He knocked at Elena’s door as he reached her room, only to have it instantly opened by Matt. Damon stepped inside, frowning.
Matt was supposed to be watching Elena, so what was he doing standing . . .
Damon’s mind broke off in mid-thought. The room was empty.
“What happened?” he demanded of Matt. “Where is everybody? Where’s Elena?”
Matt just gaped, and Damon realized that he was holding onto the human’s arm with a fair proportion of his true strength. He forced himself to let go.
“I’m over here,” a slightly muffled voice came from inside the room. “Bonnie woke up and everyone else left. And none of it is Matt’s fault, so leave him alone.”
Damon stared, seeing for the first time that there was no turquoise and lavender spread on the bed, and that two of the four square pizza boxes had disappeared.
“I see,” he said slowly. Then, rapidly picking up speed: “Good night, Matt. Thank you—really sorry about your arm. Ice it. Take some ice.”
“Take a pizza, Matt,” Elena’s muffled voice echoed. “Goodbye.”
When Matt was gone, Damon walked around the bed and looked down at the floor, where Elena was lying wrapped in the bedspread, her head on a lavender throw pillow.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“I think I’m getting some sleep—or trying to. I know it’s early, but I’m tired.”
“You know what I mean. What are you doing lying on the floor?”
“You informed me that you were moving onto the bed,” Elena said, pulling a fold of the spread over her face as she rolled onto her side. “But I promised—I gave my word—that I wouldn’t share my bed with a guy. So unless you go away, this is where I’ll be.”
Damon felt like hitting something unnecessarily violently. Instead, he said, “Look, I brought this coverlet for you—and another surprise.”
Elena barely glanced at the coverlet. “Good. Now we each have one. Goodnight, Damon.”
“I said, and another surprise.”
“Show me in the morning. Goodnight.”
“It’s not even eight o’clock yet—”
“It seems much, much later to me.”
Damon couldn’t think of a sensible answer to that, so he simply said, as calmly as he could, “Princess, get up.”
“No.”
“Come on, angel. For my sake, just—just get up off the damn floor, will you?”
“No. I’ve got the floor; you’ve got the bed. And that’s that.”
“Elena, get up!”
This time she didn’t answer him at all. Dropping the rolled coverlet on the lavender sheets of the bed, Damon began to crouch, intending to pick her up bodily.
Elena turned to look at him, stopping him undead in his tracks. Her lapis lazuli blue eyes were not dancing with witch-fire; they were blazing with the light of a thousand stars.
“Don’t . . . even . . . think . . . about it,” she said in a glacial voice.
Damon retreated with what dignity he could gather.
“Fine,” he said. “Fine! I’m going to spend the night in the lounge chair. I’m sure you don’t want me sharing your floor.”