desires {unveiled} -- ljslash archive

Midnight in Heat
by Ash Kennedy

Part 1:

Damon stared at the glowing vector of colors on the screen before him, his mind slipping away into thought as a violent movie raged throughout the room via surround sound. He would have been paying attention, especially at the extremely gory parts, if it weren't for a vision of a blonde haired, blue eyed man dancing across his mind.

The man was Matt. Matt Honeycutt. And ever since Damon had met him he had been in agonizingly aching lust. Words were to colorless to describe Matt's looks, but to Damon he was a perfect heartbreaking epitome of male beauty.

Those perfectly rounded hips he possessed and the concave of his soft belly.

Those smooth muscles and thighs he never flaunted being hidden by their cloth barriers.

That soft, eager, smiling face seeming to be directed at nobody imparticular.

The perfect replica his memory was forming of Matt deep in the caverns of his mind was driving him almost insane. He threw his head back against the padded cushion of his seat and closed his eyes, stroking himself through the thin silk of his boxers, imaging Matt was doing it.

Oh God, Matt.

Damon's body heat was rising and he ground his crotch into his frantic hand desperately. A soft sound between a moan and a grumble escaped his lips. Dimly he was aware of a persistent humming next to him and he cracked his eyes open slightly.

He was staring at a small black wheel, it's leather grips shining in the sunlight. Through a large glass window he could see a beautiful day blooming, the sun spreading an orange and yellow conjunction across the sky.

Damon sat up in his seat, leather creaking in protest under his body weight. His mouth opened wide in a get-up-and-get-going yawn, his fangs gleaming sharp and dry from spittle. Sleepily he rubbed his bleary eyes and peered around.

And came face to face with Matt Honeycutt.

Damon was startled for a mere second, mostly because of Matt's almost ethereal beauty, but then realization swept over him and he reached out toward the automatic window switch. The motor purred as it disappeared inside the rubber slit built in the driver's side door of the sleek, black Ferrari.

"How nice it is to see you once again, Matt" Damon drawled, smiling electrically. His hand moved forward slowly, grasping the radio knob and twisting it sharply. "I trust you're the one who called me here?"

Matt's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open slightly, the look on his face one of pure disbelief. "D-Damon?" he questioned. "What are you doing here?"

Damon flipped through the radio, frustration crossing his features as he came upon bad music station after bad music station. Finally he gave up and settled for ear-shattering heavy metal, which wasn't his favorite music but would do for the moment. "Actually, I was hoping you could tell me that."

"I called Stefan, not you," Matt stated dumbly.

"Ah, yes. My brother the weak, soft hero of the day." Damon sneered, trying on a pair of dark sunglasses he had found in his glove compartment and staring at himself in the rearview mirror. "What do you think of these? Do they make me look just a tad too dangerous for a normal girl's tastes?"

Matt looked like a panicked rabbit. "Where's Stefan?" he demanded.

Damon perked an eyebrow. "He had a previous engagement. He sent me in his place."

"You've got to be joking."

"You should know me well enough to realize that joking around is not one of particular fields of interest, Matt."

Matt sighed. "Yes, yes, I know, Damon."

"Get in the car, then."

"Why? Where are we going?"

Damon grinned again and produced the car key from the pocket in his black leather jacket. "Your place, of course. You obviously needed Stefan for a serious reason since you even bothered to waist money phoning his Milan Estate."

Matt stared at Damon, doubt sloshing back and forth inside him then shook his head and walked around to the passenger's side of the car. As he slid in to the low vehicle he muttered, "I sure hope I'm doing the right thing."

Damon shot him a sunglass-clad glance, then started the ignition. "Trust me Matt," he said softly, as if some great passion had suddenly seized him, "I am only here to help." Damon didn't add that Matt could do some helping himself by taking care of the aching boner that was quickly becoming suffocated in his tight pants. Instead he smiled to himself and pulled the car into drive as Matt rolled his eyes.

Matt was obviously oblivious to the mental caresses that Damon was giving him inside his mind. Maybe he could change that. As he stopped for a red light he unfolded one of his arms out along the length of the front bucket seats, his hand resting inches from the back of Matt's head of fine blonde hair. Instinctually Matt twisted around in his seat and stared at Damon's arm draped across the two chairs then averted his gaze to Damon's face. Damon was watching the road before him scrutinizingly, running a hand through his hair every now and then. He didn't dare look back at Matt for fear the expression of utter lust on his face would betray him. Instead he dug his nails into the leather material of the car. It was all he could do to keep himself from reaching out and frenching Matt's sweet mouth moistly right then and there.

Minutes passed by, all agonizing to Damon, before they arrived in front of a dilapidated blue house with a rusty metal horse drawn carriage nailed into the on-its-last-limbs siding. In large peeling yellow letters it read THE HONEYCUTTS.

Matt climbed out and was banging on the front door before Damon could even stop the car's engine.

"Matt, are you back already?" came a voice from the inside.

"Yeah, Bonnie, open up," Matt called back as Damon strode up behind him. From this position, he had a glorious view of Matt's ass.

A smile was still plastered on his face as there was a loud click and the front door swung open with a creak to reveal a sleep deprived Bonnie. Deep, dark bags were visible under her eyes and her pupils were bloodshot.

Her eyes came up and took in the image of Matt, then the short man behind him. "Stefan, thank God you're here!" she exclaimed, then realized her mistake as she saw the black leather jacket, the electric smile, the mirrored sunglasses, and the straight, silky black hair. "Oh my God," she whispered, freezing in place, her blood running suddenly cold.

"It's ok, Bonnie. He says he's here to help only. And-for some reason I think he's telling the truth. After all, he saved us that summer night in the clearing two years ago."

"Help?" she squeaked, ignoring him. "The truth?"

"I assure you, signora," Damon spoke up, dropping his smile for a look of tightly focused concentration, "I have no intentions of harming anyone here. My brother has sent me on an errand, and even though we will never be adequate company for each other, I intend to fulfill my duty."

Matt stepped inside as Bonnie's features melted at his words. He hadn't exactly gained her trust over the course of time she had known him, but even her gut instinct was going against her. It was telling her to trust him, and every fiber of her psyche was quietly calm. She knew the feeling all too well. So she stepped back and opened the door. "Come in, Damon," she invited, her eyes staring at him unwavering.

Damon gave a nod and stepped in. As Bonnie shut the door behind him and turned around to face Matt and he, he quickly snatched up her hand and planted a soft kiss on the back of it. "Thank you," he appreciated.

Bonnie giggled.

"Ah, you still have the same girlish debonair," he commented, his words rolling like butter off a hot biscuit. His hand came up and held her under the chin, tilting her head back so that he could look at her face. "And the same beautiful girlish looks...."

Bonnie turned a bright red and averted her gaze.

Matt shot her a burning look and she straightened up, pulling out of his grasp. "Don't, Damon," she nearly pleaded, stepping away like a scared mouse. "Just don't."

Damon shrugged. "All right, if that's the way you want it." There was no anger or annoyance in his voice. Just understanding. "So, let's begin with the important business. Why did you call Stefan?"

Bonnie indicated for Matt to get something. "Bring it in, Matt," she said, a slight twinge of fear in her voice. Damon caught it and narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses.

"I ain't bringing that disgusting thing in here!" Matt shot back. "I'll just take Damon out back to show him."

Matt walked through the front foyer, then the kitchen and through the double sliding glass doors to get to the backyard. Damon followed quickly behind him, his thoughts of Matt coming back at full force. As Damon watched Matt's muscles bunch and stretch taut as he lugged a large black garbage bag out of his shed, he couldn't help but wonder how they would look being exercised in a bout of passion. Smooth, shiny, and wet with perspiration. The still throbbing hard-on in his pants was now becoming a nuisance as his thoughts got dirtier, even perverted then previously. He wished Matt would hurry up already because he wouldn't be able to take anymore of the sexual torture.

Matt took a pair of heavy black gloves from a hook and opened the garbage bag, reaching inside. He caught hold of something and tugged until the heavy object was lying on the grass at Damon's feet. It was an extremely large St. Bernard dog, dead from a deep claw mark in it's stomach that had obviously spilled its guts, being that it's inner cavity was completely empty.

"I found this in the woods near Fell's Church Community College, where I attend," he said simply.

Damon crouched and ran a smooth pale hand over the bloody pelt, then fingered the edges of a ragged claw mark. "Interesting," he commented. His hand trailed upward, massaging the skull. "Very interesting."

"What?" Matt questioned.

"The base of the skull is smashed in," Damon told him gravely. "A human could have done that, but I don't think they could of managed clawing this creature deep enough to make its innards come apart. Besides, that doesn't explain the empty body. Even if the intestines spilled, the other organs wouldn't. The stomach, kidneys, and especially the spinal column would still be intact. It looks as if this thing has been hollowed out."

"Well, then, it could've been a human or an animal, right?"

Damon looked up at Matt, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "Humans don't have claws that can shred through an animal's hide, and I don't think you have animals here with claws that large and brains developed enough to gut something so cleanly and precisely."

Matt grimaced slightly. "I was afraid of that."

Damon stood up and brushed himself off, directing his gaze towards the shed. He looked perplexed. "You dragged this dog all the way here?"

"After this being the 4th case of its kind this week, it made me suspicious. Bonnie, Meredith, Caroline, and I decided it was time to get a hold of one of the bodies and call in the only guy we know who may be able to explain all of it."

"He wouldn't be much help," Damon muttered under his breath, but audible enough for Matt to catch it. "You say there are more of these kind of deaths happening?"

"Yes. The victims are always dogs or cats or other pets, and the bodies always turn up near the college."

Damon stood there for a second, absorbing Matt's words, then looked up at the sky. It was clouding over, blue mass being eaten through by dark gray clouds. Looked like a thunderstorm coming. Damon smiled and took off his sunglasses. He wouldn't be needing those anymore. "Perhaps I should enroll at this college," he mused. "If you say the animal victims of these gruesome deaths keep turning up near there, then maybe I can do some deeper investigating then you can." And in the meanwhile I can watch your lovely human body and be close to you almost all day, Damon thought but didn't voice.

"It cost money to enroll, and it may be too late in the semester," Matt stated.

Damon's void-black eyes gleamed with mischief. "Do I have to remind you that human barriers aren't even considered obstacles to vampires?"

Matt made a face like a scolded puppy. "Oh, sorry, I forgot."

Don't make that face, Damon growled to himself! You look too...good like that. He turned away sharply, afraid something, even a slight quark, would betray his thoughts.

There was silence between them for several seconds, and the Matt broke it. "Remember that time I challenged you to come and try to kill me behind Vicki's house? You know, when I caught you messing with Bonnie?" he asked.

Oh God, why did he have to bring that up? Damon closed his eyes. That had been the time his control over the lust inside him had been close to breaking. He had wanted to take Bonnie to avert his thoughts, but then Matt had to show up and make it completely unbearable. Damon had snapped. He was angry, frustrated. Matt was doing it to him on purpose! He went after him and snatched him up like a rag doll.

Then suddenly his head cleared. This was the man his heart was aching for, not the cover-up Elena, or the aversion Bonnie! Disgusted with himself he had thrown Matt to the ground, giving him a warning so that maybe Matt would steer clear of him and not drive him crazy with that beautiful body of his.

"Yes, I remember," Damon said slowly. "That was a different me. I have changed greatly."

Matt was satisfied with that answer. "Good. Do you want to go get yourself Enrolled in college? Bonnie and I have our classes in about an hour so you could come along."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Good, then come on."

Matt strode towards the house, his expression almost blank.

Damon had to wonder sometimes just what exactly occupied that boy's thoughts.

It was an excruciatingly humid night of the bright season again, and the crowds all flocked to the grassy field for the mid-summer festival. Bright colored tents and gypsy caravans crowded the midway as the youngest and the oldest, dance, drank, told stories, and listened intently together. Pheasants put on shows and cooked the most tender of game as Nobles watched and filled their stomachs. Sounds of clapping, laughter, singing, and all around carousal were carried on the night air for miles.

In the middle of it all was a young boy, perhaps about 13 or 14, panting, wheezing, running for his dear life. A curving smile was imprinted on his face, and as he passed a food tent he snatched up a meaty turkey leg from the rack.

"Hey, you must pay for that!" a rich female voice said in Italian as she watched him fade into the crowd. "Thief!"

The boy laughed to himself as he bit hungrily into the meat, but didn't let up his pace. Before long he came to a darkened section where not even the most lowly of peasants wandered. He looked around, munching, and realized he was completely alone.

"Wait!" a voice called from behind him. "Damon, wait up! I must tell you something!"

Damon glanced over his shoulder, kicking dirt up with his foot. He glowered maliciously back towards his brother. "Confront father with it, Stefan. I have more important things to listen to then your virtuous rants."

"Damon, pl-"

"Get off me, you vile dog!" Damon exploded, dropping his turkey leg. From somewhere out of the shadows a meaty hand had seized him and another was holding a knife to his throat.

Stefan saw the scene before him, felt fear in his blood. "Please, don't kill my brother!"

A cackle from behind, and Stefan suddenly saw the shadows shifting, melding, flowing behind him. His mind panicked, his body became adrenalized. With a whimper he turned around and bolted back the way he had come.

"You coward, Stefan!" Damon called after him, and to his iron- gripped captor, "Let me go at once!"

"Not until you show us some of that wealth you so dearly flaunt, young Salvatore," the person holding him replied.

"He said let him go," a voice almost like a growl came.

Everything stopped. The hands of Damon's captor loosened, then slid away all together. There was a swift motion in the corner of Damon's eye and two throwing knives swished past him in the darkness. They penetrated flesh with a loud THUD each.

"Such expertise," Damon commented, whirling around to see who his savior was. Much to his surprise a young barefooted boy with raggedy clothes and blonde hair tied in a colorful bandana was sitting on a wooden barrel of wine, shining up two ivory handled blades.

"It runs in my family." The boy had a thick accent, definitely not Italian. To Damon's ears it sounded Romanian or German. "May I ask your name?"

Damon stared and gave a sneer. "Why should I tell my name to a disgusting gypsy?" he questioned.

"Perhaps because I just saved your young life, which I am starting to regret."

Damon nodded and then untied the pouch attached to his belt. "All right, then. How much of a reward would you like? 30, 40 pieces of gold? Father will even give you more if you like."

The boy smiled. "I do not want your money. I want your name."

Damon blinked and tied the pouch back up. "Suit yourself. I am Damon Salvatore."

"Ruffian." The boy smiled and slid off the barrel. "Would you like to come back to my camp for a cup of wine? We have some of the finest in Europe."

Damon thought about it. Usually he wouldn't be seen even near a Gypsy, let alone talking to one. But this particular fellow was different. He had...couth. "I would like that," Damon replied.

"Good, then," Rufan commented, grinning like a cat who's had the cream. "follow me...

*******************************

"Damon. Damon?"

Damon jumped up and his eyes sprang open. Cooly he looked around at his surroundings.

"You were sleeping," Matt told him. "And calling out. You mentioned Stefan's name."

"Oh, did I?" Damon asked nonchalantly, sitting up in the back seat. "I must have been having a rather unprecedented nightmare."

Matt gave a shake of his head and opened the door on his side, stepping out. Bonnie slid from the passenger's side and did the same, followed by Damon. "Anyway, we're here. You can apply at the Office of Admissions."

"I'm not aquatinted with the Campus. I wouldn't know which building to begin with."

"Ok, then. I'll take you there. Bonnie, you can get along to class without us."

"Be careful," she told them as she turned and started walking up the sidewalk.

"Don't worry, we will."

As she disappeared from sight Matt began walking, indicating for Damon to follow him. Together they walked up a cobblestone path that lead to a large brick building, all the while Damon eyeing the sky with enthusiasm. "Go on, give us a thunderstorm!" he yelled at it.

Matt jumped almost three feet as a loud clap rumbled the ground and shook the sky. He spun his head swiftly around to look at Damon. "Did you do that?" he asked, surprised.

Damon grinned, showing two retracted, sharp fangs as the first spatters of rain fell and glistened wetly in his hair. "As a matter of fact, I did."

Matt shivered and averted his gaze. He wasn't psychic, like Bonnie, but he could feel the raw thrum of power emanating from Damon. It was like a ball of black fire, pure energy and burning heat. If he had ever experienced something like this before, he didn't remember it. And he doubted it was something that could be forgotten.

For the first time in his life, Matt wished to God that he wasn't human. To wield that kind of immense power would be amazing, mind-blowing. The things he would be able to do!

With a shot of vibrancy, Matt raced up the path and opened the door of the Admission building, holding it for Damon. Damon looked at him quizzically but passed through without a word.

"Left," Matt said as Damon looked around the interior for any sign of direction. He left his position at the door and pranced up ahead of him. "Follow me."

Matt took him down a long, carpeted hallway past about a dozen offices filled with clacking typewriters, humming computer terminals, and whirring Xerox machines. Damon glanced around furtively, looking like a worried cat, until Matt passed through an archway and into a room with an antique couch. They were there only a mere three seconds before a female voice rang loudly in the soundproofed sanctuary of an office.

"May I...help you?" it oozed deliberately slowly, like honey rolling off some large animal's tongue.

Damon and Matt were both stopped dead by it. They looked at each other, Damon's smile almost splitting his face. He twisted and his eyes darted around for a glance.

It became a stare.

Damon couldn't believe what he was seeing. Before him stood the hottest woman he had ever laid eternal eyes on, and that was saying a lot. Her idea of a dress was a short, black skin of handi-wrap with ruffled material laced at the chest, making her breasts seem a lot larger then they probably were. Her black hair hung loosely, cascading over her bony shoulders, and her black eyes glittered fierce and playful. Protruding from the skirt of her wardrobe were two creamy, eatable, pale thighs that tapered down into delicate feet fitted by black stiletto heels.

Elena had never even come close to this one. The woman before him was deliciously beyond beautiful. A real knockout. And she knew how he perceived her; knew she definitely had his attention. She flaunted it, easing closer to where he had froze in place.

Damon licked his lips and felt as if the button of his jeans would pop off from the pressure it held back. He hid his frustration well, grinning charmingly down at her. "Yes, we could use some help," he answered her, his voice unwavering.

"Oh, really?" Her voice seemed oddly uninterested, and her eyes were locked on his face. She seemed to be scrutinizing him, memorizing his features carefully. He felt wary under her gaze, but didn't once betray that thought.

Finally her gaze dropped and Damon watched carefully as her eyes came to rest on his hand. Without making it noticeable, he down- cast his eyes.

With a jolt he saw that she was eyeing his silver Lapis ring. Now, what could a woman who worked in a college office know about that that would attract her attention to it? Nothing. That is, if she happened to be human. Damon straightened up and folded his hands behind his back and out of her line of sight. She looked up, startled, as if he had just pulled a knife out and threatened her with it.

"Admission," he said to her.

"What?" she returned, questioning.

"I would like to Enroll here."

She had the look of a startled rabbit on her face, but then calmness passed over her and the air of seductiveness returned. "Oh, of course, Hun. You'll just have to fill out an application in my office. I hope you have a checkbook handy."

Damon nodded and Matt sat down to wait as the woman lead Damon into a closet sized room and shut the door behind him. Damon sat down on the overstuffed leather chair opposite the admission desk and crossed his legs. He smiled dazzlingly as the woman took her seat, staring at him the entire time. She produced a two-page yellow tinted sheet from her file cabinet and set it down in front of him, handing him a pen.

Damon picked both objects up, pretending to riffle through the contents of the paper, and then began to scribble down information. None of it was true, save for his name. He was hoping the woman wouldn't be able to figure that out as he handed it back to her completed.

"Damon Salvatore," she read aloud. "Intriguing, I must say." Her hand shot out across the desk, almost knocking him in the face. "I'm Aluzuria Doyle, Secretary of Admissions here at Fell's Church Community College. I'm pleased to have you enrolling as a freshman for the Fall semester."

Damon grasped her hand softly and shook vigorously, careful not to crush any delicate bones. "Believe me," he near-whispered, "the pleasure is all mine."

"Ah, well, then, I will need that check. 200 dollars to ensure you'll have room and board."

Damon reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a slim, gold case etched with the picture of a large bird. He opened it with a flourish of grinning mouth and hands and pulled out a battered checkbook. He looked at the case for a moment, then at the pen he held in his hands, and finally shrugged as he filled in the blank spaces set on the bank-genuine professional green piece of paper.

"This should cover the first semester," he told Aluzuria, his words flowing like water. Then with a smile he added, "Keep the change." With a swoop of his hand he signed his name and handed it to her. Damon almost went into hysterics when he saw her face melt into shock as she read off the number of zeros to herself.

"Mr. Salvatore, this is way too much money! "

Damon shrugged. "I said to keep the change."

She stared at him, disbelief still printed on her face. He took the chance to address her about something on his mind. "I noticed you staring at my ring before." He held out his right hand and silver caught the light and glinted newly as the day it was crafted. "Tell me, Alazaria, does it seem familiar to you.?"

"No, not really, it's just that...." Alazuria leaned forward, hunching over it, taking his finger in her hand and holding the cool flesh still. "The stone. It's a very old, rare one. Definitely scarce these days. Lapis I believe?"

"Yes, that is correct."

Alazuria turned his finger so that the Lapis was in full light. "There's an inscription on here," she stated. "Looks like it's In Italian. Or maybe it's Latin. I can only make out one word. It's...." She squinted. "It's 'darkness' in Latin."

"I believe, my dear Alazaria, that it reads perfectly..." Damon moved forward in his seat so that his hot breath brushed Alazaria's face as he spoke, " 'Those who embrace total darkness shall become the divine.' "

Damon saw the change in her. It was as if she had suddenly been dipped in cold flame and left for freezer stock. He moved away from her, a smile forming on his lips as she spoke in a dry voice.

"Come back for your schedule tomorrow morning. I'll be here to give it to you."

"Thank you, signora, I trust we'll meet again shortly?" Damon tucked the gold plated checkbook case back into his jacket and stood up. "And I don't just mean tomorrow morning either."

This time Alazuria shot a comeback at him with a grin of her own. "Oh we will, Mr. Salvatore. You can make no mistake about that."

The look in her eyes made Damon actually nervous. He had never experienced one so much like himself before. The taste in things, the looks, the charming seductiveness...the attitude. He surpressed his shiver of uneasiness and lust as he grinned, gave a wave, and nearly ran out the office door.

X X X

" So, you'll wait for me for about an hour, hour and a half?"

Damon turned to Matt, drawing himself out of his thoughts. He smiled as if on queue and nodded. "I'll wait," he answered slowly. "Bonnie and you are going to meet me at that fountain near Groundsling Hall, correct?"

"Yeah, that's it. Don't get lost or anything, 'cause it's a pretty big campus."

"Me? Lost? Never. I'd just ask one of the pretty young girls here to show me the way back."

Matt grimaced and tried to hide it. "Just don't bite any of the unwilling," he said in a small voice.

Instead of getting angry, Damon agreed politely. "I have no intentions of doing that, Matt."

Matt looked taken back. He was definitely shocked. "Ok," he said dumbly. "I'll see you soon then."

Damon nodded and turned away from the classroom door. He was out of the hall and down the concrete steps so fast that some passing students couldn't help but stare. Damn, he'd have to use precaution here. This town was way too open- minded to the supernatural for him to exercise his powers. Many a word about the mysterious, hot, young male visitors from Italy two years ago had been exchanged between these people, and about the mysterious disappearance and reappearance of Elena Gilbert. It wouldn't take them much to claim 'vampire.'

So Damon slowed his pace, moving at human speed. He didn't like it, but the last thing he needed was to betray himself. As he walked the concrete and cobblestone paths surrounding the main halls and bordering on the woods, he opened his senses completely. He tried to hone in on something, anything; ordinary, out of place. His mind went out, caressing straying one's from campus, and rooted around like a searchlight.

He came up with nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

But how could that be with such a large mass of people to work with? Certainly there had to be a handful of psychics that new about their powers on the Campus. So why weren't they answering his mental call? He couldn't even locate Bonnie's mind!

It was very strange. However, it wasn't something that he couldn't handle alone. It only took a little investigating, a sharp tongue, and a charming smile.

And it would all start with the lovely Miss. Aluzaria Doyle. First thing tomorrow morning, he was going to probe her with his mind. Besides, she had intrigued him enough to throw his concentration off Matt and on her lovely little self. His appetite was definitely whetted, and he seriously needed to find out more about her.

For now, though, he'd just wait for Matt and Bonnie to get out of class. He retired himself over to the elaborately decorated water fountain and sat down at the lip, grumbling as the sun started to come out. With a grunt he slid on his mirrored sunglasses and stared straight across, stamping a smile on his face so that he seemed both wicked and seductive at the same time.

X X X

Ruffian parted the cloth of the tent and motioned for the young Damon to step inside. Damon eyed the establishment warily, hitching up the belt that hung low on his hips. He decided it would be alright to go in for if worse came to worse he could always pull the ivory handled knife from his wristband and slit a few throats. Then again, if somebody grabbed him from behind like the thieves had, he was pretty much doomed.

Damon decided to take his chances and stepped over the threshold and into the strange new world. All at once his senses were overloaded with the rich scent of wine and candles, the sound of a foreign language mixed with an odd type of music, and the feel of an aristocrat who had just walked in on some secret peasant meeting. A thousand eyes turned to stare at him as he followed Ruffian towards the back of the large gathering place. One particular pair stood out among the crowd, and he whirled around to pinpoint it. He caught a mere glimpse of a pair of night black eyes with shining gold and silver lights in them, then a flash of raven-tinted hair and the person was gone. The image had evaded his line of sight before he knew it, and Ruffian was impatiently tugging at his hand. He went along without further protest, never looking back.

They came to a conjunction of cloth and string and Ruffian grinned to him as he went over and untied a portion attached to a wooden post. The material slid back to reveal a room full of wooden benches with lit candles on top of them, and a bed made of yellow-brown hay. Without hesitation Ruffian nudged Damon towards the soft pile and tied the 'doorway' securely into place.

Before Damon could even speak, the other boy knocked him to the hay cluttered ground and crawled on top of him. His eyes were opaque, lust-filled and dangerous. As his tongue slithered out and licked at Damon's lips, Damon's mind went into complete turmoil. His face grew dark and disturbing as his fist came up to connect against his antagonist's head. The impact jarred the both of them and Ruffian was knocked to the ground, clutching the side of his skull in obvious pain. Damon was up in no time pulling the blade from his hiding place and poking the boy under the chin with it, causing him to tilt his head back for fear of risking severe injury. The seconds ticked by with Ruffian's breathing coming hard and labored, Damon's tight and controlled. They stared each other down, neither saying a word, until Damon finally backed away and let his opponent rise to his feet. Again they merely looked at each other. Ruffian's face was morphing into a Cheshire grin as he saw Damon's resolution melting away. Finally the young aristocrat sighed heavily and tucked the knife back up into his sleeve. He took a step forward, as if offering himself.

"I am sorry," Ruffian addressed honestly. "I just saw how...." Ruffian's voice trailed off and he reached out to stroke Damon's face with a rough callused hand. Damon flinched back at first, but then willed himself to stay put. The touch turned out to be rather pleasant. "I saw how beautiful you were. I just couldn't help myself...from saving you OR wanting you."

The boy's other hand reached out, tugged at the lace woven into the front of Damon's shirt. It came away easily and Damon watched curiously as button after button was popped open to reveal a smooth, hairless chest beneath. When the hands were at the last barrier, he shrugged his arms out of the material and shed it like an unwanted skin.

Ruffian was upon him like a starving wolf. His hands wrapped themselves around the thin waist, then slid up each protruding rib slat as his mouth closed around one of Damon's delicate nipples and proceeded to suckle like a baby.

Damon half groaned and threw his head back, closing his eyes as he felt the hard bone of teeth raking across a quickly blood- swelling nub of flesh. He had long forgotten that it was another male child pleasing him like this, and was far from caring. Anything was worth the warm rippling sensations that sent his body trembling like some poor sick creature.

"Lie down," a voice in his ear whispered.

Damon obeyed without question, snapping off his leather belt as his head came to rest on the hay.

Ruffian grinned down and spread himself on top of him. He thrust his hips downward, grinding them against Damon's, and watched in satisfaction as Damon winced in delight. Their lips came mere moments away from each other, and then joined altogether. Tongues followed, and before long they were scrabbling madly at each other's bodies. Damon held Ruffian's head tightly to himself, never parting company with his sweet mouth, and rubbed warmingly at the bulge in the boy's pants with the other hand. Ruffian was quite into it himself. His hands clawed at Damon's shoulders, leaving passionate red streaks, and his tongue licked franticly inside Damon's mouth.

For a split second, Damon had the feeling the two of them were being watched, but then it passed and he was able to ride the pleasure waves again.

Dimly he was aware of the sensation of Ruffian breaking away from his mouth and easing off his soft-shoes, then pulling at the waistband of his Hose. His breath caught in his throat and a flash of nervousness rippled through him. As the flesh of his cock was exposed to the air, he could feel it growing even harder then it had already become.

And then suddenly the warm, silken tunnel of Ruffian's mouth was around it, engulfing it to the base. Damon almost exploded instantly, so great was the sensation, but he kept himself under control. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching raptly, his thoughts shattered with unthinkable pleasure, as Ruffian slid his way back up the shaft and swirled his tongue around the head. He didn't even give Damon a chance to gasp from the sensation before he plunged the stiff hot flesh back down his throat.

It was enough to make Damon loose control. He groaned deeply and grabbed Ruffian by the ears tightly, ramming his hips upwards. Ruffian almost choked but kept his composure. He followed Damon's frenetic stabbing, keeping in perfect rhythm. Sweat glistened on both boys' foreheads, plastering their hair to their faces. Each looked more concentrated then the other.

Damon's teeth were clenched in exertion, his eyes wide open.

Ruffian's pupils were locked with Damon's, never wavering.

The two of them were worlds away in culture, but melded in soul. They seemed to know that as they stared each other down for what seemed like hours.

Finally Damon stopped thrusting and collapsed motionless on his back, panting heavily. One last stroke at his blood-swollen cock from Ruffian's mouth with a tease of teeth at the underside, and he climaxed like he never had before. His moan was nearly a scream and he could feel the tickle of warm breath at his groin as Ruffian giggled.

"I knew you would enjoy that," he commented, sitting up and licking his lips of the last traces of Damon's essence.

Damon stared at him, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. His black eyes were wide, nearly white all around. He looked like a ruffled cat.

Ruffian laughed at his expression and sat back, bringing a knee up to drape an arm over it. The look that crossed his features was one of the cat who had had the cream. "So," he began, watching Damon sit up and swab the sweat glistening on his face with the cloth of his shirt, "You still want some of that wine?"

X X X

Damon came out of his trance and realized somebody was shaking him roughly. Acting out of instinct rather then rational thought, he sprang to his feet and faced his attacker, twisting his inhumanly beautiful features into a snarling animal's.

There was a yelp, a splash, and then a small wave rushed over the lip of the stone fountain. Damon realized his mistake just a little too late. Matt was jumping out of the cold water, shaking droplets from his jeans as he landed on the pavement sidewalk.

"What was that all about?" he demanded of Damon.

Damon grinned almost sheepishly. "Sorry, you startled me."

"Yeah, well, it's not safe to sit on Fountains asleep with your eyes open. You could worry someone, you know?"

Damon dropped his grin. Was that a hint at something? he wondered. Perhaps there was more to the lovely Matt Honeycutt's mind then he had figured. Some emotion towards Damon on a more...sexual level.

Damon shook the thought from his head as Matt dried himself off. He watched the boy carefully as if studying some fine piece of work by Matisse or Monet.

"Well, anyway," Matt said slowly," I have some bad news."

"Yes?" Damon questioned politely. "What is it?"

"We have to go to a party tonight."

Damon looked taken aback. "You call that BAD news?"

Bonnie spoke up, still slightly jumpy from Damon's presence. "It's an Open House."

"Yeah, so?"

"Anybody can be there, Damon," Matt piped in, face stony. He looked genuinely worried about something. "Including our culprit."

"That's why I"LL be there. I can sense if anything is wrong way before you can. No need to worry. We'll be perfectly safe."

Bonnie shook her head and surpressed a shiver. "I'm experiencing the weirdest sense of Déj� Vu."

"You too?" Damon almost sneered. He laughed, the sound ringing wicked and bitter in the green campus square. A couple who was passing by turned to stare at him.

Matt grimaced and tried to conceal his fear, although he had every right to be afraid. After all, Damon was NOT a sweet, innocent college guy. He was more like a bloodthirsty animal with a serious attitude problem. Of course, Matt would never say that to his face. "Well, Bonnie and I are going to get some Burger King," he deadpanned, trying to give a welcoming smile. "You can come if you like."

Damon seemed concentrated, thinking. "Is it a local college scene, particularly at this time of day?" he asked. Yeah, he might've been slightly off, maybe even insane, but Damon was NOT stupid.

"Yeah, I would say so," Bonnie answered.

"Ah, then, I'd love to dine with you." He smiled a typical Damon smile and Matt shivered.

"Come on, let's go then," he indicated, gesturing for Bonnie and Damon to follow him.

Together they left the Campus

X x x

Matt stared skeptically, his cheeseburger forgotten for the moment.

Bonnie poked at her salad, uninterested about it's content. Her eyes were focused elsewhere.

Damon eyed the plethora of grilled meat by-products and snatched at a whopper greedily. He tore the wrapping off as if it was a barrier to some glorious treasure and took a huge bite of the patty in a sesame seed bun. He chewed vigorously, swallowed, and repeated the ritual until he was done. He didn't speak until the greasy thing was gone.

"Delicious," was all he said, then dove into the next burger on his tray.

"I think I lost my appetite," Matt commented, pushing his food away.

Damon downed his remaining two hamburgers and moved on to the dessert, which was a slice of chocolate pie. He wolfed this down also, seemingly deprived of such fast food.

When he was entirely finished he chucked all the paper and cardboard away and excused himself to the bathroom.

The bathroom in this particular Burger King was filthy and had a foul odor. Damon found this rather odd. Usually the customers would complain if it was THIS bad. Surely they weren't total and utter slobs around here.

Damon turned to leave, deciding the torture to his sensitive nose wasn't worth washing his hands over, when he heard a noise from one of the stalls. Now that was odd. He hadn't sensed anybody or anything in here when he had walked in, nor did he sense it now. He stepped closer, his curiosity besting him, and realized there were footprints on the floor in a dark, muddy red. They smelled distinctly of blood. He crouched and gave a closer inspection.

They weren't footprints at all, so he saw. They were composed of five round marks and five accompanying thin lines above them, set in a circular shape. Animal prints. Fascinated, he dipped a pale finger in the blood and brought it to his lips.

It tasted of dog.

Damon relaxed. Just a dog. A small stray that had wandered into a safe place to lick its wounds, perhaps. Nothing to be frightened about.

He heard the sound then. A sound like rain spattering heavily on a roof. Damon stood up and opened the door of the stall where the sound was coming from. He was not afraid.

Not until he saw the blood splattered all over the place like paint, that was. His mind reeled as his eyes flowed to the toilet bowl. It seemed odd at first, but he couldn't think of why. Then it struck him. There was a leg sticking out of the mouth of it that was turning the water red. A chewed up, furry, bloody one. Staring at him from where the pipe that ran from the back of the bowl to the ceiling, it's eyes gone and replaced by the flusher and a toilet paper cardboard roll, was a gaping, ripped-off head of a dog.

Damon wondered where the rest of the body was, then saw thick trickles of red seeping down the sides of the garbage can that was built into the stall. He opened it up carefully and winced as tiny maggots withered and pulsated from the small remains of the body that had been stuffed inside.

"Oh, shit." Damon rarely cursed, but when he did it meant he was very angry or very disturbed.

Damon backed out of the stall, slamming the door of it shut. The smell of rotten flesh mixed with urine and fecal matter was making him ill, and the blood shed was making him hungry. He licked at his fangs to keep them from retracting and swallowed hard.

No dog could have done THAT. No way.

His mind reeled, his instincts soared.

"Another vampire," he breathed, sneering at the perfunctory mess in the stall.

Then he turned around and stormed out, leaving the mauled dog for the workers to tend to.

X X X

"I'm going."

Bonnie and Matt looked up from their meals, surprised.

"Huh?" Matt questioned.

"I have some important business to attend to." Damon's face was concentrated, thin-lipped. Matt got the impression that it was not a good time to argue with him.

"Ok," he said. "The party's at 9 pm, so just be sure you make it back to my place about an hour before then."

"I'll be there."

Damon strode out of the Burger King as if his life depended on it.

X X X

The air was humid as it ruffled the feathers on Damon's sleek, plump, body. He was perched high on a thin, concealing branch of an old Oak tree, scanning the woods in his crow form. His thoughts ran jumbled and heaped in the walls of his tiny birdbrain, but he managed to snatch one every so often and hang onto it. After roughly 500 years of using the animal form for quick travel he had gotten used to having to sort each thought out one by one.

Right now he was contemplating what he had seen in the bathroom of the Burger King. He hadn't told Bonnie or Matt about it because he didn't want either of them frightened, especially his beautiful, precious Matt. Besides, the press would probably cover it once some human found it. Of course they would figure the culprit was an animal of some sort, but that wasn't his concern.

Damon shifted and flapped his wings to get the cramps out. A chill ran through him and his feathery tail waggled. If he had been in human form he probably would have shivered. The scene in the bathroom was getting to him. He hadn't seen such gory mutilation since his days as condottieri of his own Free Company.

There was no doubt in Damon's mind. The only twisted, diabolical enough creature of the night to be committing murders like this was a vampire, and the evidence was completely clear. It had to be a strong, if not old, vampire though for if it could turn into a creature with claws like buck knives it was no neonate.

Damon sighed. He hated killing his own kind because of their rarity, but if they were careless enough to leave a trail that a drooling, blithering human could follow then they were a threat to all. He had to stop this before it got out of hand.

Suddenly there was movement in the brush far below. Orange. A fox by the looks of it. With a war-like caw, Damon stretched his wings and beat them until he gained enough altitude. He honed in on the prey with a surge of pure power, then swiftly swooped down towards the dirt floor.

The fox watched from the bushes with its tail between its legs as the large crow, within inches from the ground, transformed before its eyes. The shape that landed was not a bird, but a large, black wolf with slavering jaws and eyes like daggers. The fox ducked and tried to hide as it fixed them on its meaty form.

It never had a chance.

The fox let out an animal scream as the wolf pounced and tore its throat out.

X X X

Damon's Ferrari was still parked safely outside Matt's house when he came strolling up the street. Boy, they sure were courteous in this town. It was the first place were nobody had tried to hot wire or rob his prized vehicle. Of course, in the end, all the burglars met the same fate of his hard, sharp canine teeth. Both the interior and exterior of the car had had its share of carnage.

Damon noticed the sun was completely gone, dipped beneath the horizon and melted into dusk. He slipped off his sunglasses and placed them neatly in his pocket. He could feel the power within him bubbling, stewing, and roaring to life. His senses were magnified to the extent and he felt the night awakening all around him like some flower who only stretched open it's soft petals when the moon was at its fullest.

It explained why Damon saw Matt before Matt saw him. "Matt," he called softly, as if to test his own sense of hearing.

Matt jerked his head up from where he was watering the plants in front of his house and looked to where the sound had come from. "Oh...its you," he said slowly. He checked his watch. "Right on time."

"I've always believed being punctual was the gentleman thing to do."

Matt gave him a strange look. "Right, whatever."

Damon smiled in return, ivory flashing against a black backdrop. "Matt, you are positively...." Damon raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. It was on his lips to say something of a sexual nature, but instead he commented, "Intriguing."

"Um...thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Uh...I think we should get a move on." Matt rolled up the garden hose and dragged it over to the side of his house, curling it around its plastic holster. "I promised Bonnie and Meredith a ride."

"Very well then."

Damon strode over to the dark blue Camaro that sat like a monolith of metal and mechanics in Matt's driveway. A memory of Matt's previous car, a red Ford, welled up from the depths of Damon's mind. It was the car Elena had slid off Wickery Bridge in on that cold, melancholy winter night, the night Elena had become a vampire because of the combination of blood she had shared with both his brother and he and her surprising death. She was irrational then; she had loved him and felt a deep loathing for Stefan. But that was in a very distant past. He wondered if the car was still at the bottom of Drowning Creek, rusting slowly away, or if Wickery Bridge had ever been reconstructed. He had half a mind to go see for himself. And what about Elena's sister, Margaret, and her Aunt Judith? They deserved to know the truth about their dear Elena, even if it meant exposing himself.

He forced back the rush of memories, putting it all out of his head. These weren't issues to deal with now. He had a vampire to hunt down and kill, and that was what he was going to do.

Suddenly the engine of the Camaro roared to life and Damon's mind scrambled to the present. He saw Matt sitting in the driver's seat, adjusting the rearview mirror, and willed his legs to move. He slid into the passenger's side and slammed the door, turning a viscous grin on Matt.

Matt glanced at him, his face grave. With a shiver he pulled the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway.

X X X

Damon sat quietly for the ride, watching Matt out of the corner of his eye. Not once did Matt glimpse his way or try to strike up a conversation, which was fine with Damon. He'd much rather look then talk. However, he did feel as if a dark cloud had settled over the two of them, and some slight animosity had wormed its way into Matt's train of thought. It worried him slightly. He didn't know why, but it did.

Sometime in their trip they picked up Bonnie, whom Damon switched to the back seat for because she wanted to sit next to Matt and because he would be able to get away with staring, and Meredith, who seemed happy, almost relieved to see him. He had a good feeling she probably thought he could do more damage in this case then his brother Stefan would be able to. He admired her for that.

He thought of perhaps probing her mind, getting an insight to how she viewed him, but he didn't want to get that intimate. Besides, he could see, if not feel, clearly that she had no hostile susceptibleness towards him. He didn't want to waste power on things he already knew.

So Damon sat, staring longingly at Matt, his body tense and aware. For once it was not blood that he craved so hungrily, but Matt's soft mortal skin against him. He beat the thought down. Hard. He could see clearly that Matt did not go for other men, and that he already had Bonnie. And Matt, although he had nearly pledged his trust, was still wary of Damon's vampire nature. The two could never be together. As this hit him fully and with the force of a sledgehammer, Damon had to choke back a sob.

It was a surefire sign that the centuries had finally taken their toll.

Part 2:

Damon winced as he stepped over the threshold and into the noisy, cluttered world of chaos that had settled itself at thirty-eight Soloff Blvd. He loved parties, of course, with their so many soft, young, beautiful mortals to choose from as his next victim, but he had fed recently and the decibel level was near torture on his ears.

Matt and Bonnie were hardly through the door when they were spotted and waved over. Without an explanation they ran to the girl waving at them and left Meredith and Damon standing alone.

Meredith groaned. "They always do that to me."

Damon heard the annoyance in her voice and gave her an agreeing smile. "To hell with them." He said this with arrogance, but the sadness in his voice was palpable. "They have wine here, anyway. I could get you a glass, maybe?"

Meredith's eyes were fixed on him intently, her face blank. She nodded. "That would be nice of you."

"Consider it done."

He walked off to the kitchen, leaving Meredith looking after him with a smirk on her face. He would have turned and smirked back if he hadn't been feeling so devoid inside. He knew someday in his eternal life it would all come down to this, to the solid fact that he was alone and unloved, unlike all the people, human and non-human, around him. His first real love, Katherine, had gone mad and tried to kill him after his brother and he had fought over her and Elena had had to destroy her, while Stefan had claimed, after yet another struggle of wills and power, his second. Now his third, the one that he hoped would be the right one, his eternal companion, had been lost to him too.

There was no point now. He could feast on the blood of mortals and taunt them until they chased him with wooden stakes, but it would never bring him happiness. Never. He might as well impale himself or stop drinking blood all together until he withered away, because without pleasure what else was there to live for?

He sighed as he picked up the wine decanter and poured a gracious proportion of it into a plastic cup, trying to perform the act as elegantly as had done during the Renaissance. It didn't quite work out right, with a factory produced drinking apparatus rather then a handcrafted glass one. The thought made him smile sadly, slightly if not at all.

"You got me a drink. How sweet."

