Violin by River She showed up on our doorstep on a frozen night in late November. The night before, I had ushered the evening's prey out the door with cab fare in hand and an unfocused, sleepy look in his eyes. He was lovely--smooth, cocoa-colored skin, eyes like burnt sugar, a good foot taller than either of us, and blessed with the most enormous dick I'd yet encountered on an actual living being. The sight of him naked had been deliciously arousing and terrifying. He was, he pointed out before we even left Belladonna, a top. Granted, they all said that--but this time I was pretty certain it was the truth. I returned to the bedroom and stood in the doorway, admiring for a moment how the candlelight danced over my brother's bare skin, outlining the smooth curve of his back. He lay on his stomach, my incubus in repose, still gleaming faintly with sweat, the black lines of his tattoo sinuous and almost alive in the flickering light. I thought he might have gone to sleep already, but when I closed the door behind me his eyes fluttered open, looking almost as fuzzy as the human's had. "Next time," he said, half-muffled by a pillow, "it's your turn." "Are you all right?" I asked, doffing my robe and stretching out alongside him, resting one palm on his back. "That was--amazing." "I've had worse." He started to roll over, winced, stayed where he was. "I don't suppose you would be kind enough to bring me something?" "Absolutely." I went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Ecstasy, Vicodin, a vial of morphine--I remembered a time when the most interesting thing in my bathroom was Scrubbing Bubbles. I loaded a needle and returned to the bedroom. Wordlessly, he stuck out an arm. "You surprised me," I said as I pushed the plunger into the syringe. "I had you pegged for a unilateral top." He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and I sensed the drug snaking its way through his veins, hitting the bloodstream in a tenth the time it would take for a human. He shook his head. "In this world it pays to be versatile. Besides, it's not as if you were up to the challenge." "True." I smiled. I helped him turn onto his back, settling him in the pillows. An empty tube of lube fell out of the covers as I unwound them; I tossed it into the trash, saying, "We really need to start buying the economy size." "Or stop bringing home the economy size," he muttered, crossing his arms up behind his head. "If it was that terrible, why did you volunteer?" "Terrible?" he opened his eyes, looking politely astonished. "Are you joking?" He gave me a devious grin. "It was fantastic." I chuckled and curled up around him again, drawing his head to my shoulder, nipping his ear in the process. "So when do I get a turn with that beautiful ass of yours?" I asked. "It hardly seems fair that some random human has touched you someplace I haven't." He smiled tiredly. "One of these days, maybe--but not tonight. I think another round would kill me." "Fair enough, I suppose. But someday." Sleep was drawing him down a dark and quiet tunnel, and it lapped around my mind as well; it was early yet, but it had been a busy night up to now and neither of us was really up for much activity. "What's playing tomorrow night?" I asked. "Mozart's 40th." "Do you really know all of them? After ten or so they sound the same to me." "It's not my fault you're an uncultured peasant." The first surprising thing I had discovered, months ago, was that not even Damon could spend all his time fucking and feeding. We were regulars at the opera house and various theatres around the city, as well as a half dozen other artistic and cultural venues. He was, in fact, a generous donor to the symphony and had entertained the notion of joining it once or twice. I had never managed to find out why he hadn't auditioned, but in the dark jealous heart of me I was glad that nobody else got to share that part of him--which was one of the few parts, as I'd pointed out, the rest of the world hadn't seen. The next night, therefore, found us walking back along the quiet streets, our breath coming in dragon-smoke clouds on the frosty air. Winter had already descended on the city, and the humans moved along quickly to get in out of the cold. The chill made me feel alive, alert. "You hate the new first chair violin," I noted. "I saw your expression." He made a noise that was half distaste and half disappointment. "I had hoped they would find a better replacement for Mizaki. He had such passion, such fire--this new boy would make better music by jerking off. I never noticed him in second chair because Mizaki was so incredible and covered all of his mistakes." I chuckled, pulled my coat around me, reveling in the feel of it. "You didn't have to buy me this," I said for probably the fifth time. He looked perplexed. "Don't you like it?" "Of course I do. I love it. But I'm starting to feel like a kept woman." He paused, pulled me close, gazing into my eyes. "But what else is money for? Besides, you look almost as hot in black leather as I do." "You also bought the shirt, the pants--oh, shoes too." "And you're complaining because--" "I'm not complaining. Not really. I just don't want you to think you have to spend money on me--between Belladonna and you, I have everything I need." His smiles were normally ironic or wryly amused, doled out carefully one by