easier I can breathe. The agony seems to fade a little more with every breath, and the weakness in my shaking limbs recedes. I climb to my feet. There's a wet pop and a distinctly brittle crack in my left arm, and I watch with morbid fascination and quickly rising panic as the bone snaps back in place.

It takes every ounce of my legendary self-control to force that wave of terror from my thoughts. And, though fear and confusion still lurk at the edges of my conscious mind, ready to charge at the slightest show of weakness, I determinedly ignore them. There's no time for my neuroses right now, and I'm not about to fall apart in the middle of freaking nowhere. Focusing on the here and now is what I do.

So...first thing's first, I need a phone. I remember now I left it on my nightstand in my excitement over this random midnight road trip. I'd curse my own stupidity for that one, but that's getting me nowhere. I appear to be on some farmer's road outside of town. There may be nothing and no one for miles, but, glancing back at the hunk of scrap metal behind me, I suppose I have no choice.

Walking it is.

The air out here is thick with tension, ominous and dark, but for the moonlight shining dimly through the trees. Unnerving flashes of an unfamiliar face and the screeching of rubber on concrete haunt me before it's silent backdrop, and I shove them determinedly away, focusing instead on this simple task of putting one foot in front of the other.

It's a feat unto itself, but like a Prada bag in a sea of knock-offs, I spot the fluorescent light of my salvation just ahead. It seems that even in the middle of nowhere, us small town Virginians need our liquor. There's a tiny store up ahead, and no one in the parking lot. Thank God.

Through the glass paned windows along the storefront, I can see the matronly store clerk restocking wine bottles in the fridge. There's an apron tied about her thick waist, and a long greying braid down the length of her back where she squats before the open case. She seems to be the only one inside. The doorbell chimes cheerfully as I shoulder the glass door open, and she turns toward me with a bright smile that ends on a horrified gasp and a crash of shattering glass.

"Oh my God!" she breathes, hands flailing concernedly as she rushes to my side, her eyes scanning the length of my body and growing wider with every pass. I knew I looked a sight, but I'm not sure I realized what a gruesome picture I painted until just now. She locks the door behind me, ushering me deeper into the room and pressing me firmly into a stool behind the store counter.

"Sweetheart, what happened to you? What hurts? Can I do anything? What do you need? You need ice? Bandages? Have you called an ambulance? Oh my God, you poor thing!" She flutters about me in a frenzy of maternal fear and helplessness, eyes wide and round with obvious worry, but all I can muster up is annoyance at her hovering. I'm fine.

"Actually, can I just use your phone?" I ask, cutting her off before the old girl gives herself a heart attack.

"Of course!" she gushes, relieved to offer me this small favor. "Of course, anything you need." She presses the phone into my hand, waiting till my fingers close firmly around it before taking a single step back and continuing to stare.

"I've got it from here," I prompt, waving her off as politely as I can manage. "Thanks."

"Oh, right. Right," she mutters, nodding in understanding, and turns back to the mess behind us. I watch from the corner of my eye as she collects a dustbin from God knows where and kneels to pluck the largest shards from their floating pool of wine.

Elena's number comes easily to my memory, and the dial tone comes swiftly to my ear as I wait. As does my neglected fear. By the time Damon answers on the fifth ring, I'm already toeing the edge into full-on panic that even his dickish teasing can't chase away.

"Hey, Blondie. Thought you'd be out for the count till at least tomorrow. Guess I owe Elena that $20 now..."

"I need to talk to Elena. I need her help," I answer, and as hard as I try to keep my voice steady, I can't help the quivering thread of fear.

"Why? Need her to hold your hair?" he responds, tauntingly. Typical Damon.

"I—I..." I start, taking deep breaths to calm my racing heart as I try to form the words I can't even think in my own mind. "I crashed my car. I don't—I don't think I..."

He seems to get it faster even than I can, because his next words are soft and devoid of all humor. He sounds almost...concerned. "Where are you?"

Momentarily alarmed by the serious note of his question, I stutter, "L—liquor store. Grove Hill Local."

"Stay right there. We're on our way."

He hangs up with no further word than this, and I can feel the terrified tears I've yet to voice clogging my throat as I struggle to breathe. Yet, despite myself, I feel comforted.

They're on their way.