Damon nearly froze. He knew that voice. It was fresh in his memory, something heard mere hours before. He turned slowly, his eyes dilated fully in the dim light.

As Damon took in the full form of Alazuria standing before him, still dressed in skimpy handi-wrap, he saw her step back.

"Whoa," she commented, looking slightly rumpled. "Your eyes...."

Damon almost choked on nothing. Quickly he looked away, down into the glass of the tantalizing red wine. "What about them?" he asked, his voice politely questioning.

"They're...beautiful."

Was that all? he thought. He didn't think so. She had seen something in those short seconds that she had gazed into the midnight pools of his pupils, which were dilated so far they only left a thin circle of color. Maybe she had peered into his soul, drawn down by the hollow tunnel inside that he was infamous for, and what she had seen had disturbed her.

"I am sorry for such an informal greeting," he apologized, his arrogant smile coming back full force now that he was curious.

"Oh, me too, darling," Alazuria replied, taking the cup of wine from his hand and drinking deeply. The movement was so smooth and controlled that he didn't realize what had happened until she handed him the empty cup back.

He looked at it for a moment, then tossed it aside and stared at the penchant she was wearing around her neck. It reminded him of something similar he had seen somewhere, but he couldn't pinpoint it. "It seems you may have a touch of wealth," he drawled, nodding towards the piece of jewelry with a smile.

She looked down. "Oh, this." Damon saw the look of pure disgust upon her face for a split second, then it was replaced by a smile. "It was given to me as a gift from somebody special. I do not know its significance."

"Ah, that is always the case with things given to us, isn't it?"

Alazuria gave a laugh and stepped forward slightly, leaning in close to him. "You're charming, you know that?" she told him, smoothly.

"So I've been told."

"And you're different then before when we met. There's something...something hidden in your eyes and beneath your words now "

Damon blinked and turned paler then he already was. "Che il inferno pronto Tu?!" he muttered, his eyes wide.

"What? What did you just say?"

"Nothing, nevermind."

Alazuria smiled seductively. "Come on, when a man speaks perfectly fluent Italian a woman's got the right to know what he's saying."

Damon stepped back with a look on his face that had gone cold and stony. "I think I must go now," he shot, his eyes narrowed to pinpoints.

He whirled around, anger and frustration getting the better of him. Who the hell was this Alazuria Doyle, and what did she know of him? Nothing! She was just a woman who worked in some college office and flirted with students to get their attention. He didn't need to waste time with this!

"Where do you think you're going?"

Damon looked up and saw Alazuria standing before him, her arms crossed neatly over her chest. She looked perturbed.

"Get out of my way," he said quietly.

She smiled, flashing pearly white teeth. "No."

Damon was fuming. Holding back his urge to tear her open with his teeth and lap her blood up, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently attempted to nudge her aside.

"Get...the fuck...off me."

Damon reared back as if his hands had been burned and stared at her for several seconds. He was surprised. He had never been lead from his goals just because someone, let alone a human, had commanded him to do so. This was a first.

Alazuria turned her own charming smile on him. "Thank you, asshole" she appreciated, and went to step away.

He grabbed her arm before she could get very far. "Forgive me," he said seriously. "I...haven't been myself lately."

Instead of answering him, she lifted her hand up to stroke his face, her fingernails scratching lightly at his pale skin. He didn't understand why, but he couldn't bring himself to stop her.

"You're very warm," she commented, drawing her hand away and circling it around his neck, playing with the strands of hair that ended there. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he muttered, looking down at her and realizing she had backed him against the wall with her body pressed close. Her bare leg was wedged agonizingly into his groin and he could feel his boner rubbing against the flesh through the worn fabric of his jeans. He closed his eyes and let out a soft groan, much to Alazuria's delight.

"Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private," she whispered in his ear.

Damon opened his eyes and gave her a wicked smile. Maybe it wasn't Matt, but she looked pretty promising. Besides, he was hungry. After he had his fun with her body, he could have some of her blood if he liked. She was ideal for his plans and he wasn't going to pass her up.

"Yes, somewhere outside," he answered. Someplace where nobody will see us or hear you scream when my teeth sink in your neck, he added silently.

Alazuria nodded. "Okay, hun, whatever you like."

Smiling, she grabbed his hand and lead him outside, ushering him along as fast as she could muster.

X X X

The figure dressed in a long black trenchcoat, sunglasses, and a dark red bandana looked up from the strange object he held in his hands long enough to see Damon and Alazuria leaving via the front door.

"Nice catch," he muttered, then nodded to a small-framed boy who was watching him from across the living room.

The boy nodded back and dashed away behind them. The man smiled to himself and tucked the object back into the pocket of his coat, then followed quickly after all of them.

X X X

Damon sat quiet, concentrated on the carpet of pine needles and brushed bark off his leather jacket. He scanned the Forrest around him, looking for any signs of Alazuria. She had told him that she would be right back, that she had something special in store, but it had been a good twenty minutes since she had departed.

He was beginning to think she had stood him up when he heard a noise from the bushes. He leaned forward, his eyes fixated on the spot, and strained his ears. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight and he knew then that he was being hunted. He could feel the eyes of the predator on him, hungry, bloodthirsty eyes. A mental picture of gaping jaws with sharp teeth dripping spittle came to mind and he sprang to his feet.

There was a soft growl, the rustle of leaves, and then Damon saw the creature pick its head up and stare at him. It was a small wolf pup, black and gray, its eyes gleaming like a deep green sea. Damon poised himself, ready to fight if it came down to that, but the pup did not move and Damon did not instigate. They simply stared at each other, two hunters locked eye to eye.

"What are you doing?" came a voice.

Damon turned to see Alazuria walking towards him, a smile playing on her lips.

"There's a..." Damon looked back towards the bushes and was surprised to see the pup had disappeared. "There was a wolf there just a minute ago."

Alazuria threw her head back and laughed. Damon got a glimpse of her delicious throat and a flash of hunger roared to life. He looked away and fought it down. It was much to early in the game to feed from her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Damon," she chuckled. "This is Virginia. There are no wolves here. You must have seen somebody's runaway dog."

"Perhaps." Damon looked around a final time, just to make sure the pup hadn't re-hidden itself.

"Relax," drawled Alazuria. "You don't have to be so tense and serious about everything."

"I'm not tense," Damon deadpanned.

"Right." Alazuria looked at him skeptically. "Well, anyway, I found what I was looking for. Would you like to...see it?"

Damon felt his blood run cold, something that didn't happen very often. There was something slightly...deadly...venomous about Alazuria's words. It was if she was all radiant and beautiful to the common observer, but inside a black fire burned and raged and scorched her very being.

She wasn't very different from him.

And that's why he took her outstretched hand, grinning like a fool, and let her lead him down a dirt path that ended near the mouth of a dark, creepy cave.

"Very romantic," Damon commented.

"Isn't it?" She drew him nearer to the opening set in the rock formation. "I found this place when I was younger. At night I'd get restless and roam the woods, eventually ending up here. I still do it, sometimes, when I have those horrible nightmares that have haunted me for as long as I can remember. It helps ease the fear." She paused and looked over at his curious face. "What do you do?"

"Excuse me?"

"To chase away the demons in your nightmares?"

Damon's eyes were fathomless pits as he stared at Alazuria's inquiring, penetrating features, and nothing could be read in them. Sharply he turned away and spoke almost to himself. "I don't dream," he said gravely, quietly.

"Everybody dreams. You can't be an exception."

"I haven't dreamed since...." Damon stopped himself mid-sentence. For a moment there he had almost said 'since I became a vampire.' He cleared his throat, quickly regaining his composure. "Since I was an adolescent," he finished.

"How strange." Alazuria's eyes were narrowed in contemplation. "Did something happen to you?"

Damon flashed her a cruel smile. "Not something I want to talk about."

"Ah, I get the picture." Alazuria dropped the subject with a nod, but Damon could still see the inquisitiveness in her eyes. "Now, what do you say we step inside?"

"I say that sounds like a rather nice idea."

"Alright."

They stood staring at each other. Damon was grinning infamously, amused, while Alazuria looked unsure of something. Finally she shrugged and entered the cave. Damon followed close behind, his eyes dilated large enough to see where he was going clearly. The stone interior looked as though it was currently still being inhabited by a family of woodland creatures. This didn't phase Damon. There wasn't any creature in the woods that could defeat a vampire in battle. Perhaps a bear, but even those animals were slow and uncoordinated compared to him.

Suddenly Alazuria halted in her footsteps. That was perfectly all right with Damon. The cave was growing darker as they got father inward and pretty soon even he wouldn't be able to see. Sure, he could see far better then any human in the dark, but in total blackness he was just as blind as the rest.

Alazuria slipped her stilettos off then, wiggling her toes freely, and turned to him. Her smile was shy, tempting. Damon licked his lips in anticipation of the carnival of arcane delights he was about to experience.

She came closer to him, her hands reaching behind her and scrabbling for the tiny zipper of her dress. Damon heard the sound of metal teeth being creaked open perfectly in the silence. He raised an eyebrow and watched as she eased the dress straps off her shoulders and stepped neatly and precisely out of the garment.

She was completely naked underneath and Damon felt his fangs retracting as she pressed herself against him and ran feathery touches over his face, his lips, and his throat. Her mouth came up to join with his and he succumbed to the gentle probing of her tongue against his sealed lips.

They were so into they're embrace that they didn't hear the figure approaching swiftly from behind them....

X X X

As the summer slipped away like sand through fingers, Damon found himself spending nearly every night with his lover, Ruffian, at the Gypsy Camp. He would sneak out of his Florentine Villa after the peasant servants and Stefan and his father were asleep and take his horse to were he had almost met his doom the night of the Festival. It was risky, for the towns and paths were crawling with thieves and assassins of rivaling families, but he was willing to take his chances.

It was not long before the cold would settle in and the Gypsies would be moving their Caravan to the southern countries of Italia. Ruffian had given Damon a choice. He could either stay behind and wait until they met again the next summer or come along with them. Damon needn't think about this answer twice. He was tired of the loyalty he had to pay to the Catholic church and the Pope just because his riconscere was the rich lord of a city- state who thrived off the money of the lower people. And he could not stomach the praise his baby brother Stefan was given just because he believed in honor, and allegiance, and all that wholesome jargon. No, his mind was made up.

Damon was leaving. For good.

The night he was anticipating came quicker then he expected.

It was a particularly humid dusk and the time was well after the witching hour. Damon was in Ruffian's quarters, drinking from a flask of spiced wine and becoming giddy off of Ruffian's wet tongue working at his bare chest. He was more intoxicated then he had ever been in his life, and the night seemed to soar all around him.

"I met a man from Sicily, once, with an ass for a wife," Damon said between a sip of his delicious drink.

Ruffian giggled against him.

"I asked her what her name was but she only gave a bray and kicked her iron toes at me." Another swig of wine. A laugh. "Her husband became rather trifled and yelled 'be on ye merry way, lad. Stop botherin me wife.' "

Ruffian blinked and looked up. "What kind of language is that?" he asked.

"I do not know. I could not understand him. And so I took my sword from my hip and put an untimely end to his ass-wife."

They both erupted into laughter and Ruffian was well near tears.

"Very good," he said. "I would have liked to see the look on that man's face!"

"Trust me, dear Ruffian, it was to die for! Now, how about fetching us another bottleful of wine. I believe I have finished this one off."

Ruffian chuckled and took the empty bottle from Damon. He went over to the cloth door and was just finished untying it when it flapped open and a figure stood with its eyes burning red and its cold features fixated on Damon.

They roamed over to Ruffian, who was lying on his back and propped on his elbows, the perfect expression of bewilderment on his face.

"Come now, Damon, I always knew, with disgust I might add, you were somewhat interested in the same sex, but a Gypsy boy?" Giuseppe Conte Di Salvatore asked.

"F-father?" Damon inquired. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"That is not important. Just come with me, boy, and I will forgive you for this unruly act."

Damon's eyes went hard and he stood up. "No," he defied.

"You dare disobey your father's wishes? Then I'll just have to use force on you."

Giuseppe stepped forward and reached out with a strong arm. Quickly, with the speed of youth and anger, Damon grabbed at the blade he had attached to his wrist and lashed out with it.

Giuseppe hissed in a breath and drew back. Damon clearly saw that he had done considerable damage to his forearm. Blood was already being absorbed by his father's white jerkin and he looked like a startled animal. His eyes were narrowed on Damon, only hatred and loathing smoldering in them. "Get him. He's coming home with us."

Damon didn't see the guard step out behind his father and come straight for him. He thought quickly and stabbed downward with his knife. It wizzed through the air but connected with nothing. He growled in defiance as strong, mesh-clad hands grabbed him and lifted him off the ground.

Suddenly there was a snarl, a viscous, bloodthirsty snarl that stopped everybody dead and made Damon come to understand the true meaning of fear. The guard whipped around to see what had made such an awful sound and Damon's eyes widened so far they almost exploded out of his head.

He knew Ruffian was strange, that he never really moved like a human or acted like one either, but whatever he was expecting it wasn't this.

The ten-foot werewolf stepped forward and swiped his claws at the guard's head. It came off cleanly with a dazzling display of blood and entrails and pummeled to the floor. Instantly the grip on Damon was broken and he fell to the soft bed of hay beneath him. The wolf looked at him, spittle dripping from it's clenched teeth. It sniffed the air once, then dared to proceed towards him. Damon let out a yelp and scrambled to his feet, his knife thrust out in front of him.

"Don't worry, it is only me, Ruffian." the wolf said, eyeing the blade warily. "I won't hurt you."

Damon quieted and stared at the furry form leaning over him. It was black and red-brown, sleek and powerfully built. Damon was completely awed by its animalistic beauty, its raging wolf lust. He smiled, a dark, sardonic smile that meant he was very approving of the new form.

"I smell blood and smoke," Ruffian growled, twisting around to lash out at the cloth of his quarters. "I fear your father has come to do more damage then just take you back home, and for that we must flee. Quickly, through this hole." He gestured to the slash he made in the fabric. "I'll follow behind you."

Damon wasted no time and stepped through. At first all he could hear was a great rushing sound, like some tsunami crashing down against the earth, and then the scene before him came into focus.

The gypsy camp was in utter chaos. Most of the tents had been burnt to the ground, and women and children ran screaming as soldiers on horseback hacked them down with their swords or set fire to their very bodies.

In the midst of it all he saw the wolves. There had to be at least a dozen of them, each a different color, shape, and size. They were fighting the rush of the enemy with tooth and claw, but it was not enough. Damon watched, transfixed by the slaughter, as swords plunged through their hearts, across their throats, completely through their arms and legs. He knew they were doomed. His father only employed the best soldiers in all of Florence, and they always won the battle.

"Go, go!" Ruffian yelled from behind him. Damon didn't need to be ushered twice. With a burst of speed he dashed forward, dodging dead bodies and soldiers. Somewhere in the distance he could here the shouted commands, "Kill them! Don't stop until you've destroyed every last one!" but his mind blocked out the words. All he could think of was he was finally leaving, even though it was not particularly the departure he was planning. Stefan and his father would soon be far behind him, and Ruffian and he could finally be together for as long as they liked.

Suddenly there was a cry of anguish from behind him and he turned to see that Ruffian had stopped dead in his tracks. There was a trickle of blood seeping from a wound in his head. He stumbled backward as it washed into his eyes and the bleeding became even more frantic.

Damon watched in utter horror as the huge wounded creature crashed to the ground and laid still.

"Ruffian!" he shouted, falling to his knees. As he came closer he saw what had fell the beast. A large dagger, as big as own arm, was wedged into the back of his head. He put his ear to the furry body, which was becoming quickly matted with blood, and listened for a heartbeat.

"I'm alright, Damon," Ruffian whispered, his voice hoarse. "Go, leave me here. Save yourself."

Damon looked up and locked eyes with him, relieved his lover was all right. "I can't leave you here, dying."

"Don't worry about me." The big wolf gave a laugh, its tongue lolling. "I'm a werewolf. I'll heal. You on the other hand won't. So I suggest you get out of here before it's too late."

"I'm not leaving," Damon said quietly, desperately as he saw Ruffian's eyes becoming glassy.

"Oh, isn't this sweet," a voice said from behind him.

Damon hardly had a chance to look up before the hilt of a sword crashed against the back of his skull and sent him sprawling. He landed on his stomach, pain seizing his head and sending him spiraling down into unconsciousness.

The last things he saw before he went under completely was the leaping flames of the fire that was claiming so many gypsies, his father with the sharp end of his sword poised above Ruffian's head, and a figure in heavy black robes bending over him and staring at his dizzied figure with endless, expressionless black eyes that reminded him so much of himself....

Part 3:

Damon had Alazuria pinned beneath him, his mouth working teasingly at her throat. She withered on the cold dirt floor and arched her body against his naked chest, running long black nails through his fine hair. He could drive his fangs into her at anytime, if he wished, but he wanted to mess around a bit, to draw out the game.

Suddenly there were hands scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to push him up and off. He looked up, startled, and saw that Alazuria's eyes had become unexpectedly filled with fear. At first he thought it was fear of him, but he soon realized she was looking behind him.

"Don't look back," she whispered before he could turn his head. "Just get off me. Fast."

Damon's senses went off like a bomb. In one swift motion he backed away and grabbed at his shirt, tugging it over his head. He heard the footsteps then and spun around to see what was coming.

A fist came out of the darkness and smashed him in the face.

Damon stumbled back against the stone wall and felt the first trickles of blood start to seep out of his nose. For a moment he was surprised. It had been a very long time since somebody had hit him hard enough to draw blood, even if it was just a mere drop. He felt anger flash to the surface, but he held it in check with expertise. He had learned through the years that not only was it foolish to run swinging out of malice into a fight, but it could cost you your life.

"Alazuria!" he heard a voice growl, and only as his eyes readjusted did he see the tall, lean figure in a dark black trench coat.

Alazuria dragged herself to her knees and bowed her head slightly. "Yes, master?" she asked.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I was just going to...." Her voice trailed off and she gulped.

"What were you going to do, Alazuria?"

"He was just so beautiful. I couldn't help myself. Please, I meant you no sacrilege."

"Do not lie to me, Alazuria. You wanted him all to yourself. I can see it in your eyes, that seductive spell you cast over all the ones you deem us unworthy of also having. Perhaps I should rip them from your sockets and feast upon them like exquisite orderbs."

"Please...no..."

"Silence! How dare you speak when not addressed!"

Damon couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could Alazuria deem herself low enough to be subordinate to such a foul creature? She certainly had spirit, he knew that much. So why didn't she give the guy a piece of her mind?

He drew his hand away from his nose (which had stopped bleeding almost as quickly as it had started) and dared to step closer to the feuding pair. It was a rather bad mistake for the man in the trench coat turned around then and bared his clenched teeth.

Damon was not intimidated. He walked even closer, nonchalantly, and got right in the man's face. "Leave her alone," he breathed, his eyes crackling with black fury.

The man looked at him, his face expressionless. His eyes seemed to be raking over Damon's features, committing him to memory. For a split second Damon had the slightest sense of recognition, but then it passed and his anger came back full force.

"It appears your 'beautiful young boy' is trying to challenge me," the man said. He grinned then, and before Damon could realize what was happening he felt a knife, at least a good eight or nine inches, push through his flesh and penetrate his soft intestinal matter to the hilt. It was a shock to his sense rather then a source of pain and his world went blank for a second. One second to long, that is. He felt hands close around his throat and squeeze hard enough to crunch a few frail bones. He would have been doomed on the spot.

That was, if he were human.

Damon threw back his head as far in the death grip as he could and laughed. A hearty, wide-mouth laugh that made his retracted fangs catch the barest sliver of light and gleam menacingly.

Alazuria let out a hiss of breath. "I knew there was something weird with you," she commented as he and her master both looked at her simultaneously. "And that Lapis ring. It's some sort of talisman for vampires, if I remember."

"Correct, my dear." Damon's voice was strained, but he managed a smile. "How did you know that?"

"That is none of your business." The man slid his hands away from Damon's neck and stepped back. "Now, since you are not yet a fierce burden, I will let you go for the time being. Mark my words, however. If I ever run into you or if you ever lay a hand on Alazuria again, I will mercilessly kill you."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "You can try," he commented.

"Oh, I will try and I will succeed. I've hunted down your kind before and I have found out that they are just as vulnerable as anybody else. Be off with you, now. I do not wish to waste my energy on taking your life."

Damon looked at him, merely staring for a moment. Then he turned his head towards Alazuria. "I understand," he replied, nodding at her, hoping the man hadn't caught the secret look between them. Without a further word he about-faced, grabbed his leather jacket off the place where he had flung it on the ground, slung it over his back, and walked slowly out of the cave.

X X X

Damon walked the woodland path slowly, his hands jammed into the pockets of his heavy jacket. The scene that had occurred mere moments ago played in his head over and over. Alazuria and he locked in embrace, the man who had rushed him from the darkness, the way Alazuria had subordinated to him, how she had known about the Lapis, and how neither had freaked when they found out what he was. It was all very odd. Humans certainly didn't take kindly to these types of situations. So who were they? Vampire hunters, or Bounty hunters perhaps? He remembered when Klaus had visited Fell's Church and Stefan had explained to Bonnie, Meredith, and Matt about how some places drew evil to them like flies to molasses. This town seemed to be blessed with that curse. He wondered if maybe Alazuria and her 'master' were indeed hunters of some sort and had been summoned here by a mayor or town official to hunt down the culprit of the recent viscous murders. It seemed highly possible in a place like this.

Damon was relieved when he saw the house on Soloff Blvd come into view. Dimly he was aware that he had left his little 'group' behind, and he didn't know how much time had elapsed.

It wasn't until he reached the front lawn that he realized there was a green and yellow cop car in the driveway, it's blue and red lights flashing. Near the doorway a crowd had gathered. He spotted Matt and ran over to him, almost scaring the living daylights out of the boy.

"What's going on here?" he asked, trying to see over the crowd.

Matt turned, trembling slightly, a worried, grave face on him. Damon saw that his skin was extremely pale. "It's not just animals anymore," he said simply.

For a moment Damon stood stock still, saying nothing. Then his lips skinned back from his teeth and he drove his fist hard into the siding of the house, nearly knocking it completely from its foundation.

X X X

"Maybe we should call Stefan, try to get him here. He'll understand if it's urgent."

Damon looked down at Matt, Bonnie, and Meredith from his perch on the large smooth-marble headstone and glared. "That fool couldn't even help himself in a situation like this," he said darkly.

Bonnie scowled and Meredith raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and you're doing such a great job at it?" Bonnie questioned. "You haven't even found any suspects!"

Damon sneered at the trio and lashed out with words. "I'm doing as much as I can!" he snapped. "And I have found something strange, for your information, two things to be exact."

"Oh really?"

Damon ignored her. "Matt, how long has the lovely Miss Alazuria Doyle been employed by Fell's Church Community College?"

"Uh, I dunno," Matt replied. "Three, four months. If you're trying to tell me she's a suspect, then I say you definitely have some screws loose. Besides, the killings started only recently."

"No, no I don't think she's a suspect. But I do believe she is tied in with all this somehow."

"Ok, fair enough. Now, tell us what else is on your mind."

"Alright." Damon smiled. "Bonnie...?"

A cool wind passed over the graveyard and rustled the unattended long grass, seeming to almost mock Damon's low, syrupy voice. Bonnie had to clamp down on a shiver.

"Yes?" she asked as softly as a mouse.

"Tell me, do you sense something rather...." Damon leaned over further, nearly teetering off the edge of his seat. "Strange about that college?"

"Well...I've noticed I can't really use any of my powers on the grounds. Yeah, I'd say its pretty weird."

Damon grinned at them.

"So, what does that mean, Damon?" Meredith questioned as pressing as an interrogator.

"It means, my dear Meredith, that somebody put up a barrier around that school. Why? I do not have that answer, but I'm sure it has something to do with this dilemma. After all, most, if not all, the victims were found near the college grounds."

"What do we do then?" Matt questioned.

"You three are going to do nothing." Damon vaulted himself off the heavy slab of stone and landed neatly on his feet, dusting himself off exaggeratedly. "Go home, go to bed. Try not to think about the recent murder and I'll meet you all at the college in the morning."

"That's rather...insensitive," Meredith commented.

Damon shrugged. "We have no evidence to follow, and it is much to late to start snooping around." He smiled then, a predatory smile dripping with hunger. "You never know what might be lurking in the shadows waiting to sink its teeth into a succulent morsel of human flesh at this hour. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

Damon turned on his heel and began to walk away slowly, almost in a dreamlike fashion, towards the ruined remains of the white church. He remembered it well. It was where Katherine had finally shown herself in the underground tomb after so many years of he and Stefan thinking she had killed herself. She had been mad, wanting to kill them and Elena. In the end, Elena gave her life to save his brother and he from Katherine's diabolical nature in her one true act of unselfishness. Damon admired her for that, even though afterwards she had gone back to her 'snob princess' ways. As for his brother well...he loved him, to say the least, feeling almost sorry for the poor bastard's idealistic views.

"Damon...wait," he heard Matt calling from behind.

Damon froze but didn't turn. He didn't want to have to look at Matt and stir up all his barely contained lust.

"What?" he asked almost nastily. Oh, why did this boy have to always call up a fire somewhere in the depths of his viscera?

"I just want to...um...thank you for helping us when Stefan couldn't."

"How very kind of you," Damon sneered sarcastically. "Is that all you came to do? Bother me and waste my precious time?"

"Oh, no, of course not, you see I, um...well...."

Damon turned around then and fixed heated raven-black eyes on him, a snarl on his lips.

Matt flinched and took a step back. "Sorry," he said, but it was full of strength. He wasn't going to let Damon get the satisfaction of scaring him.

"Go away, Matt," Damon nearly breathed. "Before I get a tad too hungry and decide to make a quick snack of you."

"I guess you haven't changed." Matt shook his head in disgust. "Alright, alright. I'll go. Just try not to chow down on any of the locals 'cause then I might just have to think twice about striking you off the suspect list."

The last remark was said rather rudely, and as Matt made the way back to his group Damon sighed.

"If only you understood," he muttered to himself, then stalked off into the night.

X X X'

The Pub was loud, crowded, and redolent of piss and beer. Damon sat brooding on one of the stools at the tap, nursing his eight or ninth shot of vodka. He had lost count. He didn't know what had prompted him to drink, or why he had given into this decision, but he knew bars, taverns, and pubs always had the promise of a quick bite. Literaly.

This particular place was a large building set into Fell's Church's main shopping villa. It had two whole floors, and hosted a DJ on weekdays and a live band on weekends. It seemed to be the main source of entertainment for the college kids with fake ID's and the husbands whose wives were out of town.

Damon slammed his glass cup down on the polished wooden bar and gave a simple smile to the barkeep. "Another round, my good man," he said.

"Whoa, fella, take it easy," the barkeep replied, taking the glass from Damon and wiping it down with a dishtowel. "You're going to drink yourself into a stupor."

"If only I could."

The barkeep raised an eyebrow. "Whatsa matter, boy? Girl trouble? Girlfriend, wife's gotcha down?"

"Not exactly."

"Ah, then, what's the trouble?"

Damon wasn't paying attention anymore. Instead, his eyes were focused on a blond head sitting at a table not too far away. As the head lifted his heart nearly stopped. Two jewel blue eyes stared fixedly at him, and then a smile came to the soft pale lips. The boy got up and picked his way through the crowd, his expression soft and innocent.

"Oh, I see," the barkeep commented with a nod of his head. "You like your own kind. I'm cool with that. Just watch out for that one. Innocent as he may appear, he's got the spirit of a tiger."

Damon cocked an eyebrow, then turned his attention over to the impending boy. He was so much like Matt feature-wise that Damon nearly got up and bolted when he took the stool next to him.

"This seat taken?" the boy asked shyly.

"No," Damon replied, pausing to take a sip of vodka. "Go ahead and sit down."

The boy nodded and did so. He stared at Damon with wide, amiable eyes and smoothed his hair back with a clammy hand. "Hi," he greeted, his voice low and throaty. "What's your name?"

"Damon Smith. And you might be?"

"Seton."

Damon blinked. "That's a rather odd name for these parts."

Seton looked away and cast his eyes down towards the bar. "I don't come from here," he commented distantly.

"Ah, then, where do you come from then?"

"Nowhere special." Seton shrugged.

"I see."

There was silence between them for several moments, the stretch of time seeming even longer then it really was. Damon finished off his glass of Vodka during this grace period, then watched Seton with narrowed, hunting eyes. This catch was a nice one all right, but he seemed so mysterious. Perhaps there was more that met the eye in this case, and Damon decided to find out. On a whisp of power he sent his mind searching, gently probing around the edge's of Seton's. The results were intriguing.

There was absolutely nothing. The depthless brain was as fresh and spotless as brand new canvas. Damon furrowed his brow and cut the power off as if he had a switch to control it with. After a rather strange night, he did not want to dwell on why the fact Seton's memories were blank or blocked off. Besides, he was starving for human blood, and this was a more then perfect source.

Damon straightened his back out and cleared his throat. "Would you like to go someplace a little more...private?" he asked

Seton merely nodded his head. "Yes, I'd like that," he replied as if he were a deer staring down the muzzle of a hungry, snarling wolf.

"Good. We can go out back."

Damon slid off the stool and started walking through the bar. He needn't look back. He knew the delicious Seton was dogging his trail eagerly.

When he came to the discolored gray back door he pushed it open with a creak and stepped out into the crisp, clear, quiet night. After a moment, he heard the soft sound of Seton's sneakers against the pavement beside him.

"Lovely night, don't you think so?" he asked, flashing his fangs at the velvet black sky.

"Yes, the moon looks particularly beautiful this evening," Seton drawled. Damon could sense a slight change in him, as if the surrounding dusk had suddenly charged him full of elemental life. His guard went up instinctually and he whipped around, his body ready to fight if necessary.

It wasn't.

Seton nearly pounced on Damon and their lips collided sloppily. Arms swept around his neck, drawing him close, holding him locked in the red-hot embrace. Seton's tongue felt as if it was well experienced. It curved and wiggled deliciously against bone and velvety soft membrane.

Without warning Seton's mouth drew away and Damon saw the gleam of teeth gnashing at his ear, then felt them get a firm grip on a lobe and tug gently.

Damon moaned sensuously. This boy sure knew how to please.

"Are you enjoying this?" Seton asked, his lips and tongue licking and sucking a trail down the side of Damon's neck.

"Yes," Damon said flatly. As much as the sensations were sending his body reeling with pleasure, he could not shake the feeling that the boy was not his love, Matt. A deep sadness washed over him then, and he felt himself pushing Seton away from him.

"What?" Seton asked from arm's length, confused.

Damon sighed. "I might as well just get this over with," he muttered.

Seton had barely enough time to ponder what was going on when Damon snarled at him and dove at his throat with dripping fangs, moving so fast the motion was barely a blur.

Seton let out a gasp somewhere between pleasure and pain as the needle like canines penetrated flesh and latched themselves on to an artery. No veins, and especially not the jugular. He wanted to feed from the boy, not kill him.

Damon suckled at the groaning form in his arms like a nursing infant, using teeth, tongue, and labium to make sure he got every last drop of the sanguine fluid. He drank deeply and until Seton's eyes started rolling and his body jerked as if on strings. Satisfied and blood-drunk, his face and hands flushed from the meal, he pulled away, stringy ropes of saliva mingled with droplets of blood trailing from his mouth to the twin set of puncture wounds on the boy's neck. Grasping a handful of his hair, he lifted the head up enough to stare it in its goggling eyes.

"You never saw me, and you don't know what happened to you" he told him fiercely, sending the words out on a flare of power. "You will not inform any officials about this, or worry about it at all."

Seton nodded and Damon smiled as he stepped back and let his grip slip away. He watched in amusement as the body folded to the ground in a drunken fashion, much like an accordion, and was still. The chest rose and fell silently to indicate it was still breathing.

With a Cheshire Cat grin Damon stepped pass the body and wandered into the area behind the establishment where light never penetrated. When he reached it, his body began to implode and crinch in upon itself. His arms became outstretched, grew longer, thinned out, turned black. He grew rows upon overlapping rows of shiny plumage.

The abnormally sized crow that now roosted where Damon once stood stepped into the glow of a small lamp that hung above a faded sign plastered on to a brick building. With a cry of warning, it flapped its gigantic wings and flew off into the night

Part 4:

Crows.

Crows every where.

All around.

Cawing, screeching, pecking, snapping their large ominous beaks upon flesh and gelatinous matter.

They tore at the body that had been unfortunate enough to become the victim of their torrent, ripping flesh and shiny muscle to reveal hard yellow bone beneath.

Their wings thrashed.

The sound of a thousand decks of cards being shuffled at the same time filled the air.

One bird landed neatly on the figure's head, its claws digging into his scalp, it's beak carrying a bloodied eyeball by its optic nerve.

Blood was everywhere.

In the darkness Alazuria screamed to the gods and goddesses, her body thrashing wildly against the sheets, beads of sweat flying off her. Her eyes were wide open, huge with fear, and pain, and bloodlust. Her tongue flapped wildly inside her head.

"Seton is dead!" she caterwauled, the sound bouncing off the small cubicle of a room and echoing loudly. "They've killed him!"

And with that, Alazuria crashed back down on to her pillow, her head spiraling down into nothingness.

X X X

Damon stepped out of the bathroom, a towel in his hand rubbing franticly at his wet hair, and dug his toes into the thick, dark- green shag carpet. The Thunderbird Inn was cheap, spacious, and, judging by the décor of the room, old. Still, it provided a warm bed (one with magic vibrating fingers) and he kind of fancied the Retro look. After all, the era had produced some of the greatest bands ever to rave on the music scene.

Damon tossed his hair drying method on a chair and sat down on the dirty beige comforter that covered the bed. There was a television set in the room, but the motel clerk had informed him that it was missing its picture tubes. He didn't mind. He didn't like watching the brain-rot programming anyway. Besides, there were better things to do.

And think about.

Like....

Matt Honeycutt.

. He smiled then. Not a particularly happy smile, but it was of the genuine Damon kind. And he realized something

Something that was unappeasable.

He was going to have Matt.

He was going to have him if it killed them both.

X X X

That night as Damon drifted off into sleep, clutching the sheets close to his naked chest and stewing in a puddle of his own sweat and semen, he dreamed.

It was the first time in centuries, and it turned out to be a nightmare.

It began with Alazuria bending over his bleeding body, her tongue licking away red, wet trails that seeped from the wounds that scarred his flesh. He was trembling at her touch, holding her head in his blood-slicked hands and staring her deep in the eyes; eyes so much like his own, full of pain, and everlasting loneliness.

He brought his head to hers and kissed her passionately on the lips, making sure she could sense his desperation.

She wouldn't have missed it even if it had been subtle.

With a rip of clothing and a huge grin, she swung one leg over his naked torso, parted her legs enough for easy access, and slid onto the cock that he was holding straight for her in his fist.

She moaned deeply as she engulfed the length of it, then began to pound at him franticly. The sex itself was rather impersonal. They kept quiet throughout the session, neither of them caring about anything much but getting themselves off. It was over almost as quickly as it started, the both of them coming silently and un-passionately, but satisfied nonetheless.

Then the dream got ugly. Before Alazuria could pull off of him, Damon, with an animal snarl, flailed a hand at her lower abdomen. His fingers penetrated the flesh, ripping through muscle and tendon and finally the soft, fleshy tissue of her womb. There was something alive in there, thrashing and slipping about. He grabbed a firm hold of its pulpy body and tugged. Hard.

Alazuria's scream rang in his ears even minutes after he had performed the crude abortion, gouts of blood splashing against her upper body and his naked one. He didn't see or hear any of this for his eyes were huge and his gaze was fixed on the thing curled around his arm, his entire expression horrified.

It looked like crow that had been genetically mutated with a snake. Its head was huge, bulbous, with midnight eyes and a sharp, fused-shut beak. It had no wings, and no feet. Its body was a blobby mass of goo and blood that tapered down to a spiked appendage. Or a tail. Damon couldn't tell which.

Damon almost flinched when a harsh cry escaped its extra mouth, which was lined with sharp vampire teeth and located on its stomach.

"Daddyyyyyyyyyyy," the thing hissed.

Damon screamed then and his fear rose to the breaking point. Nearly completely white with fear and horrifaction, curled the creature into a ball and slammed it against the floor hard enough to kill it. It exploded in a shower of blood and bones. Damon immediately jumped to his feet and began to run as fast as he could, away from the screaming, and the horrible site, and the mutilation. Far away.

Too bad, he thought as he ran into nothingness, that dreams always unveiled some hidden truth....

Seton sat among the hedges in front of the isolated gothic style mansion wringing his hands together. Oh, how the master was going to react once he found out how foolishly he had been lead into a vampire's snare. He was lucky if he wasn't outcaste for such an atrocious act.

"I thought I smelled you out here."

Seton jumped up and growled at the sound, twisting sharply in place. His blood ran cold and every muscle locked in protest.

"Good, I see you're taking that extensive training I gave you into mind."

"Is that you, master?" Seton asked.

"Who else would it be?"

The figure in the long flowing trench coat stepped out of the shadows and came into view, smiling amusedly.

"I have some bad news," Seton began, inching closer, but still wary. "There seems to be a vampire in this vicinity. A particularly old and experienced one, mind you. Very powerful."

The Master's eyes suddenly went cold and he narrowed them on his inferior. "He got you, didn't he?" he stated, staring at Seton's injured neck.

Seton flinched back and nearly bolted. "It was an accident!" he exclaimed. "My guard was down, and, like I said, he was no amateur."

"I see." The Master seemed to become even colder in manner. "Tell me, what did this vampire look like."

Seton blinked. "Well, he was...dark. Black hair, black eyes, black clothing. And he tried to get his hands in the butter, but I blocked my thoughts like you taught me. Oh, and he had this smooth, seductive way of speaking that could probably make his own kind submit to him." Seton tugged at the collar of his shirt as if it was strangling him. "All together he was a rather unnerving guy."

The Master's eyes were pinpoints and he seemed to be contemplating something. Seton could actually picture the little, well-oiled gears turning the wheels of thought and knowledge in his head. "It appears that we are going to have to resort to a pack hunt so that we can destroy this pest before he becomes out of control," he nearly growled, the words coming out of his mouth like a string of curses. "Come. We must address the Lord before we do so."

Seton nodded and followed doggedly behind The Master's footsteps, wondering what the hell was going on.

X X X

Alazuria was in the Lord's chamber explaining her horrible nightmare to him when the pair of heavy double doors at the far end of the room swung open. Her Master and Seton strolled in, the master looking angry and war-hungry and Seton looking downright confused.

"Seton!" Alazuria shouted. "You're alive!"

"Of course I am," Seton replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Alazuria stared at him, her eyes huge. "I dreamed you were killed by a flock of crows. I thought it meant you had been slaughtered by another evil force, but I guess now that you're here it could be symbolic."

Seton shrugged.

The Master was not interested in the banter of the two young ones. Instead he pushed past them and kneeled at the base of the flight of the stairs that lead up to the cloaked opening of the Lord's chambers. "Lord," he addressed, "I have come to talk to you about a serious problem. Will you hear me or no?"

There was silence for several seconds as The Master waited and Seton and Alazuria looked on raptly.

Finally there came the growl of a reply from behind the red satin curtain above him. "You may speak, Cobalt," it said.

"There is a vampire in this town, Lord," Cobalt replied. "He has been involved with Alazuria, and has attacked Seton without being threatened. I feel that if we allow him to live he will ruin our plans entirely. I would like to call a pack hunt on him, Lord."

"A pack hunt?" Another long stretch of silence. "Very well. Since he has put our ideas and us in jeopardy you may do as you wish, but only under one condition. Bring him back here alive. I will decide his final punishment. Now, if you do not mind, I would like to retire for the evening. The dawn is almost here. Have a good hunt, my children."

"Rest well, Lord."

Cobalt rose to his feet and eyed his two pups, growling at them. Neither seemed very excited. In fact, Seton looked edgy and cowardly while Alazuria seemed sickened. This irked Cobalt, so much that he made sure his voice was cold and commanding.

"All right, you two sorry excuses for predators" he barked. "We are going on an official pack hunt. Whoever gets in our way we kill, and we don't stop until we find our vampire. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Alazuria and Seton chorused, exchanging a look.

"Good. Let's be on our way then."

The two of them swallowed hard and sweated heavily as Cobalt lead the way to the outside world.

X X X

Damon stood in the Motel's Arcade. He was in front of the glowing, colorful screen, laughing sardonically as his pixilated combatant delivered blow after blow to his slow, pattern-laden opponent. He wasn't very in to video games, but right now the senseless violence of the addicting Dark Stalkers was keeping his mind off his horrific dream. He hadn't been able to sleep since his first nightmare in centuries, and he didn't plan on getting some shut-eye anytime soon. So he continued to pump quarter after quarter into the money-gobbling machine and try to beat the damn thing.

Ironically enough, the game he had chosen was right up his alley. It was a bunch of supernatural creatures and monsters trying to best one another in battle, which was based on how well the player could stand up to the computer. Even more ironic, Damon had picked the werewolf character, and was knocking his vampiric challenger for a loop.

"Hey, sonny," somebody called out as the vampire on the game screen fell to the ground, beaten. Damon recognized it as the voice of the Maintenance man he had seen when he had paid for his room. "Isn't it way to late to be playing video games?"

Damon didn't turn. "Not for me," he replied without a hint of expression.

"Well, still, I think you better leave. I'm getting ready to close this down for the night."

Damon growled and pulled back on his joystick as hard as he could. There was the sound of crunching metal and then it came off in his hand, wires and screws trailing under it like guts.

"Holy shit," he heard the maintenance man whisper. "W-wh...How did you do that?!"

This time Damon turned and a smile spread across his face. He eyed the cowering man with a wicked look, but didn't attempt to harm him. He had had his fill of blood for the night and besides, Matt had asked him not to harm any of the locals. The boy, Seton hadn't counted. He had said so himself that he was not from around here.

Instead of diving for the man's throat, Damon dropped the joystick he still had clutched in his hand and walked over to him, fishing in his jacket pocket for something.

"Here," he said, pulling out a one hundred dollar bill and placing it in the man's breast pocket. "Have that fixed."

He left the arcade on that final note, wondering where the hell he was going to go now. He didn't plan on going back to his hotel room. He had already moved out, leaving the key on the main dresser for the maid to pickup. He could go to Matt's, but it was no fun not being able to see his reactions to whatever Damon did. So, what was there to do now?

And then it came to him.

He would go visit Alazuria. He had admitted to himself by now that she was different then the other women he had met over the centuries. Smug, sexual, beautiful...but there was something much darker lurking beneath her words and thoughts; something that human vampire hunters did not have, no matter how dark or twisted they were. No, there was a thing about Alazuria that made her a cut above the rest, and Damon was going to get to the bottom of it.

But how?

The College?

Damon thought about this for several seconds before it all snapped into place with an audible mental 'click.' That was it. That was the answer. The college would have a directory of its employees, and Alazuria would be most definitely on there. It was his ticket to finding and confronting her.

He hoped.

With a burst of enlightenment Damon broke into a run, nearly crashing through the glass doors of the Motel's main entrance.

Part 5:

Cobalt stood beneath the windows of the peeling house labeled 'THE HONEYCUTTS' sniffing the night air with flared nostrils.

"Are you sure this is the place?" he asked Alazuria, glancing behind him.

"Yes, he's good friends with the boy who lives here. Matt, I believe his name is," she replied quietly. "Besides, I can smell his scent all around this area."

"Alright then." Cobalt snuck over to the pair of double glass sliding doors opposite him. He produced a sharp, evil looking weapon from his trench coat pocket. "Let's get in there and see what we can dig up."

He inserted the long end of his tool into the slit where the latch was holding fast. A scraping noise pierced the night air as he drove it upward, severing the attachment of lock and groove. Grinning to himself he slipped his hand around the door handle and pulled it sideways. It slid open soundlessly.

"Ladies first," he said, looking at Alazuria. She shot him an annoyed glance and then sighed, slipping over the threshold. Cobalt followed her, closing the door quietly behind him.