one, but this one was sweet, with real affection. I felt my heart squeeze around it, and my knees started to melt. It was moments like that I wondered, but didn't dare ask, just exactly where the line was between "lovers" and "in love," and how close I was to that line--if, indeed, I hadn't passed it months ago. It was so strange, this feeling, the same as I'd had the first years with her, when the world was full of promise and I felt invincible with her hand in mine. Only now, there was a certainty I'd never known before, an acceptance. Even the pessimistic little bastard in my mind that should have been protesting from day one that nothing good ever lasts could only stand there and shrug in bewildered silence. The night guard was waiting outside for us. One look and I knew something was wrong. "Sir," he said, addressing the one of us who actually owned the apartment, "There's a woman here to see you. A mortal. She said it's an emergency." As far as I knew, no one knew where we lived. All our prey left the building with altered memories; what few friends we had among our own kind were still not deemed trustworthy enough for that information. The guards were paid well for their silence. Who, then-- "Oh, shit," I said. "Elena." Damon turned and glared at me. "And just how would she know where to find us?" I looked away, unsettled by the automatic anger of his response. "I told her," I admitted. "But only in case she needed money or something--and she was supposed to send divorce papers as soon as the lawyer got them drawn up. They never came, so I forgot. I thought--I didn't think it was a big deal. She's on the other side of the damned country." He didn't look at all mollified, but before he could ask I added, "Nobody else. I promise. Just her." He sighed irritably, but followed the guard through the front doors into the lobby. As we entered another of the building's tenants, a woman named Diana, passed by on her way out with her companion Raine at her side. "Good evening, boys," Diana said, nodding. Raine cast me a friendly smile from beneath her dark curls; we had a certain kinship, she and I, being attached to two of the biggest Powers in the city. For a wonder, Diana and Damon were old allies; she mostly kept to herself in the larger community, socializing only with a small circle of trusted friends. Sometimes we were included in that circle. "Off to hunt, Diana?" he asked. "It's late." She laughed. "Yes, we're going to Belladonna--don't worry. We may do most of our feeding elsewhere, but you'll always have our business once or twice a week." "I would hope so, after I started having Dyke Night just for you two." One of the few complaints about the club was that it had a noticeable lack of female patrons; clever marketing and word of mouth had changed that of late, though not only for Diana and Raine; it had been a sound business strategy by all accounts. Revenues were up, as was customer satisfaction, both mortal and otherwise. As they went on their way, we crossed the lobby with the guard to the circle of couches and chairs that filled most of the space in front of the elevators. I braced myself. It had been months--what would we say to each other? What was she going to think about my new life? It would be obvious to someone with the psychic ability of a brick that I was much stronger than I had been, and after all my years of insisting I would never take human blood--I took a deep breath, looking for her blonde hair, her deep blue eyes. The woman waiting for us wasn't blonde. She had, in fact, auburn hair, falling haphazardly in to a heart- shaped face with eyes the clear brown-gold of topaz--one of which had a dark bruise around it, from a fist. The beauty of her face was mottled with more bruises, and a long cut ran from beneath her eye to her cheekbone, livid and red. She sat folded in on herself, one bag at her feet, dressed in a sweater and faded old jeans with no coat. She radiated exhaustion, fear, and pain. We both froze, staring. She looked up and smiled hesitantly. "Bonnie," I said, first to find my voice. She nodded. "How did--" Ten years had taken all the youthful levity from her voice. "Elena told me how to find you," she said. She sounded hoarse. "She thought I might be safe here." "Are you all right here, sir?" the door guard asked. I couldn't help but smile--he thought a beaten-up little woman was some sort of threat to us--but stranger things had happened. Damon nodded to him curtly, and he left us alone with her. After a moment of silence Damon asked, "What makes you think we'll help you?" She looked startled, as if she'd forgotten he was there. Humans often did until he chose to remind them. She thought about it, then shrugged. "I have nowhere else to go," she said. "Either you help me, or I keep running until I'm dead. At this point I don't really care which, but Elena made me promise to at least ask." He didn't ask who she was running from, or why; most of us were running from something. He simply crossed the space to the couch, picked up her bag, and headed for the elevator. I was a little surprised. I had expected more of an argument--but then, he'd taken me in without a fight, and I remembered that once, long ago, he had been quite fond of her--in his way. She started to get up, wavered a little; I went to help her, offering a steadying arm. "Thanks," she