Elena

His grip on my hair is almost painful, and the arm he's hooked about my waist is sure to leave a bruise with how tightly he's crushing me against him, but I don't care. God, I don't care. Not when he's kissing me like this. With a passion and a frenzy so intense it feels like the world could explode at any moment. Like all sensation—all air—has fled the world but for the feel of his lips on mine, his hands on my body. Not when his iron grip on my hip feels so good and right and perfect as all the warmth and sensation in my body curls hot and wanting in my gut.

My arms loop around his neck, nails scratching at the jet black hair and ivory skin, pulling him still tighter against me. His thumb teases at the hem of my shirt, stroking softly at the skin he finds there, and I gasp as this simple touch sparks every cell in my body with a humming charge of torturous electricity. He seizes the opportunity to take control of the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth as I nearly moan his name.

My entire body is vibrating with need, and I cling tightly to his shoulders as his left hand leaves my hip to trail a heated line down the seat of my jeans, dipping into my back pocket. He breaks the kiss with a smirk and a flash of ice blue eyes as he leaves me gasping for air. Retrieving his hand from my pocket, he waves my cell phone in the air between us, chuckling lightly to himself as I blush with recognition.

"Elena's phone," he drawls, cocky grin firmly back in place while he watches me gasp for air.

My hand flies to my chest, laying over my heart like I can keep it from bursting out of my chest. I can hear it pounding in my ears as I fight to catch my breath, eyes on his lips while his voice fades into the air.

"Hey Blondie," I watch him say, eyes transfixed by those full pink lips I still taste on mine. "Thought you'd be out for the count till at least tomorrow. Guess I owe Elena that $20 now..." His eyes flare in that sexy eye smirk of his when he catches me staring, and, right on cue, my insides melt like warm butter. Damn him.

When I realize who must be on the other line, a breath I didn't know I was holding bursts out of me in a sigh of relief. Thank god she's ok. Of course, even that joyous thought brings its own demons, and I have to turn away.

Finally free from the all-consuming frenzy of his touch, my head begins to clear and my thoughts turn inward, racing a mile a minute, as I attempt to process whatever the hell just happened to me. The desire to throw myself at him is still definitely there, but, as the cloud of lust begins to thin around me, the image begins to take on a far more violent form.

Recent events notwithstanding, I find myself mortified and ashamed of my behavior. I may be none too fond of Stefan at the moment, but he is still technically my boyfriend and he's currently lying weak and hungry in a veritable prison cell not 30 feet from where I just made out with his freaking brother. What kind of a person does that?

More than that though, I'm utterly humiliated to have just betrayed myself for the pathetic, hormonal teenager that I am. God, we were just fighting about the morality of killing someone and I throw it all away to sexually assault my boyfriend's brother? After he confessed to giving less than two shits about the value of human life? Seriously?

And it's not like he's some innocent victim in this either. I get in a few good argumentative punches and he chooses to shut me up by kissing me? I can't believe I fell for that!

"Stay right there. We're on our way," I hear distantly, but I'm already moving before the words take shape in my mind.

Before I register the movement, my hand is flying through the air in a vicious slap across his left cheek, and my blood is boiling with renewed anger. His head whips to the side, but he only stares at me in shock.

"What was that for?" he asks, looking genuinely confused.

"We weren't done, Damon," I seethe, indignation burning in my eyes. "You can't just go around kissing people when you want to shut them up. Besides that, Stefan's right th—

He raises a hand, stopping me mid-tirade. "Yeah, we don't have time for your bipolar tendencies right now," he drawls, unfazed by my sudden anger. He waves the recently disconnected phone before my eyes, recalling my attention, and his next words feel like an ice bath over my blistering rage. "It's Caroline. She's in transition."

No.

Lucy

I watch her wander off into the trees again hours later, sparing a single harsh glare for the site of her grandmother's final spell, and a dark smile for the future she sees promised there. As much as she hates this place, I know how important it is to her that she be here. That this tomb and it's echoing resonance of power and loss be the source of her newfound strength. The answer in the problem's first blow. It's tempting, that power. Enthralling even. And as much as I understand it's necessity, that doesn't mean I'm not aware of the risks.

Despite not knowing her for all that long, I find I want to protect her from this—from becoming me. I don't want her to lose the goodness that I see in her. I want her to have the courage to follow the right path, even when the wrong one is easier.

