The Vampire Diaries: Making Amends: Damon’s First Bite (Kindle Worlds Short Story) Page 2

  She shook her head, her gaze clinging to his. “I have only minutes before I must go.”

  “Your name?”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “We aren’t courting. What does my name matter? You didn’t care enough to know it before you killed me.”

  Damon bent his face toward hers, his mouth hovering just above her lips. “A name,” he rasped. “And let me come with you so I can watch. I might learn something that will help.”

  She shook her head again but then relented. “Margaret,” tumbled from her lips.

  Damon wrinkled his nose and drew back his head. “Not very exotic. I’m mildly disappointed.”

  She glanced toward the window. “I have to go.”

  “How will I follow?”

  Her mouth tightened but curved at the corners, and she slowly faded.

  Damon darted toward the door and flung it open, speeding to the center of the yard, then turning slowly, looking for clues. “Where, damn you?”

  Something grasped his sleeve. He glanced down. Bonnie stood beside him, a pendulum dancing at the end of a long thread, the arc it made elliptical, pointing toward the edge of the woods.

  Damon sped to the woods, and here, his own senses led the way. He heard the rustle of leaves as they were swept up from the forest floor to tumble in the air. She was fast. Nearly faster than he was. Exhilaration filled him as he raced toward the river, his night eyes picking out the path in the darkness. The full moon glinted silver on the canopy of leaves high overhead but didn’t melt away the shadows.

  Light and the smell of wood smoke drew him to the edge of the river as surely as it did Margaret.

  Remembering how she’d described her curse, he waited, studying her quarry. There was a man; his scent was musky and tainted with fish. But he was large, his body warmed by fire and the fleece shirt he wore. He whistled softly to himself unaware his life was nearing its end.

  The campfire flared, bowing toward the man, and he leaned away to avoid the licking flames. Laughter sounded from across the clearing, high-pitched, girlish. Margaret slipped from the forest, running toward the man with a smile on her face and her red eyes swirling. The camper backed up from the log he was sitting on, and then stumbled to his knees, fear and fascination warring on his face as she came closer.

  “Who … ?” he asked, his voice sounding rusty.

  Margaret smiled and shook her head, holding out a finger to press against his lips and silence him.

  His gaze dropped to her naked figure, and Damon could almost imagine the man’s internal dialogue.

  Funky body paint. Is someone punkin’ me?

  The man’s gaze, seeming to grow less focused, lifted to Margaret’s face, and she beckoned him closer, rising on her toes, lifting her mouth.

  The moment their lips touched, blinding light seeped from the seal of their lips, flaring outward, then flashing through their bodies.

  Damon blinked, and both the hapless man and Margaret were gone.

  A hand touched his upper arm.

  Bonnie stood beside him. She didn’t look at him, but kept her gaze glued to the burning campfire. “We have to stop her.”

  “Help her, don’t you mean?”

  “Whatever. She just killed that man.”

  “She was compelled. She had no choice.”

  “Do you think that just because she doesn’t have a choice, that she’s blameless? Free of sin?”

  “Who made you God? You’re a witch! Parsons and priests burned you at the stake. You can no more conquer your true nature than I can. At least I’m honest enough to admit I’ll have lapses … now and then.”

  Bonnie’s full lips tightened. “I’ll help her.”

  Damon smiled. “Now, was that so hard?”

  Bonnie shoved past him and walked back into the woods, only she was taking the wrong path.

  Damon rolled his eyes, exasperated with the fact that he felt as though he should point her in the right way. Elena would expect it. “You’re going the wrong way,” he called out.

  “Am not.”

  “Fine! Don’t blame me when they find your withered bones.”

  She came back, her steps slow and her mouth twisted in disgust. “Just point.”

  Damon grinned and extended his arm to indicate the direction. “Why not walk with me?”

  “I don’t like you.”

  “And I think you’re a judgy little witch. We’re still heading in the same direction.” He bent his arm, offering her his elbow.