They found themselves in a kitchen, darkened appliances crowded around them like phantom demons of household equipment.

"I smell humans nearby," Cobalt commented, taking in a good whiff of the room's scent. "Come, this way."

He bounded ahead of Alazuria, racing through the main foyer and ending up in a living room. There was a couch on the wall farthest from him, and when he squinted he could make out the petite figure sprawled out along the length of it.

He inched closer, his figure contorting and twisting with each creeping step.

"Don't," Alazuria warned, catching up with him.

He ignored her and his form started to double in size, getting heavier and larger as he leaned in over the sleeping form. He was hungry. EXTREMELY hungry. Dark brown Fur sprouted from his skin and merged with his clothing, forming a tail at the base of his spine; the purpose was to counterbalance his heavy weight on his now crooked legs. His nose lengthened, formed a snarling muzzle lined with fearsome teeth. They dripped ropy saliva on the couch as his furry ears uncurled and stood up pointedly.

And then the fearsome jaws snapped shut, forcing Alazuria to stop in her tracks and stare on in horror.

The figure on the couch 's body arched up reflexively, it's eyes springing open and becoming wide with immense fear and pain.

It was Bonnie.

And the huge man-sized wolf had her grasped by the soft mass of her heavy-clothed stomach, little rivers of blood trickling from beneath its teeth and the corners of its mouth.

Bonnie let out an ear-shattering scream.

The wolf clamped its jaws down harder and jerked its massive, powerful head back.

Bonnie screamed again, even louder, as a piece of belly flesh tore and came away with the slavering beast's fangs.

This was worse then anything that had ever happened to her before. Oh God, she was missing part of her stomach. Muscles and organ tissue glistened wetly up at her from the wound. Tears blurred her vision and she couldn't think straight. Where the hell was Matt? God help them if they had-

Suddenly Matt WAS there, catching the wolf off guard. The brown creature stumbled back slightly as a powerful human fist slammed him in the stomach. He yelped in defiance, then rolled bloodthirsty eyes towards the sleepy, rugged Matt.

"You just made me very, very angry!" the wolf growled.

Then, with fangs and claws outstretched, he struck.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Damon was halfway to Fell's Church Community College when the thoughts spinning around in his small crow's mind were interrupted by a piercing psychic scream. He stopped beating his wings and landed neatly on a branch, concern crossing his feathery features. That distress call had sounded a lot like Bonnie's mental voice. He pondered it for a moment before another rush of panicking screams cluttered his thoughts.

There was no doubt in his mind now.

That was definitely Bonnie and Matt.

And they were in some very serious trouble, if the cries had been able to ring so loudly in his head.

Without missing a heartbeat, he took to the air and flew as quickly as he could in the direction of Matt's house.

He just hoped by the time that he got there they wouldn't be past being able to be cared for.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Damon smelled the scent of wolf a mile away, and decided it was not the time to take chances. His human and crow forms could not do much damage in a situation like this, and so he opted for his most fearsome form; the coal tinged quintessence of what a predator was and would always be. The ghost in the midnight Forrest.

The large black wolf crashed through the Honeycutt's front window already foaming at the mouth, landing on the broad back of an enormous brown wolf-man. It claws dug into the soft flesh and fur for dear life, snapping at the back of the larger animal's neck. It got a firm hold and pulled with all its might, but to no avail. Before it could do any damage a big clawed hand grabbed it by it's scruff, tearing the flesh there away, and ripped it off its bloodied back, and slammed it down hard against the wooden floor. Damon let out an animal whine as he felt and heard his spine snap like a dry twig. FUCK. Now he would have to waste valuable energy on healing that, and it could take time.

He couldn't risk that.

Fighting the pain, he rolled over and bunched his four legs, posing for an attack. The wolf in front of him was towering, bulky, but he was willing to overcome it.

And then he saw Matt.

Matt was lying on the floor bellyside up, a huge claw mark lying fresh in his chest and a pool of blood collecting beneath him.

NO! Damon's wolf mind raged.

He was losing control, angering bubbling up in him as if he was a vat of simmering oils. His form was growing, morphing unconsciously.

BASTARDS!!! IF THEY'VE KILLED MATT....

It was too much from him to handle. His mind exploding into that of a raging animal and his body got caught somewhere between the transfiguration of man, wolf, and crow. The Damon-animal let loose a hellish cry of pain, rage, and extreme anger, then threw itself at its opponent.

The werewolf howled as talons ripped into its eyes and skin, tearing away pupil and chunks of meat at a time. Damon didn't care either way. He was in frenzy. All his mind could comprehend was pain, and that was what he was unleashing on the beast under his claws.

It was over quickly.

Damon slid his enormous paw into the wolf's stomach and grabbed a hold of his guts. He gave them a tug and they came away from their foundation easily.

And then the wolf toppled over, even it's enhanced body not being able to withstand the torture of a crazed animal. It didn't draw another breath

Damon slowly came down from his rage and switched back to his normal human form, panting and sweating as he eyed the carnage around him. A soft smile played on his lips, and he turned just in time to see Alazuria fleeing the confines of the house. He was way too exhausted and pained to chase after her, and he forgot all about it anyway when he saw Matt sitting upright and shaking his head dazedly.

The sudden rush of relief was too much for even his preternatural body. Wobbling on his feet he turned a full grin on Matt, and finally toppled over and fell into unconsciousness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Damon rubbed at the back of his neck, which had been bandaged because of the werewolf's claws tearing away most of the flesh there, and adjusted himself in the plastic seat. He hated hospitals, but Fairfax seemed like it would be able to perhaps save Bonnie. At least, they thought so. His views were different, however. He hadn't told Matt or even the hospital personnel, but he was more then certain that there probably wasn't a hospital in the world that could rescue her from the state she was in. He had seen more then his share of werewolf wounds, and this was probably up there with some of the worse. This particular wolf- man had done a real number, ripping half her body away in one bite. If Damon hadn't gotten there when he had she would have been just a pile of picked bones. But, on the bright side, the wolf received what he was due.

And Damon was more then sure that the wolf had been the creature performing the viscous murders of the local pets.

But why?

Suddenly a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He jumped about three feet in his chair, his predator instinct going off like a time bomb.

"It's only me, Damon," came Matt's soft voice.

Damon looked up into the sullen face and his stomach threatened to convulse. "Well?" he asked, his voice raw and hoarse.

Matt shook his head and slumped down in the chair next to Damon, moving slowly and awkwardly because of the bandaged wound on his chest. "They couldn't save her," he whispered, and then the tears came. He buried his face in his hands and leaned over slightly, sobbing quietly.

Damon watched in silence, his mouth a tight line. He tried to feel the slightest bit upset about Bonnie's passing, but it was no use. He had seen too many deaths in his time for it to phase him. Still, he could understand why Matt was so distraught. It wasn't easy loosing somebody as close as she had been to him.

"Matt," came a clean, crisp voice.

Damon turned his attention immediately toward it, and Matt removed his face from the cradle of his palms. Meredith was standing there, her face expressionless, but taught. Damon could tell she was trying to hide her pain.

"Yes?" Matt replied, looking broodingly at her.

"I'm sorry about Bonnie," Meredith condoled. "She didn't deserve...whatever happened to her."

"Werewolves," Damon muttered under his breath, and Meredith snapped her head in his direction.

"What did you say, Damon?" she asked, her brow furrowed in thought.

"I said Bonnie was killed by...." Damon stopped, his attention suddenly drawn on a spot past Meredith's sleek, towering body. His eyes widened and his senses kicked into higher gear. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, standing up sharply.

As he broke into a jog down the sterilized hall, Matt and Meredith looked after him, confused at his behavior.

Matt sighed. "I'm going after him," he told Meredith.

Meredith nodded in understanding. "Fine. Bonnie's ceremony at the church is later this afternoon. Don't forget."

"I won't!" Matt called back as he ran in the direction Damon had gone, determined to find out what the hell was going on.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Damon caught up with the figure he was following just outside the Hospital's rear entrance. "Alazuria...wait!" he called.

Alazuria froze in place, the click of her high heels grinding to a halt. Slumping her shoulders, she braced herself but didn't turn around to face him. "Before you say anything about what you saw last night," she spoke softly, a shiver making her confident, overpowering air waver, "I would like to let you know that I had no choice in the matter."

There was silence from behind her, and she was forced to turn around in order to see what Damon was up to. Much to her surprise, he was standing directly behind her, face neutral, hands motionless at his sides. His chest rose and fell slowly with his breathing.

Alazuria's senses froze as she took in every detail of him for the first time.

He was beautiful. From his silky black hair that resembled the pelt of an animal to his smooth pale skin that was not unlike bleached bone, he was the most attractive man she had ever laid her eyes on.

No, this wasn't right.

She put her hand to her head and bent her neck slightly, striking a semi-pained look.

It was his mind. It had to be. He was influencing, seducing, and twisting her thoughts with his mental powers. She tried to use her own mind strength to fight against the synthesized emotions swarming over her, but quickly discovered this was not possible.

The emotions were hers and hers alone.

Suddenly she was aware of the hands that were clamping her shoulders like vices, kneading the exposed flesh that the informal tank-top like dress couldn't cover.

She shivered again, but not entirely from apprehension.

"Alazuria..."

She felt hot breath brush against her hand. Drawing it away she found herself looking into the dilated pupils of Damon's black eyes. She saw passion in them then and a smoldering fire that had nothing to do with anger. She knew the flames were meant to consume her whole, and that's exactly what they were doing.

Whatever she was expecting from him, it wasn't this.

"You're not one of them." Damon's voice was seductive, confident. His voice showed no sign that he could be wrong, and his eyes never blinked, nor left hers.

"One of...?" Alazuria couldn't think. His eyes were doing strange things to her. Her thoughts bounced around in her brain, scattering in every which way.

This shouldn't be happening, she thought.

The corners of Damon's lips rose slightly in a sort of impish grin. "You're not a werewolf," he said simply. "Or, at least you don't feel like one."

Alazuria felt heat flare through her body, so suddenly that she had to swallow a breath. She had the urge to pull him down to her, to feel those soft, experienced lips pressing hard against hers.

"I'm not a werewolf, but I'm not a normal human either," she barely squeaked out in reply. She could feel her cheeks flushing and her body subconsciously leaning towards him.

Damon's grin grew a few notches, the tips of his aroused canines poking out briefly. "What are you, then?" he asked, devilishly.

Oh God, why was he looking at her like he was about to tear her limb from limb?

"I...I..." she stammered. Damn it. She had never been afraid of anything before, much less a male vampire. So why was she feeling like she wanted to break free of his grip and run far away at this particular moment?

His hand released one of her shoulders then, and she flinched as it came towards her face.

Damon laughed at this, releasing yet the other shoulder and shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He took a step backward, giving her space and mocking her at the same time.

"You don't have to be frightened of me," he drawled, fangs glinting as he spoke. "As far as I know, you're innocent of all the things I consider worthy of death, and I won't hurt you unless you cross the threshold in to those categories."

Alazuria took a deep breath. All right, it was time to get a grip on herself. Whatever lustful ring that had been spun around them moments before had apparently been severed, and she found it rather bothersome that he had intruded on her personal space. "Maybe I've already crossed the threshold," she flung back at him, spitefully.

Damon's grin faded almost instantly. He tilted his head back slightly and narrowed his eyes, staring at her as if deciding how to approach the situation. "No, I don't believe that's true," he concluded.

"How do you know that?!" she demanded. "You hardly even know me. We've only talked twice, and once was brief not to mention academic."

"I know more then you think." Damon was fighting to keep his anger leashed, to stay in control of the situation. He couldn't let her get the upperhand.

"Oh yeah?" Alazuria shot at him, working herself into a rage. "You think you know things? You think you know me? Ok, then. If you know so much, tell me what I am! Tell me everything about what I am! Explain to me what this thing around my neck is!"

She reached into her shirt, grabbing the heavy penchant that hung around her neck, and thrust it in his face.

Damon didn't flinch. He continued to stare at her, his face slack. After a few moments of watching his reaction, Alazuria dropped the penchant and drew a ragged breath.

"You're immortal," Damon deadpanned as she regained her composure.

Her eyes shot up to look at him, and again she saw the fire in his stare. This time, though, the flames were an ice blue, cold and harsh looking as the Arctic moonlit nights.

Alazuria's eyes wavered. She wrapped her arms around her torso, looking as if she wanted to crawl inside herself.

"You were blocking me that night in the woods. I couldn't feel you at all physically. But now I can, and all that goes with it too. That penchant, you can't take it off can you?"

Alazuria shook her head.

"I figured. Somebody binded it to you. It's holding something within you back, and stopping other people from seeing what exactly is being kept penned up. It may even be something that can explain your immortality."

Alazuria looked at him and sighed. "I know who did it," she said.

"Mind sharing?"

"I can't. Not here out in the open at least. Do you have a place that we could be alone to talk? College dorm, barn, library?

Damon's lips curled into a smile. "As a matter of fact I have just the place in mind," he said, thinking about the old church. "Come with me and I'll show you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matt watched the scene before him from his place behind a wing of the hospital with an air of dumb-foundment. Now what on earth was Damon doing with his hands on Alazuria Doyle? He could of sworn he had seen the woman leave the scene of Bonnie's death earlier, but he wasn't entirely sure of that either. After all, he had been pummeled by a werewolf.

Matt shook his head and continued to stare at the two of them conversing, noting Damon's grin, complete with fangs, and the look in his eyes. He wasn't stupid. That was in no way a look of anger.

For a moment Matt thought Damon was trying to seduce her. That wouldn't be anything new. Damon was notorious for that. But then his mind quickly changed when he saw Damon take a step back, and Alazuria snap at him a few seconds later.

There was a little more interaction between them, the lust never leaving Damon's eyes, and then they started to walk away. Matt felt a surge of incomprehensible panic and made a movement to follow him, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder and held him tightly in place. He twisted around franticly, and stopped dead when he found himself staring into emerald eyes set in a pale, handsome face.

"You sure are jumpy," Stefan drawled, then grinned broadly, showing fangs....

Part 6:

Damon was perched precariously on the polished wood banister, surveying the ground beneath him. Except for a fairly old man dressed in large white robes putting fresh flowers into the vases situated at the front of the alter, and a middle-aged woman praying in one of the pews, there was no activity in the church.

Damon slid off his place in the choir loft and turned to face Alazuria. She was sitting on a rickety wooden chair, staring at him with mild curiosity.

He smirked at the sight of her, a wave of déj� vu coursing through him for the umpteenth time since he'd been back in Fell's church. "I know it's not the most private of places," he apologized, "but it should be empty here for the hour before Bonnie's ceremony."

Alazuria nodded.

Damon raised an eyebrow and sat himself down on the edge of an antique-looking stool. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees, folded his hands, and rested his chin on them. "So, are you going to tell me that story or not?"

Alazuria took a deep breath and stared into his eyes. "I don't really know were to begin."

"At the beginning would be suiting." There was an air to Damon's voice, as if he was growing anxious to hear the tale.

"Alright then." Alazuria closed her eyes for a moment, then reopened them and began. "I was born in 1491, in a poor, neglected village on the outskirts of Florence." At the look on Damon's face she added, "That's Italy, roughly five hundred years ago."

Damon's face had gone slightly paler, and he was sitting rigidly upright. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and strained. "Yes, I know."

Alazuria stopped and examined him. "Are you alright?" she questioned, concerned. "You look a little green around the gills."

"I'm alright," Damon replied, shaking the shock off. "It's just...nevermind. Go on."

Alazuria gave him a quizzical look, but ventured on anyway. "There isn't really much to say. I was an orphan and was raised by an elderly couple, and I always felt different from the other village children. As I grew the feeling remained, and other people started to sense it in me. I quickly became the outcast of my peers and was shunned by most families. I didn't have to endure it long, though. At 16 I was kidnapped by a band of werewolves who quickly nominated me as an official pack member. We did a lot of horrible things. Burned cities down, stole, slaughtered innocent people." Alazuria's gaze went to the ground and she slumped in her seat. "We were lead by another werewolf who was only referred to as "The Lord." To this day I still have never laid eyes on him. Nobody in our pack has, best to my knowledge. But yet we fear and obey him without question. As for the rest, we arrived here about three months ago and claimed it as our territory. Oh, and the Lord also commanded this penchant be put around my neck the moment I was found." Alazuria fingered the piece of jewelry that hung heavy against her chest. "Each pack member has a similar stone, smaller in cut. I still don't know what it's for. All I know is that it seems to be binded to my body."

Damon's eyes were dilated to their full extent when she had finished talking. The pupils pulsed and caught the light as they ate at the irises, making them glimmer eerily like some kind of animal's. He stood up stiffly, stretching out his legs and rotating his shoulders to get the cricks out, then walked slowly to the dirty window at the base of the stairway that held painful memories. In a controlled graceful movement he folded his hands neatly behind his back.

"That night at the party," Alazuria started up again, shifting around. "It came as a bit of a shock at first, but I understood you when you asked me 'what the hell are you' in perfect Italian. Now I want to ask you the same thing. I know you're a vampire, but...well, you know the drill."

Damon continued to watch the window, his gaze fixed on a spot of dirt that encrusted a chip in the sill. "My name is Damon Beatum Di Salvatore and I am five hundred years old, not much older then you are in the matter. I was born into a wealthy city-state, which my father was the rich proprietor of. That was in...." He paused for affect. "Florence."

This time it was Alazuria's turn to look surprised. He didn't see it though. He was too busy grinning at the pane of glass before him, which was so covered with grime that he couldn't even see his reflection.

"I don't want to go into the rest," he went on. "It's too long of a story and a waste of time at that. Let's just conclude this with the fact that as a young man, a love gone awry, bitter, and hateful made me what I am today. I don't see it as a bad thing. In fact, the teenager frozen inside me still thinks it's one big thrilling party." His smile grew wider. "As for my abilities and power, I don't think I have to tell you about that. I think you can already sense it inside me."

"That I can," Alazuria replied. "It's a bruising force, and it almost frightens me. What have you done to become so powerful, Damon?"

Damon remained silent, his grin slipping. He thought this to all be completely pointless in the scheme of things, but couldn't muster enough irritability to turn around and tell her to leave him alone.

"Well?" Alazuria pressed.

Damon swallowed and made the knot of his hands tighter, the knuckles going white where his fingers pressed into them. "The same things that you and your pack did, only a hundred times worse" he managed to get out smoothly. He looked down to see that his form was trembling slightly, betraying the tone of his voice. Quickly he pulled his hands apart and folded his arms across his chest, trying to stop the tiny bodily tremors.

It wasn't what he had done throughout the centuries that was making him loose his poise, nor the edge of uneasiness he felt being around Alazuria, but the simple fact that the two of them were so much alike. It terrified him more then anything he had ever came face to face with; even more then his brother squeezing his hand as the life ebbed out of him.

"Damon?"

The voice brought Damon back to reality and he nearly jumped through the window in surprise. He felt cool hands on his skin then, and suddenly they were sliding on to his chest. Reflexively he spun around and in the same gesture threw Alazuria's arms from him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snapped, anger rising lightning-quick to his surface.

Alazuria didn't know what to say, so she studied the ill-tempered expression on his handsome face. He wasn't really angry about her touching him, she concluded from the look. In fact, she could feel that he had actually enjoyed it. So why had he pulled away with so much rage?

Slowly breathing, she tried again, cupping her hands around his face. At this point she realized they were just about the same height. He was truly perfect for her. But....

Damon felt lust swirl up in him again, he did all he could to force it back down into the black depths of his soul. Alazuria was one hot woman, even worthy of a night in his bed...or two, but...he just couldn't.

Taking her hands around his face in his, he pulled them free and pushed them to her sides. Looking on the verge of losing his demeanor, he stepped back and examined her, curves and all. "Not now," he told her, his voice flat and bitter. "I have other things on my mind at this moment, and from what I've seen I don't know if I can trust you enough to get that intimate."

Alazuria's eyebrows knitted together and she scowled. "That's hypocrisy. You're a goddamn vampire! How well do you think I'm coping trying to trust you intimately?"

"It didn't seem as if you were all that frightened when you first found out," Damon retorted nastily. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired of these games. You either both except and trust me or you don't. There's no double standard to this."

Alazuria clamped her teeth together in order not to scream. She was getting fed up of this herself. "Alright, damn it. I trust you."

Damon smirked at her uncomfortability. "And I you, for the most part. But make one move against me and I'll have your thick, rich blood staining my lips and fangs."

Alazuria didn't even flinch. "I understand."

"Good." Damon felt a twinge of pain from the lower part at the back of his neck as he boosted himself up on to the banister once again. He reached down to move his v-necked shirt out of the way and was surprised to find a darker blotch spreading across the black collar and spilling down the front. Almost exasperatedly, he shrugged his leather jacket off then pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it aside. He fingered the blood soaked bandage behind him slowly. Now that was odd. He could still smell it bleeding. Confused, he tore the edges of the dressing away and peeled it off his body.

"Shit," he hissed as rivulets of blood began to seep down his shoulders. Gingerly he pressed fingers to the edges of the bare wound and winced as pain shot through him. He licked quickly at his soiled fingertips before speaking again. "That should have healed already."

Alazuria was watching him intently, remembering his brawl with the werewolf. "The Master did that to you, didn't he?" she asked

"The master who?"

"The huge brown werewolf you were fighting at the house. The wound is from him, right?"

"Yeah, that bastard got his claws into me when I jumped on his back. What does it mean to you?"

"It means that it will take extra long to heal. He was our Beta werewolf, second strongest of the pack. Even your preternatural flesh will probably be scarred from the wounds he inflicted."

"Great." Damon sighed, picking up his jacket and easing into it. When Alazuria looked at him oddly, he explained. "My shirt is nearly soiled already. I may be a vampire, but I do have to upkeep my etiquette and class otherwise I may be mistaken for one of lesser heritage."

"You're a snob in other words."

Damon grunted and shot her a look.

"Oh, sorry to offend. I meant an aristocrat."

Damon growled and narrowed his eyes. "I do not appreciate the snide remarks." He jumped off the banister and walked over to her, crossing his arms over his milk-white bare chest.

"Can you please zip up that jacket of yours?" Her eyes trailed downward, lingering on where the waist of his black jeans met the flat expanse of flesh beneath his abdominal muscles and navel. "I really don't appreciate the view."

Damon laughed as he followed her eyes. "As a matter of fact, no I can't."

Before Alazuria could snap back with another comment, there were footsteps on the stairwell. Damon heard them coming a mile away, and struck a stance that would leave him ready for anything.

But then he felt the flare somewhere inside his brain, a warm power like golden sunlight and hot summer nights. His poise melted as he realized whose mind he was feeling and just who was coming up the stairs.

Stefan stopped at the top step and gave both Alazuria and Damon a tight smile.

Damon smiled back as Matt came up behind him.

"I thought I felt your presence here," Stefan commented.

"Since when do you 'feel' another's presence?" Damon questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"You'd be surprised."

"Oh?"

"Hey, can you guys please explain to me what the hell is going on?" Alazuria asked, perturbed. She jabbed a finger at Stefan, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, striking a patient expression. "And who's he?"

Damon turned to her, his lips forming a tight straight line. "My brother."

"Brother?" Alazuria looked from one and then the other bemusedly. "Yeah, two studs. I can see the resemblance. You younger, Damon?"

"Older."

Stefan could hear the slight twinge of anger in Damon's voice and his grin grew wider, the tips of his fangs pointing out slightly.

Alazuria saw this and smiled. "So you're a vampire too, huh? Does it run in the family or something?"

Stefan dropped his grin and put on the same expression Damon was wearing. There was something about this woman that disturbed him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Yes, we are both vampires, signora," he answered with forced politeness. "I am Stefan, and I take it you know Damon. May I ask what your name is?"

"Oh, a gentleman. It's about time one came along." Alazuria shot Damon a grin much like his own, then looked back at Stefan. "My name's Alazuria, if you really want to know."

Matt stepped out behind Stefan then, looking at Alazuria with wide eyes. "I saw you run away last night!" he barked, clearly agitated. "You were there when those creatures killed Bonnie!"

"Calm down, Matt," Damon told him smoothly while watching the muscles bunch beneath his dirty tee shirt. "She had no part in it."

Matt swung around to look at Damon, his eyes pained and angry all at once. "I trust you now, Damon, but I just can't believe that she had nothing to do with it after what I saw a few hours ago."

"We don't have much of a choice, Matt. You want the murders around here to stop? Well, she's our only way of making that happen, so I suggest you keep quiet and don't harass her."

You mean you really are making an effort to help the people here?

Damon recognized Stefan's fuzzy, glowing mental voice in his mind.

Yes

But why? I thought you hated doing that kind of shit.

Personal Reasons.

Stefan looked at his brother and smiled. Damon could feel that Stefan was proud of him in one way or another. Somehow it didn't bother him the slightest.

"Guys?"

Damon shook his head, snapping back into reality, and looked towards Alazuria. Stefan followed his gaze.

"I asked what was next on the agenda?"

"Well, the church is starting to fill up for Bonnie's Ceremony," Matt supplied. " I say we go downstairs and get seats before it becomes too crowded."

Damon waved him off. "You and Alazuria go. Stefan and I will stay up here." He grinned. "Wouldn't want anybody recognizing us and panicking now, would we?"

"Good point. See you up here after the ceremony?"

"Yes, most definitely."

With that Alazuria sat up and left with Matt, the both of them looking to Damon like two delicious morsels that could whet the sexual appetite.

"So, where, may I ask, is the fair Elena?" Damon questioned looking out the corners of his eyes, his neck twisted slightly and his back to Stefan.

Stefan sighed deeply and draped his arms over his legs, sitting back in his chair. "That's the reason I'm here."

"That doesn't make much sense."

"I'm here because of her, because she did me wrong in Barbados."

"Oh, I see." Damon's face went hard and he swung his head around to look directly at his brother. "I'm sorry to hear about it. Lightning strike me dead for saying this, but you didn't deserve it, and she didn't deserve you."

Stefan nearly choked. Damon sorry and feeling bad for his brother? Shock crossed his features, melted into puzzlement, then settled on acceptance.

"You've changed," he commented, examining his brother with a new light.

"As have you," Damon returned. "I can sense it."

Stefan's laugh was full of genuine mirth, but he kept it low as not to disturb the people sitting in the pews down below. "I took a few pointers from you."

This time it was Damon's turn to look surprised. "Finally giving in to the vampiric taste for human blood?" he asked.

Stefan nodded. " I was tired of being weak and there were times when I needed to call on the powers." He shrugged. "I don't kill them, just drain them a bit."

Damon smiled as if to say 'I told you so', but the words never escaped his lips. Instead he watched as his brother stood up gracefully and crossed the few steps to the pipe organ that took up the entire back wall in the choir loft. The instrument was antediluvian, its age clearly defined in it's rotted Cherrywood paneling that was now full of cobwebs and spider's eggs. Stefan ran a hand down the base of one of the towering pipes before him, his hand coming away nearly black. Even through the fingerprints that now dappled the exterior a reflection could not be seen. Stefan wondered how many layers of filth he would have to rub away before he could see the brown splotches of the once shiny bronze surface.

And then suddenly he went still. A shock of pure energy coursed through his body, making him gasp, and then faded away just as quickly as it had come. When he was rational enough to take in the scene of the hollow pipes before him he noticed the bronze had been burned half the way up, so dark brown they were almost entirely blackened.

"Did you feel that, Damon?" His voice was hoarse and unused sounding and he had to clear his throat several times before it came out clearly.

Damon was on top of the organ stool he had dragged over near the banister, bunched up in a defensive crouch and looking like a rumpled cat. When he turned around and leaped off his perch, landing back in a crouch with his hands touching the dusty wooden floor, his expression was completely predatory.

"Of course I felt it." His voice was a growl, and Stefan looked back to see him arching his back and bunching up his legs, his head tilted slightly towards the ceiling.

"Are you crazy doing that here?" he asked, his tone panicky but his body giving the impression of someone who was used to seeing this.

"No," Damon replied his voice nearly incomprehensible at this point. His fangs had lengthened considerably and he now had a double set of razor sharp teeth. "Stay here. I'm going to go see what I can dig up."

And then he changed, his features contorting and melting. The sleek black wolf before Stefan dropped its jaws briefly in a lupine grin, its tongue lolling, and then dashed for the stairs in a blur of ebony fur.

Don't get yourself into any situations you can't handle, Stefan shot at him mentally.

A laugh echoed in Stefan's head, but it was anything but bitter. Don't worry, dear brother. There are not many things I can't handle myself.

Stefan laughed back. We are definitely related.

There was a soft whimpering sound. Damon was picking up some kind of vibes. The air feels funny outside here, he informed. And what makes you say that?

We're both utterly bullheaded.

That's just part of our heritage. Damon cut the connection then, as if he was concentrating, then came back. I have something.

What is it? Stefan asked anxiously.

I don't know. Let me investigate. Stefan waited patiently and was almost relieved when his brother's voice invaded his mind once again. I suggest you keep a sharp eye on the entrance left from the altar. Havoc is about to ensure in there.

Why? What's going to happen?

Just don't let your guard down. And be ready when it hits.

Damon, what's going on? Damon? Damon?

Stefan sighed exasperatedly as he realized his brother was not going to answer him. Excepting his fate, he leaned on the banister and watched the entrance Damon had told him to intensely.

Part 7:

Damon's fangs snapped together, spittle flying in every direction. For the second time in a row in one day, he was facing down a werewolf much bigger then himself, in a church doorway nonetheless, and losing. This one was a deep silver-gray and wasn't immensely huge, but still it's claws scraped to the bone every time they sunk into his flesh. And that was besides the fact it was holding a blood-soaked young woman at bay, its genitals hanging low and unsheathed, ready for the act it was about to force upon her. For each of Damon's attempts to stop the form of abuse, it retaliated with brute force.

Finally, though, he was making some progress. In its attempts to finish Damon off, it was losing its grip on its prey. The girl suddenly had enough leverage to wrench herself free, and she used it to her advantage. Screaming, she ploughed through the large, heavy iron door behind her and spilled herself onto the place of worship's carpet.

The werewolf stopped fighting back against Damon, then. He froze, only his head shifting back and forth between the wolf growling before him and the open church door in back of him.

And then he let out a snarl, batting Damon aside like a toy, and leaped in after the girl, spittle dripping from his black gums and his hackles raised.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Stefan's eyes widened as the bloody girl landed against the red carpet of the church, her fingers clawing at the very fibers of it. All activity stopped then, and the priest reciting the mass dropped his bible with a loud thunk and ran over to her, genuinely concerned.

She pushed away from him, climbing to wobbly knees and leaning on the pew nearest to her. An elderly hand reached out to help her, but she slapped it away and jumped back.

And then Stefan saw the large beast come crashing through the same entrance the girl had, it eyes wild and its lips skinned back from its teeth. It seized the girl and used the power of its booming voice before anybody could make a move to run.

"Nobody leave or I tear her apart!" it growled. A man behind it jumped out of his seat and came face to face with five sharp claws. There was a scream and he fell back, his cries echoing throughout the place. "I mean it!"

Stefan had seen enough. White with rage at the abomination terrorizing the crowd, he leaped on to the banister, launched himself off, and landed neatly in the middle aisle.

All eyes swung towards him, and he knew that most of them would recognize him. It didn't matter now. He was here to stop this tyranny, not reminisce and explain what on earth he was doing in Fell's Church.

Damon stepped in then, in human form, and Stefan could feel the anger rolling off of him. Waves of fury washed over the building and even the werewolf turned to stare at the black and white contrast of Damon's persona.

"Let her go," he breathed, showing glistening fangs.

The werewolf growled in response, folding into a fighting stance with the woman in front of him. "Make me," he taunted.

Start moving towards the entrance to your back, Damon commanded Stefan, fixing himself into his own fighting posture.

Stefan listened to his brother without question. With a hunter's gait, he eased himself backward; his eyes fixed on the animal.

Now what? Stefan asked, impatient.

Keep moving. I'm going to get the woman to run in your direction, and when she's close enough I want you to grab her and make a run for it.

What about you?

I'll keep wolfman here distracted. When I say 'now' you get ready.

Got it.

Damon edged himself closer to the beast, gritting his teeth. "You are positively foul," he commented, igniting the rage inside the animal. "Only a loathsome animal forces himself on to a woman."

"Shut your hole!" The wolf snarled, lowering its head.

Damon laughed bitterly, his grin face severing, the look in his eyes completely inhuman. "No," he replied smoothly.

Ready, Stefan?

Stefan had reached the archway that circled over the front doors, and was waiting in the shadows. Ready.

Now.

The woman twisted in the werewolf's grasp, screaming loudly. Before he could make a move to stop her, she drove a knee into his swollen balls, breaking his grip, and made a break for where Stefan was hiding.

Damon didn't even give the animal a chance to recuperate. He bunched his muscles and ran headfirst into it, using his elbows for extra force. The shock of connection jarred the both of them and, surprised, the werewolf toppled back and cracked his head against the floor, the harsh impact knocking him into a state of incomprehension. Damon couldn't stop the rush in time. Loosing his footing, he tumbled over the werewolf and smacked the wall so hard bits of plaster flaked off.

"Damon!" A voice shouted from somewhere nearby. Damon shook himself, moaned, and sat upright. His eyes opened slowly and scanned the area around him, taking in the panicking partioners in the ceremony and the unconscious werewolf lying near his feet.

"Damon," the voice came again, and this time Damon saw the figure crouched beside him, the face pale and drained of blood. For a moment Damon just stared, then he slid up the wall, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. He couldn't remember the last time a wall had hurt him so badly, but he wasn't going to let his cherished Matt on to that fact.

"Is Stefan and Alazuria ok?" he asked, bracing himself against the wall.

"I don't know," Matt told him. "Stefan took the girl and ran, and Alazuria is somewhere in that crowd." He gestured to the frightened people scrambling to get out the front doors, and then added, "Are you alright?"

Damon's head lolled on his shoulder towards the concerned boy. "Never better."

Matt hiked his eyebrows, not convinced. "Yeah right. You look like shit."

Damon sneered and moved away from his source of support. "I haven't fed yet, and werewolves are incredibly strong." His voice was dripping with vehemence, and he realized suddenly that with each word he was advancing on Matt. He licked at his canines, and sure enough they had lengthened.

A little startled at his lack of control, Damon stopped in his tracks and folded his arms over his chest.

Matt shook his head and sighed. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

"You go on ahead. I have to finish with this...waste of flesh and bone before he awakens."

Matt nodded. "I'll wait for you outside. Don't take too long."

Damon grinned and watched Matt walk hurriedly out of the church. He could tell the guy was pretty spooked, but couldn't decipher whether it was from the werewolf attack or from the air thickening with Damon's quickly growing bloodlust. Shrugging, he turned around to stare at the unconscious animal at his feet. It was a normal sized werewolf, not much bigger then Tyler Smallwood had been. It looked like it should have been easy to overpower it, but Damon knew looks could be very deceiving. Curious, he lowered himself beside it to get a closer look at its physical structure.

Up close, the werewolf was even more frightening then it had been when it was conscious. Sharp fangs jutted out from its top lip and its head was enormous. Its lean, furry body was riddled with muscle tone and its arms were double the size of Damon's and many times as thick. Damon dared to move his eyes lower to the region between the massive creature's legs, stopping when they rested upon the large furred tunnel of flesh attached to its underside, and grinning when he remembered the glimpse he had caught of the animal's huge organ unsheathed. Now, if only he could have one as big as that....

Stop fantasizing and get this over with, he told himself. All you need is this thing waking up and-

Suddenly there were claws around his throat, and Damon looked down to see a pair of jewel blue eyes glinting back at him. He blinked. Those eyes...they were familiar. He shook is head, ignoring the pain of claws digging into him. He was losing it. They just looked a lot like Matt's, that's all.

Damon was being pulled down, not bothering to struggle. He knew there was no way he could break the animal's grip on him, and having his throat torn out with teeth wasn't exactly going to kill him. So he let himself be forced downwards until he could feel a large nose rubbing wetly against his throat. A tongue snaked out of the large muzzle beneath him and dipped low, slapping gently against his bare and bloodied chest. He felt his body relaxing as the pleasant sensations began washing over him like the ocean's gentle waves. Shivering, he felt his erection start to strain against the material of his boxers, becoming slightly frustrated at that. Dimly he wondered if he was going to be eaten alive or licked to sexual oblivion. It seemed more like the latter.

A growl erupted in his ear and then formed words that sent chills down his spine. "You never let me finish what I started before," came the voice, gruff and sensual at the same time.

Damon was about to answer when he felt his now shredded leather jacket being pushed off of him and claws raking against his ribcage. He smelled new blood well up and mingled with the already dried from the wound at the back of his neck. A gasp escaped him as he felt the werewolf's muzzle push against the fresh claw marks and lick passionately at the seeping blood.

"What the hell is going on here?" a voice barked, loud and booming enough to ring through the entire church. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Seton?"

Damon's head twisted in the clawed grasp suddenly, ripping open new wounds. He looked down at his captor, at the blue eyes piercing his own. "I killed you," he said calmly.

Seton laughed, his teeth glinting. "Vampire bites don't exactly harm werewolves," he said, grinning.

"Stop fuckin' around," the voice came around, and this time both Damon and Seton turned to look.

The werewolf standing behind them on all fours was enormous. It's bulk alone was enough to crush Damon, and clumps of it's reddish- orange fur formed a puffy scruff around it's neck. Its head was much larger then Seton's, with crooked teeth jutting from both lips.

And Damon had thought The Master had been huge.

Damon felt himself being pushed up and off effortlessly by Seton. He climbed to his feet, still aroused by the encounter, and stared at the gigantic creature before him.

It swept right by him and leaned over Seton, baring teeth that looked dangerous even if they were slightly askew. He watched as Seton curled up like a puppy and licked at the larger, most likely older, werewolf's muzzle in a friendly manner, wrapping his oversized paws around its scruff.

The older one laughed gruffly, breaking its militia manner, and licked back.

Mates?

Damon became lost in thought as he watched the pair, their tails and tongues going a mile a minute. And then he realized they were staring at him, both sets of eyes smoldering with some malicious light.

"Shall we kill him and feast upon his flesh?" the elder asked Seton nonchalantly.

Seton shook his head. "Nah," he replied. "Let's just cause him some very uncomfortable pain, a retaliation for what he did to me earlier."

Damon tried his best to keep his cool demeanor, to not look frightened by the pair of werewolves stalking him, but this situation was way out of hand. He made a break to run, but the larger werewolf, equally adept in preternatural skills, quickly blocked his path and swiped a claw at him. Several gashes tore open on his bicep, spewing blood and muscle. He spun around, growing frantic, only to be confronted by Seton on the other side. He braced himself to fight, but jaws snapped at him and he jumped back slightly, his mind racing into turmoil.

This was bad.

The large red werewolf grabbed him from behind and pulled him to his chest. He let out a growl, the sound vibrating straight though Damon. He tried to struggle, to at least fight back or change forms, but he was locked in a death grip. He kicked out as Seton approached from the front, but Seton was just as quick and tore claws through the denim of Damon's jeans. Damon gritted his teeth, pain washing over him like never before.

This was really bad.

He slumped in his captor's arms, knowing full well it was pointless to fight the two werewolves, that it would serve as a means of wasting his powers. He watched broodingly as Seton's claws reached out for him, as they ripped his jeans open, and as they tore them to shreds and pulled them off him.

He didn't know what they were planning exactly, and he didn't want to find out. He closed his eyes to try to let the nightmare pass over him but was quickly snapped back into reality by a set of sharp teeth tearing into his groin. He nearly screamed then, pushing back against the werewolf behind him. He was rewarded with a hard elbow to his back. It sent rivulets of pain down his spine and brought him to his hands and knees.

Damon panted, staring fixedly at the floor. His brain was going into shock, and his senses were soaring. Claws snaked up his bare back, adding to his pain. He felt fur brush him, pool around him. Something hard and slippery prodded at him, and then suddenly he was flipped belly up.

He found himself staring into the golden eyes of the red wolf, its body crouched above him, its slavering jaws hanging open and spraying him with drool. He looked down wards, beneath its hard abdominal muscles, and froze when he saw the creature's erection, unsheathed and pointing straight outwards, much larger then any normal man's.

Seton giggled behind him and kneeled on his shoulders, pinning him in place. Damon didn't make a move to fight it. His mouth had gone completely dry and his body had given up long ago. There was nothing for him to do but lie still and wait for the pain of the first intrusion.

It was worse then he had anticipated.

A lot worse.

As the werewolf forced himself inside him, Damon felt himself being ripped apart. His head snapped back against the ground and his body writhed in pain. He struggled, trying desperately to throw either wolf off, but Seton only put more weight on his knees and the large wolf only bent his head low and tore a piece of Damon's flesh away.

Damon was nearing melting point. If the large wolf didn't stop pounding into him hard, fast, and unrelentingly, he was going to break. He could feel it building in him, the urge to scream and sob and work himself into rage that would do no good in this situation. He needed the torment to stop, otherwise it was going to destroy all he was. He could smell his own blood between his legs, spilling out of him as the torture went on, and knew it was stripping away the every fabric of his being.

When he thought it could get no worse, when he felt he was numb to the splitting pain inside his bowels, he felt the larger werewolf grip him tightly, burrowing claws in his skin, and drive himself in to the hilt, grunting with the effort.

Damon screamed then, screamed as his flesh was forced apart and new wounds opened inside him. Blood became the only smell his nostrils could scent, and he screamed again in agony, frustration, and anger.

"Shut up, you leech fucker!" Seton growled above him, then swiped claws down and against his face.

Damon felt something in his eye rupture and spill downward, trailing wetly. Pain seized his head too now, and his vision was becoming red, crimson red, redder then any blood he had seen or drew, redder then a blood red sky, redder then roses. Fucking red straight through. It was pouring from his eyesocket, his hands, his lips, his nose, splashing against his thighs, against the intruding cock within him. It wanted him; it consumed him; it burned in him; it slid down his throat and choked him.

Damon let out a sob as the werewolf pulled out of him with a sickening, slurping, bloody sound.

He felt teeth against him, eating him whole.

Oh God, god, god, god, god.

Damon's body went into convulsions, making him quake and tremble. Then, with a loud moan of pure, soul-felt agony, he collapsed and blacked out.

When Damon opened his eyes again, he was lying on the carpet of the church still. The pair of werewolves were gone, and half his vision floated in a black and red mess.

He let out a shaky breath and stared down his bloody, bruised, and broken body. Pieces of flesh were missing, and blood caked him like dried red clay. He tried to get up, but was wracked with pain with even the slightest movement.

He curled himself up and let out an angry sob.

This had never happened to him.

Ever.

Nobody had ever dared try it for fear of losing his or her life.

But now he felt humiliated.

He choked back another sob and clawed at the carpet beneath him.

He had blown it.

He had failed miserably.

Damon felt the drive that kept him going sputter and burn out. It was no longer necessary.

He closed his eyes and forced himself into a deep slumber, drowning out everything around him and inside him, lulling the dread and pain to sleep.

For the first time in all his life, Damon Salvatore had been completely beaten.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Wonder how the chew on their pointy...
Teeth and hair are beauty,
They know it's their duty,
To be countess in their hearts and their...
Minds....

Damon's eyes, or rather the eye that hadn't been damaged, fluttered open to the sound of the blaring music and he sat bolt upright, immediately cradling his head in his hands. A pain that didn't exactly differ from a root canal was burrowing through his head and gritted his teeth in frustration.
Cakey is their makeup,
Catholics try to shake up,
All the things that form their lives, but they're...
Dead. Their sighs, their song,
They know what they do is wrong....

Damon groaned and pushed the layers of comforters off of him and kicked them down to the hard wood floor. He didn't care that he was bruised, broken, and naked against the sky blue sheets that covered the cot beneath him, he just wished the pain would stop.

This is what they wanted,
Always to be hunted....

Damon swung his legs over the bed with a grunt and scanned the room. The walls met each other in the middle of the ceiling and were on a slant. Probably an attic, he concluded.

And then his eyes came across the figure sitting at the desk with their back to him, long raven tinged hair flowing around them. They appeared to be writing a letter or something of the sort.