It worries me though, her claim to self-righteousness. She'll deny it till she's blue in the face, but that anger I see in her eyes when she thinks of them isn't the moral outrage she thinks it is. It's blood lust. She wants revenge, and she's willing to push herself however far she must to get it so long as she can claim the moral high-ground. It's a dangerous habit for a million reasons, but in the end it's why I've chosen to help her. She was halfway down that path already. The least I can do is help her survive it.

But I'm also here for Katherine, and I'm not sure how to do both. I can't help but wonder whether she's counting on that doubt. Wouldn't surprise. Schemes within schemes; that's her way. The moment you think you've got her pinned, that you've finally got the leg up on the infamous Katherine Pierce, you find you've walked right into her trap. Plans A-Z all lined up in a row and she's accounted for everything.

Among these? Plan J: John goes rogue.

It's almost unbelievable to me that he thinks I wouldn't know. That he apparently believes he is really so far ahead of everyone else (including the vampire who put him up to it, and the witch that warned against it) that we would never guess what he's been up to these past few weeks. As though anyone who's ever met that arrogant jackass could believe for one second that he'd give up the task he set his heart on. He's like a dog with a bone about that damn device, and I could see that from the moment I met him. He never stood a chance really.

He's been spending quite a lot of time outside his secret second headquarters since he killed the vampire living there, seemingly preferring it as a pseudo-hiding spot for his stash of Gilbert crested weaponry. A little spy-work, some lock-picking magic, and voila. Stealing a single knife and a heartwarming picture of his late family was child's play after that.

Settling back inside my carefully laid circle of candle flame, I place the picture and the knife beside the open spell book on the cold stone ground, and for the second time today, drag my blade across the meat of my palm. Large splotches of thick red blood drip over the personal items as I recite the words, and my eyes slip closed as the world falls away. They open on a new scene.

I'm little more than a fly on the wall in my present form, but I make it just in time to watch the vampire, Pearl, go down with a bolt of wood through her ancient heart, and the idiotically triumphant smirk of John's face as he fairly skips into the tree line. Dimly, I can feel my blood boil with anger where my body still sits on the tomb floor, but it fades almost entirely at the sight of what lies in her fossilized hand.

Ah, John. Your arrogance may save us yet.

John

From outside the rundown cottage with it's too old coat of peeling paint, I can hear her rustling about inside. I hear the rough drag of rubber over wooden floors, the crash and thunk of skidding furniture and worthless knick knacks, and the whisper of infernal wind as she flashes between.

For a supernatural predator, she sure makes a lot of noise. You'd think after today's events she'd be a little wary of retaliation. Or does she imagine her species has mine so cowed that I'd let a revelation such as that pass without response? Well, all I can say is that if that is the case, she has severely underestimated my determination to protect my family from her and her kind.

I won't lie to myself. That device is a great loss, and I am still struggling with the burden of that failure, but that's hardly the dominant feeling. More than anything right now, I am pissed off. Pissed off and frustrated that the future I had envisioned and the path I chose to get there have been effectively thwarted by a love-struck vampire, a doomed love affair, and slippery fingers.

Deliberate or not, this is one action I can take. Her mistake may have cost me my weapon of mass extermination, but it's done nothing to stop my usual methods. I can still make this world the smallest bit safer for my daughter and nephew. One bloodsucker at a time.

Hefting the liberated stake launcher over my shoulder, I duck beneath the stairwell to the cellar entrance, resting knees and elbow against the steps as I line the shot. I see her there in the hall just out of reach around the corner of the armoire, but each pacing movement brings her closer to the doorframe and the imagined scope of my weapon.

She traces the length of the building once, twice, three times collecting clothes, books, and trinkets as they catch her eye, her feet drawing her closer and closer with every pass. A calmness settles over me as I eye the length of the muzzle, sighting down the figurative scope of the weapon as I wait for the vampire to trap herself in my crosshairs.

A little more. Almost...There!

I pull the trigger and the device jerks in my hands as the stake flies unerringly toward the target, and I smirk in triumph as it hits its mark. I watch with satisfaction as the blood-sucker stares in wide-eyed shock at the wood buried in her chest before the color fades from her cheeks and she falls frozen and grey to the floor. One down.

Climbing out of my hideaway, I walk the length of the porch, heels thunking rhythmically against the hollow wood, as I cross the entryway to lean against the doorframe. I allow myself a moment to smirk in satisfaction at the product of my handiwork and a single twinge of regret that me triumphant face wasn't her final sight in death, before I turn my back and leave her to rot.