  She stared for a long moment and then sighed, tentatively tucking her hand into the bend.

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Accepting help?” he said, keeping his tone even because he didn’t want her getting into another snit. He’d wasted enough time, and they were walking back to the house at human speed. They’d take forever.

  “She knows what she does,” Bonnie said, stubbornness clipping her words.

  “And can’t stop herself.”

  “If she can make a choice, even for a second, she might save her soul.”

  “Do you think she still has one?”

  Bonnie shook her head. “I don’t know. Just saying.”

  “We’ll keep that possibility in mind.”

  “We?”

  “We are co-conspirators now, you and I.”

  She snorted. “I’m only doing this because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Not any sort of favor to me. Noted.”

  Ahead, the lights burnished from the windows of the boarding house. Elena waited on the steps, with Stefan dutifully glued to her side. Damon smirked. His brother acted like a man who knew his girlfriend’s affections were in conflict. Elena might love Stefan, but a piece of her heart belonged to Damon. No matter what her mouth said, her eyes told another story.

  “Did you find her?” Elena asked in her little girl husky voice.

  A curl of heat shot through his abdomen. “We found her.”

  Bonnie let go of his arm and stomped up the steps, not meeting Stefan’s or Elena’s eyes as she headed inside.

  Elena’s troubled gaze followed her friend. “I take it Margaret stayed true to form?”

  “If you mean she burned up herself and some dude at a campfire, then yes.”

  Stefan bent toward Elena. “Why don’t you go inside? I’d like to speak to my brother alone.”

  Damon sighed. Every time Stefan wanted to have a word, it was couched in disapproval. “What? I’m trying to do a demon a favor.”

  As soon as the door closed, Stefan shoved his fists on his hips. “You don’t know what your interference might cause. Why couldn’t you have left her alone?”

  “Is this because you aren’t the one bringing the problem to the Scoobie group? Because, correct me if I’m wrong, you’ve stuck your neck out plenty of times.”

  Stefan’s broody brows lowered, further shadowing his deep-set eyes. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “Thanks for the brotherly concern, but I’m a big boy.”

  “You’re … unpredictable when you’re hurting.”

  “I’m not going on a blood bender. Not over some girl.” Damon pursed his lips. “Funny, but you haven’t moaned about your own role in her conversion from meal to demon.”

  Stefan glanced away, but not before revealing the fact that Damon’s jab had landed squarely on Stefan’s overdeveloped guilty conscience. “It was a long time ago. I was brand new. High.”

  “Not yourself, I know. I wanted to die rather than take a life. I was prepared.”

  “I thought I was, too. But then, father …”

  Damon felt a flush of fury sweep through him at just the mention. “Can’t say I’m sorry for the irony. Your first meal was our father. His actions, his betrayal, led to our being what we are—the things he hated most.”

  “I didn’t want to spend eternity without you, Damon.”

  Damon smiled but knew it didn’t reach his eyes. Even after all this time, resentment caused his belly to knot, although Damon had eventually
embraced his fate.

  His brother had grown to revile it, drinking animal blood as opposed to human, something that sapped his powers and made him weak. Like a monk in a hair shirt, Stefan thirsted for human blood, loved a human girl, walked in a human world while the secret inside threatened his existence every moment of the days and nights they stayed in Mystic Falls.

  Mystic Falls wasn’t unaware, like most places. A council existed whose sole purpose was to protect the human population from vampire incursions and violence. Although he and Stefan protected their true natures by wearing rings that allowed them to walk in daylight, and by reining in their bloodlust so as not to leave a telling trail of bodies to their door, it was only a matter of time before the fact they never aged would reveal the truth to the humans around them. The council would only tolerate them so long as they didn’t cause problems.

  “Are we through?” Damon asked, keeping his voice even.

  Stefan nodded, unable to meet his gaze.

  Which pleased Damon, because for as long as Margaret continued to exist, Stefan would feel angst and let his guilt over his role in her death sour his stomach. A thought that cheered Damon immensely.