said, gripping me like a life preserver. She was limping; a quick scan of her body with my psychic senses told me that beneath her clothes she had a patchwork of bruises and cuts, and her ankle was badly sprained, most likely from a fall while running. As I led her to the elevator I had to wonder: what on Earth could she have done to merit such treatment? The Bonnie I remembered had been sweet, feisty but still naïve at times, not the sort of person who would engender hatred or hostility in anyone. Of course that had been ten years ago--and a lot, I knew quite well, could change in ten years. "You look great," she told me. "I don't think I've ever seen you this relaxed. Or this strong." "I wish I could say the same of you." She smiled wanly. "Yeah, me too." Her gaze turned piercing, critical. I knew immediately that whatever psychic powers she'd started to grow into in high school had matured and deepened; she might even be trained. She sized me up as the elevator doors closed behind us and we lurched upward; then, she cast a glance at Damon, who leaned back in the corner like a shadow. "You've been feeding off humans," she said to me. There had been a time I would have protested. "Yes, I have." To my surprise, she nodded. "About damn time. I tried and tried to tell her it wasn't fair--vampires aren't meant to live off cows and pigs." We had the corner penthouse, so the ride was a long one, and I sensed that what was left of her strength was failing her. She needed sleep, safety. We could provide both, as long as she didn't mind what else went on--how much should we tell her up front? Finally we reached the top floor and disembarked, leading her into the apartment. She looked around the way most humans did when we brought them here, and said, just as they did, "Nice place. Lots of space." I sat her down on the couch and took my chair as Damon went to the bar. "Would you like a drink?" I asked her. "I don't suppose you have coffee." "Afraid not. In fact we don't have much of anything that a human could live on." He handed me my usual, took his own chair, pondered Bonnie for a long moment in silence. "Are you going to tell us now?" She sighed. "Whatever. It's not a long story. It's kind of cliché, actually." "Go on." She pulled a throw pillow into her lap and hugged it. "Matt." She held up her hand, and I noticed there was a tan line on her third finger where a band should be. "I left him and he didn't like it." Damon raised an eyebrow, his equivalent of complete moral outrage. "So that's his handiwork?" She nodded. She seemed calm about it, very matter-of-fact about the whole thing, not the sort of reaction I would have expected from a victim of such abuse. "It's been going on for years now; it used to be only when he drank. His father's the same way. I didn't know until it was too late, and I probably wouldn't have believed it if I'd known. He was always so good to me, like a puppy dog. We had a disgusting amount of money from his practice--sports medicine. He went to med school after he blew out his knee in college." Bonnie toyed with a silver chain around her neck, the end of which was hidden in her sweater. "Then I started studying Witchcraft again; I dabbled in college but he convinced me to give it up. But he was spending more and more time at the office, and I felt this hole in me--I went to some classes that he didn't know about and started using my powers again. He demanded that I give it up, and I wouldn't--it made me happier than anything ever had, even him. He hated that. He hated that there was anything I needed besides him. Plus a Witch doesn't make a good trophy at AMA dinners." She pulled the chain from her sweater, showed us a silver circled pentagram that shone dully in the living room's dimmed lights. "He told me I had to choose, so I did. But he was lying--he wasn't giving me a choice. He thought he could beat it out of me. I went through the whole ritual with the police: restraining order, arrests, and all that. He had the money to buy himself out of jail and hired a PI to find me. Two days ago he tracked me down at a hotel. I got away." "How did you get away?" I wanted to know. Now she smiled, and there was something feral and dark in that smile that I warmed to. It wasn't entirely human. "I shot him," she said simply. A quick move of her hand and she pulled a pistol out of her bag. "A .357 Magnum," Damon said, undisturbed, "I haven't seen one of those in a while. Not a ladylike gun at all. Shouldn't you be answering police questions, then, instead of ours?" She laughed humorlessly. "Well the problem is that I'd have a tough time proving self-defense." "Why is that?" The feral look returned. "I didn't shoot him when he beat me. He caught me off guard. I played dead--then I followed him home and shot him six times, two in the head and three in the heart." "That's five," Damon pointed out. "And one in the crotch." He nodded. He looked very amused by the whole thing. "So you're wanted for murder now." "And his family's lawyers are trying to prove I was unstable all along and that he never raised a hand to me. They're going with the 'she actually believes she's a Witch with magical powers' angle. If I go to prison they can keep his money. So I ran--the first place I went was to Elena. I had a feeling she would know someplace I could go where they wouldn't find