Next on the list, Jeremy's little girlfriend. If these creatures think they can invade my town, screw around with my family and get away with it, they are in for a rude awakening.

I had left my car at the forest's edge for stealth's sake, but my victory lap gets me there in record time. I'm slamming the trunk shut on my new stake launcher within minutes, and I can barely contain my glee.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?!"

I spin fast to face the source of the voice, heart pounding as I fight to resettle it from my momentary shock. Lucy Bennet stands behind me tense and frightening in her anger, her eyes blazing with enough power and rage that I am almost afraid of her.

But there's no way in hell, I'll let her see that. "Exterminating vampires," I say with all the arrogant calm I can muster, familiar smirk still fixed on my lips. "Isn't that what Katherine wants you to do?"

The angry line of her mouth softens a little, but only to huff in derisive amusement. "Yeah?" she taunts. "And how were you planning to accomplish that? By throwing a temper tantrum when the mean old vampire refuses to give you back your favorite little toy?"

I stare at her in shock at this. How the hell could she possibly know that? I told no one!

"Yeah," she says, and her smile widens, "I know about that. Did you really think I wouldn't find out? You're not half as clever as you think you are."

Yes.

"I was just doing what I had to do to keep my family safe."

"And how's that working out for ya?" she chuckles mirthlessly, a brow arching at my conspicuously empty hands.

I frown at the reminder. So, perhaps this evening wasn't a total success. "Not as well as I'd hoped, admittedly."

"I'll say," she scoffs, sparing me a long flat look I can't begin to read. "You realize Nadezhda can bring back the dead?" My heart pounds double time at this new information, and though I fight to keep the evidence from my face, I have a feeling she notices.

"Yeah..." she says, still watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes. "You might have just made yourself a formidable enemy. Lucky for you, I think fast on my feet." She gestures back toward the cabin at this last, and I turn around to watch the distant flickering yellow of a far-off flame and the smoke that rises the tree line. Lucky indeed.

I clear my throat, a little embarrassed by my obvious short-sightedness, as I turn back to her. "So what now then?" I ask, trying and failing for my usually confident tone. "That takes care of one, but there are still a swarm of them crawling around out there. Including your favorite witch/vamp. What do you propose we do about that?"

Still wearing that incredulous smirk, she scoffs. "There is no 'we', John. You're a loose cannon I can't afford to babysit. I'll take it from here."

She spins immediately at this final word, and I watch her back in shocked offense only a moment before it turns to outrage. "The hell you—

Before I can even finish the sentence, she flings an arm in my advancing direction, sending me slamming into the hard ground. I lay there gasping as my lungs fight desperately for new air, as she arches a condescending brow over me. Lying flat on my back in the dirt, I glare into the hard brown eyes of my companion, inwardly seething as I reluctantly surrender to the implied threat in her gaze. My teeth grind together in frustration and impotent rage as I watch her melt into the shadows.

Anna

I sneak in through the window. Not that it's exactly necessary, mind. I mean, it had been a rather knock down drag out fight between us, but I'd finally made it clear to my mom where we stood with the whole Jeremy thing, so it's not like it would have been any great surprise to her to see me coming home so late. But, hey, it's fun, and frankly at this point it's almost an unbreakable habit.

Still, I'd expected some kinda reaction from her, so I'm more than a little surprised to be greeted by nothing but silence. The air is still. Too still. And it's not as though I thought I'd find her kicked back in a tatty leather arm chair with a beer watching Desperate Housewives, but there's quiet and then there's...this.

I hear the sound of human footsteps on the grass outside and I'm down the stairs in a flash. What I find there makes me wish I'd never come home.

No, no, no, no. It can't be. She can't be.

"Mama!" I cry, falling to my knees beside her ashen form. I shake desperately at her shoulders, willing her to wake up. She has to wake up. She has to. I'm sobbing, choking on the tears, and I know it's hopeless. I know she's gone, but she just can't be. I need her. "Please Mama. Please wake-up. Please don't leave me again."

The faintest click of air like the spark of wood on flint marks the silence, and some predator's instinct beyond my grief has me pressed to the wall before it ever catches light. Good thing too, because in less than a second my mother's empty corpse is engulfed in roaring flame, licking hungrily at the walls as I stare. My final sight before I spin to flee into the cover of darkness is the gleaming shine of gold as the fire consumes her fingers.