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  Damon didn’t have to wait another four months. He didn’t wait even one. The very next night, he was caught unaware by a rush of wind that filtered through his bedroom, ruffling his hair.

  He drew a deep breath and smiled. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

  His visitor didn’t answer, but the bedroom door blew open. Damon didn’t need a second nudge to move. He flipped back the covers, climbing out of bed to follow Margaret as her shimmering figure sped down the hall, then glided down the banister to the living area below. Beside the fire again, she drew on the flames like a gown until her solid form turned to watch him as he walked toward her.

  He lifted a hand and swept the dark curls colored with hints of blue behind her ear. “I’m glad you’re here. And early,” he said glancing up at the clock. “We have time.”

  She tossed back her head. Her red eyes bored into his. “Did your witch come up with a plan?”

  “She offered a suggestion. There wasn’t any spell she could find in her books.”

  “What was her idea?”

  He pursed his mouth. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Because I might be compelled by my nature to protect myself if I know what is coming?”

  Damon bowed his head. “Exactly.”

  “I awoke early.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth and then rose again locking with his. “I’ve never shared a kiss that didn’t end in death.”

  “What is this?” he teased, giving her a sly, sideways glance. “You don’t want me. I can’t offer you what you need, the one thing that’s attractive to you. Are you asking for a kiss simply because I’m the only undead man here?” He dropped his shoulders in mock disappointment.

  She shrugged, her brows lowering a fraction. “I wasn’t asking. I simply stated a fact.”

  He liked that hint of stubbornness in her voice and the angle of her jutting chin. “Margaret,” he said softly. “We don’t have to end this tonight.”

  She stepped away, turning her back, the lovely line of her waist and hips an achingly feminine curve. One she’d never learned to put to use to seduce a man. If she’d been left to live out her human life instead of being mesmerized and led to Damon, she might have known the subtle power a woman wielded over men of all persuasions, human or vampire.

  His chest tightened, but he rejected the cause. Regret wasn’t in his arsenal. “Let me gift you with one kiss.”

  “Gift?” she scoffed. “Do you consider your kisses so precious?”

  “I consider the fact that I am able to provide you this experience as something precious,” he said quietly.

  Her gaze hardened. “Don’t pity me. I didn’t seek you out in the first place to extract your guilt or an apology.”

  “Then why did you seek me out?”

  A frown drew her dark brows together. “I don’t know what brought me here. I smelled your scent on the wind, and it … surprised me … pulled me here. Perhaps because you were my killer, I don’t know.”

  “But you came back.”

  “Because I was curious about what you’d become. Being under your brother’s spell back then, I couldn’t really think, couldn’t form my own impressions.”

  “Do you think you know me now?”

  “I know enough,” she whispered. “You are like me. You do what comes naturally, but deep inside you abhor every cruel act.”

  Damon shook his head. “You’re wrong. I stopped caring the moment I tasted your blood.”

  She shook back her hair. “Like the dousing of a candle?”

  “Like a light switch.”

  Her expression said she was unconvinced, which made Damon impatient. “Don’t make the mistake of believing there’s any good left inside me.”

  Her eyelids dropped halfway as she studied him. “Why does it matter what I believe?”

  Damon pressed his lips together, eyes bulging. He really didn’t like explaining his whims, especially when he didn’t have an easy lie prepared. “I don’t want you leaving this world believing a lie.”

  “Why does it matter to you what I believe?”

  Damon tightened his jaw. “It doesn’t.”

  She smiled. “The moon is rising higher. Whatever plan you have had better be put into place soon.”

  Damon felt dread settle in his stomach, but he adopted a neutral mask to hide his emotions. “It’s nothing complicated. I’m coming with you.”

  Her eyebrows lowered and she gave him a dubious glare. “I’ve tried piercing my own heart at the moment of the kiss.”

  “I’m not going to tell you what I plan.”

  “What if what you plan doesn’t work?”