The Blood has run out.
Fangs ruin any cute pout.
Morning has come now they have flown.
What have you learned from what has been shown?

Alazuria turned around and smiled. "I hope you slept well," she drawled, laying on the seductive charm.

Suddenly something in Damon's mind clicked. He remembered what the pair of werewolves had done to him, remembered that they were part of Alazuria's 'pack.' Most importantly, he remembered she hadn't even stepped in to stop their tormenting. Anger like he had never felt before suddenly bubbled up in him and came to life. In one smooth movement he was on his feet, grabbing Alazuria tightly around the throat, and hauling her up off the ground.

"You bitch!" he growled, his fangs snapping inches from her face.

Alazuria's head cracked sharply against the wall as Damon forced her back sharply. His thumb was putting pressure on her windpipe, cutting off her air supply. She gasped, her chest rising and falling quickly, her mouth gulping for air.

"It was a setup, wasn't it?" Damon demanded the look on his face pure animal. "You tried to have me killed!"

Alazuria was shaking her head franticly, her fingers clinging to his hand around her throat. She looked at him, into his good eye; pleaded with him. His grip didn't loosen.

A sob escaped Alazuria's lips as she realized he was going to kill her.

And then, just like that, he let go.

It was so sudden that she crashed to the ground and crumpled into a pile at his feet.

Without warning, Damon brought back his wrist and pimp slapped her across the face, snapping her neck to one side.

Sobs began to wrack her body, making her tremble like a scared rabbit. Damon just stared at her, fists clenched at his nude sides, eyes flashing fire. He let out a snarl and was about to pull her to her feet when the door at the other end of the room swung open with a loud bang.

Damon immediately focused his attention there, the anger in him slowly subsiding as Matt stepped into the room and swept his eyes over the scene before him. His gaze stopped on the shivering Alazuria who was also looking at him, but with wide, frightened eyes.

"What did you do to her?" Matt asked, concern washing over him.

Damon sneered, showing pointed teeth. "She tried to have me murdered," he spat. "I only gave her a sampling of what I could do to her for that."

"It wasn't her fault those werewolves attacked you." Matt looked slightly perturbed, as if he was mad at Damon for drawing conclusions so easily.

Damon raised an eyebrow and tried to fold his arms, but the muscles were quickly shot through with pain and he flopped them back to his sides. "She is a part of them, Matt," he informed. "They are her pack."

"That doesn't mean nothing." Matt went over and stripped the bed of its top sheet, then went and wrapped it around the teary-eyed Alazuria, kneeling and looking at her face to see if she was ok. Apart from the purple and brown bruise quickly building at the hollow of her throat, she seemed all right.

"Get her out of my sight," Damon deadpanned, turning his back on the both of them. "I am not sure I will be able to stop myself from feeding on her if I become hungrier then I am."

Matt just stared at the back of him, trying to avert his gaze from the muscular, unclothed parts of his body. Then, without another word, he picked Alazuria up from the floor and walked out silently.

Damon watched them leave out of the corner of his eye. When he couldn't hear Matt's footsteps on the rickety stairs anymore, he whirled around sharply and drove his fist through the front of the stereo, metal and wiring laying deep gashes open on his pale hand.

Part 8:

Damon didn't know how long it was before Matt's steps sounded on the stairs yet again. He was lying draped across the bed, arms behind his head, eyes staring at the ceiling, and in the nude. He didn't care much about who saw him or what they did about it. He doubted anybody would look at him in a sexual way anyway because of the slowly healing wounds crisscrossing against his flesh. The eye that had been ruptured had become a gray-matter slash across the pupil, and deep red gashes around the outer eye. Lucky for him, though, Stefan had taped it up immediately so he could regain his vision as quickly as possible.

Damon awaited for Matt to enter the room, not bothering to get up to meet him. There was little he could do once he was up, and his psychotic episode with Alazuria had only increased his physical pain.

As for the mental and emotional part...well...he didn't even want to start contemplating that. He knew it had scared him deep down inside, but he wasn't ready to confront that issue.

"Damon, are you awake?" Matt's voice called softly from the doorway.

"Yes, you can come in," Damon answered deliberately slowly, sitting up stiffly in the bed. He carefully hid the broken hand he had put through the stereo under the sheet beneath him.

"I just wanted to bring you a change of clothes, and apologize for snapping at you before," Matt continued, stopping between the door and the bed frame, some garments clutched in his hands. "You are right. Alazuria could of set you up. We can't trust her at a time like we're having'."

Damon smiled sardonically to himself. "I know we can't...yet I was the fool. I mistook her for an ally."

"She seduced you, it ain't your fault."

"Yes, well, I was weak for falling into her clutches. I have been around long enough to know better."

Matt stepped around the bed then, becoming bolder. He smiled when Damon looked up at him with one glittering, onyx eye.

"You look like hell," he commented.

" I know." He swung his legs over the bed then, perching on the edge. Startling Matt, he reached up and snatched the change of clothes brought for him. "Thank you."

Matt just shrugged and focused his gaze on the opposite wall, as Damon slowly and carefully got dressed, trying not to aggravate his healing wounds and aching muscles. He wasn't too upset about the choice of clothing. A black long-sleeved shirt that looked like it belonged to Stefan; a pair of black jeans that were just about the right size; black golf socks which could also be Stefan's, and his black boots.

Matt looked back to Damon after a few minutes, jabbing his thumb at the large hole in the stereo.

"Did you do that?" he asked.

Damon simply nodded and stood up. Matt could see clearly that he was starving. His good eye looked as though it were receding and his skin was stretched taught, bones and veins protruding sharply from his exposed hands and wrists. His skin had turned the color of fresh milk in moonlight, paler then Matt had ever seen. It looked utterly uncomfortable and painful.

"It is." Damon grinned as Matt's face registered shock, puzzlement, then understanding. Damon had been rendered weak, but not weak enough to not be able to read minds.

"Don't do that," Matt said flatly.

"Why not?" Damon's grin got even wider. "Does it bother you?"

"Of course it does!" Matt was getting agitated. He didn't like where the current conversation was heading. "If somebody was invading your thoughts and you knew you were helpless to stop them, wouldn't it bother you?"

"Not entirely."

Matt took a breath to calm himself, and at that moment he saw the change spark in Damon; a transition before his very eyes. It was from person to predator, a look of hunger and hunting. Before Matt could make a break for it, Damon let him have a quick glimpse of sharpened fangs and was suddenly upon him. He gasped as he hit the wall and got the wind knocked out of him, Damon's heavy body pinning him in place.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Damon?" Matt demanded, the words coming out strained and nearly a snarl. "Get the hell off me!"

A strong hand that grasped him by the chin and tilted his head upward answered his protest. He began to fight back, kicking any available target and clawing at the arm that was holding his head back. His other arm was useless. Damon had it pinned by the shoulder, the pressure enough to keep his whole left side in a set position.

And then Matt felt the fangs. They stung as they penetrated his flesh, but the moment they touched his skin he froze, remembering that struggling only would cause pain for him. He stood in place, his breath coming heavy and fast as he hoped against hope that Damon wasn't going to kill him.

Closing his eyes, he finally gave in and was rewarded by a headful of stray thoughts and floating images. Most were his, and he was grateful for that, but it wasn't long before a swollen black force crept in and swallowed those whole, devouring layers upon layers of consciousness until it reached the core, the place where everything Matt didn't want to face about himself was buried. He didn't want it to go there, didn't want to face those certain things, and he surely didn't want Damon to see.

But it was too late to jump train now. The only thing he could possibly do was lie down and take it.

He was unawares that his own mind was doing he same thing to Damon's, ripping into it as if the walls within were made of paper. Damon's psyche was slowly becoming unstable, the heart of all his emotions and thoughts threatening to burst. He made feeble attempts to block out the rush of Matt's mind, but it was too overpowering. It tore into the heart of the gray matter like the fearsome jaws of a Great White. There was a stretch of absolute silence, and then a scream of pain and anguish that shattered both their minds. Spontaneously they were sucked down into the swirling warm mass of the stream of consciousness, were all the secrets and emotions they had would be revealed. Each scrambled for a foothold in the darkness as they plunged downward, afraid of what would be shown within the murky depths that was their destination.

In the end, for all their attempts, they lost and became captives of the stream.

As the darkness bled over them and exposed them to each other, the last thing that could be heard was the screaming cries of protest.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Damon opened his good eye and looked at his surroundings. He breathed a sigh of relief as the broken stereo and the cot-bed came into view in what was by him believed to be the attic. His body slumped against the floor then, and he remembered he had not been lying on the floor earlier. As his senses started to come alive, his mind started to clear. Matt, he thought. Matt was in my mind....

Twisting around in place he saw that the boy was indeed there draped over him with his hands clutching at his long sleeved shirt as if hanging on for dear life. He carefully detached the hands from him and crawled out from beneath the motionless body. Once un-trapped, he sat up and tried to make sense of what had happened.

He had been talking to Matt when suddenly his vampire nature decided to take hold of the reigns, a thing that only occurred when he was dangerously nearing vampiric melt down. It was starving and so it launched him at Matt, seeing him as the only available food source. He shuddered, delighting in rekindling the feeling of his fangs sliding into the blond's throat. But what had occurred after that? Somehow Damon's mind had seeped out of its boundaries during the feeding and slid its way into Matt's. Some sort of hellish mind stripping had happened after that. In the end it left the both of them helpless, vulnerable.

And all their secrets had been revealed.

Damon had seen what Matt really thought about him, and about things. But he couldn't decipher them at the moment and so he concentrated on what had been shown from his own mind to Matt.

Damon's blood froze. Had Matt seen and felt how Damon viewed him? He hoped not, for the sake of being ridiculed. And the dreams. He hoped against hope Matt hadn't seen the dreams he'd been having, the fantasies, the flashbacks. He wasn't in the emotional state to face the questions he'd receive. In fact, Damon felt a good deal like weeping. He brushed away that thought. He wasn't weak like that. He wouldn't cry because things weren't going according to plan.

Suddenly Matt groaned and picked himself up from the floor, his eyes opening slowly to reveal irises a shade of blue so bright they seemed to glow. Spittle was smeared across his lips and ran like a slug trail from the corner of his mouth to the side of his face. Damon watched with fascination as Matt opened his mouth to speak, the gossamer strands of saliva stretching and crashing downward. He cleared his throat loudly and swallowed once before beginning.

"That felt-" He seemed to catch himself, pondering silently before starting again. "What the hell was that?"

Damon couldn't help but give him an enigmatic smile. "My mind," he said flatly.

Matt stared for a moment blankly. Damon stared back noting how thick the tension was becoming between them. He could tell by the rigidness of Matt's body and the way he looked about ready to tell his entire life story but was holding back with considerable effort.

Finally Matt broke the silence.

"You have blood on your mouth," he stated simply.

The sentence was not what Damon had expected and he had to clear his head before the words made sense. "It's yours," he replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in one smooth motion.

"I know."

The tension was there again and choking the both of them. Matt's eyes remained on Damon and never wavered. Damon could count actual imaginary seconds ticking by in his head as he felt the familiar strain of his muscles and lengthening canines. As his eyes roamed over Matt and stopped on the boy's heaving chest he realized the feeling had nothing to do with hunger.

Without thinking clearly he leaned inward so that he and Matt's faces were an inch apart.

It was now or never.

Matt stood his ground. "What are you-"

Damon closed the gap between them before Matt could get out another word. Matt froze as he felt silken lips slide over his own. He sat there with his mind reeling then blanking out all together, not knowing how to react.

The feathery tracings of fingers sliding over his neck then towards his back and the wet sensation of a tongue trying to breach the barrier of his lips snapped him back into reality. He pulled away sharply but only the kiss proved to be breakable. Strong hands gripped him by the shoulders and prevented him from moving away any further. He started to panic, wriggling in the grasp like a worm dangling from the beak of a bird. His gaze shot upward toward his captor and he found himself staring up into two midnight pools that seemed to be illuminated by inner lights. The effect made him stop dead in his struggles and slump in the makeshift vice. His mind went in every direction and oddly enough he found most of his concentration on the hands that held him. Damon's fingers were wound firmly and tightly around most of his shoulder and neck but it was not uncomfortable. Damon didn't mean him any harm; he just wanted to keep him in place.

"Damon," Matt squeaked, wetting his lips and looking ashamed at his own tone of voice. He had never been afraid of Damon before when it came to himself. But now as he continued to remain Damon's captive all he wanted to do was run and hide from those luminescent night black eyes and the phosphorescent skin that still felt as smooth and feverish as a living human's.

"Yes?" Damon drawled after a short silence.

Matt could feel his slightly cool breath brush his lips. It was redolent of blood and fluoride and was not at all laden with the extreme heat of a normal human's. Matt found this disturbing and bit down on a shiver.

"Could you let me go?" he shot back, anger as well as his courage beginning to snake into his veins. He didn't like where this situation was heading, especially since more then a pass had been made at him only a few minutes ago. He could still feel the phantom trace of lips against his own and it unnerved him more then anything ever had about Damon. "I don't appreciate this game."

"Game?" Damon raised his eyebrows and chuckled throatily, moving back a little while still keeping his grip firm. "Come now, Matt. You should know by now that I take seduction very seriously."

Matt's eyes went wide and he looked at Damon with disbelief. "So that's what I felt in your mind," he said aloud, his tone unusually calm.

"Yes, probably."

Matt shook his head trying to clear it. "Let me up," he demanded.

Damon sighed and finally uncurled his fingers from his T-shirt. It was never easy. He followed the movements of Matt's body as it stretched and straightened up then did the same. They stood facing each other as if some sort of recognition passed between them. Matt gave in after a few moments and turned away, striding towards the window. Damon crossed his arms and lounged against the wall making sure that his slouch gave the impression of an inactive cat.

Neither of them spoke for several moments.

Matt broke the silence, leaning his arms against the windowsill. "I don't get it," he said, staring out the window absently. "I always had the impression you were after all the women you could get your hands on. I mean Katherine, Elena." He paused. "Bonnie."

Damon hung his head a bit at the mention of their names. "You forgot Alazuria," he pointed out.

"I never suspected that could all be some cover-up to smother your real desires."

"It isn't a cover-up." Damon's voice had a hint of anger to it and it made Matt turn his head. Damon's eyes were averted towards the ground. He seemed to be talking more to himself then anything. "I felt something for those people. I still feel the pull of attraction towards Alazuria even though I'm disgusted with her at the moment."

"But?"

Damon picked his head up and swiveled his neck slowly around to look at Matt directly. "My first voyage into love and sex was with a male gypsy but it ended in a great loss. My father somehow found out about my nightly visits to the camp. He was outraged by my sexuality and, being a cruel man, he taught me a lesson by slaughtering the man I loved along with his Caravan." Damon looked away leaving the part about the werewolves out deliberately. "Through all these years I've only shared my bed with women ever since. That is, until I met you that September. Your yearning soul awakened my oppressed thoughts and suddenly I found myself slowly able to show emotions that weren't anger or lust and give in to my true desires."

"I thought Elen-"

"Damon," came a voice, and both he and Matt turned to look towards the doorway. Stefan was standing there looking like he was barely able to stand on two feet. Damon narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong here. He didn't see any visible marks on his brother but Stefan looked troubled and hurt.

"What's wrong?" Damon asked sharply. He sprang away from the wall and stood straight up, ready to act if something happened.

"Downstairs, quickly," Stefan replied hoarsely, his throat dry. "You are not going to believe this."

Stefan turned and went back the way he had came, leaving Damon and Matt alone. For a moment Damon stood with a quizzical expression on his face. Then he gestured to Matt and together they followed the lead

"The larger of the three took her.''

Damon didn't bother to glance at his brother and he knelt and ran a finger through the blood smear before him. There wasn't much of the substance, just a thin trickle that faded out as it neared the threshold of the sliding glass door.

"What did he look like?" he asked as he touched the finger to his lips and sucked thoughtfully.

Stefan pondered for a moment. His blazing green oak leave gaze was fixated out the glass window were he could make out muddy claw tracks trampled on the lawn. "Heavy boned with intelligent blue eyes. Red fur with extra bulk around its neck-"

Damon stood up rigidly and clenched his fists at his sides. Fury snaked into his blood and he clenched his teeth tightly to keep from growling in rage. "It was him," he whispered heatedly. His eyes closed, squashing the brief memory that had resurfaced and just letting his senses roam. If he tried he could probably sense Alazuria. Even weakened his mind was strong and the radius of its reach even stronger. If he could just concentrate-

Damon's eyes opened as a dull throbbing pain seized his temples. He gasped, staggering forward and clutching the door handle.

And then it was all clear to him. That throbbing dark beacon that was Alazuria's presence began to guide him.

With a movement to quick to follow he wrenched the door open and took off at a run.

"Where are you going?" he heard Stefan shout from the house.

Damon's form quickly melted away into that of a large black crow and he hardly had time to touch the ground as his wings caught and beat the air rapidly. He circled once, cawing loudly.

I know where Alazuria is he said in Stefan's head, then took off towards the horizon.

· * *

The pain was unbearable

Alazuria screamed out against the night wind as the large red werewolf raised the sledgehammer and drove the railroad spike through her hand. Blood ran down from the wound, cascading her palm. The werewolf laughed wickedly at her discomfort and opened his mouth greedily as the blood seeped downward. A splash of it hit his lolling tongue and he smacked his lips wetly.

"Serves you right, you bitch," he snapped at her. His eyes went cold and hard and suddenly he wasn't the jolly creature Alazuria was used to seeing. "Helping Salvatore-" He made a disgusted noise in his animal throat. "You're a traitor."

"I'm not one of you, Ramza," Alazuria choked out. A flash of pain shot through her spread-eagled body that was nailed securely to the six-foot wooden cross and she bit her lip briefly. "And...I think I love him."

Ramza's laugh was throaty and viscous. "Love?" he questioned with a voice sinking to a husky tone. "There is no love among us, only a driving sexual need." Ramza was straightening up his legs, raising to his full height. He was not as tall or broad as the master had been but Alazuria was not concerned about that. Gulping, her eyes becoming wide with a terror she could only possibly dream of, she gazed upon the endowments of Ramza and felt bile rise in her throat.

"God, please no," she murmured.

Ramza's teeth glistened in the soft moonlight as he grinned. "It's been awhile since you serviced me." Ramza swung his head around the clearing and picked out the two dark forms that were crouching patiently among the blackened oak trees. "Us for that matter."

Alazuria felt tears well up in her eyes. She was helpless and pinned to the spot with this monster before her ready to rape and mar her. "Fuck you," she spat at him, but only half-heartedly.

His claws were already tearing through her jeans and his ears had become deaf to her cries of protest. She whimpered as she heard the ripping sound of her underwear begin shredded echo in the night air.

"Please, Ramza," she pleaded between sobs. "I can't take it. Salvatore attacked me today."

Ramza looked up at her for a split second. Then he grunted and wrapped himself around her, his arms hugging the cross.

Alazuria yelped loudly when she felt the hot moistness of his erection poking at her thigh. She struggled, pulling against her bonds and the nails, but the pain only became worse.

Her breathing came hard and labored as Ramza held her steady with his body weight and guided himself inside her with one hand.

"No!" Alazuria shouted, a snarl escaping her lips. "Stop it!"

Ramza growled and started to pump franticly at her. With every upstroke his body crushed her and his fur nearly suffocated her. She wanted to claw and bite him for this, so white-hot was her fury. Her mouth worked in a snapping motion, desperate to catch any of his flesh in her mouth. It wouldn't do anything but it would feel good to have her teeth locked in him.

And then suddenly there was the anger. It was above hers; furious. She could feel it in waves that crashed down heavily upon her. Suddenly she wasn't in the clearing anymore or nailed to the cross but floating above it, looking down at Ramza buried deep within her womb.

And then she saw him. He was walking slowly with each stride full of unleashed vehemence. His eyes were like shining beads of onyx. He was every bit the graceful hunter yet the hotheaded youth. And right then he was the one she wanted to see the most.

"Damon!" Alazuria cried out loudly.

She felt Ramza stop then and tense up. There was no doubt in her mind that he had felt Damon's presence too. Slowly he backed away from her, his sticky cock gliding out of her much to her relief, and turned around to face what was coming.

He didn't even have time to react.

Damon attacked head-on, fist flailing and connecting solidly with thick fur and flesh. Ramza's breath rushed out in one large gasp and he toppled over, a snarl already forming on his lips. Damon stepped over his prone body as if it weren't there and came to a halt before the towering cross of wood. He stared up at Alazuria for a split second before grabbing for the nails hammered into her. She whimpered as he tore the ones that were holding her feet in place loose. His hands reached up to set the rest of her body free but suddenly a smooth howl cut across the clearing and froze his blood. He stopped and careened his neck to see what he was up against and was startled when two transformed, snapping werewolves with eyes like polished jewels shot out from behind the trees and came into view. Ramza was climbing to his feet as well. His large head twisted around on his furry shoulders and his eyes locked with Damon's as he rose to his feet.

Damon cursed under his breath and grabbed blindly at the spikes holding Alazuria. His gaze was locked over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the three werewolves who were beginning to form a semi-circle around him. He nearly stumbled when one of the spikes broke away from its foundation and came off in his hand.

Now if he could just get the last one-

White heat flashed behind his eyes as a burning pain shot up his leg and he pulled away involuntarily. One of the werewolves, Seton, he recognized, was behind him, giggling like a crazed human. Damon turned around swiftly and and brought his elbow against his snout. Seton yelped and went down in a spray of blood and teeth. Damon used this to his advantage and went for the last spike. His fingers slipped around the flat circular end and he got enough leverage to pull back hard enough. It yanked free without any trouble and Alazuria crashed to the ground.

Teeth caught a hold of Damon's shirt as he reached down for her but he yanked himself free. His arms went around her and, making sure his grip was strong enough, he stood up and made a run from it. He could hear the howls of enrage as the werewolves gave chase but he paid no heed to them. He was faster, swifter. His body was more tuned for this kind of situation then there's was. With a burst of speed he dashed for the trees and was soon enveloped by the seemingly endless forest, aware of only the fact that the large red werewolf had now attacked both Alazuria and he, confirming the she wasn't really their ally.

There certainly was going to be hell to pay.

Damon would make sure of it

Part 9:

"Drink this, darling. It will soothe that fire in your eyes."

Damon grinned with seductive charm, his eyes hooded and lazy as they gazed upon the porcelain white hands that proffered a mug of steaming hot ale towards him. The woman, Christine by name, who smiled at him over the rim was more then pretty; she was beautiful. Lips the shade of roses; eyes the color of amethysts; skin like milk. She was everything he wanted and maybe even more.

Too bad, he thought as he took the lackluster cup from her and drank deeply, that she was street trash. A whore. Still the days at the university were boring and the nights not spent gambling and drinking lonely. He valued the company of Christine the young beauty in her faux silk dress and her layers of rouge. It got him though nights like these.

"The only thing that could possibly douse this burning fire devouring my soul is you," Damon replied, handing the empty mug back to her.

"Bold talk for such a young boy," Christine replied as she set the mug down on his study bench and took note of the unopened textbooks there. "Your tutor is going to be livid tomorrow when he finds out that you didn't persue your studies like he instructed."

Damon just laughed wickedly and slid closer to her on the bed. One arm went around her freakishly thin frame and he leaned in close to the exposed flesh of her neck. "I'd rather persue you," he whispered huskily, then lowered her to the bed. He watched her squirm out of her dress professionally and toss it to the polished floor. He had seen her nude body more then once but yet he was still as fascinated with it as the first time he had ever watched her undress for him. She was more perfect than a carefully painted doll with her nearly translucent skin and smooth touch. He lowered his head to her breasts, eager to taste the sweet-saltiness of her skin; the taste that always engulfed his senses and sent his mind reeling. His tongue darted out of his mouth like a skittish creature and slid over her nipples one at a time. She moaned beneath him and arched her body upward, grinding herself against the bulge of his groin. Her hands slid up his thighs and stopped at his belt buckle, tugging and unsnapping it. She wasted no time in getting it out of her way and yanking his hose down to reveal his rock-hard erection. Their lips met as she ran a finger down its length and fondled the head briefly before pulling him down to her and wrapping her legs around his back.

There was no mistaking her urgency. Damon pressed his mouth harder against hers and guided himself inside her with a muffled groan of pleasure. She pulled her head away from him suddenly, crying out as his length filled her and his mouth trailed the curves of her body. Just as quickly he withdrew and plunged back inside her, their hips joining for the briefest moment before he repeated the motion.

Christine was bucking beneath him, crying out in shear ecstasy as she raised her hips to meet his every thrust. She could feel the sweat on his chest as he rammed into her again and again, it's slickness rubbing against her as he moved. He was panting heavily and she could actually feel the whuff of his hot breath against her exposed nipples. It made her body tremble and she could sense Damon was already close to orgasm. She would let him go a bit longer before pushing him off of her.

Suddenly Damon tensed and clutched her so tightly that for a moment she couldn't figure out what was happening. Then she saw the glazed look in his eyes and the clenching of the muscles in his jaw. Panic welled up inside her fierce and warm.

"Damon!" she shouted at him but he was beyond listening.

With one final thrust and a groan that was almost an animal snarl, she felt his semen enter her. Then he sighed and sank down on top of her

"You bastard!" Christine was furious. Bunching her muscles beneath him she put steel in her blood and gave him a shove.

He gave a cry of protest and found himself sprawled on the floor. His body trembled as he looked up at the naked form of Christine and gazed upon her in a silent fury.

"You're an irresponsible spoiled whelp," Christine spat at him, collecting her dress from the floor and tugging it on in a hurry. "No money you can give is worth bearing children for. Keep your gold and find yourself another prostitute because my services are certainly too good for a person as low as you are."

With that Christine stormed out the door without looking back. When Damon was sure she was gone he picked himself up from the floor and crawled into his bed. With a sigh he hoped that Christine really would become pregnant. It would serve her right; it would teach her a lesson. And if not...at least then she would have an excuse to come back and see him.

"It was the vampire again, my Lord. Salvatore."

Ramza looked up at the red curtains that enveloped the Lord's Chamber. His ears pricked forward expectantly and he shot a nervous glance at Seton. The two of them waited in silence.

Finally there came the beginning of a reply from behind the cloth barrier. However it wasn't what they expected.

"Bring me the scarred one from the forest," it boomed gravelly. "We shall need reinforcements and he should be more then adequate."

"What about Alazuria?" Seton asked shakily. "What should we do about her?"

"Do not worry about her, pup. She will get what's coming to her. Now go and do not come back empty handed."

The two werewolves looked at each other then turned and loped out the chamber door hastily. When they were out of earshot the Lord chuckled to himself beneath the cover of his fabric wall.

"And you shall get what's coming to you also, Damon. I'll definitely see to that."

The sound of wood snapping echoed through the room briefly, and then the Lord curled up and closed his eyes for his evening nap.

The cabin was humid and the man laying curled in a blanket on its hard wooden floor grumbled softly and shifted his position.

It was no use. He was too restless to fall asleep tonight.

Yawning he sat up and rubbed his eyes until the room came into focus. The moon was shining brightly through the windows. He had forgotten to draw the curtains before he retired for the night and so a white and black pattern in the shape of trees and owls danced across him and where he sat. He grumbled again and unwrapped himself from the blanket, standing up and heading towards his eat-in kitchen.

The rabbit he had eaten for dinner the night before had been less then efficient and his stomach reminded him that as he switched on the electric light. He immediately headed for the fridge and started rummaging through it. A good meal for him was scarce these days. Ever since the animal murders had appeared on the front page of Fell's Church Insider he had been afraid to even hunt a fox for fear of being discovered and accused. He was living on rabbits and squirrels as opposed to his weekly deer or mountain lion. It was making him sick and he felt a wave of animosity towards whoever was going around slaughtering the town pets.

Scratching at the stubble on his face he pulled a slab of steak out of a bowl, slammed it down angrily on a plate and set it on the table. For a few moments he just glared at it. Then he sighed and sat down, digging his hands into the tender piece of flesh and ripping a chunk off. He inspected it thoroughly at first by sniffing and eyeing it, then he popped it into his mouth and began to chew vigorously.

That's when he heard the crash.

He swallowed his piece of meat loudly and stiffened, opening his ears to any other sounds. He could hear heavy footsteps and hushed voices in the living room and anger welled up inside him. If there was one thing he didn't tolerate on his property it was trespassers. Standing up sharply and moving like liquid towards where the sounds were coming from, he prepared himself to shift forms if necessary.

"Greetings," came a chirpy voice as he stepped into the living room and blinked. There were two werewolves there. One huge with red fur and a broad body and another about his size with glittering eyes and a youthful look to him. Neither of them seemed hostile.

"Who the hell are you guys?" the man asked letting his guard down.

"I'm Seton. That's Ramza." He pointed the two of them out. "Our Lord sent us to find you."

Ramza inched closer and lowered his head so that he was eye-level with the man. His eyes passed over the scar that curved from the bridge of the man's nose just past the tip of his left eye. A smaller, similar scar ran down his eyelid and across it creating a strange makeshift 'X'.

"So," Ramza began, "You're Tyler Smallwood. Somehow I was expecting more."

Tyler ran a beefy hand through his dusty, tangled mop of cropped red hair and scowled. He ignored the comment and met Ramza's gaze unflinchingly. "Yes, I'm Tyler," he nearly growled. "What the fuck's it to you?"

"Our Lord wishes to meet your acquaintance," Seton answered from behind Ramza, trying not to piss Tyler off anymore then he already was.

"Lord?" Tyler laughed briefly. "What, you guys like fucking royalty or something?"

Seton shrugged. "He's our pack leader. It's what he's asked us to call him and we obey without question."

The smile dropped from Tyler's lips and he seemed to be pondering something. "What's in this for me? I mean, you're going to drag me someplace in the middle of the night to meet some werewolf on a power trip. You can't expect me to do something like that without some kind of reward for you guys wasting my time."

"Your reward will be the protection of our pack," Ramza replied.

Tyler made a circular motion with his hand. "And?"

Ramza and Seton looked at each other. "Anything you wish," Ramza concluded. "The Lord has his ways of obtaining just about everything."

Tyler grinned, his large white teeth gleaming in the darkness. "Sounds good. Very good. I agree."

"Excellent. The Lord will be pleased."

"Now, where do we meet this guy?"

"Just put on your wolf skin and follow our lead. We'll take you to him."

Tyler nodded and began to shift.

Damon was clutching the cup of tea he held in his hands so hard it was starting to give way. There was a loud snap that echoed in warning and then it shattered in his hands, spilling the hot liquid over his lap. He didn't jump up or yell at the pain. He just merely stared at the blood that seeped slowly from where the shards had cut into him.

"You're not acting like yourself."

Damon turned his head slowly until his eyes were resting on Alazuria, who was peeking out at him from layers of comforters. He smiled sadly at her, trying to feign a sense of mystery but he knew she wouldn't be fooled and he dropped it almost instantly.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, his fingers still hooked around the grip of the mug he had held. It was the only part that hadn't shattered. He tossed it away and proceeded to lick his wounds. They were already healing but there was still blood left to be had.

Alazuria sighed and sat up in the soft bed. Taking a brief look around she realized they were in no place that was familiar. The room they were in had a shaggy retro rug along with a clunker of a television. The chair Damon possessed was an ugly burnt orange and made of soft, worn plush.

"Where are we?" she asked him.

"It's too dangerous to go back to Matt's house, so I decided we'd go to the Thunderbird Inn," he retorted. He had the urge to make some kind of reference to the American tradition of using hotel rooms for sexual adventures but couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Where are Matt and Stefan?"

"They went out for some food. At least Matt did anyway."

Alazuria looked down at her hands and began to play with her nails. "It's strange how you and your brother are both vampires. I don't think I've ever come across that situation in the many years I've been alive."

"It's not as strange as you think," Damon commented and this time the clandestine feel to his tone was genuine.

"I see."

Damon stood up slowly and made his way over to where the t.v sat on the dusty dresser. He stared at it for several seconds before deciding there would be nothing interesting on. Instead he picked up the laminated card that rested on top of the antique machine and read it aloud.

"Adult Movies showing from 9pm to 6am. $3.95 each. Call front desk to order." Damon chuckled half-heartedly. "Well, at least we wouldn't be bored."

Alazuria chuckled also, sounding almost exactly like Damon at that moment. "Why do we need those to entertain us when we have each other."

Damon's laugh died in his throat and he turned around to look at her. She was grinning at him like the cat that had gotten the cream. He narrowed his eyes trying to figure out if she was joking with him or not.

"Come here," she told him, smiling.

He hesitated, his eyes never leaving her. Then finally he went over and stood beside her. The look on his face was taught, untrusting, and Alazuria frowned.

"What's wrong?" she asked, gazing up at him with shining onyx eyes.

"Nothing," he replied unemotionally.

"Then come on." When Damon looked at her blankly she scooted over and patted the mattress beside her. "Lay down with me."

Damon said nothing, merely kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket to reveal smooth alabaster muscles beneath his black T-shirt. With his face still expressionless he crawled halfway under the covers and propped himself up on some pillows. Alazuria smiled and shifted over towards him. He watched curiously as her tongue slid up his shoulder and then curled back into her mouth. Her leg slid over his underneath the blanket and she shifted her position so that she was looking up and leaning with her head on his shoulder at the same time. Her arms were curled around him as if he was her giant teddy bear.

Damon would've returned the physical contact with her but his heart just wasn't in it. He felt very melancholy as he gazed down upon her jet-black crown and pondered how much they were alike. He had ruled out long ago that they were related in anyway. It wasn't possible. As a vampire he was sterile and his family was long dead. Or were they? He looked down at her again; looked into those midnight pools of black with the eerie lights dancing in them and saw his own eyes reflecting in their pupils. They were one in the same. He ran long fingers through her hair and felt the silkiness of his own.

It couldn't be, could it?

But how?

"Alright, that face doesn't look very well at all," Alazuria said as she gazed up at him. "Something's got to be up."

Damon just shook his head and leaned back further.

Alazuria gave in and dropped the subject. "Thank you for saving me from Ramza," she said, sighing.

"Ramza?" he questioned.

"The red werewolf."

"Oh. Him." Damon's voice dripped with vehemence.

"Yes. He's even more ruthless and dangerous then the Master was. Personally I can't stand the bastard. He's used me for many years as something that he can abuse and fuck whenever the mood strikes him."

"He deserves to be put to death."

Alazuria looked up at him thoughtfully. There was no way she could mistake his tone of voice. It was saturated with hatred and bloodlust "What makes you hate him so much?"

Damon set his jaw and looked up towards the ceiling. "In the church, he was the one that violated me."

"What?" Alazuria demanded. "It wasn't Seton?"

Damon didn't seem like he was going to answer or that he was listening for that matter. His eyes were glassy and far away. They were fixed on empty space.

Alazuria sat up straight and gripped his head in her hands. She wrenched his neck towards her, making him look at her. "Talk to me, Damon," she pleaded. "Please, tell me what Ramza did to you."

"No," he replied heatedly, wrenching free of her grip. "I can't dredge it up. It was something that cut me very deep and it would be too much to bare at the moment."

Alazuria attempted to pull him closer to her and to her surprise he let her. She laid his head down on her blanketed chest gently and after a moment's hesitation his arms went around her and gripped her body to him almost desperately. She could feel his cool fingertips brushing lightly against her bare skin and then running down the expanse of her body. The feeling made her blood go hot with desire and suddenly she found herself fighting back the urge to tear off his clothing and shove him deep inside her despite what Ramza had done merely an hour or so before. Damon apparently did not feel the same way. He laid there breathing shallowly and just massaging her flesh.

"Tell me, Damon," she tried again, her voice low. "It's alright. I already know how cruel Ramza can be."

Alazuria waited and felt his breathing become labored. It brushed hotly against the under-blanket that wrapped around the front of her body and she could feel his mouth resting on her breasts through the cloth. She shivered and swallowed her lust. Instead she ran a hand through his thick hair and marveled at the rainbow lights that seemed to dance within the strands.

"Ramza and Seton," Damon began, raising his head slightly so he could talk. "They raped me."

His whole body seemed to shudder then and Alazuria had the split second to wonder if he was all right before he sat up sharply and slid off the bed.

"We're are you going?" Alazuria asked, swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress.

Damon strode over to the mirror were he stopped and looked at his reflection. His hand gingerly traced the healing scar that tore across his eyelid and went downward.

And then suddenly there was a loud crash as without warning he brought back his fist and slammed it completely through the mirror.

Alazuria screamed and jumped back on to the bed as glass shards flew just about everywhere. Damon had hit the mirror with such force that when the noise was over and he had straightened up, there was only rubble left of the glass.

Damon looked down at his bloodied hand, smiled, and started to lick the streaks of red liquid away. "I am going to slaughter those bastards," he said aloud. "I swear to the Gods."

Alazuria sighed and sank into the covers, certain that Damon was not going to go into another rage. "Seton...I grew up with him," she said, staring at the pattern that was woven into her blanket. "He was of the late Master Wolf's litter. We've been constant companions throughout the centuries."

Damon's voice was cold, bitter. "He doesn't seem to be much of a companion anymore."

Alazuria nodded sadly in agreement. "So I've seen, but I still want to make this request."

"Yes?"

"I firmly believe that Ramza and the Lord is the cause of Seton's suddenly violent behaviour, so I'm asking you to spare his life. At least until we're certain that an outside force is not influencing him."

Damon shoulder's slumped and he placed his hands on top of the dresser were the mirror had stood. For several seconds he remained leaning against it motionlessly, his head bent low. Then finally he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his tasseled hair. "Fine." It was an emotionless answer but relief swept over Alazuria once it had been said.

"I appreciate it, Damon."

"Forget about it. Just get some sleep. Tomorrow is probably going to be even nastier then today was."

Alazuria rubbed her arm absently. "Don't say that."

Damon dropped both arms to his sides and turned around to face her, his expression neutral. "I only speak the truth."

"That's why you're such a negative person." She looked up at him then, meeting his eyes. As soon as she did he averted his gaze. It was strange but she shrugged it off and squirmed against her pillow. "And I'm not very tired."

This seemed to pique his interest. With a wicked grin he crossed the few steps to where she lay and took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Let me make you, then" he said, his voice so soft and mysterious that for a moment she thought he was trying to seduce her.

She was surprised when all he did was pull the covers up to her neck and lean in to kiss her lightly on the forehead. His flesh against hers was thrilling, electric, but the sensation faded just as quickly as it had came and she found herself beginning to get drowsy.

"Rimanente buona, mia amora," he whispered as he pulled away.

"Io volo," she answered, her eyelids drooping.

And then there was nothing but midnight black filling her vision.

Part 10:

Making Time in a low rent highrise
No place to go downtown
Crushing crucifixion
Particles aching harmful descent
Take a shot and hide
Subway slam dance
Stale mattress
Slow throb bloating
Freshly open grave for barefoot beggar
Knotted finger turning pages in a book descending
No Noise
The great trees fall

The engine of the music-blaring Ferrari purred triumphantly as Damon floored the accelerator and made a sharp left on to Fell's Church's main road, tires screeching as they gripped asphalt. It was early in the A.M. and he was happy to be reunited with his prized possession for a darkened-road rendezvous. It had been sitting parked in front of Matt Honeycutt's house for far too long and Damon was starting to miss the supple leather of the steering wheel beneath his fingers and the slide of the stick shift as he put it into gear. And of course he couldn't forget the vibration of the motor as it roared beneath the hood. The comfortable leather seats seemed like just a bonus compared to all this luxury.

Although Damon's immense passion for his car was occupying the majority of his mind at the moment, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for leaving Alazuria alone in the hotel room. Sure Matt and Stefan had probably returned by now but still he felt he owed the woman, well, his protection. It's the least way he could show his gratitude for her help assisting in completing this little Fell's Church mission faster then usual.

"I'm glad to see you've at least changed slightly, Damon."

Damon looked in his rearview mirror and pulled over to the curb so sharply the car nearly skidded out.

"And I would have assumed you'd be used to surprises like this by now."

Damon leaned back in his seat, silent for a few moments, then turned around slowly.

Bonnie McCullough, with her curly red hair and shining heart- shaped face, smiled back at him.

"So, tell me Damon, what the hell are you doing driving around Fell's church at this ungodly hour?"

Damon stared at her ghostly phosphorescent form for seconds on end before cracking a smile from the heart. "You certainly are a lot different in death then you were in life."

"You think?"

"I don't think, I know."

Bonnie chuckled heartily. "So then you know why I'm here from beyond the grave sitting in the backseat of your car having a delightful tea-like chat with you?"

Damon just raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"I figured."

"So, tell me then, Bonnie." He reached over and snapped the radio off. "Why haunt me when Meredith, Stefan, or Matt are readily available?"

"As much as I dislike to admit it, from what I've seen I deem you the most likely to heed my words."

"And what have you seen?"

Bonnie's natural mirth switched off as if triggered by a lever. She looked at him with her preternatural eyes and suddenly the air in the car was deathly serious. "I've seen a very unselfish side to Damon Salvatore."

There was silence in the car for several moments. Then Damon ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "So, what do you have to tell me?"

"I can only warn you, and I apologize for that, but pay attention. I'm only getting one chance at this." Bonnie cleared her ghostly throat and straightened up, if that were possible. "Be wary. You have yet to face your deadliest opponent in this mini-war, and he knows how you operate. He has enormous power. You won't be able to use mere brute force to stop him."

Damon stared at her. "Is that all?" he asked when she didn't continue.

She shook her head vigorously but seemed unable to answer. Her mouth worked up and down but no sound came out. Slowly the particles that were keeping her together began to drift apart. "He's got-," she choked out but her form was already beginning to fade.

Damon watched helplessly as she disappeared before his very eyes.

"Working for," were the last words he heard fill the silence of the car.

Then Bonnie was completely gone. It was if she had never been there.

In the driver's seat Damon spat out a curse and slammed a fist on the steering wheel, causing the car horn to blare loudly in protest.

Damon was wandering down the street aimlessly, trying to make some sense of Bonnie's cryptic message. He had left his car parked on the sidewalk back down the road somewhere and he savored the sound of his lonely footsteps echoing in the warm, night air. Before long his concentration was mostly on the 'clomp clomp' of his boots scraping against the concrete with every step, and finally it wandered onward to something completely unrelated.

He was being watched.

Damon stopped in his tracks and swung his head around to face the rows of houses that lined the sidewalk to the left of him. He blinked once, twice, then realized why was singling out the old house before him that loomed over him like a behemoth of wood and glass. He knew that Quince tree; had even perched upon its branches in his crow form. The same shiny blue '88 Oldsmobile with the dents in the fender and the rusting back doors sat in the driveway, same as the day he had been invited over the threshold.

It was Elena's house.

Unlike all the other houses on the block, there were lights on in this one. He deemed that rather strange. Most humans didn't stay up this late, and if they did they were usually enjoying a bout of intimacy, reading, or cramming for an exam. Nothing that would make them want to keep the house awash in light from top to bottom.

Curiosity was getting the better of Damon, and he sauntered up the walkway and found himself ringing the battered doorbell before he could register his own thoughts.

He waited patiently and was finally rewarded with the sound of locks being slid out of place. When the door opened it revealed Elena's aged but patient aunt, Judith. She was wearing a raggedy pink robe that looked like a shaved shag carpet and her eyes were laden with dark, heavy bags.

She recognized him almost immediately.

"Damon Smith?" she asked incredulously. "What the devil are you doing walking around town at this hour?"

It was almost the same exact thing Bonnie had asked. It was strange, hearing it echoed by living, breathing flesh.

"I was just driving in for fall break and I saw all your lights on." He shrugged. "It was distressing."

It wasn't a total lie. Seeing the source of the only lights on the block being Elena's old house had filled him with a sense of foreboding.

"Oh, how sweet of you. Please, come in before you catch your death." Damon gave a smirk at that as he stepped inside and Judith slammed the door behind him. "Would you like a cup of tea or maybe some coffee? I know it's warm out but you look like you could use a pick me up."

"Actually, I hate to impose but I would really like a glass of wine."

"Wine?" Judith inquired with a big smile, leading him into the kitchen. "Are you old enough young man? Oh, by the way, help yourself to a seat."