Alaric

Nadia lounges comfortably in the lap of some beefy frat guy she nabbed and compelled, drinking greedily from his jugular. The heavy fall of her midnight dark hair shields her feed from prying eyes, but nothing can disguise the wet sound of her steady swallows. Not from this distance.

But, disconcerting though this little outing is, I am sitting in a crowded bar surrounded by strangers I will never have to see again and treated to a particularly expensive glass of bourbon, so I can't complain. Actually, with the amount of alcohol I've consumed in the past hour, I am speeding toward oblivion on the tail of a rather nice buzz. I've even managed a joke or two.

"And then he said, 'He's not an eggplant. He's retarded!'"* I finish, smiling widely as I deliver the punchline. I'd heard that one at the Grill last week from one of Mystic Falls many devoted day-drinkers between glaring at the bottom of a high ball glass and determinedly ignoring the vampire beside me. Damon had laughed as loudly as I had, and it had turned into a somewhat begrudging bonding experience.

"That's fucked up," Nameless declares, apparently oblivious to the teeth in his neck.

The slurping rhythm is interrupted by Nadia's snort, and she pulls her fangs from the boy's throat to issue a stern warning. "Did I say you could talk?" she scowls darkly, but the gleam in her eye is more playful than dangerous. Doesn't make the sight any less unnerving as she leans back in to lick the trail of blood from the open wound.

"Not scaring you am I?" she asks with a knowing smirk, catching my uneasy gaze beneath the sweep of her long lashes.

"No," I say, clearing my throat uncomfortably. "No, it just...takes some getting used to is all."

"Don't worry, he'll be fine," she assures with a smirk. "Besides, he's enjoying himself plenty. Aren't you, kid?"

He stares dazedly into her eyes as he sits there bleeding into his shirt collar, clinging tightly to her hip as he holds her firmly against him. I don't even want to think about why. "Definitely," he replies.

He looks so utterly captivated by the demoness in his arms, staring longingly at lips still red with his own blood, that it is honestly making me a little queasy. Still, it almost certainly beats the horror show I would have been subjected to back at the boarding house. Speaking of.

"Think Damon and Elena are ok?" I wonder aloud, maybe a little bit guilty leaving the girl to fend for herself. "Not sure I like how they were looking at each other earlier."

Nadia snickers, lips twisting uncontrollably as she struggles to stifle her amusement. "I think Damon and Elena are fantastic. Besides, weren't you the one insisting we had nothing to worry about? I say live and let live. They can clean up their own messes," she shrugs with a grin.

Perpetual thirst slaked for the moment, she slides from her meal's lap, popping his collar to hide the bite-mark and sending him on his way with a pat to the neck and a thoroughly wiped memory.

I look away from this exchange, not quite as comfortable with this whole thing as I pretend. I recognize the necessity of it, and I suppose I should be grateful she hasn't caused the poor guy any lasting pain or trauma, but some residual hunter's instinct still growls at the base of my throat bearing witness to her casual monstrosity. Only the pleasant buzzing in my head, and a cold iron will keep me in my seat.

She watches me curiously, sharp eyes taking quick note of my rigid posture and the barely disguised distaste on my face, her own expression strangely unreadable. "What are you even doing here, Ric? Don't you have a girlfriend to fawn over?" she asks, tone neutral, but I am at a loss for words.

What can I say really? That I wish I could be with Jenna now? That I wish like hell that I could just relax into my relationship with an amazing woman and not feel like a liar? That I could actually share my life with her? All of it? We both know that's impossible. It was impossible even before I learned my wife was still out there, feeding like an undead parasite on the lives of those I'd made it my mission to defend.

If I could only believe that the Isobel I knew—the quirky human woman with all her bizarre obsessions and insatiable curiosity, the woman I loved with all my heart—was still there, maybe it would make all this easier somehow. Simpler at least. But even I can't convince myself of that anymore, no matter how much I wish I could.

Nadia's smile turns sympathetic, grey-blue eyes alight with sad recognition, but she only guesses half my mind.

"Ah, I see," she sighs knowingly. "Can I give you some advice?"

I only grunt by way of answer, taking a healthy swig of bourbon in preparation for whatever pearl of harsh wisdom she's about to dole out.

Her eyes capture mine, spearing into them with laser focus, and I read the truth in their frozen fire. She really does understand. I have to wonder whose face she sees when she closes her eyes. "Forget about her," she instructs emphatically. "Staying emotionally committed to an absentee love interest is no way to live, my friend. Take it from me. Especially when the bitch is a lying, manipulative cunt with no greater priority than her own self-interest. She'll only fuck you over in the end. Trust me."

