Unspoken (The Vampire Diaries 12)

Damon leaped at Jack, moving before the other vampire could prepare, and sank his fangs into one side of Jack’s throat. Not delicately, as he did while feeding, but with a rough, tearing bite. He worked his teeth against one side of Jack’s throat as he brought his dagger up to stab repeatedly at the other, ripping the dagger from side to side. If he could do enough damage…

But there was more resistance than there should be to his bite and the dagger’s thrust. Jack’s skin was thicker and stronger than a human’s—or even an ordinary vampire’s. Damon shook with a sudden shock as Jack sank the stake into him again, through the back this time. The tip grated painfully on one of Damon’s ribs. He ripped more fiercely at Jack’s throat, but Jack’s next blow knocked the wind out of him.

Letting go of Jack, Damon staggered backward. He wiped at his mouth with the back of one hand and realized blood—his own blood—was running down his chin. He coughed and choked again.

Jack must have nicked Damon’s lung. He needed time to heal before he could fight again; he needed to feed.

“Huh. Maybe not the clever brother after all,” Jack said. The wounds on his neck had already closed, Damon saw with dismay.

Damon backed up a few steps, keeping his eyes on Jack, who moved closer. A bubble of blood rose in Damon’s throat and he spat, staining the path with a blossom of bright red. There was a wall behind him, he realized. Jack was blocking him in.

Jack swung the pack off his back and reached inside, pulling something out. Something metal, with a grip and a nozzle—

A flamethrower? Damon drew on his last reserves of strength and leaped to one side, the flames so close he felt them scorch his jeans.

“Thoughtful of you to come right to me,” Jack said, aiming the flamethrower again. “I assumed you were still in Paris. ”

Damon gathered his last vestiges of energy to dodge again. Like a rat in a trap, he thought dimly. He tried to tense for another leap, but his body gave out and he staggered to the side, his legs collapsing underneath him. Black spots danced before his eyes. His mouth was full of blood.

Jack gripped the nozzle of the flamethrower in both hands and lifted it up, taking aim—and then, suddenly, flew backward. Like a rag doll shot by a slingshot, he sailed through the air, hitting the side of the building behind him with a satisfying crunch. He slid into the grass, a limp, broken form.

Damon blinked in dazed shock. After a moment, he thought to look behind him.

Over the top of the hill behind the science building, Elena appeared, her face coldly ferocious, her Guardian Powers clearly in full force. “My hero,” Damon muttered wryly, and his knees buckled.

Damon blinked back to full consciousness and found himself lying propped up against the trunk of a tree, Elena’s arms around him. She smelled sweet and her skin was soft; Damon let himself luxuriate in lying next to her for a moment before he licked the blood away from his lips and coughed.

“Are you all right?” Elena asked as he tried to sit up.

“Not particularly,” Damon said weakly, and patted along his chest. The wounds were only half-closed, and he was still bleeding. He couldn’t breathe properly. “Where’s Jack?”

“He got away while I was helping you,” Elena admitted.

“Next time, then. ” Damon coughed again, wincing.

“What were you thinking, Damon?” In contrast to her stern words, her hands stroking his hair were gentle, and her face was creased with concern. “You promised to be careful, and then you go chasing after Jack. ”

Damon squinted up at her. “I had my reasons,” he said. He couldn’t talk about how hard it was to do nothing when Stefan was dead. Anyway, Elena knew. She could feel it through their connection; he didn’t have the strength to hide his thoughts from her right now.

“We’ll talk later,” Elena said. “First, we need to get you back on your feet. ” Damon coughed again, and her eyes widened at the spatter of blood that came from his mouth. “You need to feed,” she said instantly, pulling her hair aside. “Here. ”

She smelled so good, the blood pulsing beneath her skin less than an inch from his lips. Damon recalled clearly how sweet and rich Elena’s blood had always been—the best he’d ever tasted, something special. He could imagine gulping it down, feeling it heal his wounds and fill him with warmth and Power.

Still, he hesitated. She was his brother’s, bound to Stefan now by death even more securely than in life. It would be different to drink her blood now, feeling her grief over Stefan. “Are you sure?” he murmured.

Elena nodded, her face white and strained, but determined. “I’m sure,” she said, and pulled him closer.

Damon couldn’t resist any longer. I’m sorry, little brother. He slipped his canines beneath Elena’s skin as gently as he could and teased them lightly back and forth, encouraging the flow of her blood into his mouth. Those first swallows were warm and sweet, as heady as wine, filling him with life. He could feel the blood streaming down his throat as he gulped, quenching his thirst and hunger, helping to heal his injuries. The stab wound in his back closed, and the pain disappeared. Elena was sharing her Power with him, and he would be strong again soon.

His mind brushed hers, and he had such a strong feeling of Elena, stronger even than came through their bond. He wanted to dive into her, curl up in her essence. There was grief there, and passion—and, abruptly, an overwhelming sense from Elena of off limits. Damon pulled back as if he’d been burned. He tried to shut his own mind off, to give her some privacy. It was like pressing your body against another person’s, but both averting your eyes.

Still, images and emotions came through their bond. Frustration. Worry. Fear. And a deep, painful sense of loss. A picture of Stefan’s ivory-handled dagger, clutched in Damon’s bloodstained hand, came to him from Elena, and he winced. The dagger belonged to her as much as it did to Damon.

I had to take it, he told her silently.

I know, came back to him immediately, and with it a wave of sorrow and of love. She was torn apart inside, but she was there. He still had her. Damon drank deeply, letting Elena’s blood, Elena’s sorrow, Elena’s love, fill him once again.

Chapter 5