Damon sat down at the kitchen table and stared down at the pattern of the placemat before him. "Yes, ma'am," he answered almost cheerfully.

"Good. Wouldn't want an underager drunk by my hand." She reached in a cabinet and brought out an unopened bottle of spiced blackberry wine. She broke the seal with a pop and poured the dark red contents into a small plastic cup. "Here you go, Damon." She handed him the drink, poured herself one, then sat down across from him. There was a moment of unnerving silence and then a great sigh escaped her. "I'm sorry to inform you but Elena...passed away. You remember that year she was chosen to represent the spirit of Fell's Church in the Founder's Day parade?"

Damon nodded politely. "Yes, I went over to...congratulate her on...a wonderful speech."

"Yes, it was such a nice day and then we all started fighting and everything went wrong and...." She threw up her hands in defeat. "When she announced she was going to marry that Stefan Salvatore fellow I got so distressed. He was so...so strange and I nearly was scared to death of him and for Elena. And so we started yelling at each other and it all went downhill from there. Then when we found out she had drowned, and then she really hadn't died...well, there was gossip all around town about supernatural forces. Vampires, for chissakes! Whoever heard of such nonsense?"

Damon surpressed a mirthful chuckle and merely feigned a scoff. "Ridiculous," he agreed politely as if he were a member of some elite club of her's.

"Anyway, my dear niece Elena is gone and I hope resting in piece. As for her sister Margaret...."

Judith paused and Damon could tell she was fighting back tears. He held his half-empty cup to his mouth, poised to take a sip, but it never touched his lips. Instead he lowered it back down to the tabletop and watched the woman as if she was about to reveal some godsent truth.

"What's wrong?" he inquired, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Judith slid her bony hands over her face and hunched her shoulders. "Margaret never came home from school today. The Police searched for hours before calling it a night. They didn't find her. I can't sleep. I'm afraid this town is going through the same hell it endured two years ago." She sniffled wetly and pulled her hands away to reveal red-rimmed eyes full of salty tears.

Damon suddenly felt uneasy. He didn't have much to offer in words of condolence, and besides it was always petty. All the 'it will be all right's' and 'it's ok's' in the world couldn't solve a dilemma at hand. Sometimes he pitied the poor humans for even trying. They never did fully realize that if you wanted something fixed you had to take action. Otherwise you ended up dead, plain and simple.

He guessed that's what possessed him then and there.

"I'll help find her," he suddenly blurted out, feeling a surge of regret swell up inside of him. If she's not already dead, he stated silently.

"Thank you, Damon. You don't know how much this means to Robert and I."

Damon shrugged. "I'll do my best. I know she means the world to you. But right now, I must go. It's been a hassled ride and I'm in dire need of sleep, if you don't mind."

He stood and Judith did also. She walked him curtly to the front door.

"Please, come back tomorrow evening and join us for dinner." She opened the door for him. "It would be a perfect opportunity to tell Robert and I any news if they haven't found her by then." She frowned deeply.

"I'd be honored to have supper with you, but I cannot come alone. Is it all right if I bring four more guests?"

"Four? Gracious, I'll have to cook for an army, but I owe you that much. May I ask who they are?"

Damon was halfway through the door already but he turned around and gave the most electric smile ever to grace another's presence. "Oh, I think you already know one of them," he said with zest. "He's a man, goes by the name of Stefan Salvatore."

And with that, he turned on his heal and practically ran down the street.

X X X

The first thing Damon did upon returning to the hotel room was head directly to the phone. He went right past Matt and Alazuria, who were sprawled on the bed munching on various Burger King Products and stuffing chips and soda into their mouths at the same time. Stefan was sitting in the ugly burnt orange chair and nursing a cold glass of water with condensation rolling off the sides. All eyes were on the TV, which was projecting crude images of naked men and women in various stages of undress.

Damon scoffed at the low-grade soft porn and fished through the pockets of his leather jacket. There was a number he kept zipped tight in there, a number that he hadn't parted with since it had been given to him. He found it snapped up securely in his hidden pocket and pulled it out with something like a sense of danger.

Quickly he punched in the numbers scrawled on the paper and listened to the receiver ring.

The phone rang six times before a groggy female voice answered.

"Hello?" it drawled.

Damon nearly breathed one single word. "Elena."

Stefan stiffened in his chair and swung wide eyes around to stare at Damon.

Matt stopped munching mid-bite and a dubious look passed over his face.

"Damon?" Elena questioned, her voice raised in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing calling me, and how'd you get the number to my cell phone?"

"You gave it to me, remember?" Damon replied. "It's not important anyway."

"Yes it is! I'm kind of busy, you know. Could you call back another time?" There was a pause and Damon heard a muffled male voice in the background. "Did that bastard Stefan put you up to this?"

"Stef-no. No he didn't. I'm calling on my own accord. You know me better then that, Elena."

"I suppose I do. Meredith tells me you've changed, though. Have you?"

"I didn't call to discuss me, Elena. Look, where are you and how quickly can you book a flight to Fell's Church?"

"Right now I'm in Florida living the good life on Miami Beach and no I am not coming to Fell's Church to aide you in your little romp to find the bad guy. If you have no further questions then I'm hanging up right now. Goodbye, Damon."

"Wait! Elena-"

"Bye!"

"Margaret's in trouble."

There was silence. It stretched on for so long that Damon thought Elena had really hung up on him. It wasn't until her voice came floating back that he realized it wasn't so.

"What?" she questioned.

"I talked to your Aunt Judith," Damon replied. "Margaret never came home from school today, and I opted to find her. I'm just hoping she's still alive."

"Don't say that!" Elena shouted and Damon could tell she was close to tears. "Alright, Damon, alright. I'm coming there. I'll get a ticket for the first plane this morning. Goodbye!"

Damon hung up the phone without replying. He turned around to find everybody in the room staring at him intently.

"I had to," was all he said in the way of reply. "Margaret's just a kid and Elena can't hide away forever."

He sighed deeply and fled the room quickly.

Part 11:

Tyler followed closely behind the other two werewolves who seemed to be in far better shape then he was. Obviously their eating habits were more regular then his was and he found the faintest trickle of envy running through him. He was about to open his mouth and make some snide remark when the sound of footsteps in the distance stopped him in his tracks. He dug razor sharp talons into the dirt beneath him and pricked his ears in the direction of the noise.

Somebody was walking along the main road that ran adjacent to the woods.

Tyler frowned as best as he could in his wolf form and glanced over at his companions. They had stopped running also and were looking back at him curiously. He whuffed softly to them then silently made his way over to the brush closest to the asphalt. There he crouched down as low as he could and thrust his snout through the trimmed hedge before him.

The figure that clomped quickly past him made him emit a soft growl from his jowls.

Damon Salvatore? What the hell was he doing in Fell's Church?

Something in the back of his mind told him it didn't matter; that it would be easier to just extract his revenge on the vampire quickly and quietly.

His muscles bunched beneath him and his lips skinned back from his teeth in preparation of attack.

The tension built inside him until he could take it no longer. With liquid brown eyes flashing cold fire his blood rose to boiling point and he readied himself to pounce.

That's when the claws dug into his shoulder and secured him in place.

He yelped softly and spun around.

"This is not the time nor place," Ramza growled softly, using his bulk to make his point.

"It was an old enemy of mine," Tyler hissed back, clearly unintimidated. He gave a slight shrug "I lost my temper."

Seton crept over to the hedges and poked his head through the leaves and almost immediately tore it back out. He looked at Tyler quizzically, then to Ramza. "It's Damon Salvatore," he stated with a slight edge to his voice.

Ramza's ears perked and he straightened up even more, if it were possible. "You know Damon?" he asked Tyler.

Tyler nodded and snarled savagely. "Oh, yes. I even owe him and his brother a few beatings."

"Brother? He has a brother?"

'Yes. Stefan."

"And he's a vampire also?"

"Yes, but not a particularly threatening one."

Ramza stared dully at Tyler for nearly a minute, lost in thought. At last he spun around to face Seton and give orders. "You take Tyler and follow Damon from as far a distance as possible. I'll track him from the closest position. Now go."

Seton nodded and broke into a run. Tyler stared quizzically at his quickly fading form for a few seconds then took off in the same direction.

As they got deeper into the woods Ramza called out one final command.

"Bring him back alive!" was all he said, and then he too was breaking into a run in hot pursuit of the quarry.

X X X

It was nearly five-thirty am when Damon slipped through the hotel room door and made his way silently to the first available unmade bed. Once there he kicked off his boots, pulled his T-shirt over his head and collapsed down to the mattress before him. The worn- out raggedy piece of furniture felt like silk beneath his strained muscles and he let out a deep sigh before pulling the covers over him.

He hadn't realized Alazuria was tucked comfortably in the same bed until she rolled

over, peeked out from beneath the sheets, and smiled at him.

He didn't smile back; merely closed his eyes and let his head sink into the pillow.

"Damon?" Alazuria questioned softly.

Damon grunted in reply but didn't open his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," he answered dreamily, adjusting the blanket wrapped around him.

"Then why are you so tired?"

This time Damon did open his eyes but all that flashed in the black pools of the irises was annoyance. "If you don't mind, even a vampire needs sleep. Now leave me alone." He rolled over and settled down with his back facing her.

She looked him over briefly and noticed that his skin was flushed a slightly darker tone then his normal pallor. His hair was also rumpled and disheveled and he looked much healthier then before he had left. Her mind raced ahead to blood and she realized he must have fed. Deeply, from the looks of it.

She was so in awe of the change in him that absently she reached out to stroke him with the back of her hand.

She realized her mistake seconds before his muscles tensed beneath her and he spun around so quickly that she could barely follow the movement. Somehow her wrist ended up crushed in the vice of his fist and her mouth inches from his.

"Damon, you're hurting me," she protested, trying to wrench herself free but to no avail.

He just continued to stare at her, his eyes as empty as the velvet-dark spaces between the stars. He didn't even budge a finger, merely kept his eyes set directly on her face.

And then he was pulling her towards him.

She resisted him, fear bubbling up in her veins. He hadn't struck her rigid with dread before this, but now she knew why most of the people that knew him were more then a little wary of his presence. His eyes held the fire to his soul, and right now they were burning bright and angry. If she weren't locked in his crushing grip then, she would have made a mad dash out of the room.

"Damon, I-" she began in protest, but he quickly cut her off. Instead of his fangs plunging into her like she had anticipated, however, he forced her down to the bed.

He was looming above her now, his eyes raking along the smooth expanse of her throat then down to the curve of her breasts. He slid over her covered form like an advancing cobra, barely touching her, and lowered himself to eye level as if preparing to strike. His tongue flicked over his lengthening canines briefly, as if to tease her.

She had been wrong about his eyes, she realized. That wasn't anger that flashed so brilliantly in them; it was red-hot lust.

Despite her position, she felt her body responding to him. Her arms wormed their way out from beneath the covers and reached out to touch him. She marveled at the warm expanses of marble-like skin that were stretched taught over the hard muscles in his shoulders, then his back as he moved forward. Her mouth opened slightly to receive him and it was the first touch of his silken lips and the fleeting sensation of his tongue that sent electric currents through her body. She shivered beneath him and raked nails along his flesh, his body pressing hard against her.

She wanted him bad.

A grin much like his own electric one crossed her features and she took his hands in hers. Gently she placed them on the buttons of her soiled blouse and waited.

For a moment he merely looked down at her blankly. Then his face was lit up by a smirk and he lowered his mouth to where his hands lay.

Taking the first small black button almost daintily between his teeth, he worked it out of the slit that held it in place. He did the same for each remaining button, not once fumbling.

"Nice trick," Alazuria commented as he snapped the last button open.

"You pick up a few things here and there over the centuries," he replied, running a hand over her now exposed abdomen. When he reached the silken fabric of her bra he paused for a second as if contemplating his decision, then gave the clasp at the front a tug. The garment snapped apart and slid open to reveal firm breasts that showed pale against the backdrop of the hotel room's dim lighting.

Damon didn't hesitate. Without the interference of the cloth barrier he brought his mouth to one of her nipples and clamped his fangs gently on it.

Beneath him Alazuria gasped and arched her back, pressing up against him so hard that he was forced to pull his mouth away. His arms slid around her as he did so, drawing her even closer yet. As his mouth enveloped her once again and his tongue flicked slowly over the areola, he could feel her muscles tighten in response. He gave her another quick nip, this one gentler before, then pulled away altogether.

She stared at him as if some spell had been broken and tried to pull his head back down to her breast but he wouldn't budge.

"What's wrong?" she finally asked, frowning.

"Oh, nothing," he retorted, the smugness on his face now reaching to his eyes as he broke away from her and rolled back over to the side of the bed he had been occupying earlier. "I just think we have to take this a little slower."

"Slower?" She gave him a wild look before sitting up.

"Yes. A lot slower, actually." He was easing down the zipper to his jeans and staring at her inquisitively, with one eyebrow raised and one corner of his mouth turned up. Realization finally dawned on Alazuria and she watched casually as he traced the bulging outline in his pants with a fingertip.

He was playing with her and it was only managing to cause more lust for him to well up inside her.

"Are you always this horny after you feed?" she asked boldly, scooting over.

He shrugged one shoulder. "More or less." He paused briefly as if deciding something. "It's the rush of blood filling your veins. It rouses the sleeping demons inside you."

"Oh, really?" Alazuria was hardly paying attention anymore. Her gaze was drawn to where his hand had slipped inside his pants and was massaging himself.

"Would you?" he asked after a long period of silence, his voice barely a whispered drawl.

Alazuria snapped back into reality. "Would I what?"

"Suck me off?"

Alazuria blinked but didn't seem offended otherwise "That doesn't sound like you at all."

Damon laughed humorlessly, his eyes gleaming. "Lust makes animals of humans and monsters alike." He turned a full-fledged smile on her then, the tips of his fangs poking out of his mouth almost comically. His hand fumbled inside his jeans until it withdrew the pale, marble essence of his erection.

Alazuria suddenly felt trapped. She didn't know the Damon that lay before her, with eyes like a snake and one hand groping at his exposed cock. She had never seen him like this, at least; never had a glimpse of the lecherous oversexed creature that hid behind his arrogant and articulate mask.

And she couldn't predict just what he'd do if she resisted him. She was sure he wouldn't stoop as low as rape, but he had certainly become violent with her once. She wouldn't put it past him to strike her again, especially in his current state of mind.

So she did the only thing she could.

Slowly she leaned over him and wrapped her hand around the base of his length. It was warm and hard to the touch and she felt him give a slight shiver at first contact. The moment before she lowered herself down to take his head in her mouth, she thought randomly about if his being a vampire made his skin hypersensitive. If that were the case, then even the simple slide of a tongue was probably able to make him quiver with delight.

She had her lips around the head of his cock when her mind cleared, ready to plunge down onto the shaft.

She never had the chance.

A loud sound suddenly rang out from the adjacent bed.

Both Damon and Alazuria froze and looked over to where the noise had come from.

Matt was staring back at them with eyes gone nearly white all around. His body lay scrunched under the covers.

Damon slapped himself in the forehead and growled low in his throat. He looked first to Alazuria, who had let go of him, then at Matt. Both had the same expression on their faces. Great, what was he supposed to do now?

It turned out that he needn't decide. Matt was kicking the covers off him and pushing them over to Stefan's side of the bed before Damon even had a chance to ponder the situation at hand. He was completely naked and a light spray of cum still dribbled from his pubic hair. He sat at the edge of the mattress for a moment, staring at Damon as if he was unsure of his decision. In the end, though, he made his choice and crawled into the opposite bed.

"Sorry," Damon muttered to Alazuria before turning his full attention over to Matt, who was staring timidly. It seemed he didn't know exactly what to do, or maybe were to begin.

Alazuria got the hint and took the place Matt had previously occupied, next to Stefan. She felt tears starting to well up so she yanked the blankets over her head and turned her back on the two men.

She knew she wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

X X X

As Damon pulled Matt to him in a crushing embrace, the first thing that he noticed was that all the anger and the stress that had been building up in him over the last couple of days suddenly dissolved. When their mouths met wetly and almost hungrily he felt the illusion of burdens being scraped off his shoulders. With a sigh he finally let down the last of his guard and abandoned himself to the aching lust inside him that was finally about to be quenched.

Brutally he threw Matt down to the bed and stretched himself out on top of him, nipping at the boy's exposed throat hard but briefly. He had no desire for blood at that moment, and an ache to be inside the body underneath him throbbed so intensely in his veins that he couldn't hold back any longer.

Grabbing Matt under the thighs and thrusting his legs back roughly, he positioned his cock and drove himself all the way in without warning.

There was a moment in which time seemed to be frozen, and then Matt let out a cry that made Damon's ears ring. Randomly his mind raced ahead to the pondering of what had lead Matt to make his decision to come to him. The last time they had been together Matt had been repulsed by what Damon felt about him. He had even gone as far as to tell Damon to stay away.

Then again, maybe that was because he had been afraid of the emotions that had been awakened inside him.

Damon was roused from his musings by the sensation of fingertips sliding along his ribs. He shook his head and looked down to see Matt staring at him with blue eyes glazed over with desire.

"Damon?" he asked, his voice husky and nearly a whisper.

"Yes?" Damon retorted, sighing as the muscles around him melted and relaxed.

"Could you-could you please fuck me? Fuck me Hard?"

Damon didn't reply. Instead he drew himself all the way out of Matt and slammed back in as hard as he could over and over again, each time gaining momentum. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and his breathing became irregular.

From her position on the bed Alazuria squirmed and pulled the covers even tighter around her if it were possible. She couldn't bear to watch any longer. If she did she would end up trying to jump either of the men's' bones. The site of Damon's glistening cock poking out of the zipper of his jeans and thrusting into Matt and the cries of passion they were both emitting was driving her insane. She shivered beneath her protective covering and let out a small whimper before closing her eyes in a halfhearted attempt to get some sleep.

It just wasn't fair.

X X X

It wasn't until at least two hours later that the room got quiet enough for Alazuria to finally settle down into slumber. It had been a hell of a night, and it awakened bitterness in her she didn't know she had.

Damon and Matt's fevered coupling had gone on for what seemed like hours, with the two of them leaving nothing to the imagination. At some point they switched roles entirely and Matt had been busy pounding into Damon with so much intensity that Damon lost all control completely. His cries were reduced to mere bestial noises and he kept growling nasty words of encouragement.

At last they had finally tired themselves out and collapsed in each other's arms, spiraling down into the void of darkness and dreams. That was where they were now, snoring soundly with dreamy smiles on their faces.

Alazuria had a moment to growl to herself in utter frustration when there was an awful scraping noise from across the room. She poked her head out from beneath the sheets half-expecting to see Damon pottering with the coffee machine that sat on one of the dressers or trifling with the remote control to the television. When she looked, however, he was still wrapped in dreams with his body distended over Matt's like some great bird's wings. She puzzled over it briefly, and then the hotel door swung open and struck the wall behind it with such force that it bounced off and nearly closed itself.

"Hello?" a voice called out, loud and piercing in its wake. There was a wary edge to it and Alazuria found herself sitting up and staring at the slim, blonde figure that was walking boldly over the threshold. "Anybody awake?"

Whoever she was, she looked like hell. Her skin was tanned to the point of burning and her face seemed taught and full of apprehension. Her hair hung brittle and scraggly, looking as if it needed a good washing.

"Who the hell are you?" Alazuria asked, her brow furrowing.

The woman seemed to finally take notice of her and stopped in her tracks, blinking in confusion. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't this. It looked as though Damon had finally found himself a worthy companion, with not just an attitude but features like him as well. Midnight black eyes that burned with the ferocity of anger gleamed back at her and if she hadn't known better she would believe they belonged to Damon himself. It was unnerving.

"Is Damon Salvatore here?" she asked innocently, ignoring the girl's inquiry about her imposition.

The girl leapt to her feet then and for a moment it seemed as though a serious mistake had been made. But all the girl did was make her way over to the coffeepot.

"He's asleep," she replied curtly, yanking two mugs from one of the dresser drawers. "I take it you're the Elena he spoke on the phone with?"

"Yeah, that's right," Elena replied flatly.

"I'm Alazuria Doyle, and no I don't sleep with him."

"How did you know I was-"

"I know his type. Promiscuous and nomadic." She grunted and flopped down on the edge of the bed. "Have a seat wherever you're comfortable."

Elena was about to sit down in the dirty burnt-orange chair when suddenly the TV snapped on by itself. Both Alazuria and she jumped and nearly ducked under the bed in fright and it wasn't until they heard a chuckle that they calmed down enough to register what was happening.

Damon was sitting propped against the pillows pounding at the remote that was Velcroed to the nightstand. There was a contented smirk on his face and when he spoke it was without looking at either of them. "Good morning. I trust your plane trip went well, Elena?"

Elena stared at him for several seconds. His voice had sent electric chills up her spine, so seductive and languid it still was. But he had said her name so emotionlessly that she knew that there could be nothing between them ever again. Some flame finally sputtered out and died in her and she melted into the chair.

"Yes, it was fine," she replied mechanically.

He turned a full-fledged smile on her then, looking positively demonic, yanked the covers away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Good, I'm glad to hear it," he said, flaunting his nudity.

Alazuria fixed her glance quickly on the television screen but Elena kept her eyes locked on the smooth expanse of his alabaster muscles, desire suddenly roaring in her blood again. She felt heat creeping up her throat and cheeks and her mouth suddenly became dry. Pointedly she stood up and nearly growled at him.

"I don't have to take this, Damon," she spat out. "I'm leaving."

"Elena," was all Damon drawled, but it was all she needed to hear. He was being so obnoxious that she had been about to stomp out of the room, book yet another flight and run back to her newly acquired fiancée in Miami. But, as Damon fished around in the tangle of soiled sheets for his jeans, she stopped mid stride and turned to face him.

"You know this has nothing to do with me," he said heatedly, finally finding his pants and tugging them on. "This is all for Margaret, and for your Aunt Judith."

Elena looked absolutely livid. "Since when do you care about their well-being?" she demanded of him. "They mean nothing to you."

Damon stood up in one fluid motion and made his way over to the sink. Nearly wrenching it off, he twisted the squeaky knob for the cold water and splashed it in his face.

"They mean a lot more to me then you think."

"Oh, really? Is that why you threatened to kill my kid sister-no, no, suck my kid sister's blood because you couldn't have me once?"

Damon snarled and crossed the room so quickly that it was as if time had stood still. He was standing mere inches from Elena, and he grabbed her under the chin and tilted her head back so he could look into her eyes.

"That was a long time ago, and I was in love," he said softly, his tone gradually becoming harsher. "If you can call the emotion we felt for each other love."

He released her then and stepped back, narrowing his eyes to slits. It gave him a strangely compelling animalistic quality.

She was about to reply to his distasteful comment when he cut her off.

"Would you like to take a ride with me?" he asked sincerely.

Elena was caught off guard. "A ride? Where?"

"To get everyone here a change of clothing. I don't even remember how many days I've been wearing this same pair of jeans."

"Well, alright, if you promise to be on your best behavior."

Damon gave her a face-splitting grin. "I promise."

"Good."

"Alazuria, there's a small coffee shop down the road. Do you think you can get some food for us all? We can discuss what we're going to do about everything over breakfast."

Alazuria nodded but didn't speak otherwise.

"Thanks."

With that, Damon pulled his crumpled T-shirt that he had discarded earlier over his head, threw on his leather jacket and strolled out of the room with Elena in tow.

Alazuria cursed him as the door slammed behind them.

Part 12:

"I think this would look really nice on you"

Damon looked up from the rack in the Jean Country and stared at the garment that Elena held up for him to see. It was a long sleeved red velvet shirt that darkened into burgundy at the neck, shoulders, and back.

"No," Damon disagreed. "Red just isn't my color."

Elena sighed and placed the shirt back gingerly where she had found it, frowning. "You're picky when it comes to clothing."

Damon plucked a shirt off its perch, examined it, then put it back. "I have high standards."

"Except when it comes to the women that you fuck."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "You make it sound so crude."

"It is." Elena paused as if considering something. "Who is that Alazuria anyway?"

"If you're thinking she's my latest 'slut' as you perceive it, you're wrong."

"I know. She told me."

Damon grinned. "She's merely an ally and she has a lot of information we can use to our advantage. Also, somehow, I think she's become a companion of mine. We're quite similar and I actually enjoy her company."

"You, Damon Salvatore, thou who does not need anybody else, have found a colleague?

Damon nodded. "Yes. Even more implausible is the person I've...." He paused, as if the very words pained him. "I've fallen in love with."

Elena was nearly struck speechless. All she could get out was "Who is it, Damon?"

He grabbed her then, his hands clamping around her shoulders tightly and gently pushing her up against the slats of the fitting room door. A store clerk gave them a look of warning but Damon ignored it and leaned in far enough that his breath beat against Elena's skin.

"His blood is still thick and sweet in my mouth; I can almost still taste it. And his essence-his essence still clings to my body."

Elena looked up at him with eyes as stormy as the sea. "Damon, stop. You're creeping me out."

Damon chuckled heartily and tilted even further towards her. His tongue skittered along her earlobe tauntingly before he answered in a whisper so faint it was like a phantom voice.

"It's Matt Honeycutt," was all he said, then released her.

For a moment she merely gaped.

And then her mouth was working syllables, but jiggling soundlessly up and down.

Her eyes were wide, as white as clean sheets and growing as large as boulders.

Damon laughed at her initial reaction amusedly. He hadn't expected her to react in such a comical way.

"Bu-but," she was protesting, finding her voice and using it to her advantage. "You-you like-you like woman...don't you? And Matt. Matt, well, he-Matt's-Matt's just not like that."

"Touché, Elena." Damon picked up a black silk shirt and his eyebrows went up. "Things are not always what they appear to be. Although, from what you've seen, I do take pleasure in mostly women, I much more prefer the company of a man. Maybe you should ask Matt what really delights him instead of assuming things." Damon turned around and draped the shirt over his arm, smirking lazily to himself. "Now, how about we pay for everything and get out of here before the mall gets crowded?"

"Yes, let's do that," Elena agreed, still in a bit of shock.

Together they went to the checkout line, neither saying a word to each other.

Alazuria walked down the road, humming a tune to an old Cure song and rummaging through the contents of the brown paper bag she held snuggly in her arm.

Damn him, she raged silently as she plucked an egg bagel from the bag and bit ferociously into it, interrupting the musical notes. Damn him and his arrogance. He'd pushed her away like a discarded rag and here she was fetching things for him like his trusty hound.

She hoped he choked.

"You seem upset," came a voice behind her and she froze.

She knew who it was almost immediately.

Seton was standing directly behind her, so close that his body heat was near unbearable. He reached out quickly and slid his large warm hands around her upper arms, yanking her to him and holding her in place. She struggled briefly before coming to the conclusion the grip he had on her was unbreakable.

"If you're going to do this, Seton," she snapped, grunting with her efforts, "then I suggest we not stay out in the open like this."

"Good idea, babe," Seton replied amusedly. "Thanks."

Without warning he dragged her over to a spot where large bushes blocked the view to the road and pushed her through them. He surveyed his surroundings furtively before ducking in behind her.

"So," he began, dusting himself off as he eyed her with a smirk and plucked the bag of bagels from her hands. He sniffed at it briefly, licking his lips obscenely. "I see you prefer to eat Italian these days." He grabbed at a funnel shaped pastry filled to the brim with a rich cream and jammed it into his mouth, chewing briefly before swallowing. "Mmmm, that coffee shop sure does make excellent cannollies."

Alazuria was fumed. She snatched her bag back from Seton and growled deep in her throat. "If you think the reason I'm siding with Damon is because I'm fucking him, you have another thing coming," she hissed.

"Oh, stop lying, Alazuria. We all know you've been hanging around him long enough for him to have wormed his way into your pants. Why else would you be with him instead of helping us?"

"Maybe because he hasn't referred to me as his 'bitch' or threatened to tear me apart if I didn't spread my legs for him. Maybe I would like some respect for once, ever think about that, Seton?"

"Respect? You get plenty of respect! The pack adores you!"

"Oh yeah, they adore the way I put out maybe. I'm sick of it, Seton. I no longer want to be a part of it."

Seton snarled then, his lips skinning back from his teeth menacingly. Alazuria flinched and took a step backward but didn't get very far. Seton's hand slid around her wrist then, his thick fingers pressing bruisingly into her flesh. He gave a brief smile before pulling her to him, the collision of their bodies jarring Alazuria to the bone. She trembled in his gasp and once again found herself trying to wrench herself free of him.

"You can't just abandon us like this!" Seton's voice was heated, angry and saliva frothed from his mouth as he spat each word out like a curse. "You know the pack law!"

"I don't give a shit anymore!" Alazuria's own voice was becoming a monstrous growl, her tone on the verge of screaming.

Seton pulled her tighter to him and bore into her with his eyes. "This is because of Salvatore's influence, isn't it?" He swallowed loudly and loosened his grip a bit. "He's put lies into your head. He's using you for his own purposes. When he disposes of us he'll forget you were even alive."

Alazuria narrowed her eyes. "That's not true," she breathed.

"Oh, but it is. I have a very reliable source."

"Who?"

"Let's just say it's an old acquaintance of his. But that's not relevant right now, is it? The bottom line is that I've got to take you back to the Lord so that he can properly discipline you. I hope you learn your lesson."

"No!" Alazuria bit down on her lip and tugged her wrist towards her as hard as she could. Surprisingly she felt the grasp around her slip and break altogether. She stumbled backward a few steps before regaining her balance. "Listen, Seton. I care about you and I don't want to see you get hurt. Ramza will do that. You've seen what he's done to Damon-"

"Damon's the enemy!" Seton glared at her but didn't make a move to grab her again. "He deserved what he got."

"Damon is not the enemy. Ramza is. Are you too blind to see that? He's going to destroy the pack and possibly even destroy himself. The Lord can no longer control him, and either can human law. He does what he wants regardless of the consequences."

Seton's face was a neutral mask. When he spoke it was barely a whisper.

"But Alazuria, I love Ramza."

Alazuria looked at him and blinked. For a moment there was silence, and then a great rush of air escaped her in the form of a sigh. "And I love Damon."

Seton's laugh was harsh as it echoed hollowly around Alazuria and it chilled her blood. She gave him a look of pure annoyance until he caught it and cut himself off abruptly. "I'm sorry Alazuria, but there's something you must know about Salvatore," he said when he had sobered. "It has something to do with you."

"What are you talking about? What could you possibly know about Damon that would concern me?"

Seton gave her a lopsided grin then shook his head. "Nothing. Nevermind." His grin grew wider. "But I do believe, from my encounter if you remember, that he's homosexual."

This time it was Alazuria's turn to smile. "Then you don't know Damon very well."

Seton shrugged. "I doesn't matter, really. He's going to lose in the long run, anyway. Our forces are way too strong for him."

"Maybe so, but Damon's clever. And he's sworn in blood to destroy Ramza and you."

Seton sneered. "He's still going to lose if he goes up against us." He gave a snort and stepped away from the bush behind him. "Now, since I give a damn about you, I'll let you leave. But don't tell anybody that I did, all right, otherwise I'll be in some deep shit. Salvatore as well as his brother and you are being hunted and I'm supposed to be the predator."

"I won't, but how do you know Damon has a brother?" Alazuria asked softly. Then added, "Thank you."

"It doesn't matter and don't mention it."

"Ah, ok. Seton?"

"Yeah?"

"I, well, I care about you too."

And with that Alazuria ducked out of the shrubbery and hurried off.

Damon stepped out of the bathroom with his hair plastered to his head and his skin flushed a bright crimson just as the hotel door burst open and Alazuria rushed in. Breathing heavily she slammed the bag in her hand down on the small bureau and slumped down into a chair.

"I take it that's breakfast?" Damon asked her as he plodded over to where the sack lay crumpled, one eyebrow raised in question.

"What's left of it," Alazuria mumbled.

Damon gingerly plucked the sagging bag from its resting place and peered inside. "There's a half eaten bagel and some squashed cannollies in here," he stated, sneering in disgust. "What the hell happened, Alazuria?"

It was on Alazuria's lips to say she had had an encounter with Seton, but she didn't want to ignite Damon's temper when it wasn't necessary. Instead she straightened up in her chair and turned a ravishing smile on him. "Um, I tripped and fell on the bag. Sorry."

Damon just shook his head and tossed the now nonedible food into the trashcan. "Your loss, not mine."

"Hey!" Elena bolted up from her seat on the floor and nearly ran headlong into Damon. She stopped about an inch in front of him and glared up into his eyes defiantly. "Why did you throw that away? I was starving!"

Damon pushed her aside roughly and snatched at the black silk shirt that lay at the foot of where Matt was still wrapped in slumber. "Then by all means feast on whatever you wish from the bag I just disposed of," he said harshly as he tugged the garment over his head.

"What?" Elena whirled around and a rush of anger suddenly roared to life inside her. "You arrogant prick! How dare you treat me like that! I demand you take me to get breakfast this instant."

Damon chuckled as he pulled on his jeans. "I don't think so, Elena."

From her place at the table Alazuria let out a laugh. Elena turned her head swiftly to glare at her but was again lured in Damon's direction by the soft drawl of his voice.

"Go get your own breakfast," he said to her, sinking down to the mattress beneath him so he could pull his boots over his feet. "I'm not your servant and I have more important work to do then cart you around all day."

"Fine!" Elena shot back, her temper getting the better of her. "I will get my own food. And you tell your brother when he wakes up that I'd like a word with him."

"That won't be a problem."

Elena didn't say anything more. Fumed, she spun on her heel and stomped out the door. Damon waited until her footsteps had disappeared down the walkway to speak.

"I thought she would have changed by now," he said softly. "But of course not. It's still her and her egocentrism. Only an ignoramus would deem her worthy of such a dramatic upheaval as smiting her selfishness." He sighed deeply and took a seat opposite Alazuria at the small table. "Want some coffee?"

Alazuria shook her head and cast her eyes down towards the table's peeling wooden finish. "Did you ever love Elena?" she asked carefully.

Damon half-turned to his brother's snoring form on the far bed and stared, his eyes looking glassy and far away. "Once," he answered stoically. "I probably still do but it's not the same anymore."

"I see." Alazuria put her hands in her lap and looked up at him. Much to her surprise he had broken his gaze away from his brother and was looking at her with eyes as black and wide as never ending voids. It was startling at first but then curiosity dawned on her and finally realization. It was her eyes she was looking into, a mirror symmetrical image of herself. A slow calm passed over her as she stared into their depths and her vision doubled for a split second.

"Damon?" she asked, hardly able to bring herself to speak. Something inside her was sparking, like a fire was about to be ignited. "Have you ever had any children?"

Damon blinked and sat back in his chair, his hands sliding down the arm rests to grip the knobs at the end of them. "Well, I-"

Suddenly he winced and a small cry of agony escaped his lips, his eyes wide and mere pinpoints as instinctively he leaned his forehead into his palm. He tried to speak but it came out in a garbled mess of growls and grunts.

Alazuria jumped from her chair, knocking it backward, and was immediately at his side. She slipped one of her small pale hands into his free one and squeezed hard enough for him to turn pupils going red with exposed blood vessels on her.

"Damon!" she shouted, her voice shrill with distress as the eyes on her lost focus and rolled up into his head. "Damon!" she tried again, shaking him by the shoulder and trying to get him to come back to rationality for even the briefest second.

Her attempts were in vain.

With a final whimper of anguish he pitched forward and lost consciousness.

X X X

"I see you've finally arrived."

Damon opened his eyes at the sound of someone's voice and pried his face from where it was stuck to the marble floor beneath him. Slowly, with the crunch and crack of bones, he pushed himself up to a sitting position and swung large, skeptical eyes around his surroundings.

He was in a spectacular room with trimmings suited for a king, complete with lavish furniture and a golden chandelier. Silver carvings of various birds of prey hung from suspension wires in the ceiling and a crowd of crows gone through the stages of taxidermy encircled him from every corner of the room. Opposite him was a large red throne that looked expensive and decorative. A figure was lying draped across it swabbed in a black velvet cloak so thick and bulky that it was hard to tell where the head started and the feet ended.

Damon stood up just as the throne's sole occupant climbed out of his seat in an amazing rush of pure energy and disappeared in a swirl of material.

Damon had a moment to look incredulous before something struck him hard between the shoulder blades and sent him crashing to his knees. He twisted himself around and quickly bolted into a predator's crouch but was stopped dead by the sharp point of a blade that, without warning, ripped through his clothing and pierced his flesh. He gasped and went spiraling back to the floor, the force of his head hitting the marble enough to steal his breath away. He counted the heartbeats until the cold steel penetrated his skin and drew blood again, but when it didn't come he lifted his head a bit and stared at the figure in the cloak curiously. A hood was covering its face but there was a gleam of an eye from beneath the fabric that seemed familiar. Curiously Damon sat up and stared.

"Show no mercy, take pleasures in the flesh, and die hard," came a voice from within the sea of velvet-lined folds. "My own personal favorite saying although I don't believe I've used it in a number of years."

Damon narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Allow me to introduce myself." A gloved hand emerged from beneath the cloak and wrapped long fingers along the hood. It gave a tug and the covering flowed backward like muscle rippling beneath the pelt of an animal.

Damon gasped as a dark head emerged and smiled at him wickedly.

"My name is Damon Salvatore," it said, its fangs glinting in the light.

Damon shook his head. "Am I dreaming?"

"Not quite," his doppelganger supplied. "You've entered a realm in your mind where enlightenment comes easy and you yourself are the key to any door you wish to unlock."

"Who are you then? I don't understand."

"I am the ideal you, a mental projection of your ideal self image. Everything you want yourself to be I am."

"I see." Damon let the information sink in for a moment. "How come I'm able to be in this mind state?"

"Normally it doesn't happen but sometimes a perfect balance is achieved with another mind in close radius and they end up fusing. The results are tremendously unpredictable ranging from the small telepathic happening to the full-blown opening of a transdimensional jumpgate. The mind you've encountered seems to be in perfect unison with yours since it sent you into this territory."

"And what exactly is this territory?"

"An altered state where you won't just see the past but be able to interact with it. Like a living stage you've already acted upon."

"Flashbacks," Damon muttered and closed his eyes. "It all makes sense now. But whose mind has been creating a unified balance with mine?"

The twin just gave a smirk. "Only genetically similar creatures can do that, which means to you it either has to be a family member or another vampire."

Damon sighed. "This is unreal."

"Oh, I know how it can seem but once we begin to journey into your past it will feel more realistic then anything you've ever experienced. You'll find yourself doubting what era you actually belong in and everything in present day will seem so ethereal. It can drive a man mad easily yet the reason is complicated. A paradox at the peak of its potential.

Damon closed his eyes. "Let's just get this over with. If there's anything the past makes me, it's not happy."

"As you wish."

With that the twin broke into harsh laughter and everything went black.

XXX

Damon awoke to the sound of somebody banging on his door. If banging was the appropriate word, that is. To him it sounded more like iron horse shoes were being lobbed at the wooden fixtures. Yawning, he stretched out on the soft linens beneath him and sat up.

"I'll be right there," he called out while rubbing the last traces of sleep from his eyes. To his relief the racket at his door stopped and he was able to pull on his clothing with a clear head. He poured himself a cup of warm red wine and drank it down before releasing the bolt from the middle of the door.

"Good morning, signore Salvatore," came a voice from the other side of the threshold. "Don't you deem it unwise to open your door whenever someone comes rapping on it? You're family and yourself has many enemies, and I could be an assassin."

Damon yawned again and stepped back.

"You, Angelo the benevolent, an assassin?" Damon chuckled and looked down at the short, lavishly-dressed man who was striding into the room as if he owned it. "Never."

Angelo took a seat at the small round table that was used for when Damon's tutors and other caretakers paid a visit. He picked up the bottle of wine and took a long swig without asking, then slammed it on the table and grinned merrily.

"Should you not be out playing morning football?" he asked.

Damon shook his head and joined him at the table. "They forbade me to play anymore. They say my tactics are a little too harsh for their standards."

Angelo poked him in the ribs playfully. "They are afraid of being tackled by a whelp like you? What cowardly dogs!"

"Trust me, Angelo, I am anything but a whelp." Damon grinned slyly.

Angelo dropped his own smile and sat back carefully, studying his fingernails and narrowing his eyes. "I know that, Damon. It is the reason I am here."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember that pretty whore I brought you? Christine?

Damon 's face went slack and he nodded slowly. "Yes, I do. What about her?"

"She was expensive."

"Yes, and I paid you your price. Or was it inadequate? Have you come to collect more money from me?"

Damon reached for a satchel that lay on an end table close by but Angelo raised one hand to stop him.

"No, it is not that I'm afraid," he said gravely. A ragged breath escaped him. "I have come to tell you that she is-"

"Sick?" Damon asked all too quickly and it sounded as if the first phantom traces of panic were creeping into his voice.

"Yes, sick she is, but that is not all. "

"Then what? I demand you tell me."

Angelo gulped and braced himself. "She is with child."

There was a moment in which time seemed to freeze and an uneasy silence stretched on. Damon's features were emotionless but there was something reflecting in his eyes that could easily be called dread.

"Mine?" he asked softly, his voice strained.

Angelo nodded. "Most definitely. You were the last one I sold her to and she did not fall ill until a few weeks after you had been with her."

When it was clear Angelo was finished speaking Damon pushed himself away from the table and turned to face his bed. He could still remember the night Christine had been there, handing him a cup of hot liquid as if she was his very own servant girl. Sometimes, while lying awake in bed at night he could still remember her fresh scent and the sensation of her soft skin against his own. She was unlike any whore he had ever known, clean and well taken care of. God, how he had-

Damon caught himself and chuckled, much to Angelo's bemusement. For a minute there he had almost said he loved her. That was a foolish thought, if he had ever had one. How could he love, if he was even capable of such an emotion, such a low form of human life?

"Very well," he said, turning towards Angelo's puzzled faced. "I wish to see her. Ready a horse at the stable for me and we will go to where she is staying at once."

Angelo nodded and slipped out the door, his entire manner obviously perplexed.

"Why did you go back to her?"

Damon stood in front of the looming estate, his eyes passing quickly over the elaborate construction of it. He knew this place. He remembered walking over the threshold many times.

Quickly, before other memories could rush over him, he turned towards his cloaked twin self.

"Yes?" he asked, having not heard the earlier question.

"I asked why you went to her when Angelo announced her pregnancy," his doppleganger hissed. Damon could make out a small wicked smile beneath the cloak's hood.

"I think you already know that," Damon answered flatly, turning back to the estate.

"Of course I do. I was just wondering if the idea has been brought to the attention of your conscious mind."

"Many times over."

"Ah, I see." Damon's twin paused. "Think you can handle those final days with her then, when the life was ebbing out of her and your name was like dried mud on her cracked and bleeding lips? And think you can handle the memory of the blood, my counterpart? Remember how it was pouring from her body as if-"

Damon whirled on his twin and grabbed him by the collar. "Chiuso tu bocca !" he snapped.

His twin just laughed. "Why? Can't you stand the truth? Or was it because she died so much like your mother? In fact, it was nearly identical, was it not? All the blood and the pain in her eyes. What a pity."

"Tu Schiumare di Mondo." Damon was working himself into a rage, his grip around his twin's throat squeezing tighter with every word. "I don't want to hear anymore of what you have to say."

"Very well." Damon's twin pried the fingers from his throat and took a step back, the last hint of a grin still plastered on his face. "We won't step foot in that home. But there is one thing you must know before your consciousness takes over."

Damon glowered but didn't protest.

"Christine had a daughter before she died," his twin went on when it was apparent Damon would not interrupt. "I believe you know this. After all, you were there. But do you remember the name of that daughter, the one that grew up to have eyes as black and fathomless as yours and hair as silky and pelt-like as your own? You held her in your arms for the briefest moment before she was bundled up and carried off. You've...we've...never been the same since that awful night, have we?"

Damon didn't answer, merely bowed his head.

His twin's tone went soft, almost compassionate. "Do you remember the child's name?" he asked, his voice full of strange emotion.