Just then the phone rings loudly, drawing her focus and breaking our connection. I take the opportunity to reclaim my drink, tossing the final swallows back in one large gulp. I relish the burn.

Not for the first time comes the unwelcome realization that these creatures—for all their bloodlust and homicidal, ruthless pragmatism—are a lot more human than I'd like to imagine. I see far too much of myself in those haunting eyes. The thought is not a pleasant one, and I'd give almost anything to return to a time unburdened by that disturbing understanding—when the world was black and white and I had no sympathy for the devil I've come to know. But, hindsight is 20/20, and it's far too late to go back.

I watch her eyes now as she ends the call, dusky swirls of color swimming unmistakably with rare concern, and my stomach plummets to the floor. Whatever comes next, it can't be good.

"Well, that's my cue. Looks like I'm back on guard duty. See ya, Ric," she tries to hide that depth of feeling beneath the diamond hard shield of her eyes, but it's too little and much too late. She nearly blurs in her haste for the door.

I eye my glass consideringly, tracking the bartender as he hovers in the periphery, as I debate the wisdom of another shot. Concerned though I am for whatever new disaster has befallen our tragic heroes, I am entirely certain that Damon and his trusty side-kick are well on their way, and Nadia hardly needs help twiddling her thumbs. Still, surely I can do something even if it's only distracting Jenna from her niece's conspicuous absence. I nod to myself, sliding the glass across the bar, and turn to leave.

Only to come face to face with the vision of my waking nightmares.

"Isobel."

Caroline

I hang the phone back on the wall and my mind goes blank. Silently, I take in the peeling plastic of the store counter, the cardboard display with all its candies and cheap BIC lighters, the light tinkling of glass as my new friend drops first one shard then another into the dustbin at her knee, and all at once I become aware of the gnawing hunger in my stomach. The dull ache in my gums.

Fear had kept them at bay, but now I've acknowledged them it's all I can do to keep from leaping over the counter and tearing into whatever gross, processed snack I can get my hands on. Unfortunately, my options at the moment appear to be booze and spearmint. Not much of an option.

"Shit!" the clerk hisses from her spot on the floor. She holds her finger in her mouth, suckling lightly at the wound as she shuffles back toward me. "Such a clumsy ol' bat these days," she jokes, gesturing with her good hand to the counter beside me. I barely spare it a glance. Rather than repeat herself, she winces apologetically in my direction as she reaches around me to fish through the drawer at my hip, wordlessly requesting that I move aside. I hardly even notice.

Frozen in my seat, I stare shamelessly at that tiny bleeding cut. The smell of it fills my nostrils, and I can nearly feel my pupils shrinking as they sharpen to spear-tips on that finger. My tongue darts out to lick at my suddenly dry lips, my teeth catching at the bottom one as saliva fills my mouth. I can almost taste it I am so unbelievably thirsty.

So focused am I on that one single ruby drop, that I hardly notice my own hand reach out to touch it, completely unaware of the woman's expression as I draw that delectable wound to my own mouth. I'm not sure what I expected when it touched my tongue, but the taste is nothing new. It's the same sharp, metallic flavor it's always been. Only this time, I can't quite resist a moan. It's amazing.

Almost immediately, that delight turns to agony as my gums suddenly fill with searing pain. It feels like something is slicing right through them, and my hand flies to my mouth as I nearly scream with it. My fingers brush the tender flesh, and I feel them. My teeth. No, my fangs.

"Oh, God. What's happening to me?" I cry, all my pain and terror swimming in the tears that stream down my face, but it's all drowned out again in the next second by the overwhelming wave of my hunger.

I can hear her heart beat. It's pounding away like thunder in her chest, her terrified gasps hardly audible beneath the sound as she fights with the lock and the key at her belt to escape the monster behind her. Some tiny, distant part of me knows I should let her, but I can still taste her blood on my tongue, still feel it singing in my veins, and I simply don't care.

The last things she'll know in the world are my fangs in her throat.

*For my fellow OINTB fans. Just couldn't help myself.

P.S. I know the Delena arc has been the very definition of SLOW burn and that's bound to frustrate some of you, but all I can promise is that we ARE getting there. Trust me, I want that as badly as you do. I just want to do it right. For the characters AND the readers.