  “Then we’ll try again.” He left unsaid that he hoped that would be the case. For whatever odd reason, he’d miss her. She didn’t bore him. “Lead the way.”

  A pot-smoking stoner sat with a vacant, slack-jawed expression before a dying fire—inside the old graveyard where so many horrors had visited over the years. Two others, a teenaged boy and girl, sat across the fire from him, leaning together in their stupor. They didn’t blink when Margaret’s shimmering form stepped out of the fire.

  The single male stirred, swaying as he turned his head to follow Margaret’s movements. “Wow. You’re naked.”

  Damon’s fangs dropped in an instant. Drinking stupid was a quick, easy meal.

  Margaret narrowed her gaze, reminding him why he was here.

  Damon looked at the unblinking couple and decided that compelling them to forget what they might see was superfluous. He followed as Margaret beckoned the stoner with a curl of her fingers into the woods.

  The stoner rolled clumsily to his knees and reached out toward her retreating figure. “Wait. Don’t go.” Rising, he tripped over his own feet and landed on his knees.

  Damon reached down and jerked his arm, tugging him instantly upright.

  As though just noticing his presence, the young man glanced to Damon. “Dude, thanks.”

  Damon looked askance at Margaret. The young camper was really too stupid to live. A bunny rabbit could take him down. But he let the young man proceed, then kept his steps quiet so as not to distract him from concentrating on moving his feet forward.

  Margaret led her quarry into the shadows, then turned, her arms lifting and floating as she danced.

  Damon glanced upward. Without anything to tell him, he sensed the moment approaching, felt it sharpen his fangs and his hunger.

  The moon’s zenith approached, and Margaret’s movements were slowing, the sway of her belly and hips growing more hypnotic. The man swaying in his shoes couldn’t take his eyes from her glowing frame as she turned in a circle, her hair swinging outward in her abandon. Laughter echoed in the dense forest. She halted abruptly in front of the young man and touched a fingertip under his chin,
gently pulling his head toward hers.

  Damon stepped closer, reaching out his hands, preparing for the moment.

  At the first glimmer of fire between their sealed lips, he thrust the young man aside to let him fall to the ground screaming as he touched his scorched lips while Damon took Margaret’s mouth in a kiss.

  He burned, his mouth igniting, his face melting, and then just as suddenly as a scream wrenched from inside him, the kiss ended. He blinked open his eyes. Margaret was still there, and blinking up at him, but then her legs seemed to turn to rubber, and she crumpled toward the ground. Although badly injured, his skin stinging, his eyes dry and unblinking, painfully exposed, he reached toward the ground and picked her up to cradle against his chest.

  “She didn’t die.” Damon said, hovering over Bonnie’s shoulder as she examined Margaret’s once again pallid face. He took another suck of the blood from the vinyl plastic bag he held. “She also didn’t burst into flames and fade away.”

  Bonnie glanced over her shoulder. “She didn’t die, but that doesn’t mean she won’t. You broke the curse, and now she’s very weak.”

  Damon studied Margaret, marveling over the changes in her appearance. Her hair was a wild, dark tangle, but plastered against her head because her body was covered in a clammy sweat. She lay in his large bed, creamy white sheets and his thick duvet pulled up to her shoulders. And yet, she shivered in her sleep.

  “Her skin’s not flame-colored anymore,” Damon said, oddly disappointed. She was far less interesting to look at. Just another human girl.

  Bonnie sniffed. “Blood might have restored your face, but dude, you stink of burned grossness. Back off. Go get a bath.”

  “What if she wakes up?”

  The stern set of the witch’s mouth softened as she studied his face.

  Had he let her see his fear? For good measure, Damon glared down at her.

  “If she wakens, I’ll have Stefan come for you. Go,” she said, pointing at the door.

  Damon did as she asked, part of him glad for the distance between him and Margaret. He hadn’t left her side since he’d picked her up in the woods, hovering close by as Stefan, then Elena and Bonnie, came to discuss what to do about the re-humanized vili.