Damon looked up slowly, his brow furrowing. "She didn't have one. Angelo took her away before I could give her a proper one."

"Oh, but she did." His twin flashed a smile then dropped it just as quickly. "Would you like to know it?"

Damon looked perplexed. "Yes. Tell me."

His twin nodded. "Her name was Alazuria," he said slowly, making sure the words sunk in. "And you left her for the wolves."

X X X

Damon could hear the water from the tap; a steady dripping that mimicked the slow thumping of his heart. And it was slow, painfully slow. Decreasing every second.

Drip...drip...drip....

Thump...thump...thump....

I'm dying, he thought.

You can't die a voice echoed in his head.

Why not?

Because you are immortal.

There was a brief pause from Damon. Where am I? he asked to the phantom voice.

Open your eyes and see.

Damon's eyes did flutter open then, taking in the cracked and peeling paint of the ceiling above him. Matt was dabbing at him with a moist cloth, an expression of deep concern etched on is face. He gave a start when Damon took a ragged breath and bolted upright.

"Damon, are you alright?" Matt seemed greatly troubled. There was blood smeared on his shirt and over his hands. Even the washcloth that he had been treating Damon with was streaked a rusty brown.

"He's fine."

Damon swung his head around to find Elena standing at the side of the bed he was propped on, her arms elegantly crossed over her chest. Her expression was dark, angry and he could feel the thrumming of something hot and fierce within her. Alazuria sat behind her, on the other bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap and her head bowed.

"Are you alright?" Matt repeated and this time Damon gave a slight nod.

"I'm...I'll be ok," he stated flatly. "What happened to me?"

"You had some sort of fit," Elena supplied coolly. "Something along the lines of an epileptic one. You clawed Stefan up and nearly incapacitated the rest of us."

Damon could nearly taste the vehemence that poured off Elena and he leered viscously at her, his fangs retracted. "Why Elena, you have an extensive vocabulary. How nice."

Elena flushed a deep crimson and the fists at her sides clenched until they showed white. "Fuck you, Damon."

Matt frowned and Alazuria picked her head up. Stefan poked his head out from the bathroom to see what was going on.

Damon didn't look the slightest bit perturbed. He shrugged and made his way out of the bed, slowly at first. When he realized that nothing physical seemed to be wrong his confidence gained him velocity and he brushed past Elena, kneeling in front of Alazuria. She was staring at him with a look of grief and he took her face into his hands, brushing back the strands of silky black hair that hung in her eyes

It was true. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. Some parental instinct was kicking in and now he understood his dire need to protect her and keep her at his side. It was clear why he hadn't killed her after he had been violated by her werewolf pack. Everything was clear; the flashbacks, the similarities, the dream he had had of her. She was really his and suddenly the emotions were too overwhelming.

Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead.

She was taken aback but it was nothing compared to the shock that Damon's words brought her. "Io ti voglio bene, mio una piccola; mio solo figlia." Both Alazuria's and Stefan's jaws nearly dropped. "Riconscere?" Alazuria asked, her eyes wide with disbelief. Damon nodded, his face strangely neutral.

"She's your daughter?" Stefan asked incredulously, stepping out of the bathroom and fumbling with his hair. "How...when-"

Stefan was cut off by a growl of fury. His eyes, growing larger by the minute, fixed on Alazuria who had dragged Damon to his feet and slammed him against the wall.

Elena and Matt stepped out of the way, clearly simultaneously frightened and puzzled, the same disbelieving look on their faces.

"You slime!" Alazuria hissed at Damon, her lips skinning back from her teeth in an animal snarl, looking much like her said father at the particular time. "Tu Bastardo! You left me for dead like some unwanted article of clothing. You let me rot in that awful village, a pauper barely able to get a proper meal, while you continued to gallivant and bloat yourself with wealth. What kind of man are you that you could so easily abandon your own flesh and blood to the life of an animal and live with a clear conscious afterward? If it wasn't for your irresponsibility I would have never been taken by the werewolves!"

Alazuria was crying now, hot tears streaming down her face. She looked at Damon accusingly, her fists clenching and unclenching as if she was contemplating whether or not to strike him. Her black eyes glimmered fiercely; her breath was ragged and contorted with sobs.

There was a strange look on Damon's face. For several moments he just stared back at Alazuria, watching her curiously. Then, with a ragged breath, he moved towards her. She flinched back when he reached out but he caught her before she could evade him. Gently he tilted her head back so that he was looking into her eyes.

"Don't be angry," he whispered to her soothingly. "Angelo took you away the night you were born, after your mother passed away while giving birth. I never knew what became of you." Damon let go of her, looking away. "I'm sorry for what happened to you afterward. If I would have known-"

"You would have done nothing." Alazuria glared at him.

"I would have done everything I could for you," he shot at her.

"You're a liar. I'm surprised you even remembered my birth, since you didn't seem to recognize me until now. Knowing you it was probably one of the less important things that happened in your life."

Damon appeared cold, calculated but when he looked up at her there was obvious pain in his eyes. "Christine meant a lot to me. I loved her, and I loved you just as much. There was only one way that I could deal with the pain of your mother's death and your departure for 'the good of the Salvatore name.'" Damon looked at Stefan briefly, sneering. "I buried the memory and moved on. It was the only defense I had, and it worked. In time I forgot about all that had happened."

Alazuria eyed him warily. "So...." She seemed to be at a loss for words as she stepped closer to him; so close that he could feel the electro-magnetic pulses that thrummed beneath her skin.

Damon waited for her to go on but when she didn't he gave her a quizzical look. He was about to vocally prompt her when suddenly her arms encircled his neck. She tugged him downward, pulling him until their mouths met. Her tongue pushed past the barrier of his lips and swept across his blunted canines, causing them to retract reflectively. She probed them again, sending his brain reeling with pleasure and anticipation. If he didn't stop this now, he wasn't sure he'd be able to later. He made a move to pull away from her but suddenly some dormant emotion or reaction, he didn't know which, awoke and flared through his veins. It brought him to his knees and Alazuria crashed down with him. He stared at her, their embrace broken for the moment.

He didn't care if he had an audience; he didn't care if Stefan was gasping or Matt and Elena were unsure of what to make of the situation.

He needed Alazuria, wanted her with ferocious ambition and an animalistic drive.

He was going to have her.

His mouth enveloped her's again and he could sense the same roiling desire within her too.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

With one hand fumbling with her blouse, he pulled her forward with the other so that she was resting in his lap, her knees to either side of him. She moaned deeply, pressing herself hard against his chest and tugging at the velvet clasps of his silk collar. They came away easily, exposing an expanse of smooth, pale flesh, and she grinned with satisfaction.

And suddenly strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her away. She cried out in protest and made a grab for Damon, her fingernails sinking into any available skin. Damon hissed in pain and drew back, simultaneously breaking her grip and reflexively clutching the bleeding furrows her nails had gouged in him. Matt caught him from behind and he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

He watched as Stefan yanked the protesting Alazuria up and evaded the fists she flailed at him, his mind slowly emerging from its sexual daze. Alazuria continued to lash out at her captor, hissing and growling like a wild animal. Stefan, although quick and agile, was caught by her blows more then once and he shot Damon a look of growing exasperation. When Damon just stared blankly he spoke.

"I could use some help here, Damon," Stefan nearly growled, dodging the fingers that clawed for his eyes.

Several moments ticked by until Damon nodded and stepped forward, reaching out to grab Alazuria's shoulder. As soon as his fingers made contact she ceased her attack on Stefan and spun around, her teeth clenched and her hands hooked into claws.

"It's alright," he said to her reassuringly. "Although I'm not sure why, I know that you're angry. If there's anything I understand out of what just occurred between you and I, it's that."

The words were all it took to bring Alazuria back to her senses. Choking back a sob, her grimace melted and gradually her muscles went slack.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, stepping back and colliding with Stefan. "I-I don't know what came over me. I just don't know how to ex-explain it. I'm sorry, again."

Damon sighed. "At least nobody's hurt." When Stefan glowered at him he added. "Seriously hurt, I mean."

Alazuria sniffled, looked briefly up at Stefan, and said nothing.

"Don't worry," Damon told her. "I think Stefan can forgive you for nearly rendering him blind. After all, he forgave me for the hell I put him through over the centuries."

Alazuria cracked a smile, despite the tears that had formed earlier in her eyes.

Damon smiled lazily back at her, proud of her appreciation of the joke, then held out his hand. "Now, why don't you come with me?"

She slid her hand into his without question, although her manner was slightly wary. "Where?" she asked.

"I made a promise to seek out Elena's little sister and I usually don't break promises."

"Where is she?"

Damon lead her towards the hotel room's door before answering. "She was kidnapped. I have a strong feeling it was done by your werewolf pack."

"They aren't my pack anymore."

"Good." Damon yanked open the door and turned to face Stefan. "Take Matt and Elena to Elena's Aunt Judith's house," he ordered him. "I'll meet you there shortly."

"I'd rather go with you," Matt informed Damon, stepping past an expressionless Stefan.

"Very well. Come on then."

Damon ushered him and Alazuria over the threshold and went to do so himself. Something struck him then and he paused halfway through the door.

"Oh, and Elena," he added.

"Yeah, Damon?" she replied.

"If you try to put any moves on my brother I will personally rip your throat out. You have hurt him enough and he doesn't need anymore emotional scars from your petty love."

With the door slamming shut behind him, Damon exited leaving a bewildered Stefan and a fumed Elena.

Part 13:

Margaret sat on the eroded moss-coated rock that loomed like a hulking giant in the mud, her eyes wide and staring at the creature before her.

It was a wolfman, like the monster she had seen in the old black and white movie that Uncle Robert had watched one late night with her. This one seemed different then the theatrical one, though. It was a huge wolf with a human's characteristics instead of a man with a wolf's characteristics and far scarier then the movie version. Still, she had no fear. The movie had also failed to strike fear into her heart. It intrigued her, that a wolf could disguise itself as a man and maybe exist amongst the mortal world. Aunt Judith had told her it was all rubbish, make-believe, and way beyond the boundaries of any reality.

Yet here was one, standing before her and sniffing her without any hostility.

"We should just let her go," he rumbled and Margaret was taken aback about the fact that he could talk. "She's of no use to us."

Another wolfman, one Margaret hadn't seen earlier, emerged from the shadows and bared it's teeth.

"We were supposed to get Damon and we lost him because of you and your stupid conceitedness." This wolfman had an edge to his voice, a familiar voice she thought, and she could tell that he was far from friendly. "This girl I found lost in the woods, Margaret, is the next best thing. She means a lot to Damon and might be of use to your Lord."

Damon? Margaret remembered that name. It was one of her dead sister Elena's friends; the one Elena had shown Margaret's kitty, Snowball, to at the pre-Thanksgiving dinner her aunt had prepared two years ago.

"He's got a point." A third wolfman emerged from the bushes and showed himself. He was immensely huge, with red fur and dried blood matted to his snout. The remains of a dead rabbit carcass hung from his mouth and he crunched on it indifferently. "The Lord could use her for ransom. It would lure Salvatore, both Salvatores', to him like flies to honey. Then he could make easy work of them."

"With all due respects, Ramza, I do not believe the Lord wishes to give them a quick death," the first werewolf piped up.

"You may be right," Ramza replied, his furred scruff ruffling. "Still, the girl is of use to him either way. We bring her to him, no questions."

"I agree," the second, familiar werewolf voiced. "Pleasing your Lord is probably the best thing on my agenda, right?"

"I'd say so, Tyler," Ramza told him.

Margaret's mind reeled. Was that crazy Tyler Smallwood, who lived alone in the woods and never associated with the locals of Fell's Church? It made sense if it was. Perfect sense.

Suddenly the first wolfman, the one that had appeared the friendliest, was pushing his snout up against her face. "Tyler is going to watch you for a bit, Margaret," he told her, reassuring her with licks and rubs. "Don't try anything funny or he'll hurt you. I mean it. If you be good for him I'll make sure no harm comes to you."

"Seton," Ramza called. "Leave the kid alone and come on. We don't have much time and I'm starving."

"You just ate," Seton informed him, giving Margaret a final lick before bounding off after Ramza.

Ramza looked down at the rabbit's foot that dangled from his jowls. "Hardly a meal," he growled as he avoided a fallen log.

Seton caught up with him and, dropping to all fours, slowed to a languid walk. "May I have the remains then?" he asked, his bushed tail wagging expectantly.

Ramza laughed throatily. "Take it if you want."

Seton needn't anymore encouragement. Hungrily he lunged for the piece of meat that hung from his mate's mouth and sunk his teeth into it. He gave it a tug and it came away in a spray of bodily matter.

In one large bone-crushing bite he ground it to a pulp and swallowed it. His tail began its exuberant wagging again as Ramza leaned his head over and licked the remaining blood and flesh from his muzzle.

"Now it's time for a proper meal," Ramza announced when he was finished. He stopped in his tracks and rose up on to his hind legs, snout sniffing the crisp air. "And I scent human near by."

With that, Ramza broke into a run. Seton stood behind, doubt sloshing back and forth in his predatory mind.

And suddenly he too was running through the woods, following close on Ramza's heel.

"Margaret was here."

Damon stood staring across the stream, one leg propped upon a huge moss-covered rock before him.

The same one Margaret had been sitting on, he thought. He could smell her scent focused around this particular area and he growled to himself. There was another scent lurking here amongst the trees and shrubbery. The mingled scent of man and wolf that had been lingering since they had started on the woodland path.

"She's with the werewolves," he told Matt and Alazuria, who stood flanking him like loyal guard dogs.

"Now what?" Matt asked. "I mean, what do you think they're planning to do with her?"

"I suspect nothing at the moment. Which means we shouldn't panic yet. If they took her, then they're up to something and she's valuable to them. They won't harm her until they've executed what they've planned."

"What if they're planning to eat her?"

"They would have already done that," Alazuria chimed in.

"And how do you know they didn't?"

"She was here and there's no blood on the ground," Alazuria pointed out. "Have you ever seen a werewolf kill, Matt? They are particularly bloody and gruesome and there doesn't seem to be any signs of such an occurrence here."

Matt nodded. "Alright, then. Damon?"

He shrugged. "There's nothing we can really do at this stage. Unless, of course, we confront them head on."

"You mean bust in running and screaming?"

He nodded. "It would be the quickest way to settle things. Once and for all."

"It would be suicide," Alazuria protested, shaking her head as he turned to her. "The Lord is heavily guarded by the pack. I've never seen any outsiders get past the front line."

Damon grinned wickedly. "You're about to."

"We'll get killed doing it but-"

"You mean I'll get killed," Damon cut Matt off with sharply. "I can't risk losing either of you."

"What's the point of keeping us alive if you're dead?" Matt demanded.

"I won't die. Five centuries has made me smarter then that."

"But, what if you do?"

Damon sighed and began to walk back along the path they had come from. "I love you Matt, and I love Alazuria as my only known child. I've lived my time and I grow wary. You two, on the other hand, have many years ahead of you. Even you, Alazuria, who has lived almost as long as I have. You're still na�ve and both your lives are far more valuable then my own. That is why I am leaving you at Elena's Aunt Judith's house where you will remain safely until I am finished with my battle. That is my final choice."

"You're ludicrous, Dam-I mean father," Alazuria snapped, catching up to him. "You went up against the Master and you hardly were able to defeat him. He wasn't even half as powerful as the Lord."

"I'll hear no arguments. I already told you I've made my final decision."

"Alright, then. If you really don't want our help we won't supply it."

Damon said nothing.

Alazuria cursed silently and let Damon walk ahead of her. She grabbed Matt and pulled him to her. When Damon was out of earshot, she whispered, "Don't worry. He can't afford to leave me behind because I'm the only one who knows where the werewolves are currently residing."

"What about me?" Matt asked, his eyebrows in his hair.

"Don't worry about that either." Alazuria smiled, mimicking one of Damon's electric ones. "I'm his daughter. I have a few tricks up my own sleeve."

Matt eyed her strangely before breaking into a run and catching up with Damon, hoping that everything would turn out in their favor.

"And that's all true?"

Elena broke her gaze away from her plate of barely eaten food and looked up, nodding at her Aunt Judith. "Everything," she sighed.

Meredith gave Elena's arm a reassuring squeeze from under the dining room table.

"Well," Aunt Judith was continuing, her face neutral and her fork tangled in a helping of spaghetti. She gave a cursory glance at Stefan, who was standing at the window staring out through the dusty pane of glass. "This is all a bit hard to swallow, but I do believe you. It explains a lot of things."

Elena let out a breath of relief. "Thank you for not denying all this," Elena said, a small smile crossing her features. "I appreciate it."

Aunt Judith returned the smile from across the table. "It's just good to have you back."

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Elena fidgeted with her utensils as Aunt Judith looked at her, then Meredith.

"Well, I should go see if Robert's done with the main course. He's been in the kitchen quite some time."

Aunt Judith strode out of the room as if nothing had changed and Elena visibly relaxed in her seat. She was afraid her aunt would deem her story hard to swallow but instead it had been quite the opposite. Maybe her aunt was more open minded then she had given her credit for.

As if reading her mind, Meredith turned to her and smiled with an air of easiness. "That went well," she commented.

Elena nodded in agreement and returned the smile, although not whole-heartedly.

Stefan, who had been quiet since they had left the hotel earlier that evening, turned to them suddenly. "We have company," he said, his voice low and emotionless, drawing both girls' attention immediately.

Meredith and Elena were about to ask who was coming when the front door swung open and Damon strode casually over the threshold with Matt and Alazuria trailing behind him. He took one look at Elena and gave an electric smile.

"Invitations last forever," he quipped, having the satisfaction of seeing her lips grow taught with frustration. His smile grew larger, and he turned his attention to Stefan. "I know who has Margaret," he said simply.

Elena stood straight up in her chair then and gripped the edge of the table hard. Meredith reached over and gently pried her whitening fingers from their grasp. "Take it easy," she whispered soothingly, clutching the hand in her own.

"Please tell me she's not dead, Damon," Elena whispered, tears threatening.

"She's not dead."

Elena let out a sigh of relief.

"A pack of werewolves have her."

"What?" Elena rose from her chair, knocking it down. It hit the polished wood floor loudly and the sound reverberated around the room.

"What's all that commotion?" Aunt Judith called from the kitchen.

"Nothing!" Elena called back, hoping her aunt was still helping Robert in the kitchen. "I just knocked over my chair."

"Really, Elena try to be a little more careful. Those chairs are antiques."

"Sure, I will." Elena lowered her voice and fixed her glare on Damon. "We have to find Margaret. Now."

"Wrong," Damon replied. "Stefan and I have to go find Margaret. The rest of you are staying here. The werewolves are too strong for you to stand up against."

"I don't care, Damon. We're all going, no matter what you say."

Damon sneered. "Don't be stupid."

"I'm not being stupid. I'm doing this for Margaret. Wouldn't you do the same if it was Stefan?"

At last Elena had the satisfaction of seeing Damon's expression go soft. He looked away, letting out a breath, and said nothing.

"You need me to go with you anyway," Alazuria chimed in. Damon didn't look at her but she knew he was listening. "I'm the only one who knows where the pack is taking up residence."

"I could always get you to tell me the location," Damon quipped, his eyes slowly meeting hers, glinting with challenge.

"You'd never make it," she snapped back, her own eyes reflecting his. "The Lord werewolf has powers that could rival any vampire. It's how he keeps his pack from being discovered. Anybody who even comes close to their home becomes disoriented or is killed. Only a pack member is immune to the effects."

"And you're just telling me this now?"

"I didn't think we'd actually have to fight them. We still don't, you know. They'll eventually move on."

"The hell we don't."

"Damon, please. It's suicide. There's more of them then what you've seen. A whole family line. They'll tear you apart easily."

Damon smiled, but it was cold and viscous. "Let's see them try."

Alazuria sighed. "If that's the way you want it, we'd better get going then."

"Leaving so soon?"

Everybody turned around to see Aunt Judith standing there with a bowl in her hands, her expression flustered.

"Yes," Damon answered for everyone. "We know where Margaret is and we're going to rescue her."

The bowl in Aunt Judith's hands wavered then crashed to the floor entirely, spilling its contents every which way.

"Oh, thank God," she breathed, putting her hands over her heart. "You really are a good soul."

Damon just grinned. "Some may beg to differ."

"Come on," Elena interrupted sternly, heading for the front door. "We don't know how much time we have and we don't know what...." She cut herself off abruptly and choked down a wave of panic. "Let's just get out of here."

With that she yanked open the door and went outside. She didn't look back to see if anybody was following her.

Damon turned to his brother. "You take Meredith and hunt down some weapons. My car's out front with the keys in the ignition. We'll meet you...." He turned to Alazuria for assistance.

"The woods bordering the graveyard," she supplied. "Be there in an hour."

"Right," Stefan acknowledged.

Aunt Judith looked discouraged. "Weapons? The Graveyard?" she asked. "Oh dear. This sounds serious."

"Don't worry," Damon reassured her. "We've faced worse."

He gave one last smile before leaving the house, Alazuria and Matt in tow.

Stefan let out sigh when they were gone. "Well, looks like this is it. Ready to go, Meredith?"

Meredith just nodded, her face expressionless.

But beneath both their cool exteriors their hearts were pounding in their throats.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to use this against the werewolves?"

Stefan grinned from where he sat on a dilapidated stone bench that bordered the boundaries between the new and old graveyards. He watched, amused, as Matt hefted the small but brutal ax and slammed the handle against his cupped hand.

"Yes," he answered. "It will be much easier to use then that." He made a gesture towards Meredith who was kneeling on the soft earth fiddling with a large crossbow, Alazuria at her side showing her how to load the weapon the correct way.

Matt stole a glance at them, wondering vaguely why Meredith was the one handling the large equipment, then turned to Elena. She was leaning against a smooth marble headstone, her slender hand clutched firmly around the heavy handle of an eight inch silver blade. There was another one tucked away safely in her belt sheath, ready to be drawn if necessary. Matt just hoped she knew how to use them. He had a hunch that the upcoming battle was not going to be an easy one.

"Is everyone ready to go?" Damon melted out of the looming shadows, silently, as if he had just materialized.

Meredith stood up, one hand wrapped tightly around the handle of the crossbow and the other supporting it from underneath, along with Alazuria.

Alazuria gave a barely perceptible nod and pointed to a wooded area that grazed the west side of the cemetery gates. "We have to go that way," she said.

"I'll take the lead then," Damon said.

"I don't think so," Alazuria snapped back. "You have no idea where you're going, and I've already told you that anybody who comes too close to their home and isn't part of the pack will become disoriented or get eaten. You would never make it."

"I'll make it. I've survived much worse over the centuries. I can surely survive this."

"The hell you will."

"I-"

Alazuria was quick. Quicker then Damon expected. There was just the rush of air and the realization that bone was about to collide with bone before her fist slammed right into his jaw. There was a moment of blinding pain and then the world exploded into agonizing streaks of red as something, a foot or fist, he wasn't sure, caught him low in the abdomen.

He staggered and fell to his knees.

Suddenly there was a hand on his head, gripping his hair. A sharp wrench and he was staring up into the deep black eyes of Alazuria. Stefan was behind her, holding her by the shoulders but not pulling her off, and Matt stood on the sidelines looking confused.

Both Meredith and Elena were trying to hold back laughter.

"Stop being such a smart ass," Alazuria hissed at Damon. "Now, I am going to take the lead and you are going to follow me. No questions asked."

"Fine," Damon spat out like a curse. "But don't ever pull a stunt like this on me again. Now let me up."

Alazuria grinned and released the grip she had on his hair and Stefan let go of her. Damon climbed to his feet slowly, dusting his clothes off. He stared at Alazuria, not with fury but with a heated curiosity.

Before he could say anything she leaned in close to him and licked a spot of blood that had beaded on his lips.

"Just what the hell are you?" he asked in a husky voice after she had pulled away.

Alazuria smiled broadly. "I believe you've asked me that before, only last time it was in Italian." She sighed. "I really wish I knew, though."

"Hopefully we'll be finding out shortly," Stefan chimed in. "The situation is beginning to become quite tedious, isn't it?"

"I just want some answers and the werewolves dead," Damon replied. "The sooner we get going the sooner we accomplish that." He turned to Alazuria. "So, great leader, why don't you show us the way?"

Alazuria rolled her eyes and started down the dirt path that wound through the graveyard. She didn't look behind her to see if any of them were following her; she didn't need to. She could feel their presence's at her back. Two of them were much stronger then the others, creeping along her skin like snaking phantoms. She knew these were Damon's and Stefan's and that they were probably at the rear of the group.

Sandwiching the humans between two preternatural creatures and an unknown was always a good idea when conducting a werewolf hunt. It prevented the possibility of one of the humans getting slaughtered easily by an attack from behind.

Alazuria just hoped that the werewolves that guarded the pack home and roamed the forest wouldn't be too pugnacious tonight. If they wanted to fight she was sure that even with the weapons her group was doomed. The werewolves were just stronger, more heavily numbered, and meaner. Once they attacked it was pretty much hopeless from there on in.

Gulping, she straightened her posture and lead the way into the mouth of the woods, the blackness shrouding the trees reminding her that werewolves were most at home in the darkened woods.

"Hey, Seton!"

Seton's eyes fluttered open and he spread himself along the wide branch supporting him, his bones popping in response. He yawned, the muscles in his jaw straining, and rose into a sitting position, his back propped up against the trunk of the tree and his legs dangling to either side of him. The only article of clothing he wore were a pair of loose and battered jeans.

"What the hell are you doing up there?" the voice called again, angrily, and Seton rolled his eyes in the general direction of the ground. There was a member of his pack in their werewolf form standing at his full height there. A blaze of white that streaked along his muzzle and belly were the only markings that marred his completely black pelt.

"None of your business, Alex," Seton snapped, and then suddenly threw himself off the branch.

Alex yelped in concern but Seton landed neatly on his bare feet. The six-foot drop hadn't even phased him.

Alex quickly gathered his composure, ashamed at his ignorance, and stared stonily at the older werewolf. "Ramza said it's your watch," he said without expression. Then, with an afterthought, "Why aren't you in your wolfskin?"

Seton sneered at the na�ve youth, showing teeth not entirely human. "Spending too much time as a full wolf is risky."

"Yeah, yeah I know," Alex half-whined. "The bad guys."

"Not even that," Seton replied, sighing. "Sometimes it's just plain bad for your soul."

Alex laughed then, cruel and throatily, mocking his elder. "What's next from your mouth? You going to maybe tell me about the great wheel of karma or how everything in life must form the yin and the yang to sustain balance?"

"No," Seton returned seriously.

Alex moved closer, nearly touching Seton. "Maybe you can tell me about the Kama Sutra, then." Alex laughed and gave him a dig in the ribs. "I hear you've been studying it intensely."

Suddenly Seton lost it. One moment he was growling over the noise of Alex's grating laughter and then the next he was aiming for Alex's muzzle, palm open.

He hit the youth with a heavy backhand swing and was delighted when a howl of agony filled the void where the still night air had been.

"Why'd you do that?" Alex demanded, his eyes full of confusion and distrust. "I didn't do anything wrong. You aren't supposed to do that unless I'm causing trouble or disobeying. It's pack law."

Seton didn't answer. He just turned his back on Alex and began walking away.

"Hey, answer me," Alex called to him. "Why are you being so cruel? What's the deal with you lately?"

Seton still did not answer.

"Fine, then," Alex shouted, his tone growing darker. "I'll make sure The Lord hears about this. He'll make you pay for being such a crabass."

With that, the youth lopped off into the darkness, growling and whimpering to himself.

Seton just shook his head and walked on, beginning his night watch and the search for food.

Damon crouched beside were Alazuria sat on the pine-laden ground just as a figure crashed through the bushes and made a noise that was neither human nor animal. By the looming bulk of its figure and the bright lime green eyes that were staring at him with a quiet hostility he could tell it was a werewolf.

Instinctively he sprung up and stood in front of Alazuria, his teeth bared in a sneer. Matt left his place in the group, who were sitting on scattered rocks amongst the trees and rigid with apprehension, and went to stand beside Damon. He brandished his ax like a baseball bat, ready to swing it if he had to.

Suddenly the werewolf laughed. Damon and Matt were taken off guard by it. They relaxed slightly, but Damon didn't let down his guard and Matt still held the ax at the ready.

"Now what do we have here?" came a voice that was half-growl. It laughed again, and this time the sound was smooth and silky, almost hypnotic. "A couple of humans, two vampires, and a ...." He trailed off, raising his snout to the air and snuffing loudly. He stopped abruptly, his tail going rigid, and took a step forward. "Alazuria?" he asked, peering between Damon and Matt. "Is that you?"

Alazuria climbed to her feet and slipped between the two men protecting her. She looked the werewolf up and down, noting the white streaks that marred his black fur like scars, and smiled.

"Alex," she said, and blessed her luck. Alex was a cub still, too na�ve and too stupid yet to recognize his enemies. He trusted everyone, and followed blindly. Plus, she was his favorite playmate. Nobody else in the pack could tolerate him, and nobody else wanted too. He was just the werewolf she could probably persuade into bringing them to the Lord.

Alex yipped and licked her face in greeting, his mouth opening in a lupine grin. She did the same, his soft fur sticking to her tongue and tickling her throat.

"Are these your friends?" he asked when she pulled away, looking around the small clearing. His tail was going a mile a minute, like an overzealous puppy.

"Yes," Alazuria told him. "I was taking them to our home for a meal. Do you think you can escort us?"

"Our home? But the Lord says only pack and other werewolves are aloud to come to our home."

"Do you follow everything the Lord says?"

Alex averted his eyes and scratched the back of his furry neck, a very human gesture. "Well...no."

"Then can you do this for me?" Alazuria pleaded. "Just this once."

Alex sighed. "All right. I'm going to talk to the Lord myself, anyway." He smiled again, his elation coming back at full force. "I like having the company."

"Thanks, Alex. I owe you one." She turned around to Damon and gave him one of his own lightning grins.

He grinned back.

Alazuria's plan was going to be almost as easy as hunting down humans.

Part 14:

"We have trespassers."

Tyler stopped tearing at the chunk of bloodied deer meat before him and looked up, ears swiveling forward. Ramza was approaching him and he was surprised to see that the brutish werewolf was in human form.

He looked dangerous. And young, maybe in his twenties. His hair cascaded into his eyes like a faded red curtain and the well- toned muscles that were clearly defined in his arms gave him an even more menacing presence.

But it was something else that made Tyler wary of him.

Dangling on a leather strap that crossed his bare chest was a very large, ominous-looking gun. There was another strap that crisscrossed over the other one. It held a hunting knife and some rounds of bullets.

Tyler eyed the weapons and rose to his hind legs. "What's with the arsenal?" he asked.

Ramza smiled coldly. "Vampire reinforcements," he answered. "Damon should be arriving here shortly along with his pathetic little brigade and one of our whelps. They shouldn't be too hard to handle, but you should never underestimate the opponent." His smile widened.

"Right," Tyler acknowledged, still bothered by the weapons. "So what should I do?"

"Just sit tight until we overpower them. I doubt we'll need you to fight so you're free to do what you want for awhile. Just don't bother the Lord. He can get quite... testy."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Good." Ramza hefted his gun. "Oh, and one more thing." He stepped closer to Tyler and aimed the muzzle at his forehead. "You get out of line, you deny my orders, or you fuck anything important up and I'll make sure to decorate the walls of this house with your blood. Understand?"

Tyler nodded, a soft whine escaping his muzzle.

Ramza pulled the gun away and shook his head. "Pathetic," he murmured. Then, loudly, "Now make yourself scarce."

Tyler did as told, scurrying off down the corridor. Ramza watched him go for a few seconds then growled and walked away.

He didn't know what the Lord saw in that creature. Sure, the boy had a reputation but so far he hadn't lived up to it. All he did was whine, eat, and wonder when he was going to get laid.

He was just as bad as their youngest whelp, Alex.

Ok, so Alex was worse. Or maybe he was just stupider. The werewolf had gotten lost in his own territory several times since the three months they had been living in Fell's Church. The Last time he hadn't been able to find his way home for four days. He was also gullible, so much that he believed all werewolves were immortal, a lie told to him by Ramza himself, and that the Lord liked it if you spoke of their prime antagonist, Damon Salvatore, excessively and with praise. The Lord must have been more tolerant then he had thought cause he hadn't ripped the little bugger apart.

Yet.

It didn't matter though. Ramza was making a vow, and he was planning on following through with it.

By the end of the day he would have both Tyler and Alex gutted and butchered, ready for the Lord's evening meal. Maybe he would get promoted for weeding out such disgraceful contributions, if you could call them that, to the pack. The Lord was unpredictable in his actions but Ramza was feeling lucky.

Cradling the gun in both hands, he headed in the direction of the main entrance, smiling widely and whistling a tune.

The doors were made of some ancient wood, but they were extremely large and solid. Plus, a thick two by four bolt lay across both doors and made sure nobody could ram their way in. The house was as strongly protected as it could ever be. There was no way in hell Salvatore and his army could break through. The pack would definitely have the upperhand.

But what he wasn't counting on was Salvatore having a heavy werewolf as an ally.

Ramza stopped dead in his tracks when something large hit the outside of the doors with a 'thud. It was followed by a loud snapping noise, which he quickly realized was the bolted two by four. There was a split down its middle and it was already starting to splinter.

The thing outside threw itself against the doors again and the two by four nearly broke in half.

"Shit," Ramza whispered, sliding his hand near the trigger of the gun. He hadn't thought they would be that strong.

There was a moment of silence as he checked the ammunition of his weapon and then the final blow was struck.

He watched, surprised, as one of the doors was torn viscously off its hinges. The wood strongholding it bowed and finally broke completely in half.

And the angry snarl that came next almost frightened Ramza for the first time in his life. He raised the gun a bit as the creature stepped through the now open doorway and raised itself to its full height.

Ramza saw the black and white streaks and lime green eyes as it came into view and immediately sneered.

Alex.

But it wasn't like Alex to crash through the main door snarling and looking ready to rip someone's throat out.

The sneer turned into a frown and he lowered the gun a bit.

Alex was harmless, even when he was at his most savage.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

He watched as the young werewolf came forward, slowly.

"You hurt Alazuria," he snarled at Ramza, his voice thick with rage.

A sick feeling washed over Ramza and he watched Alex stalk towards him.

Alex bared his teeth. "She told me. Everything." He lowered himself to four legs, his strides larger now. "You sick bastard. You deserve to die. In agony. This whole Pack does. There's no honor among werewolves who slaughter and rape people mercilessly." He shook his furry head. "All the lies that I've been told, all the times I just shutup and played stupid. You all think I'm just some na�ve whelp but the pack is the one that drove me to be that. To play an act or get torn apart. "

His eyes glowed fiercely. He was standing inches from Ramza and he stopped in his tracks.

Ramza's mind was reeling. Alex was actually intelligent. This was ridiculous. There was no way in hell that Alex could have been playing an act all along. It just couldn't be.

Then again, you'd have to pretty smart to fool an entire pack like that.

Ramza stared at Alex for a few moments then took a step back. Fear was beginning to gnaw at his gut. Fear and something else he didn't understand. He sweating, he could feel it. His palms were clammy on the gun and they slipped along the metalwork clumsily.

Alex let his jaw drop, showing large sharp teeth. He was beginning to understand Seton's line about how too much time spent in the wolfskin was bad for the soul, but at the moment he didn't care. He would gladly have a black soul for the opportunity to crush Ramza's bones between his teeth. He had always hated Ramza, but what he had done too Alazuria and her friend Damon had put the finishing touches on his hatred. Ramza was a monster in the truest sense and there was no means of death or torture that was suitable for him.

It would have to do just to tear him apart, then. Piece by piece so that he was alive through the whole process. It wasn't the worst way to go but it was at least inhumane.

"I am going to kill you," Alex stated flatly, his eyes narrowing to slits. "It's going to hurt very badly. You're going to feel every tear of your flesh, every render of your skin. And I promise I'll be merciless."

Ramza laughed. Now here was something that was funny!

"No whelp is going to kill me," he snapped back, overconfidently. "And if you do happen to succeed the Lord will have you destroyed. I'm important to his pack."

Alex smiled then, his teeth poking out. "The Lord happens to like me better. A lot better. Besides, he is going to die tonight too."

Ramza laughed harder. "You can't kill the Lord! He's immortal. You're not even near strong-"

There was a sudden swipe of claws and the Ramza screamed. There was pain. A lot of searing, gut churning pain. He looked down to see claw marks gouged across his chest, red-hot blood spilling forth from them. It was thick and sticky and even though the wounds were already beginning to close it was still slipping down his skin. He screamed again, rage boiling in his veins, and balled his fists.

Quickly he dropped his gun and shifted into his wolf skin.

Alex bunched his muscles and readied himself for the assault of the red-orange werewolf that was now looming above him. As he was about to pounce claws swung downward towards his muzzle. He jumped backwards, rearing up on his hind legs and narrowly avoiding their impact.

Ramza retaliated for his missing blow by charging straight towards Alex, fangs bared and claws outstretched, but Alex was swift as well as agile. He bent himself low to the ground and made a head-on collision with Ramza's stomach. Ramza let out a wheezing gasp as the breath was knocked out of him and then both of them tumbled to the ground.

Alex wasted no time in making crucial moves. He quickly scrambled across Ramza's struggling form and raised his claws to swipe them across the werewolf's face.

That's when the first wave hit him.

He screamed and threw himself backward, crawling back against the far wall and doubling over.

The second wave hit just as badly and he dug at his head in obvious pain.

A whimper escaped his lips and he found himself unable to catch his breath. He panted, his large tongue lolling to one side of his mouth. The dizziness began to seep in and blackness danced across his vision.

He wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. In a few seconds he was going to-

Pain like a thousand needles stabbed suddenly in his chest and lost his grip on the world. His body sagged, then flopped to the ground as unconsciousness overtook him.

Ramza made sure it was safe until he sat up. He looked at Alex's immobile form, shook his head, then let his jowls open in a grin.

Well, that certainly was luck.

He checked his body briefly before getting to his hind legs, satisfied that he had lived through the battle unscathed.

"Well, that certainly should show him not to plot against us," came a voice.

Ramza spun around and he was suddenly overcome with awe. He dropped to his knees and bowed to what he could only imagine was the werewolf. In the flesh. The long flowing black hooded robe with gold trimming was his first indication. The second was the shear size of the werewolf. He had to be at least twelve feet tall and as wide as two werewolves across. The claws on his long human-like hands were enormous and thick, tapering down to points like miniature daggers. The Lord's face was not visible beneath the hood, but he regarded him with the proper deference anyway.

"Lord, what an honor it is to finally meet you," Ramza groveled.

The Lord didn't speak, only laughed throatily and briefly. When he had quieted he stepped forward and came into the light. What Ramza had mistaken for a hood was not a hood at all. It was a facemask attached to the robe. Only the point of the Lord's muzzle, his eyes, and his ears shown.

Ramza had to wonder just what he was hiding.

"Damon and his allies should be just outside the main gate," the Lord said, turning burning eyes on Ramza. Ramza couldn't decipher their color beneath the hood's shadow. "They should be unconscious, so get some members of the pack to help you collect them and ready the vehicles." He pointed at Alex. "And take him too."

Ramza nodded, getting to his feet. "May I just ask where we are going?"

A smile could be seen on the parts of the Lord's jowls that were exposed. He turned away and started walking down the hall. "Of course. We're going to visit the college stronghold."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows of the foyer.

***

Don't worry, it's not your fault.

There was no reply.

Everybody's safe, although I don't know what they have in store for you.

I've failed. It doesn't matter what they do to us now. If I had stopped thinking about myself all this time it would have been over with already.

His voice was defeated, drained of energy.

She stroked his hair gently.

I think you were extremely unselfish. What you've done, what you've been trying to do for Fell's Church and Elena's aunt Judith and everybody else that's relying on you has nothing to do with what you can gain from it. I'm very impressed.

He smiled.

You weren't like this last time, you know.

I know. But it's serious now. This is the biggie. This is where you get your chance to be our...well, not to sound corny but our savior.

I can't do it, though. I'm weak right now. I can sense it. Besides, I'm not my brother. I can't save the day and think I'll be greeted with shiny, happy, faces. Matt and Alazuria are supportive, but the other three just don't trust me. They never really did, and they probably never will.

They support you enough to put their lives into your hands.

Silence from him.

Please don't do this.

She moved away from his fetus-positioned form, sighing.

I don't know which one of you Salvatores is worse. God....

She looked at him until he twisted around to look at her.

Stefan. Definitely.

He smiled whimsically and after a moment she did too.

I miss you all.

He sat up, his mood darkening.

I know, Bonnie. I understand how you feel. And I swear they're all going to pay for this, every single last werewolf in that pack. I'll avenge your death if it...if it kills me.

Thank you, Damon. Just be prepared. The pack leader knows you too well. He knows how you think and what moves you'll make.

What? What are you talking about? Bonnie? Bonnie!

Bonnie was already fading out, her ghostly form just a shimmer of energy in the air.

Bonnie! Shit! Not again!

The last traces of her presence dispersed and then disappeared.

And suddenly Damon's eyes fluttered open.

He blinked and raised himself slowly from the cold stone floor working out the cramps in his legs and back. He must have been lying on the floor for quite sometime because he felt as if his whole body had been compacted then stretched like an accordion.

His first step nearly sent him spiraling flat on his face.

Something was very wrong here.

He tried to take a small step forward again and was overcome by dizziness. Slowly he sank to his knees and looked around.

And there it was, right in plain sight. A large contour symbol carved into the middle of the stone wall and sealed in blood.

"It's a vampire ward. Similar to the barrier of a house we haven't been invited into yet."

Damon turned slowly to see his brother Stefan leaning with his back against the wall, his head tilted upward and his eyes closed. He had his mouth slightly open and his fangs protruded a bit.

"How do you know?" he asked slowly.

"I can feel it," Stefan answered, opening his eyes. "Can't you?"

Damon shook his head. "I'm weak. I think they did something to me when I got knocked unconscious."

Stefan shrugged.

Damon mused for awhile, looking at the carving, at the steel door beneath it, then at Stefan. "Where are the others?" he asked.

"The werewolves took them."

Damon looked at the door again, pondering. If he could just muster enough energy to make it maybe it was-

Suddenly the door swung inward.

Ramza stepped through, his red fur bristling and his scruff standing upright. He paused in front of Damon, sniffed the air briefly, then looked down.

"The Lord will see you now," he snarled, and before Damon could make a move he grabbed him roughly by the neck of his T-shirt and dragged him to his feet. "Don't try anything funny or I'll tear your throat out."

Damon said nothing, only allowed himself to be pulled through the doorway and down the hall to what could only be described as a neglected auditorium. He could tell nobody had sat in this place for years. The echos of commencement were long gone and the smell of the place was faintly musty. It was pitch black save for a few little candelabras along the ruined stage and he wondered how Ramza or any of the werewolves could see in this place.

Without notice he was pulled to a halt and hit swiftly upside the head. Despite his weakened state he felt rage and anger boil in his veins, and he quickly spun around, breaking the unsuspecting Ramza's grasp. He poised himself for an attack. Ramza just laughed and swung carelessly at him. The blow clipped his shoulder and sent him tumbling to the ground.

He got to his feet quickly, refusing to give in to defeat, and this time he was quick enough to see the blur of Ramza's claws slicing towards his chest. He ducked quickly to the side, seeming to flow like water, using the speed and grace of the hunter.

There were just some preternatural gifts that could not be bound no matter how strong the seal.

Ramza was coming towards him, giving up on his claws as a weapon and resorting to his razor sharp teeth, which he bared savagely as he dropped to all fours.

Apparently Ramza was not too bright. He had just put himself in a position for some serious pummeling.

All Damon could think of was revenge. Revenge for Alazuria and revenge for himself for the pain they had suffered at the hands of the beast before him.

This was his chance to finally get even.

There was no way in hell he was going to back out, even if his powers were at a lessened state.

The werewolf pounced then and Damon saw the clenching of the hindquarters before he even saw the leap. He ran under the heavy body sailing over him, ducking at the last moment to avoid contact with the hind paws, and twisted around where he was crouched.

