Her lips were impossibly soft and warm, the softest thing he’d ever felt. Damon’s eyes closed and he leaned closer, cupping her cheek with one hand. The connection between them throbbed with hot energy, with desire. His fingers tangled in her silky hair, and he pulled her closer still.
He could feel their auras blending. It was as if they were melting into each other. He could almost see them, the way Elena had described their auras to him, his peacock blue and rust-red, hers a soft gold. They were entwining—he could feel it. They were stronger like this, better together.
Damon thought briefly of his brother, then pushed the thought away. Stefan was gone. And Damon and Elena remained. He stroked Elena’s cheek, ran his hand over her shoulders, down her arm. She was his, he knew it as surely as he’d ever known anything. They belonged to each other.
And then, a sharp, hard jerk. All over, he felt exposed, strained. Something pulled at him, a brisk, insistent tug.
With a muffled gasp against Elena’s mouth, Damon realized she was drawing his aura into hers, his peacock blue slowly shading to gold. Her aura was growing bigger, brighter.
It hurt, a little, but it was somehow thrilling. The steady, draining pull made him lightheaded, made him sigh against her lips. Was this how it felt for her when he’d fed on her?
Just as when he’d fed on her, this was love, he was sure of it.
Damon tangled both hands in Elena’s hair, silken strands between his fingers, and tried to push his aura toward her, to give her whatever she needed.
Elena pulled away slowly and Damon sat back, drained and relaxed. His head was swimming. They stared at each other, and Elena licked her lips quickly, just a brief slide of her tongue.
“West,” she said.
“What?” Damon asked. His heart was pounding, slow and heavy, and it was an effort to speak.
“I see it now,” Elena said. “She went west.”
Shaking himself back into alertness, Damon started the engine. “We can turn west on I-64,” he said, his mouth dry. “About half a mile.”
“Good,” Elena said. She was looking straight ahead through the windshield. Damon checked the connection between them, but Elena was locked down tight. All he got was an intent concentration on the road ahead. Whatever else she was thinking, she wasn’t letting herself feel it, not yet. She wasn’t going to let him in.
Tentatively, he reached across the seat between them, his hand palm up, waiting for her hand to clasp his.
Elena did not take his hand.
Matt wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans and let his head rest against the driver’s seat for a moment. He took a deep breath before looking at the polished wooden stave in the passenger seat—one of Meredith’s old bo staffs. He gritted his teeth and picked it up. It was cool and sturdy in his hands, and he gripped it tightly, trying to remember all the moves Meredith had ever taught him.
Then he climbed out of the car, dread pooling in his stomach. Waiting wasn’t going to make this any easier.
Gravel scattered under his feet as he made his way across the parking lot toward Jack’s warehouse. Everything was silent, no signs of life in the empty lot. The silence seemed wrong, and, after a moment, Matt realized how weirdly complete it was: no sounds of traffic from the highway, no rustling of leaves from the trees, no birdsong. He shuddered, but kept walking.
Matt couldn’t wait for the others to make a plan, couldn’t wait for Elena and Damon to come home. Not while Jasmine was suffering.
Sweet, intelligent Jasmine with her shining eyes and softly curving mouth. Jasmine who loved him, who trusted him. Who had thrown herself wholeheartedly into trying to help Matt and his friends. Whatever happened, he had to at least try to save her. Tears prickled at the back of Matt’s eyes, and he blinked them away.
He wasn’t an idiot. There was a nest of vampires inside this warehouse. With his total lack of special powers, he was probably going to his death.
Matt swallowed hard. It would be better to die today trying to save Jasmine than to live sixty more years knowing he’d abandoned her.
Clutching the stave tightly, he considered his silent surroundings. The whole place seemed still and empty, as if it were deserted, but Matt knew better. He inspected the door. There was a little rust on its panels, but it was solid looking and made of steel. There was no way he’d be able to kick it down.
With a mental shrug, Matt raised his fist and pounded heavily on the door, which let out metallic echoing thuds. They were vampires, they would have heard him coming.
The door gave a long screech as a lanky dark-haired guy with close-set eyes—not a guy, a vampire—opened it. Acting on instinct, Matt moved fast.