Ramza was staring at him, his jaws opened and his tongue lolling out.

"Not bad, Salvatore," he said, chuckling. "But you'll have to do better then this to impress the Lord."

So this was a test. He should have figured. It seemed like Ramza had been playing with him since the beginning, grinning stupidly and making all the wrong moves. He should have known such a fierce and powerful werewolf couldn't have been so pathetic.

"Let's up the challenge a bit," Ramza growled, and suddenly he was upon Damon, all snarling teeth and claws.

There was a blow to his lower abdomen, which knocked the wind out of him, then a second to his chest, and finally claws against his shoulder. He hissed in pain and scrambled out of the way only to feel something tear through his shirt and down his back. He could smell the scent of fresh blood as it welled up and began to dribble down his skin.

And then suddenly he was shifting. His nails elongated into claws and fur flowed quickly over his skin. He felt his form shrinking, twisting, contorting and suddenly he was looking up at Ramza through eyes meant for the sole purpose of stalking and catching prey.

He didn't know what the hell was going on, or why he had had an involuntary shift, but he did know the instincts of the wolf body. He snarled at Ramza, his black animal eyes glittering fiercely, and then lunged.

His teeth closed around something soft and warm and he realized with Ramza's howl of pain and fury that it was the creature's throat that his jaws were locked so tenaciously on. He pulled furiously and with vigor, wanting nothing more then to rip the bastard's throat out and feel the spray of hot blood whip across fur.

Ramza was brought to his knees and Damon wrenched at his flesh, twisting and pulling, trying in vain to dislodge the patch of flesh he had in his mouth. He finally felt it start to give when suddenly a large, looming figure appeared before him.

He looked up and immediately his grip on Ramza was broken. He heard the werewolf gasp for air and cough harshly as he crawled away, but it all seemed distant.

He was still staring at the figure and, unknown to his own mind, he had shifted back to his human body.

The figure before him couldn't be who he thought it was. That man was long dead, forgotten and buried somewhere in his home country. But it had to be. There was no explanation otherwise. The silky brown hair that had only been refined over the years. The sharp eyes that glittered with clandestine mischief. The smooth, jeering curve of the mouth that had sucked bottles of wine down with a seductive sensuality. He was dressed differently, of course. Modern, in leather pants and a black fishnet shirt. Traces of tattoos twined down his arms and beneath the pattern of the fishnet, disappearing under the waistline of his pants. A pair of black leather gloves covered his hands, the fit at least two sizes larger.

That struck Damon as odd at first.

That is, until the figure crouched and leaned forward, his clear white eyes locking with Damon's.

Clear white eyes. That was the first thing that had changed. The second was the face.

The right side of the face.

It was nothing but a gaping hole, jaw connected to cheek bone by strands of muscle and cracked bone. The eye had sunk into the socket, looking like a buried jewel within a flesh-enclosed bed. If you looked real close you could see teeth protruding from the mouth and growing askew, as if curling around the edges of the orifice. A fang was already peeking out, looking like a misplaced horn or the shattered remnant of a bone.

One of the figure's hands was slowly reaching towards him, and Damon could see that the glove had been taken off. Long nails tapered into needle-point claws and were set in a crooked and knobby hand.

The claws touched his face and he did everything his power not to move as they caressed him, unexpectedly gentle.

"So, you remember me," a voice from that ruined face came, as pure and syrupy as ever. Whatever had marred the man's face had not harmed his vocal cords or tongue.

Damon's eyes grew a little wider and his lips parted in awe.

He couldn't fathom it.

It was actually him.

"Ruffian," he whispered.

And then their lips met.

It was wonderful.

Memories of boyhood, a gypsy camp, sneaking away from home to see his beloved Ruffian came flooding back at once. His tongue probed deep within Ruffian's mouth, hungry and searching out the sweet nectar of nostalgia. He pulled the boy to him, encircling him with arms propelled by need, desire. He didn't care that he was cutting his tongue on Ruffian's sharp, monstrous teeth, that the same tongue was poking through and prodding at the very muscle that kept the right side of Ruffian's face together and that Ruffian was whimpering in pleasure-pain.

All he knew were those few moments where everything was at peace within him and the lust of his soul was quelled.

Just those few moments.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

The electric current stopped flowing and Damon pulled away. He shook himself, and then realized Ruffian was hunched over, his malformed hands pressed against his ruined face.

"I can't do it," he was muttering. "I just can't. I can't." He was trembling, the muscles in his hands clenching and unclenching rhthymically.

Damon reached out to touch him, but he seemed to sense it and scurried slightly away. A long, soul-felt howl of displeasure escaped his lips.

And then he broke down into sobs.

Part 15:

Ramza had been watching the exchange between Damon and his Lord, who he now knew as 'Ruffian,' with silent fury. He wanted to have another go at Salvatore, tear the bloodsucker to pieces, but he didn't dear move without permission. The Lord was pretty ruthless when it came to insubordination, and he certainly seemed to be familiar with Damon.

What pushed Ramza to the pinnacle of his rage was not the kiss. That was expected. The Lord was as much sexual in nature as he was dangerous, even with his deformities.

It was seeing the supposedly powerful werewolf's breakdown.

Ramza made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat when he saw his Lord balled up and sobbing, muscles quivering beneath his shirt like a frightened child.

Higher powers did not show weaknesses like this. It was a disgrace to the pack and a disgrace to him, since he was strong enough to take the position of Master.

And if he had that position he surely wouldn't want a superior like this.

He quickly formulated a plan and addressed the man who was supposedly above him.

"Ruffian," he bellowed.

Ruffian slowly removed his hands from his face and looked up, the remnants of tears staining his smooth skin. He cleared his throat. When he spoke it was thick and barely stable, but it still rang with authority.

"No questions now, Ramza," he slowly replied, nearly choking up again mid-sentence. "In fact, you're excused. Tell the others I do not want to be disturbed until I give the word that I am finished with my business."

Ramza bristled but stayed calm and cut to the chase. "As you wish." He gave a slight bow but Ruffian looked too wary to care about respect. "Now, I know you do not want to be disturbed by my questions, but I was just wondering if I could borrow that impressive ornament you have there." There was some kind of marble-sized amulet that hung on a leather cord around Ruffian's neck and his eyes lingered on it.

Ruffian looked at him, then followed the path of his line of vision. He sighed deeply and pulled the thing over his head. "Here, take it. But be warned: do not use it. It wields great power and those who tamper with it incorrectly will know its wrath."

Ramza closed his massive hand around it gently, feeling the curves of silver that ran along the outside of the onyx and pearl interior. "Of course," he answered, holding back a smirk.

"Now leave us."

Ramza bowed one more time, meeting Damon's eyes as he did so. The ebony orbs that stared back at him were full of unabashed hatred and when he flashed canines in a mock grin he was delighted to see Damon's face darken considerably.

So they were both spoiling for another fight. Good.

Ramza straightened up and said no more. He bounded over to where he knew the exit to the stairs was, guided by candlelight. Once he was out of the auditorium he allowed himself a full victory grin and a chuckle.

That had been too easy.

If he had what he thought he had then his Lord was an even bigger fool then he had figured, since he had just given away the heart of most of his psychic powers.

Or should he say the heart of Alazuria's powers.

Whatever the actual thing was, he did know that there were tales of the Lord vanquishing whole armies with the power it wielded, and that it was directly tied to both Alazuria and the similar amulet he had been given upon his acceptance by the pack. He didn't wear it much, mostly because it got in his way almost constantly.

As he padded up a flight of stairs that lead to where they were keeping the hostages, he thought about fucking each human in the room in front of all their still-alive allies. This way he could delight in their final cries of distress and feeble attempts to stop him, and then play with them a bit before ripping them all to shreds.

Except for Alazuria of course. He needed her to remain alive if he wished to carry out his plan.

He put the ornament around his furry neck and reached the steel enforced door at the top of the steps almost unexpectedly and rapped on it heavily. There was the faintest shuffling of heavy feet and then the door opened.

When Ramza saw the guard to be Seton he ginned and stepped over the threshold. This was going to be even more entertaining.

The place had once been a classroom. Ramza could decipher that much from the chalkboard on the far wall and the forlorn desk that was lying upside down and bolted to the floor. The humans were not tied up, but sat huddled in a corner, averting their gaze or looking elsewhere.

Anywhere but that upside down desk.

Ramza got closer so that the desk was not cast in shadow. He could see clearly what the humans were trying to avoid looking at. A boy, an adolescent, was tied to one of the legs of the desk, his body hunched and his head bent forward. Tyler Small wood was next to him, in wolf form, kicking him everytime he dared even groaned.

Ramza knew without even looking for the mint green of the eyes that the boy was Alex. He smelled of wolf and savageness, and there was nobody in the pack that was younger then he was.

"We had to keep Alazuria away from the others," Tyler said, answering Ramza's unanswered question, and gestured to a corner. "She suddenly just started to go loony."

Ramza eyed her and saw that her eyes had gone white all around. They were huge, terrified, and looked unnatural on her body.

He stepped closer and she immediately started to panic. She struggled, making harsh throaty sounds, and looked around wildly for an escape route. He was upon her before she even had time to brace herself. His claws dug into the fabric of her clothes, tearing jagged holes and making scarps out of them quickly.

She screamed and redoubled her struggles.

He tore the remainder of her clothing away and started to go for her undergarments, grunting as her frantic and aimless blows hit their target more then once.

And then she saw it.

Her whole body went rigid.

The amulet around Ramza's neck. She...she....

Her hands went around the leather cord and before she understood what she was doing she pulled at it. It snapped off and Ramza froze.

She knew what to do. Instinct guided her.

She brought her arm back and then slammed the amulet against the hard wood floor.

It shattered upon impact.

Ramza crawled off her quickly. Something was going to happen. Something bad. Every fiber of his being was telling him to flee before that something happened but he couldn't move. His muscles were frozen beneath his skin and his breathing was coming heavy.

Alazuria rose from her place on the floor in one fluid motion and the look in her eyes was pure animal. She opened her jaws wide, impossibly wide, and all Ramza could see were the viscous points of a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.

A noise escaped her lips, halfway between a hissing roar and the cry of a bird of prey.

Ramza could see clearly that her form was changing into something unfamiliar; something he'd never seen before.

He backed up and nearly tripped over Alex, who had picked up his head enough to see what was going on.

Tyler had already scrambled out of the room, having seen enough. He didn't need to loose any valuable parts tonight.

Seton was standing halfway between the door and the humans, Matt, Meredith, and Elena having climbed to their feet.

Nobody seemed sure of what to do.

Alazuria's eyes had gone blood red and her body was starting to bow, as if pushed down by some unbearable weight. Something was pushing through the skin of her back, which had gone a blue-black and taken on a leathery texture. She gasped, as if it hurt, but the look on her face was more surprised then anything.

Ramza was the first to see what had developed and, gulping, he turned tail and bolted for the door. Seton tried to tackle him as he fled but ended up getting dragged a few inches and then slamming into the steel door. He cursed as he watched Ramza scramble down the stairs.

So he was just craven after all.

A soft growl followed by a throaty bellow suddenly came from behind Seton and he turned to see Alazuria on her knees, still undergoing her transformation

He gasped when he saw what she had become.

Two leathery wings were folded neatly behind her back and her skin had gone blue-back, her body taking on a reptilian form. Two small horns curved outward from the sides of her head, and she had grown a long, narrow snout and a muscled, graceful neck. A tail was still forming, twisting around her leg as it tapered off into a razor-sharp point.

Dragon.

She was dragon.

Seton tried in vain to find words for his amazement but failed miserably.

And suddenly the dragon rose to its crooked legs, fully formed and looming above them. It took a step forward; the muscles in its body flowing beneath its sinewy hide like the parts of a well-oiled machine.

Seton didn't know what was propelling him, but he knew that he should get the hell out of the dragon's way before it started on a rampage. He could feel the tension that emanated from the creature; thick waves of bloodlust and anger so strong they made him involuntarily clench his teeth. The humans probably couldn't feel it because of their dulled psyches, but he could tell by the panicked look on Alex's face and the straining jaw muscles that it was effecting the other werewolf just as badly.

The thought occurred to him that somebody had to untie Alex before the dragon struck. He was closest to the creature, right in the line of fire of the slavering fangs and knife-like claws.

Nobody else in the room seemed to be moving, and if they were it was only the faintest trembling.

Stupid humans. Trust them to always freeze up at the most ridiculous moments.

Without a second thought he made a dash for where Alex sat pale and frightened. The dragon swiftly lowered its neck to settle its eyes on him, and a low hiss escaped from between its lips. Other then that it only watched him as he sliced through Alex's incredibly tight bonds with his claws. Thinking he was home free, he made the mistake of trying to drag Alex to his feet.

The dragon gave a shrill cry, ear shattering and primordial, and suddenly those razor-sharp fangs were inches from Seton's muzzle. He gave a yelp of surprise and nearly fell backwards. Alex quickly gained his wits back and scrambled over him, tripping over the bulkier body in shear terror and sending them both sprawling.

Somebody screamed and Seton could hear the pounding of sneakers on the rotted and dilapidated hardwood floor underneath him, the reverberation jarring his bones. Before he could register even a thought hands were pulling him up. He followed their lead and got to his feet thanking his helper, Matt, for coming to his aide.

But there wasn't time for that now.

Alex pushed past them, shoving his way towards the exit. Seton caught the look on his face and it said only one thing.

Run.

He glanced over his shoulder.

The dragon's muscles were bunching, ready to pursue its quarry at probably a terrifying gait.

Run indeed.

Seton grabbed Matt and headed for the door, the only thing coursing through his mind the thought of escape.

Run.

Now.

Seton bolted.

XXX

"It was all about revenge. At first."

Damon took a seat at the elegant round wooden table that sat in what was obviously once a meeting hall. Rich red and gold tapestries and paintings of university founders still hung on the burnt and decomposing wood walls and the whole setting seeped power and dilemma.

Other things had occurred here too. Unpleasant things. Murders of innocents and the ravishing of souls. Many lives had been conceived here and many others had been snuffed out. It was a place of dread and secrets; of clandestine history and ritual. If the walls themselves could have spoken they would have much to tell.

It was no wonder Damon couldn't feel the minds of the students when he had first visited the new section of Fell's Church Community College. If the power that had settled under or within this old section was directly bleeding into the new section, then that alone was enough to mute even the most powerful of psychics.

The perfect place, in other words, for a supernatural creature to build a fort in without being detected.

Probably the perfect place to hold supernatural creatures captive in also, for any binding of power here was incredibly strong.

"Are you listening, Damon?" Ruffian asked, taking his own seat and pouring red wine into a glass from a porcelain decanter that was etched with doves done in gold trim. Despite his abnormally sized nails, he did it with a grace that could never have been human.

"Yes," Damon answered, not bothering to look at him. His eyes were still roaming around the room, coming to rest on the soot- black mantel of what was once a fireplace.

Ruffian sighed and managed to look miserable. "Would it make things easier if I told you I'm not trying to kill you anymore, that for now on there's an unspoken truce between us?"

Damon turned to him then, dark eyes settling emotionless on the one's staring back at him and his lips partially upturned in a smile. "Oh, you were trying to kill me? I hadn't noticed."

Ruffian rolled his eyes. "Always the sarcastic one," he muttered, gulping his wine down and pouring another glass.

Damon gave a full-fledged smile this time. "And you were always quite the alcoholic."

Ruffian frowned, his brow furrowing, and finished off the second glass of wine. "Are we going to sit here all night and discuss our faults or would you like to hear how I came to my position and how I got to look like I have a half-ass case of Leprosy?"

Damon leaned back against his chair, crossing his legs and folding his hands politely. "Before you begin to explain anything, I want to know where Margaret is."

"Margaret?" Ruffian looked perplexed for a moment. "Oh, the child that the scarred one brought me. I assure you she is safe and will be returned to you unharmed after you hear what I have to say."

Damon's words were icy and threatening. "She better be or it will be coming out of someone's hide."

Ruffian straightened up in his seat, his clear eyes narrowing. "I couldn't have said it better myself." A ripple of something purely animal passed through his expression. "There are members of my pack who have been stepping out of line quite frequently recently. My rule is beginning to lose its dominance and I have had reported incidents that were not approved by my word."

"So, it's all just a false reputation then? You weren't really behind the animal murders and the viscous acts?"

"I can't say I have truly lived up to my reputation during this century. And the return of your presence has softened me a bit. But it was my idea to only kill animals while we stayed in this area. I'm sorry if my pack got out of hand with that. As for the viscous acts I know nothing about them. I will, however, be accountable for anything that has happened." He poured himself another glass of wine, but instead of finishing it off like the others he got up and placed it front of Damon, then reclaimed his seat. "But, if you'll excuse me from straying, this is not what I wanted to discuss with you."

Damon eyed the drink suspiciously, picking it up and sniffing at it. "A very nice vintage, with no arsenic to sour the taste." He smiled. "Now what would you like to talk to me about?"

"First, drink that." Ruffian gestured to the glass that was poised at Damon's lips. "Trust me, you're going to need it."

Damon looked at Ruffian for a second, as if trying to figure out if he was up to something, then delicately tipped the glass back and swallowed the red wine in one sip. It was smooth going down, with only the faintest indication of a bitter aftertaste.

"Now, let us begin" Ruffian drawled, his voice lowering slightly. He slid the decanter down to Damon's side of the table and smiled. "And have another drink if you like. I'm about to speak of our destinies and I want you well prepared."

Damon raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He poured himself a glassful of wine and, feeling the sharp point of his canines as they retracted in arousal, sipped at it slowly.

"Like I said before," Ruffian continued, tilting his head back slightly. "At first, it was all about revenge...."

XXX

Ruffian awoke to a splitting headache and in the aftermath of carnage.

Carnage? Carnage was not the word for what he had witnessed the night before.

It was pure massacre.

Massacre courtesy of Giuseppe Conte Di Salvatore.

His pack had been slaughtered mercilessly and without a fighting chance; their belongings had been burnt to the ground.

All at this man's command.

All over a petty disagreement with his son.

He remembered Damon then and suddenly panicked. Damon had been unwilling to leave his side up to the very last minute. Even then he hadn't succumbed and had been knocked into unconsciousness by the hilt of his very own father's sword. What if they had dragged him away and impaled him for his insolence? He wouldn't put it past Giuseppe Salvatore, even if it were his own son. The man was harsh and capable of unspeakable cruelties, and Damon had told Ruffian many times about their hatred for one another.

In a panic Ruffian rose to his feet and scrambled out from under the cover of a fallen tent he had crawled under for safety, all sorts of awful mishaps that could have befallen on Damon coursing through his head.

And just as quickly as he had gotten to his feet, he collapsed as his body was wracked with searing pain.

Somebody had stuck a knife in the base of his skull. Now that he knew about its presence, every time he moved a muscle it seemed to stab further into him. He reached for it, whimpering in pain, and slid it out with a shudder of displeasure.

But when he lifted his head to take in his surroundings the pain seemed to be miles away.

Two, thick wooden spikes had been placed in the ground where the gypsy camp's entrance had been. They loomed over him, bloody and ominous, and when he looked to their tops he was so overcome with emotion he had to choke back his tears.

There were the heads of his mother and father, at once a noble pack Lord and a kind pack Master, expressions frozen in terror and the tops of the spikes poking out of their skulls. Their bodies lay a few inches further down each spike, and when Ruffian stepped closer he could see that their death was not the only violation they had been subjected to. His father's genitals had been severed, and his mother's groin was nothing but a mess of dried blood and raw, exposed muscle.

Just by seeing it he could tell they had been alive during such torture.

And just thinking about it being done, the defilement of not only his blood but the one's who gave him guidance, direction, and family; The ones who taught him purity and equality before anything else. It was too much to bare.

He began to tremble.

Just like that his fury was unleashed and he felt the transformation into his wolfskin.

In his new, gladly welcomed body he ran about the perimeters of what was once his home, screaming and cursing and his blood soaring with rage.

There was a horse whose legs had gotten mangled to death and was still breathing. He growled savagely at it and reduced the rest of its body to ribbons.

A werewolf with a body nearly severed in half was still withering on the ground, blood and froth spewing from its lips. He took pity on it and tore its head off, killing it instantly.

He tore at the colorful tents that were still standing; killed the half-dead survivors of his pack with his teeth; sharpened his claws on the soldiers that had fallen in the grass at the hands of his people; howled his rage at the dawning sun.

At last he retreated into the woods, never looking back and searching for anybody who had fled for safety, friend or foe.

The only thing that was on his ballistic mind was revenge. Sweet, glorious, bloody revenge.

Revenge against Giuseppe Salvatore.

Revenge against Damon.

Revenge against the whole wretched Salvatore name.

And he would have it if it killed him.

Part 16:

"I never intended for my father to show up that night," Damon said to Ruffian, throwing back his fourth glass of wine. "It was a complete accident."

Ruffian held up his long-nailed hand, his own glass poised at his lips. "Please, I know that now," he answered. "But back then I was still young and na�ve. Our family and pack had been betrayed many times by humans, and I thought you were just an addition to the mass. " He took a sip and sighed. "We were always outsiders, hunted and feared by the humans who knew our secret. It's the reason why we originally left Ireland."

"Ireland? But weren't you a gypsy?"

Ruffian shook his head and finished off his wine. "Not a real one. My pack decided to flee their home country and join one of the nomadic gypsy caravans they had heard about. They figured outsiders like us could possibly find their place amongst humans who were outsiders just as well. As hoped for, the gypsy caravan we came across accepted us as family, some of them even turning out to be cousins to our kind."

"Cousins?" Damon raised an eyebrow.

"Werecats and other wereanimals. Even today those branches of shapeshifters are rare, so we were delighted to happen upon these creatures. They taught us Latin and many of the European languages, the only trouble with this being the longing for our native Gaelic. Werewolves are extremely cultural people and animals. They are born with the insatiable need to preserve their roots. It was difficult to adjust but we managed, and a few months after leaving Ireland we settled down with the gypsies in Italy. I think you know what happened from there."

Damon nodded. "Again, I know it's not enough to retaliate for the damage, but I'm sorry about what happened that night. What my father did was cruel and unjust."

Seton just bowed his head and stared at the tabletop. When he looked up again at Damon his eyes were full of an abashed light. "Do you know why I came here, to Fell's Church?" he asked softly.

"No, why?"

"Because I heard about your exploits in this town a couple of years ago. I figured you'd still be hanging around and it would be the perfect chance to take my revenge. But I believe I lost my nerve and my lust for vengeance when I saw you in person for the first time since the three-day-long raid on the Salvatore Estate."

"You were there during that raid?"

"Who do you think was leading that small army, Damon? Do you think that all those people that your father's mercenaries were having such a hard time killing were actually human?"

"I don't remember any of it, only that in the end the fields near our estate were soaked with blood and layered with bodies. Our home itself was going to need massive repair, and our father was one of the few men not wounded. Even my younger brother Stefan didn't come out unscathed. It was just...pure massacre. Very similar to what had been done to your pack." Damon sat back in his chair, the expression on his face wistful. "Tell me what really happened."

Ruffian laughed and it was harsh, bitter. He poked gingerly at the gaping orifice on his face with his tongue, and made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "This is one of the incidents that really happened. I was captured and severely tortured by a mage your father was employing. He did horrible things to me; things so bad that they went beyond the boundaries of nightmarish." Ruffian looked heavenward, as I he was trying to drudge up long forgotten memories. "But that's not all that happened. Do you really want to hear the truth?"

"Yes, if it doesn't bother you too much."

"Very well. I'll tell you then. But first be warned that it is not the most pleasant of tales...."

XXX

Four men on horseback, survivors of the gypsy massacre, sat atop the steep, grassy hill, their eyes narrowed in concentration and the moonlight reflecting off their gleaming weapons. Each one of them was different from the others; a werewolf, a mage, a hawk shapeshifter, and a werecat, united to form a powerful motley crew of trusted confidants.

The werecat was the first to stir, tugging the reigns on his mahogany stead and guiding it around so that he was facing the others. "Ruffian should have been here by now," he informed them, his voice deep and gravelly.

"Patience, Jager," the shapeshifter replied, his voice almost serene compared to his partner's. "He'll be here shortly."

"Patience you say, Gateau?" Jager nearly roared, his horse snorting as if in response. "How can we have patience when we're sitting out here in plain sight? Anybody who looks through a window in that estate will most definitely see us!"

"Quiet, both of you!" Krayt, the werewolf, piped up, guiding his horse between them and looking pointedly at first one, then the other. "Ruffian will have our heads if he finds us out here fighting amongst ourselves."

Jager snuffled loudly. "He'll have our heads if we're seen, anyway. I say we attack now. We can take on any humans in that home easily."

"Ruffian does not want the Salvatores dead by our hands," Gateau snapped. "Besides, attacking now would go against his direct orders and ruin his strategy."

"We do not need a strategy! They are weak and we are strong. We need little more then brute force to overpower them."

"Silence!" Krayt hissed. "You're going to draw attention to us!"

Jager bared his teeth and growled, betraying his animal nature. His horse flinched nervously and whinnied loudly, agitated.

"Damn you," Gateau said between clenched teeth. "Your tendency to be a hothead is going to get us all killed!" He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "All you werecats are the same. You're all cocky because of your alliance with The Pentateuch Order of Black Dragons!"

"How dare you-"

"Stop it, you two!" Krayt butted in. "It appears we have company approaching from the west."

Krayt pointed and Gateau and Jager followed the line of vision his finger made. There was a figure approaching on horseback, gaining in on the estate at a steady gallop.

The mage who had been so quiet while he had witnessed his comrades battling amongst themselves, Ralgoon by name, guided his horse forward and watched the figure closely.

"He's a Salvatore," he said emotionlessly, almost as if to himself. "I don't know which one, though."

"Let me get a better look, then," Jager replied, dismounting his horse, his form already melting into something sleek, black, and deadly.

"It really isn't necessary," Ralgoon informed him. "He's only one person. Hardly a threat."

Jager's black-furred head swiveled to look at the mage, yellow- green eyes glinting and his whiskers quivering ever so slightly. He backed his ears and opened his jowls in a mock grin, showing large yellowed-ivory fangs. "Humans are always a threat, no matter how many of them there are." He rose to his hind legs, his liquid-muscled body stretching to nearly nine feet tall. His clubbed tail swished from side to side exuberantly. "Don't worry. I'll stick to the shadows and trees. He'll never see me."

"Be careful," Krayt warned him.

"Don't worry. Unlike wolves, panthers never get caught."

He leapt then, breaking into a four-legged run as soon as his paws touched ground again. He was fast; fast enough to catch up with the man on horseback before the others figured out what he was planning to do.

He heard a distant angered cry, probably Krayt, as he crashed through the trees and came out directly in the middle of the horse's path. The creature bellowed in fear, its eyes showing white all around, and the man sitting astride it let out a colorful stream of Italian and Latin as it reared up and sent him crashing to the ground.

Jager swiped his claws at the snorting stead, who was kicking up dust and prancing nervously about, and was satisfied when it finally turned tail and took off at a gallop.

Now he had the man cornered.

He advanced swiftly, silently, on padded velvet paws. He wasn't really far enough to actually stalk the quarry, but he enjoyed the thrill of first advancing on then striking the poor hapless creature unexpectedly.

Unfortunately for him, this one wasn't exactly hapless.

He moved swiftly to the side just as a dagger struck the ground where he had just been standing. It took a moment for the shock to wear off before he let out a small growl from deep within his throat.

The man ignored it and climbed to his feet, sword already drawn, and Jager found himself growing quite impressed. This human was skilled and well prepared, posing quite a challenge.

But there was something familiar about him.

Before he could ponder it the man lunged for him with his sword. He hissed, a very feline gesture, as he dodged the weapon, the blade missing him by mere inches.

So much for panthers never being caught off guard.

"I know what you are," the man yelled, his face cast in shadow but nevertheless locked on Jager's large form.

Jager bared his teeth and stepped back a bit as the man came towards him.

"I've dealt with your kind before," the man went on. "You're a wereanimal."

Jager relaxed the muscles around his jaws and blinked. He hadn't expected the man to be right. Nobody found out about his kind and lived.

Unless....

Jager narrowed his eyes at the human before him, imbibing features, and the stories that Ruffian had exclusively passed down to his confidants came flooding back. He recognized the silky black hair, the gleaming obsidian eyes, and the compelling arrogant beauty that he had been told about time and time again.

And he remembered the hatred that had coated those stories like layers of hardened sugar.

"Damon Salvatore," he hissed out and in one fluid motion rose to his hind legs. A chuckle, deep and throaty, escaped his lips. "I should just kill you now and get it over with."

Damon raised his sword, poising it to fight, and his breath quickened in anticipation.

"Don't worry," Jager assured him. "It would be against orders to do so. But that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to harm and capture you." He smiled languidly, enjoying the look of carefully hidden fear that shone in Damon's eyes.

And suddenly Damon swung the sword so quickly and gracefully that Jager had no time to react. The aim was high, and it cut through the fur and flesh at Jager's shoulder, slicing easily through the muscle. He roared with unconfined rage as dark red blood began to seep from the wound and coat his fur in crimson.

"Bastard!" he growled, the sound reverberating in the open field, and was about to lunge for Damon when an icy voice rang out and stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Kill it!" was all it said, and Jager swiveled around to see a small army of men heading towards him, their commander behind them sitting atop a midnight black mount. He thought for a second about taking them all on at once, then dropped the idea when he saw they were heavily armed.

Turning to snarl at Damon one last time, he dropped to all fours and broke into a run towards the trees where his partners were waiting. When he reached them he turned quickly back into his human form and mounted his horse.

"Let's go. Now!" he shouted at them.

They needed no further indication. All of them started their horses off at a run and quickly fled the Salvatore Estate.

Only once did Jager look back to see if they were being pursued. He let out a breath of relief when he saw they weren't.

Now came the hard part.

Now he was going to have to tell Ruffian how he had ruined their strategy.

XXX

"I brought you some water."

Ruffian opened his eyes slowly and turned his throbbing head towards the man, known as Angelo, who was descending the stairs. The small movement sent shooting stars of pain down his neck.

"Thank you," Ruffian whispered, his voice nothing more then a hoarse whisper and his words slurred. They, Giuseppe Conte Di Salvatore and his mage, Horik, had cut out his tongue the night before and had poured some kind of substance on half of his face and chest that ate away at the skin. The tongue was healing; the gaping flesh was not.

"Last night must have been really horrid," Angelo stated, tipping the bowl of water to Ruffian's lips. "I heard you screaming when I rode up to check on you."

Ruffian nodded and turned the scarred side of his face towards the light, showing Angelo the damage. Angelo touched it gingerly, his fingers brushing over the jagged edges of disintegrated flesh.

"They took my tongue, also," Ruffian mumbled when Angelo had pulled away. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cold stone wall, the magikal bindings around his wrists clanging loudly. They prevented him from changing into his wolfskin, since that was possibly the only way he could escape. "Angelo, I need you to relay a message for me." He opened his eyes slowly.

Angelo's eyebrows shot up but he nodded slowly.

"I need you to go to where my peoples' camp is set up and speak with my four confidants. Ask any one there for Ralgoon or Krayt, for they are the wisest, and when you are taken to either of them they will call upon the other three."

"Won't they kill me?" Angelo asked, his eyes wide.

Ruffian shook his head. "They will listen to you, although you might have some trouble convincing Jager of the truth. Eventually he'll come to believe you. He's usually an excellent at differentiating between fact and fiction."

Angelo nodded.

"Now, for the task. I want you to tell them that I was captured on my way to meet them the first night, and that I am faking my own death. They are to become my only living connection with the outside world. They are to tell our people that I have died and that a new pack will be formed after the raid on the Salvatore Estate along with the rise of a powerful new Lord. That is all for now."

"But-"

Ruffian cut him off with a raised hand. "I can not go out no longer, not in the state I am in. For now on I rule from a secluded place."

Angelo sighed and a small smile grazed his lips. "At least there was good news today. The youngest Salvatore son, Stefan, got injured rather badly. They put him out in the middle of the killing zone and he refused to fight back."

Ruffian seemed not to care. "What about Damon?"

"Fights like the devil himself. He's been injured many times already and he refuses to back down. I haven't the slightest idea why, though. He despises his family. The only reason why he hasn't retreated that I can think of is that he enjoys it."

Ruffian scoffed. "What day are we on?"

"It's the morning of the third. Neither side is winning, but the estate looks pretty devastated. Nobody is living there at the moment."

"Excellent. At least I'm getting a little taste of victory out of this."

"Yes, and I'm afraid I must get back to my morning duties now."

"I understand. Go, and may you have luck with the day's services."

"I wish you luck with Giuseppe and Horik, also. And do not worry. I will talk with your confidants before the sun sets."

With that, Angelo turned and left the room quietly, seeming to disappear rather then have walked away.

Ruffian closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the comfort of much coveted sleep.

XXX

Night in the fields that bordered the Salvatore Estate.

Jager gingerly weaved his way between the bodies that littered the blood-soaked ground, silent on four thick-padded paws. The raid was finally over, and the death toll was massive. Only a handful of their men were still alive, and half of those were severely injured.

The army fighting for the Salvatores wasn't in any better condition. Not one of them had come out unharmed, except for Giuseppe Salvatore himself.

It was a bloodbath on both sides and absolutely nothing had come out of it. Nothing productive, nothing for the good of the pack! Jager wanted to tear Ruffian limb from limb for this, so gruesome was the situation. And what about this new plan to feign his own death? It was utterly ridiculous, even if Ruffian's appearance was now unacceptable and abhorrent. Nothing good would come of that, either.

Jager growled softly to himself and stopped over an impaled body of a woman. The arms and legs were twisted at grotesque angles, and the mouth was open in a silent scream. Long blonde hair cascaded across its chest and shoulders, matted with blood and dirt. He recognized the woman as a member of their pack. She had been a strong and fierce werecat; a jaguar and a survivor who lived up to the alliance their kind had with the black dragons. He had spent many nights around a fire with her, listening to her tales of the violent battles she had fought to protect her fellow gypsies.

Damn Ruffian. Damn him and his impetuous schemes that cost them so many lives.

He hissed at the sky, his neck arching upward, and then let out an angry roar.

Ruffian deserved to be tortured for this. He deserved a fate worse then death.

But there was no way he could ever convince the others to revolt with him. Gateau and Krayt were extremely loyal to their superior, and Ralgoon was forever neutral when it came to personal quarrels. Banding together to overthrow Ruffian was a ludicrous idea, especially alone. There was no way he could ever hope to accomplish it.

He hung is head in despair and let his tail curve around his hind leg. The best he could do was grieve for the dead and carry on with his duties. He swung his body around and was about to head back towards camp when he spotted the figure standing only a few feet away. It was staring blankly at him, and he recognized it as Damon Salvatore.

"It's over," Jager told him simply, his voice almost crisp in the night air. "We have no further contention with you."

Damon continued to stare. After a period of unbroken silence, his face darkened and he scowled. "You should have slain my father," he nearly spat out. "At least this raid wouldn't have been a total loss for both of our people."

This boy was thinking exactly what he had been mentally struggling over earlier.

Jager tried not to let the surprise show on his face, which was easy considering he was in his feline form. It wasn't just Damon's thoughts that shocked him, either. There was something about him that compelled Jager to stay and study him; something almost inhuman that Jager hadn't seen during his first encounter. He looked at Damon, really looked this time, and found himself drowning in two obsidian pools that his were-ancestry recognized immediately, instinctually. It drew him in like a moth to the flame.

This man before him was his blood-pact kin, a part of the creatures that sworn their very secrets to his kind. He had the blood of the mightiest shapeshifters coursing within his veins.

The rare blood of the black dragons.

But, it was only the blood. Not the magik or the strength or even the ability to become one of the powerful reptilian creatures.

Just the blood.

Still, he did have the blood, and that meant someone in his family tree must have been a true black dragon along with the fact that his successors could also turn out to fulfill the blood's potential.

An excellent fine, indeed

Jager shook himself out of his trance and turned his head away. "Next time Giuseppe will not find himself so lucky," he managed to tumble out, and made a gesture to leave but not before he stole one more glance at his semi-dragon relative.

The boy wasn't even looking at him anymore. He had retired his gaze to the dead bodies strewn about and was watching them with a quiet fixation.

Jager snuffled, almost happily, and took a leaping bound towards the trees that bordered the field, his tail slashing the air and betraying his zealousness.

He was going to keep his eye on Damon Salvatore. Something good was going to come out of it for a change. He could almost taste it on the tip of his feline tongue.

XXX

Ruffian stuck to the shadows and kept close behind Angelo.

He was finally free.

Upon witnessing what Horik had done to him with white-hot iron that afternoon, Angelo had finally decided to help him escape. It had been easier then the two of them had thought. Angelo had only to wait for Giuseppe and Horik to fall asleep or retire to their quarters before he could swindle the keys from one of the racks. Once that had been accomplished it was a simple matter of fitting the key into the lock and helping Ruffian to his feet.

"Someone's heading this way!" Angelo suddenly whispered in a harsh tone and Ruffian grabbed him and propelled him backwards.

"Thanks for all your help," he whispered back. "I'll be ok from here. Good luck when they find I'm missing."

"Thanks. Are you sure you can make it back to the camp alone?"

Ruffian's form was already melting, transforming. His human features were soon replaced by the larger, furry ones of a wolf. "It will not be a problem," he dropped to all four paws. "Goodbye, my friend. Shall we meet again under better circumstances."

"Si," Angelo replied simply.

Ruffian took off at a run, but not before he saw the figure that was quickly approaching Angelo.

He knew who it was without even having to glance twice and he found himself coming to a halt under the cover of a large hedge.

Damon Salvatore had grown considerably since Ruffian had last set eyes upon him. His lanky boy frame had been replaced by sinewy muscle, and he seemed a lot taller then he had been. There was something entirely different in his manor, though. Something that sent Ruffian's hackles raising and uneasiness coiling through his belly. There was still that arrogant air about him and although there was a slightly more wary edge to his poise it was not what was upsetting Ruffian so.

Damon just seemed more savage, untamed, and ready to snap at any moment. The way he moved, it was as if each stride, every motion of his body was full of barely contained rage.

But Damon's persona was no longer his problem. They were enemies now, and enemies were better off angry and disoriented. It made them easier to kill.

He didn't look at Damon as he crept out of his hiding place and made his way up the hill. He didn't need to. He had seen and felt enough.

It was time to move on.

As he sped through the grass, cutting through the underbrush with sinister speed, he closed himself off to everything besides the smell of the trees and the feel of his paws beating against raw earth.

XXX

Ramza caught up with Tyler Smallwood in the auditorium and leapt for the smaller werewolf, claws extended. Tyler let out an ear- piercing shriek when the heavier body fell on top him, sending them crashing to the ground. A loud whining noise and something that was close to mewling followed it.

"The creature's got me!" he screamed between puppy noises. "Oh God, Oh God. Somebody help me. No, No. Oh God!"

"Shut the hell up!" Ramza roared, backhanding him and drawing blood. The noise abruptly stopped. "Shutup now or the dragon will get you!"

Tyler's eyes went wide. "Dragon?" he asked, frightened.

"Yes, Dragon. A black dragon to be more specific. And it's confused and hungry because of its first change, so I'm figuring."

Tyler gulped and said nothing.

"It will kill us if we don't get to safety quickly. And I'm sure you don't want to be eaten by a dragon."

Tyler shook his head.

"Good. First we have to find the girl Margaret. The dragon will probably prefer to eat her over us." Ramza stood up, pulling Tyler to his feet. "Keep quiet, and follow me."

Tyler obeyed without question, but not without the fear of being food for a dragon roiling through his mind.

XXX

Run!

Seton was pounding down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Alex and the rest of the humans were right behind him, fear helping them to keep up with his pace. He could hear the ominous rush of air above them as huge leathery dragon wings beat almost rhythmically, the dragon itself in hot pursuit.

He had to find the Lord. Fast. The Lord was the only one who had to power to stop this menace before it ate everyone in its path.

And Seton knew it was dying to eat them. He could feel the bloodlust emanating from the beast and it beat down on his mind like the desert sun.

Suddenly the pulse of the wings stopped and Seton's fear doubled.

No, no, no.

The creature had realized that it was constricted in the narrow are and flying was the slowest option. The click of claws landing on polished wood filled the staircase and Seton's heart came up to his throat.

A werecat would have been handy at the moment, but their pack was strictly werewolf-oriented. Seton cursed under his breath and chanced a glance over his shoulder.

The dragon was directly behind them, its massive head mere inches from their vulnerable bodies.

Seton screamed. He couldn't help it. Fear was ripping through his mind and chest like a sickle. He had never been so afraid, so full of apprehension in his life. He had to find the Lord! Quickly!

The staircase suddenly ended and Seton didn't know whether to be relieved or even more frightened then he already was. It would be easier for the dragon to pick them off once they reach the open space of the old hallways, but still they had the advantage of spreading out. It might be possible for them to find the Lord before any of them was badly injured.

"Come on!" Seton shouted in encouragement, and sped up a bit.

"What about Stefan?" Elena replied, huffing and glancing behind her every now and then.

The dragon bellowed and the snap of its jaws echoed throughout the decaying hallway.

"Forget about Stefan!" Seton shouted back as he felt rather then heard the dragon's teeth clack together a second time. "We have to find the Lord!"

Nobody protested, and as soon as he saw the heavy double oak doors for the auditorium he ducked inside them.

They ran half way across the room before they realized the dragon was no longer following them. Seton came to a skidding halt, his breathing merely a pant, and held his arms out, indicating for the rest of them to stop.

"It smells like Damon in here," he told them, sniffing the air canid-like. "And the Lord. They can't be very far."

"Do you think you can follow their trail?" Alex asked, coming up beside him.

He nodded. "Probably. They went-," he turned swiftly around and pointed at the rear exit, "-that way."

"Excellent," Alex replied, and bounded ahead with the others immediately following suite.

They reached the exit just in time for as soon as they pried the door open the dragon came bursting through the archway they had entered through, its fangs dripping and its claws outstretched.

The last thing they heard before ducking out of the auditorium was the primordial screech that nearly shook the room and seemed to come from hell itself.

Part 17:

"Something's going bad. In my head I mean, or in the world, or in the way I percieve it. Some vital cog slipping, but with the ability to right itself. Something I can do to fix this, you know? I know it sounds weird, but UGH! I can't explain it! I can but you wouldn't...OH!...you know what I mean!"
~~From the comic "I Feel Sick" by Johnen Vasquez

"I never could understand why the dragons decided to form their life-long alliance with the werecats." Ramza measured a length of rope, laying it along the grassy field to check the size, then gnawed the piece off. "After all, by nature, they behave more like us werewolves."

Tyler watched as Ramza knelt and trussed up the whimpering Margaret like a pig getting ready to be roasted over a spit, not bothering to check if the ties that bound her hands and feet were too tight. "Yeah?" he asked, a fine tremor of fear running through his voice. "Why's that?"

"Well, wolves and werewolves alike, you know how and what they hunt, right? They pick off the old, the sick, and the terribly young and they do so in tightly organized packs. Well, dragons hunt the same way in the same style. That's why Margaret here will be a welcomed tidbit." He paused, as if thinking. "And that's why we should have the dragon mated as soon as we gain control of this pack."

"What?" Tyler nearly shouted, his quickly mounting fear almost tangible in the night air. "Gain control of the pack? Mate the dragon? What are you talking about?"

"I'm speaking of our reign; the destruction of the Lord and the rise of one of the last black dragons in this country as our ally and pack enforcer."

Tyler blinked. "You can't be serious."

Ramza stood up, the black folds of his jowls creasing in a wicked grin. "Oh, but I am. I'm sick of being a subordinate, and I tire of obeying orders out of fear of punishment." He growled, showing teeth. "And I sure as hell ain't going to let Seton, a man I loved and once would have died for, get away with betraying me as well as the pack."

Tyler snuffled, his ears flattening against his head. "Alright, alright. I get what you're saying. But how are we going to get the dragon to side with us? And who the hell are we going to mate it with? Unless you've got a plan, as well as another dragon, we don't have much to work with."

Ramza chuckled between clenched fangs. "Don't worry. Luring the dragon to our side will be easy once we feed it the child. As for mating it, do you know exactly who the dragon is?"

"Alazuria?" Tyler suggested.

"Correct. And do you know who her father is?"

"Uh...no."

Ramza rolled his large eyes. "She's Damon Salvatore's daughter."

"Huh? That's his daughter?"

"Yes. And guess what else."

Tyler just shrugged.

Ramza scowled at his laziness and stupidity. "Dragons run in family bloodlines. Like wereanimals, you have to be born a dragon."

"Oh." Tyler's eyes went wide. "But Damon is a vampire, not a dragon."

Ramza wanted to slap the boy for being so idiotic. "And I'm sure not everyone in your family is a werewolf. Some get the gift, some don't. Obviously Damon didn't but he did pass the ability on to Alazuria."

"So that means he can have dragon children," Tyler stated dumbly.

"Yes."

Tyler made a face. "If I'm following where this is going, then that's disgusting. I mean...with his own daughter?"

"Many dragons are the product of incestial breeding since dragon bloodlines have always been rare and the chances of a true dragon being born from one parent whose human and one parent who has dragon bloodlines are very slim. Sure it makes them come out with a bit of an imbalance but without this interbreeding there would probably be hardly any dragons left in the world. The Black Dragons are already almost extinct, and the other types are also few and far between."

"It's still nasty. I don't care how many dragons have been bred that way."

Ramza narrowed his eyes. "You think werewolves haven't been conceived in the same manner, or any type of the wereanimals for that matter? It's as much a part of sustaining our lines as it is the dragons. I was the product of such a copulation and I don't think you should make such a big deal about it."

Tyler threw his hands up and shook his head. "I didn't mean anything by it. I was simply stating my opinion."

"I sure hope you didn't. Otherwise I'd have to hurt you. Defending my pride and such, you know."

Tyler nodded. After a moment, he looked around once and asked, "What do we do now?"

"Now we wait," Ramza answered, dropping to four legs and taking a seat on his haunches. "And hope everything goes off without a hitch."

Tyler gulped but said nothing, his dread far too great for words.

XXX

Ruffian was about to continue his story to an enraptured Damon when a dull, hellish roar of frustration filled the structure and sent the walls throbbing.

Damon sat up sharply, nearly letting the glass of wine he held slip from his hand. He caught the rim before it could actually happen and placed it gently on the polished oak tabletop.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, eyebrows in his hair.

Ruffian looked a bit paler but other then that he hadn't moved. He took a deep breath and sighed. "That would be Alazuria," he answered slowly.

Damon looked even more perplexed. "What the hell do you mean?" he questioned incredulously. When Ruffian didn't answer he scowled and slammed his hand down on the wooden table surface and leaned forward. "Explain. Now!"

Ruffian tilted his head back slightly and brushed hair out of his milky eyes, his mouth a hard thin line. "I'm going to make this short," he said quickly. "The rest of the story in a condensed version. "

Damon relaxed a bit and sat back, his eyes never leaving Ruffian's face. "Go on."

Ruffian looked heavenward, as if the ceiling had the answers. "Jager did get his revenge on me for the raid eventually, and he did keep his eye on you via the Pentateuch Order of Black Dragons. They had this plan, one that would destroy me for good. Only it didn't quite work the way it was supposed to." Ruffian's face looked grim and far away. "I had just finished rebuilding the pack from the ashes of the gypsy camp massacre and had required the six year old whelp Cabalo, later known as Cobalt and the Master of my pack. Ramza, who was charming and benevolent back in those days, and Seton had also joined us as a pair of mated refugees. Of course none of them ever met me. The initiation ceremonies were done strictly through my confidants.

"One day Jager came to me saying that the Pentateuch Order of Black Dragons had a gift for me; a baby dragon living in a nearby village that the members of my pack and I could bind ourselves to using the special magikal stones they would supply to us." Ramza closed his eyes as if in pain and Damon had to urge him to continue the story. "When the child was kidnapped a few days later and Jager brought her before me, I knew that there was no mistaken this fact: that she was your daughter."

Damon stiffened and his eyes widened, his poise somewhere between shock and understanding. "The dragon blood that Jager sensed in me during the raid on my father's estate?" he asked in a rushed whisper.

Ruffian nodded.

Damon looked down at the tabletop, barely able to believe his ears. "That's what I felt in her, then. Immortality, but unlike any other supernatural creature. And something...something was holding her power back."

"The magikal stones," Ruffian said, answering the unvoiced question. "They binded her powers and bound them to my pack. We were stronger, faster, and more aggressive. But the Pentateuch Order never mentioned the further deformities I would have to undergo." Ruffian spread his fingers. "I was bound the closest to her and my body could not accommodate the change that her's wanted. I could not take on the dragon form. The result was the changing of my physical body. The lengthening of my nails into claws and the frosted hue of my eyes were merely the beginning."

"The dragons also failed to mention the rage and immense anguish that we would feel because of the frustration that radiated off of her. We became ruthless and destructive, and half of my pack went mad. Ruffian was one of them. He was never the same since he bound himself to one of the stones.

"My main goal was revenge. Revenge on everything. You, Jager, the humans. And I would get it no matter what the consequences. I killed Jager for his betrayal and I slaughtered the dragons that had been behind his plan. I also slaughtered Ralgoon for not warning me of the stone's consequences. I went on a mad rampage across Europe for many centuries and there was no end to the bloodshed, the rape, and the evil that I brought upon village after hapless village. Eventually I came to hear about you again and I immediately wanted another chance for vengeance. I followed the stories and soon enough I came to be here. I was going to kill you, like we had been doing to the dogs, but when I saw you one night it was if the stone's power was simply washed away. I suddenly wanted everything to stop; for the pack to draw out of its madness and become like normal werewolves. But there was still hate inside me, hate I couldn't let go of, and it drove me on. I came to want to both kill you and stop all the nonsense at the same time. And I couldn't do either. I did, however, tell the pack that they could no longer rape and murder humans but I'm afraid I was a bit too late to stop those things from happening. I'm sorry. But as you know, I now have squelched my hatred for you. I can't harm you without regretting it deeply, and anybody who does lay a hand on you or any your friends in this pack is as good as dead."

Damon nodded. "Good to hear, but don't you think we should be trying to find out why Alazuria...roared before? If she's supposed to be binded then she shouldn't be able to do that, right?"

Ruffian suddenly shot of his chair so quickly that it startled Damon. "Oh god," he whispered. "Oh, fucking bloody hell!"

"What?" Damon asked in an almost panicked voice as he collected his bearings.

"Ramza must have broken my stone. Christ!" Ruffian ran down the length of the table and grabbed Damon, tugging with surprising strength. "We have to find Alazuria before something happens!"

Ruffian didn't even let Damon have a chance to reply. He dragged him to the heavy wooden doors and yanked them open, preparing to charge.

And suddenly Matt came rushing in. There was a split second where all that could be heard were cries of urgency, and then Ruffian was flat on his back with Matt sprawled inches form him and Damon pressed up against the wall.

At that moment Seton stepped into the room. "Well, I guess we were successful in finding you guys," he stated, then let out a sigh of relief and sagged against the doorway.

Part 18:

"No, I'm not okay. I am in terrible pain because your idiot friend surprised me with his baseball bat and my own lover betrayed me for the sake of your worthless songs. So what? I can take pain. It will pass. And if I choose to return and take my pain out on your hide, I will, my pretty seer. Or, if you like, I'll shove my tongue down your throat and corrupt you with my spit. Or, if you prefer, I'll unzip your skin and kiss you with your own heart-blood on my lips. Are you tempted yet?
~~From the novel "Lost Souls" by Poppy Z. Brite

"We've got some serious trouble," Alex stated as he helped Ruffian to his feet. He glanced over at Matt, who Damon was pulling up and whispering to, then managed to look wary. "The dragon,Alazuria,is loose and running rampant."

"Yeah, we heard it," Damon replied, helping Matt dust himself off.

"She broke your amulet, the one that fueled all the stones that bound her," Seton said from his place in the doorway. "Ramza had it, but I don't understand how. Did you give it to him on purpose, Ruffian?"

Ruffian looked away from Seton, focusing on Alex then on Damon. "Yes. I didn't think he'd actually try to use it, much less know how."

"He didn't. He was just trying to force himself upon Alazuria and she surprised him by going for the amulet instead of trying to oppose him. After she broke it she just...well, she changed right in front of us."

"Was she rational?" Ruffian looked hopeful.

Seton shook his head. "She chased us down and tried to kill us."

Ruffian put his long-nailed hand to his head and sighed. "We certainly are in trouble, as Alex said before. When dragons first immerge in their true forms they are disoriented and ferociously hungry. They will prey upon anything and will not be able to be satiated until they gain rationality, and they can only gain it by learning from their..." Ruffian dropped off, his brow furrowing. He seemed to be concentrating for a second, and then he looked over at Damon. "Their parents."

For a moment Damon merely looked perplexed.

And then he took a step back from Matt and spread his hands in a protesting gesture.

"Oh, no. No way," he drawled. "If you think I am going to try and intellectually connect with an actual dragon by myself, you're insane."

The whole group was looking at him now, and Elena made a quiet scoffing noise.

Ruffian growled softly. "You don't have a choice," he told Damon harshly. "You're the only one who can approach her without getting yourself ripped in half. You must go and confront her."

Damon looked around, his face paler then usual and his muscles taught with tension. "Hey, where's Stefan?" he asked, trying to both quell his uneasiness and change the topic at the same time.

"He'll be safe where he is," Seton snapped, baring yellowed fangs. "Besides, that doesn't matter now. We have a dragon on our hands that may go on a murdering spree. We don't have time to worry about other things."

"Seton's right," Ruffian agreed. "Besides, Alazuria will not harm you. Dragons are loyal to their bloodlines and never attack one another. She'll recognize you as family and you'll be able to speak with her freely."

Damon exhaled slowly. "Alright," he said slowly. "I'll do it then, but only if I have backup close by. Even I won't be able to take her on single-handedly if she decides to attack." He paused, letting his words sink in. "And if the situation starts to get too out of hand, we run. No questions."

Ruffian nodded. "Fine."

Damon took a deep breath. "Good. Now let's go and find Alazuria before something I'll regret happens."

XXX

Alazuria burst through the auditorium doors with a bellow, her sharp-ended tail swishing fiercely, and quickly scanned the corridor before her.

Empty.

Her prey had escaped.

But that didn't mean she couldn't track them down. Their scent still lingered heavily in the air and her sense of smell was potent. She inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring, and lowered her head closer to the floor.

Almost immediately she was overwhelmed by the raw stench of her quarry, the musk of the lupines slightly stronger then that of the humans. Quickly she followed the trail they had left for her, her pointed tongue smacking over her lipless mouth in anticipation of the meal.

She was getting closer with every step and she could almost sense it as well as smell it. Her prey was just up ahead, in one of her surrounding's many rooms. All she had to do was round the upcoming corner and spring upon them unexpectedly and then she could squelch the gnawing hunger deep within her stomach.

But suddenly it all didn't seem so easy when she turned into the next corridor.

She stopped in her tracks.

Behind one of the doors, beyond her range of scent, was one of her lineage. She felt the slow thrum of the dragon blood in their veins as if it pulsated beneath her own leathery skin.

She huffed softly, doubt sloshing back and forth within her.

Now what? She couldn't go barging into the room and gobbling up one of her own brood. Dragons were loyal to their kin and kind. It would be considered treason.

She edged forward, uncertain what to do next.

And that's when she heard the scream. It was distant and muffled. She cocked an ear canal in the direction from where the sound had come from and was certain nobody within her vicinity had heard it. A dragon's sense of hearing was much stronger then any shapeshifter's, and the sound had even been soft to her.

Curious, she tore herself away from the corridor containing her prey and followed the direction of the sound to the best of her ability. It brought her back around the auditorium. She didn't see anybody around so she continued to forge forward, noticing the air around her was developing a chill. She must have been getting close to an exit out of the building or a breach in its stonework.

And then she picked up the scent of young human.

Her entire body went alert and her tail froze in place, her nostrils quivering.

Young flesh.

Succulent, yielding, tender young flesh.

Her mouth watered involuntarily.

She slowly went forward, trying to figure out the whereabouts of the tasty morsel. It had to be close. Its presence was still lingering in the corridor and on the air.

That's when she saw the blackened double doors that were rotting away in the face of the building's stone frame. One hung open at an odd angle, as if somebody had tore their way through it.

She squeezed her elongated head through the opening, bunching her neck in position that mocked her dinosaur ancestors, and was overcome by the wonders of the outside world. Ripping the rest of the door off the hinge with ease, she stepped gingerly over the threshold and stood up on her hind legs, raising herself to her full height. The moon was low and full, and she found her gaze lured by its white radiance.

"Alazuria," someone hissed in the darkness and her gaze was automatically drawn back to the ground.

She blinked. Alazuria? Was that her name? Did dragons even have names? She didn't know and it was irritating her so much that when she focused her gaze on the lupine form that stood a few feet from her, her eyes were blazing with fire. She hissed, showing two rows of perfectly sharp teeth at the loathsome werewolf, and spread her wings menacingly.

She surprised herself when she found she had a voice. "Who are you? she demanded in a thick but smooth tone. It was clearly feminine.

"My name is Ramza."

The name struck some familiar chord in her but she couldn't pin it down. It didn't matter much though. She was going to end up eating the lupine anyway, eventually.

"You are of no importance to me," she hissed, and stepped forward. Her jaws opened wider, ready to snap down on bone and muscle.

"Wait," Ramza demanded calmly, inching out of the way. "I may have something you want."

Alazuria stopped and met his gaze. "Go on, I'm listening," she urged.

"Dragons prefer to eat the old, the sick, and the young, am I correct?"

Alazuria nodded. "Particularly the young, it seems."

Ramza let his jaw drop in a smile. "Good. It just so happens I have a human child here with me." Ramza bowed, remembering the protocol the shapeshifters graced the Pentateuch Order of Black Dragons with. "It is an offering to you in an exchange for your protection over my pack."

Alazuria didn't know what the werewolf was talking about. Protection of his pack? Nevertheless it sounded good to her and she folded her wings back in place.

"Show me the child," she told Ramza, easing down to four legs. It was much harder to eat when upright, so she figured.

"Of course," Ramza answered, savoring the first leg of his victory. Now that he had Alazuria on his side it was going to be very easy to rise to power.

Barely able to contain his glee, he called out for Tyler to bring Margaret to the dragon.

Part 19:

"Crow was fed up with the gloomy symbolism that poets kept saddling him with, so he decided to show the world that despite his color and morbid face, he was a benefactor of humanity...he sat contemplating on a humming wire that he gripped with his feet, and it occurred to him that the wire was the lifeline of the modern world. Through such wires flowed the juice that kept homes lit at night, turned engines, powered computers, and crowned human festivities. Juice wrenched from the heart of the Earth, pulled from the fury of rivers, and forced out of atoms."
~~From the novel Messi@h, by Andrei Codrescu

Damon silently cursed as he quietly retraced his steps back down the corridor, heading towards the auditorium.

This idea was suicide. Who in their right mind would go after a dragon by themselves? Sure he had backup following behind him at a safe distance, but they couldn't do much if Alazuria went straight for him.

He found himself silently and almost desperately wishing for Stefan. Stefan had proven himself pretty worthy in the heat of battle and right now when all he had behind him was some humans and a few werewolves, one whose powers weren't even fathomable, he needed that reassurance.

And you'll have that reassurance.

Damon didn't stop walking. He continued to trudge forward, his unconscious guiding him. Bonnie, he whispered but other then that didn't acknowledge the abnormality of hearing a spiritual voice. He was used to it already.

Bonnie appeared from behind him, hovering at his side. Damon glanced at her briefly and found himself staring. She was dressed strangely, in dribs and drabs of leather and silk, the strawberry curls of her hair replaced by blood red spikes.

Hey there, hun. I can touch you, she said with dark blue lips, her accent deeper and more city-girlish, and reached out to grasp his shoulder. Her clutching fingers were warm and firm against him; real.

He stopped and couldn't think of anything to say.

Bonnie giggled and he found her old self in the crease of her smile and the sound of her voice.

You look perplexed.

"How can you...?" Damon asked aloud.

Bonnie held up her hands and wriggled her fingers, trying to imitate a spooky atmosphere. My rebirth is near and the fusion is perfected. Though mere days to you it has been years to me. The flesh has already awakened.

Damon blinked, wondering what Bonnie was on about.

Bonnie laughed again. Don't dwell on it too much, darling.

Damon raised an eyebrow. "I'll try not to."

Good boy. Now, I'm going to let Stefan out of his cage. You just go and work your mojo.

"What?"

Bonnie rolled her eyes, exasperated. Alazuria's outside, sugar. Get to her before things start going wrong. I'll handle the small stuff.

Damon nodded, but didn't move.

When Bonnie saw this she gave him a push. Go, already!

"Alright." Damon shot her a crooked grin. "Good luck."

Bonnie grinned back. Don't need luck, sweetie. Just endurance.

With that, she faded away as if she had never been there at all.

Damon stared after her for a second or two, trying to make sense of what had just gone on, then shrugged and took off at a run to find the nearest exit out of the building.

XXX

Margaret sat trembling as Ramza cut the bonds around her hands and feet, her eyes locked on the huge beast before her. The wolfmen hadn't been scary, not in the slightest, but this-this was a dragon! It was a creature of nightmares, of immense evil and cruelty. Even its huge gleaming eyes struck fear into her as they stared at her trussed form.

She let out a small cry of fear, which ended up little more then a gurgle.

"Quiet," Ramza snapped at her.

She flinched and tried to step back but Tyler held her firmly in place.

Hot tears streamed down her face as she realized she couldn't escape. She was scared. She wanted to go home. She wanted the comfort of her Aunt Judith and Uncle Robert's arms. She wanted...she wanted her sister Elena.

Immediately she was overcome with a sense of idiocy. Her sister was dead, up in heaven with both their parents. She couldn't help her now.

But...she couldn't help feeling that Elena was there with her then, trying desperately to save her before the dragon gobbled her up. It was an odd thought but Margaret could swear there was a hint of truth to it.

The dragon's jaws were opening wide, impossibly wide and at that moment Margaret froze and lost all train of thought.

This was it. It was all over if somebody didn't come now and rescue her.

The dragon took a step forward, then another. Soon it was standing mere inches from her. It leaned forward, eyeing her hungrily, then snarled and showed its impressive fangs.

Maragaret struggled in Tyler's grasp, screaming and striking out at him. Tyler was growling angrily, trying to keep her from squirming, but he just couldn't hold her. His grip on her slipped and she took off at a run, dashing past the dragon and heading towards the entrance to the building.

"What the-go get her!" Ramza screamed, froth dripping from his jowls.

Tyler growled back, his hackles raising. "You were the moron who cut her bonds!"

Ramza was too angry for words. He leapt at Tyler, crossing the distance in one smooth pounce, and grabbed him around the throat. The smaller werewolf let out a yelp as Ramza pushed him forward.

"I'm sorry about the child, Alazuria," Ramza shouted at the dragon. "To make up for it I offer you this werewolf instead."

"What?" Tyler shrieked, trying to break the grip no him. "Ramza! What are you doing ? You can't give me to her! We're partners. Ramza!"

Ramza let out a sinister laugh and he dropped his voice to a low snarl. " I never had any intentions of letting you share the power over the pack. I just needed your assistance until my plan was carried out"

"Goddam you! I'm going to fucking rip your throat out! Let me go!"

"Goodbye, Tylor."

"Ramza, you-"

Ramza stepped back just as Alazuria's snout descended. There was a loud crunch as her jaws clamped down on Tyler's body, severing his upper and lower form, and then another as she wolfed down the rest of him.

In a few noisy chomps it was all over. Nothing remained of Tyler Smallwood.

Alazuria smacked her chops and roared softly in satisfaction.

Ramza was about to speak to her about their pact when he was interrupted by a voice that seemed to ring with authority and power.

"Alazuria," was all it said with a smooth, graceful edge and Ramza knew who it was before he even saw him.

He growled softly to himself, his ears flattening against his skull.

Damon Salvatore had arrived.

XXX

"Alazuria," Damon said when he saw the dragon, and was immediately awash with awe. Never in his life had he seen such a creature so elegant and sleek yet so deadly.

Nature had always loved the theory of irony.

"Damon, I'm scared," Margaret said from behind him.

He had forgotten she was there. "I know," he told her. "This is almost over. After I take care of everything we'll get you home."

"Swear?"

"Yes, I swear. Now keep out of sight. I've got to deal with this."

Margaret nodded and ducked behind a bush along the side of the building, keeping out of site.

Damon took a deep breath and walked forward.

Alazuria turned when she heard his footsteps approaching her and flashed her sharp teeth in warning.

Damon stopped where he was and stared up at her.

Their eyes locked.

He took another deep breath. Trembling, despite his will to control the fear that was snaking in his blood, he reached out to touch her smooth skin.

She watched him, motionless. The same sense of familiarity passed through her and she narrowed her eyes slightly. Her kind's blood was in him. She could feel it thrumming beneath his skin, like she had felt before.

He was the one she had sensed before.

She lowered her head closer to him and he flinched, but didn't stop inching towards her. His fingers connected with her flesh at last and he ran the tips along it, the expression on his face unbelieving.

Ramza bristled as he watched this. If Alazuria began to have any recognition of who Damon was his plan was ruined.

He couldn't let that happen.

His movements were so quick and furious that Damon didn't even have time to see him coming. He yelped as a heavy furry body collided with his and sent him tumbling to the ground.

Alazuria looked curiously at the two interlocked forms but didn't move to interfere.

Damon looked up and found himself face to face with Ramza. The werewolf was snapping at him, spittle and froth raining down, and his eyes were alight with a furious fire.

He felt his own rage and hatred quickly rise and instantly he was fighting back.

"I am going to rip you open from stomach to sternum, you loathesome Figlio di e cagno!" he growled between clenched teeth.

Ramza replied by grabbing the collar of Damon's jacket and hauling him to his feet like a rag doll. He wound his hand in his man's hair and tugged so that Damon was looking up at him.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

Damon laughed, despite the awkward and painful position he was in, his teeth lengthening and sharpening as if anticipating a kill. "I said," he told Ramza, grinning savagely, "that you are nothing but a fucking subordinate and you are going to pay in blood for every ounce of pain that you have ever caused anybody."

Ramza hissed. "I am no one's subordinate! Not anymore!" he spat, letting go of Damon to ball up his fists.

Damon straightened out the wrinkles in his clothing casually and stood up straight. The grin was still plastered on his face. "Oh yes you are. You always will be. You have neither the power nor the guts to ever be anything else. That's why you must prey upon those who are much weaker then you are. Or those who are much more moronic, but I don't think those people even exsist."

Ramza's lips skinned back from his teeth. "That's enough! You're dead, Salvatore! You're fucking dead!"

Salvatore? Alazuria questioend to herself. She knew that name. It was vaguely familiar. But she couldn't make a connection to it.

Damon shook his head and took off his jacket, letting it fall to the ground. "No, Ramza, you're dead."

Ramza's fury reached its pinnacle. He made a mad rush at Damon and slashed out with his claws. They shredded through the materiel of his shirt and left already healing crisscross marks in his flesh.

"Is that the best you can do?" he taunted, forcing the agony out of his mind.

Ramza clenched his jaws in a growl, his muscles bunching as he leapt for Damon with fangs dripping and ready to tear into the first available patch of flesh.

Something tore through the air, then. It whizzed over Damon's head, startling him, and sunk deep into Ramza's throat.

Ramza bellowed in pain and dropped to the grass, rolling over onto his back and displaying the bloody arrow that had speared him. His mouth was open in a gasp but all that was coming out was rivulets of blood.

Damon spun around to see who his benefactor was and let out a breath of relief. Ruffian, who'd nearly taken off his head with the arrow meant for Ramza, was standing by the building's entrance hefting the heavy wooden crossbow with two hands. Matt stood by his side holding an ax, and an enormous dusted-yellow cougar was poised behind him, its head bent low and its muscles quivering in anticipation of an attack. Seton and Alex, in werewolf form, were flanking them.

"You've overstepped your boundaries, Ramza," Ruffian said in a low rumble, his voice furious.

Damon half turned to see Ramza climbing to his feet. He had removed the arrow from the hollow of his throat and a wet, gaping hole now marked the place where it had been. Still, he was far from dead and the wound was already healing.

This fight was long from over.

"Alazuria," Ramza said, ignoring Ruffian.

The dragon turned to him and swished its tail lazily back and forth.

"You remember our agreement?" Ramza went on. "I gave you the werewolf in exchange for your protection over my pack."

"Yes, and I shall give my protection," Alazuria answered, and it seemed like the right thing to say at the moment.

"Then kill these men. They wish to harm my pack."

Alazuria looked doubtful. She swung her graceful neck back and forth between the eyes that were upon her. They didn't look very malevolent.

"Alazuria," Damon whispered, and she looked down at him. He shook his head. "Don't do it. We're here to help you."

"He's a liar!" Ramza growled. "They wish to harm us all. Kill them!"

"No!" Damon shouted back.

Alazuria made a growl of distress in her throat, her tail swishing furiously now.

"Go ahead, Alazuria," Ramza coaxed. "Treat them as if they were your prey. Hunt them!"

Damon had had enough. He whirled on Ramza, who looked positively devilish with blood matted to his fur and saliva dripping from his jowls. He was about to just let all his power loose at once when something sharp and as heavy as a ton of bricks hit him in the back and sent him sprawling. He didn't even have a chance to think as Ramza pulled him up by his hair and shoved his fangs deep inside him.

Damon let out a strangled choking sound and for a moment everything went gray. Then Ramza was pushing him down into a sitting position. Something hit his head hard and he struggled to keep his mind clear.

"I have plans for you," Ramza said to him, pure glee in his tone. "Big plans. You're going to make me my very own guild of dragons. But first...." Ramza turned to Alazuria, who was watching him with what seemed like pity in her eyes. "Kill them all, Alazuria. Make sure no one in this clearing remains alive."

Alazuria glanced one more time at Damon, as if she was waiting for some signal. Then she roared loudly, the sound ringing throughout the field, and flexed her wings menacingly.

Her eyes full of fury, she took a step forward.

XXX

No, Damon thought as he shut his eyes and struggled against Ramza's hold on him.

It was all over now. Alazuria was advancing quickly on his allies and in a few moments she would dispose of them. They had no chance of fighting back. Dragons were almost impossible to kill, and their warrior skills were legendary, although Damon had never witnessed their battles himself. He still knew they had a million in one chance of escaping with their lives, though.

He couldn't let this happen.

He had to think of something.

Alazuria he screamed with his mind, trying to her mental attention, but it wasn't of any use. Either she was blocking or not bothering to pay attention. Or maybe the telepathic messages were confusing her. Whatever the case he'd have to try something different.

And then it came to him.

If he couldn't break Ramza's iron grip as a person, then maybe he could accomplish something in a different form.

He grinned as he felt himself shifting, surprised at how easy it was despite the physical damage he had taken. His hands melted almost instantly into large, thick paws and he could feel the bones in his back transgressing; moving, lining up, causing his spine to bow.

Ramza moved back, startled, as the long black body unfolded and stretched itself out. It rose up on four graceful black legs and growled at the large orange werewolf.

Ramza made a move to knock the wolf aside but it was faster then he was. With a wet crunch its fangs clamped down on his knee and crushed the bone there, tearing flesh and muscles.

Ramza let out a howl of pain and toppled over, his leg a mess of blood and meat. Satisfied that the werewolf would be immobile for awhile, Damon took off as fast as his four-legged body could go.

Alazuria had already reached where Ruffian and the others were bunched together. Meredith and Elena had arrived on the scene too, now, but were some distance away from the group.

Elena was crouched low to the ground, Margaret huddled in her arms.

Meredith looked more perplexed then frightened.

Ruffian held the crossbow up, positioned so that if shot the bolt would sink right between the dragon's eyes.

Seton stood somewhere between them all, growling and snapping and trying to get Alex from making any stupid moves.

The cougar just stood silently, its tail frozen in place.

Damon skidded to a stop, cutting the dragon off before she could do any harm, and quickly changed back into human form before she could register what was happening.

"Alazuria, stop!" he yelled at her.

The dragon hesitated, eyeing him, then suddenly reared back and roared. Damon had mere seconds to be confused before she turned sideways and whipped her tail in his direction. He quickly moved out of the way, twisting around when he heard a scream of agony.

Seton had made a running leap to try and defend Damon from Alazuria.

Her heavily-spiked tail collided with him with a solid whack and sent droplets of blood spraying as it propelled him backwards. He hit the ground with a bone-wrenching thud and was still.

Damon breathed heavily as he dropped to his knees in the grass, sweat dripping from his forehead.

This was getting out of hand.

The cougar crept over to him and purred softly, cocking its head. You ok? It asked him mentally.

Way out of hand.

Fine, Stefan, he answered, surprised at his brother's animal form. I don't think Seton is though.

The cougar half-growled. I'll go check. It walked away, its clubbed tail rigid as it passed in front of the dragon.

It was then that Damon realized that the dragon was in fact rigid itself. He looked up at it and found its large reptilian eyes staring at him.

"Who are you?" it asked him, its pupils retracting.

Damon wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, and managed a shaky smile. "I'm your father, Alazuria."

The dragon's head swiveled on her neck and she blinked, inching a bit towards him. "Tell me more," she demanded.

"I'm Damon Salvatore. You know me quite well."

Alazuria's head tilted towards the sky. Damon Salvatore? She knew that name. She knew this man who claimed to be her father. She knew these people in front of her who she had been going to harm. She knew the orange werewolf that Damon had been fighting, the one her mind was telling her was evil.

And she knew that she should not be trying to attack these people.

Her name was...Alazuria Salvatore...and she should be protecting-

Names flashed in her mind.

Seton, Matt, Stefan....

Damon.

Damon was her flesh and blood.

She was on his side.

She shouldn't be hurting him!

She shouldn't be hurting her friends!

Alazuria whimpered and suddenly all the doubt and confusion washed away. She felt the coils of fury and anger recede from her heart and the beast within her retreat. Tears formed in her eyes, dragon tears, and she remembered almost eating a child and hurting Seton.

"What have I done?" she whispered to herself and it was only then that she realized that she was a lot smaller then she had been. She looked down at her hands and found herself staring at human flesh.

She was Alazuria again, the dark, sarcastic woman that looked so much like her father, Damon. She was back.

"Good show, Damon" a soft voice said.

Alazuria picked her head up and looked to where Damon was kneeling. A strange man was standing behind him with his long- nailed hands crossed over his chest. He was deformed, but in a strangely beautiful way.

His clear white eyes met hers and she felt a bit of a shock as they gazed into her soul.

"You're the Lord, aren't you?" she asked, wondering how she knew.

"Correct," he answered her. "My name's Ruffian."

Alazuria only nodded. She didn't want to be introduced to anybody right now. She was worried. She'd hurt. Quickly she rose to her feet and saw the man she knew as Stefan leaning over him, doing something with his hands. She walked rapidly over to where the body was sprawled on the grass and tears welled up in her eyes again.

She could tell by the look of his wounds that he was not going to make it. Many of his vital organs had been punctured and blood dribbled from his mouth steadily. Still, his eyes were open and Stefan was holding his head up.

"Seton," Alazuria nearly cried out, dropping to her knees.

He turned his head slowly to her. "Alazuria." His voice was little more then a hoarse whisper. "I'm so glad you're ok."

Alazuria turned her face away. How can he be glad about her health when she had done this to him?

"I'm sorry, Seton," she sniffled.

"It's alright. I don't blame you because I know it's not your fault. All us weres feel the same when we change for the first time."

"I'm still sorry."

"Shhhh, I said don't worry about it. I just want you to do one thing for me before I...go."

"Anything."

Seton gulped down a mouthful of blood. "Get rid of that bastard Ramza. He's caused all of us to much grief. He shouldn't be allowed to live."

"Don't worry."

Seton grabbed her hand in his. "Thank you."

Alazuria bit her lip on a stream of new tears. "Goodbye, Seton."

Seton nodded and gave her a faint smile but said nothing more. Nothing else needed to be exchanged between them.

He closed his eyes.

Stefan lowered the head to the ground and sighed just as Alazuria stood up and turned away, no longer able to stand the emotional pain.

She noticed the faintest trace of tears in Ruffian's eyes too as she approached him and Damon.

So the Lord wasn't such a mean sonuvabitch after all.

The whole crowd had gathered together now and Stefan came over to join them. They looked at each other, none of them knowing what to say to each other.

Alazuria finally broke the silence. "Seton said that he wanted Ramza dead."

Ruffian's eyes widened as he remembered Ramza's presence for the first time. "Damn," he whispered, and looked over to where Ramza had been lying with his leg half severed.

He was no longer there.

"We'll have to call a hunt to the death," Ruffian told the group, falling gracefully into his role as Lord of the pack. "Whoever wishes to join us may do so." He gestured towards Elena and Margaret. "But I suggest you two get home. Your Aunt Judith's probably worried sick about the child."

"Alright," Elena agreed, not bothering to question Ruffian's knowledge of the situation.

"I'll have two wolves from my pack escort you to your place, just to be safe."

Elena nodded.

"Now, anybody else want to go home?"

Nobody said anything.

"Good." Ruffian grinned, the gaping hole in his face expanding with the muscles. "Let's go get the rest of the pack then and hunt that bastard down."

Part 20:

I am the master of this universe and I've got so big it hurts Raise your eyes and graze your knees oh for your master is displeased because you dared to doubt his word his polished surface dulls and cracks Your bitter laughter breaks his back I am the master of this universe I taught you everything you know now you must bear your master's curse oh for I will not let you go Now you must walk this town `til dawn in every public open place your master's lookupon your face Oh now look what you have done you've spoilt it all for everyone The master masturbates alone in a corner of your home You feed him scraps when in the mood You beat him hard and keep him nude You cut your master down to size Now he cries and he cries
~~Pulp , Master of the Universe

"He has to be close." Ruffian, in his much larger and stronger werewolf form, crouched low to the ground and sniffed at a large jagged oak branch that had fallen to the forest floor. "I can smell his scent around here."

Alazuria, who came to a halt behind him holding the crossbow he had been carrying earlier, stole a glance at Damon, Matt and Stefan. Meredith had gone to bring back Margaret with Elena, and Alex was hunting down Ramza with a different group.

Alazuria suppressed a shiver and watched Ruffian work, awed by the way that he could tell Ramza's whereabouts by simply examining the surroundings. She was about to comment him when a sound, high and distant, cut through the air.

Ruffian stood up sharply and his ears swiveled forward. His posture was rigid, tense.

"What is it?" Damon questioned. His own stance was on edge, ready for a fight.

"One of my wolves is hurt," Ruffian replied. "Stay here. I'm going to go investigate."

"Alone?" Alazuria asked him.

"Don't worry. I'll be fine."

Ruffian took off in a blur of muscle and fur before anybody else could get a word in.

"I guess that means we can rest for awhile," Stefan commented, sitting down in place. He leaned back against a rotting tree trunk and shut his eyes. "What a hell of a night."

"It isn't over, so don't get comfortable," Damon told him, turning around.

Stefan sighed. "I don't see why this is all necessary anyway. It's just one werewolf."

Damon shook his head. "My, Stefan, how you've changed. For the worst, it seems. Bonnie should have just left you in that sealed room for the length of this."

All eyes were suddenly on Damon, even Alazuria who hardly knew who the girl had been.

Matt looked pale and confused. "Bonnie?" he asked.

"Are you feeling alright, Damon?" Stefan had a funny look on his face, halfway between incredulity and laughter.

"Shutup, Stefan." Matt glared angrily at the younger Salvatore for a moment, then addressed Damon. "Go on, tell us about Bonnie."

Damon looked at all three of them, lingering on Matt. If anybody was going to believe his story about his and Bonnie's spiritual meetings it was going to be him.

He took a deep breath and prepared to confess.

"Well, I-" he began when a howl that seemed to dance along the trees and fill the space around them cut him off. Another followed it, and yet another until a whole chorus of howls seemed to ignite the night air.

"Ruffian's calling the pack," Alazuria informed everyone, frowning.

"Why?" Damon wanted to know. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know. We better go find him."

"Right. You think you can track him?"

Alazuria nodded. "It shouldn't be a problem."

"You lead, then. We'll follow."

Alazuria smiled at him for a split second, recalling the last time when he had insisted in taking charge of their expedition into the woods. "You learn fast, don't you?"

Damon shrugged. "One of my finer attributes."

Stefan cleared his throat sharply.

"Oh, shutup Stefan," Alazuria shot back, repeating Matt's earlier words.

And then she turned and disappeared amongst the trees, calling on her powers as a dragon for assistance.

XXX

Ruffian ducked as Ramza's claws went sailing over his head, hissing in frustration. Ramza was better in a fight then he had estimated, and he was feeling the penalty of his ignorance. Still, his strength, intelligence, and endurance levels were superior and Ramza wouldn't be able to keep up the pace much longer at the rate he was going. It wouldn't be long until his guard faltered and Ruffian could rush in with a devastating blow.

Ruffian smiled at the thought and decided to taunt his opponent. "There is no way in hell that I am going to let you reign over this pack," he gasped between breaths.

Ramza chuckled. "You're not much of a warrior, so don't be so sure of your victory," he rasped.

Ruffian, in rage, sunk his teeth into one of the orange werewolf's bicep and tugged. He was satisfied when Ramza yelped in pain and drew back.

He laughed.

Ramza growled and lunged, taking him off guard. The two hit the ground hard and tussled in the grass, snapping and biting at each other.

Ruffian felt something sink through his skin and past muscle, and only when it grasped organs and chunks of meat, pulling at them, did he realize it was Ramza's claws.

He growled loudly, watching Ramza's jaws slide open in a grin as they descended and tore into the already gaping hole in his stomach. When the pain was too much to bear he let out a mournful and pleading howl, calling his pack for assistance. Hopefully they would arrive before Ramza had done any thorough damage.

Until then he could only wait and make pathetic attempts to throw his assailant off, each movement sending shooting stars of pain through his entire body.

Hurry he thought and willed himself to stay conscious.

XXX

"Get away from him, you bastard!"

Ramza picked his head up from the bloodied mess of Ruffian's body and snarled, showing sharp teeth stained pink.

Damon burst into the clearing and snarled back, not letting the werewolf intimidate him. He stepped to the side of Alazuria, who was holding the crossbow at the ready. Matt and Stefan flanked her, looking prepared for anything,

"I said get away from him," Damon repeated.

Ramza threw his head back and laughed, the air ringing with the awful noise.

"No," he growled.

Damon didn't even bother with further words. His fury and lust for vengeance reaching its pinnacle, he launched himself at Ramza.

The werewolf wasn't about to be caught off guard. Snarling he leapt and collided with Damon halfway.

This time there would be no physical struggle. Before the two of them could land a blow on each other Matt darted behind the werewolf hefting the ax with two hands. He swung it like a baseball bat, and it embedded itself with a thunk in the werewolf's back. Matt felt it grind against spinal bone and horrified by the pleasure he took in it, let go of the handle and propelled himself backwards.

Ramza was screaming as he dropped to his knees injured and weakened, and Damon's reaction was pure instinct. He bared his fangs and sunk them home in the large vein that pulsated rapidly along the creature's bent neck. The smell and taste of the fur in his mouth sickened him, but the first hot spurts of coppery blood were well worth the drawbacks. He cradled the massive head and held it in place as Ramza struggled and jerked spasmodically. Claws dug through his clothing and into his back but his mind was too distant to feel them.

After what seemed like hours that he had been suckling he finally heard Ramza start to make gurgling noises. He could feel the creature's heart slow as the life slowly ebbed out of it.

At last Ramza made one final snarl and slumped forward. Damon pulled his mouth away, wiping it with the back of his sleeve, and let the heavy body fall to the floor.

He took a shuddery breath and stepped back, feeling the lupine's power course through him.

"Damon?"

Damon turned to see Alazuria standing next to him. She put a hand on the back of his shoulder.

"He didn't deserve such an easy death," Damon commented, staring blankly at the dead body. The eyes were still open and they stared up at him in frozen horror.

"He's dead and Seton's last request has been taken care of. That's all that matters."

Damon sighed. "Yes. Of course. You're right."

Alazuria pulled away from him and suddenly a smile split her face. "In case you're interested, Ruffian's still alive."

Damon picked his head up sharply and looked to where Ruffian had been lying with his stomach torn open and Ramza feasting on his insides.

"No way," was all Damon could say about the scene.

Ruffian was back in human form and was sitting upright, two werewolves tending to his wounds. Damon hadn't noticed the pack had arrived but now as he scanned the clearing he noticed them circled around Ruffian and the edge of the woods.

One of the bigger wolves was licking Ruffian's healing wound in a display of loyalty and yet another was fondly grooming him with a long tongue. Matt kneeled some feet apart from the scene, fascinated by the ethics.

Alex appeared from the sidelines and helped Ruffian to his feet. He grinned, patting Alex like a pet, and walked slowly over to where Damon, Alazuria, and Stefan stood.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely.

"It was a pleasure," Damon quipped and shot back his own grin.

"No, really. I'm thankful for all you went through for me."

''Yes, well, this sort of action seems to be becoming a routine."

"So I've heard." Ruffian raised an eyebrow. "Care to go back to the old college building and talk about your heroic exploits of the past, maybe catch up on each other's lives?"

Damon inhaled deeply. "No, I just want to go home and get about fourteen hours of sleep tonight, thanks. After what I've been through, with all this dragon and werewolf business, I don't think I can stand any more excitement."

"Ah, but you can't leave now." Ruffian grabbed Damon by the wrist and tugged him forward. "I haven't even introduced you to the pack!"

"But I-"

Ruffian told Damon to shutup and pulled him over to where the werewolves were congregating, ignoring his protests and practically shoving him right in their snouts. They sniffed and licked him playfully, much to Damon's befuddlement.

Matt, watching what was going on, jumped up from his place on the grass and let out a whoop of glee. Some of the werewolves broke away from the group around Ruffian and came over to investigate him, sniffing his hair and licking his clothing.

Stefan shook his head and spoke to Alazuria. "You deal with all this nonsense. I'm going back to Elena's house to get some rest." With that he walked off.

"There's always one in the bunch," Alazuria commented to herself.

Then she laughed and went over to rescue Matt from the band of curious werewolves, reveling in the beauty of the night and the unearthly giddiness that seemed to swell within her from head to toe.

Part 21 - Epilogue:

Damon accepted the hug Ruffian gave him then stepped back before his mind could flood with emotions, leaning against his Ferrari. He hated doing these things; leaving behind old lives for new.

"You sure you have everything?" Ruffian asked for the hundredth time.

Damon rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. And don't worry about Alazuria and Alex. They'll be fine."

"I'm going to miss them dearly." Ruffian paused as if thinking. "You didn't forget the package I want you to give Alazuria as soon as you're settled somewhere, did you?"

"Nope."

"The instructions I gave you for handling dragons?"

"No, have those safely locked in my memory."

"Well, I guess that's all." Ruffian smiled and changed the topic. "You don't have to worry about this town getting in trouble anymore. My pack and I are going to stay and protect it."

"Good, then I won't have to come and rescue it ever again." Damon laughed.

"I'll come visit you sometime. And I trust we'll keep in touch?"

"Of course."

"What will you do about Stefan?"

Damon thought for a moment. "Probably find out where the hell he disappeared to and pay him a surprise visit. Or maybe try to coax him into stop thinking of Elena and trying other people."

"And about Elena?"

"Put her out of my life."

"Ah, wise actions."

"Perhaps. It all depends on him."

Ruffian nodded. "Well, I wish you luck. Take care, Damon, and hopefully our paths will shortly cross again."

Damon nodded and opened the driver's side door of his car and nodded. "Same to you. Ciao."

Damon slid into the car beside Matt and glanced at Alazuria and Alex, who were crammed into the small backseat. Grinning he turned the key in the ignition and pushed on the stick shift.

The car peeled out of Ruffian's driveway and sped down the road, heading for the direction of the main highway and leaving Fell's Church behind in a cloud of smoke.

The End.