me." She looked at me. "She said you moved here last year, and I figured--" She shrugged. "Toss me out if you want. You don't owe me anything--neither of you do." He and I exchanged a look. She was wrong there; we owed her more than she could imagine. She had in fact contributed to the insanity that had brought Elena and I together, and eventually brought me here. Without the events in Fell's Church he would have killed me by now, or at the very least I would still be hiding from him--the least we could do was put her up for a while. "How long do you plan to be here?" he asked. Another shrug. "As long as you'll put up with me. I emptied out my accounts so I can afford my own food and everything. All I really need is anonymity while I figure out what the hell I'm going to do." We looked at each other again, and I realized he was silently asking my approval. That amazed me; up to now I'd assumed this was still "his" place, and I was living with him--now, it seemed, it had evolved into "our" place. I nodded once. "All right, then," he said to her. "You can stay. But you are not to leave this building without one of us in accompaniment. You can use the computer to order whatever you need, and have it delivered. You'll have to clean up after yourself, though, because we don't use the kitchen and the maid isn't paid to wash dishes." She nodded, looking grateful, as if she had been sure we would throw her back onto the street. "Okay." "And one more thing," he added. "While you're here you will most likely see things you'd rather not--our lives are a little unorthodox even by vampire standards. What you see or hear is not your business, and if you can't handle it you can find someplace else to stay. Understood?" Again, she nodded, a little confused but accepting. "Whatever you say." I stood. "I'll take you to your room, then," I told her, picking up her bag. She rose a bit shakily, and with my free arm I steadied her, suddenly aware of the scent of vanilla that wafted from her clothes, mingling with a very human fear and bone-deep weariness. I led her from the living room to the spare bedroom, opened the door for her. All the other doors in the hallway were closed; how long would it take before she realized there was only one other bedroom? "Here you go," I said. "The bathroom is on the left, closet on the right." She nodded, sank onto the bed, her hands trembling as they clutched the dark blue comforter. "Thank you," she said. "I--I hope one of these days I can repay you guys somehow." I smiled. "Is there anything you need tonight?" She looked around, eyes falling on the bathroom door. "A shower. Good God I must stink." Back on her feet, she made it to the bathroom door without help, but as I made to go she said, "Wait--could you--" I went to her. She was frustrated, a little pink with embarrassment. "My arm muscles are all pulled. Can you help me get my shirt off?" "Of course," I replied. "Don't be embarrassed, Bonnie, it isn't as if I've never seen breasts before." She managed a grin. "I guess." I took hold of her sweater and lifted it carefully, minding her injured arm, which she lifted painfully as much as she could. As I pulled it off, I bit my lip against protective anger--I had been right about the bruises. Her pale, rosy flesh was a mess, and it was a miracle she wasn't more badly hurt than pulled muscles and a sprained ankle. She could easily have been killed by that bastard-- Even with ten years between now and Fell's Church, I found it hard to accept that Matt had done this to her. Those blonde all-American types could go either way--the only others I'd met were hardly the violent type. Of course, they were all gay. This situation was a little different, I supposed. Were straight human males in this age different? I didn't remember anymore. Gradually, helping her out of the t-shirt under her sweater, I began to notice that beneath the bruises, she had grown quite a bit in the last decade--I remembered her as petite and thin, cute, more girl than woman. She had reminded me of a kitten, just learning to hunt, still unsure what to do with the mice it caught. Ten years had softened her shape, rounded her, like the women who had frequented our father's estate in my youth--full breasts pushing against a fairly ordinary black bra, gentle swell of her belly curving gracefully into her jeans-- She turned around, lifting her hair, and I unhooked her bra. Just for a bare second I let my fingertips brush against her skin, reveling in the warmth, the softness. I could get drunk on a body like hers--it seemed I was already halfway there. It was lucky she couldn't see me in the mirror, fighting with myself not to lean down and taste her neck, drink her in. "Thanks," she said. There was a peculiar catch in her voice. "I've got it from here." I stepped back, acutely aware of my own skin, thankful I had learned enough control of my body that I wasn't hard--at least not physically. "Good night," I said, and left the bedroom as quickly as I could. He was still sitting in the living room, and smiled slightly at my approach. "Keep your hands to yourself," he said, amused. "It isn't polite to shag the houseguests." I snorted. "This from you?" The smile broadened a hair. "This will be interesting," he said. "Having a human here for more than one night, and not feeding on her--at least not yet." "Don't," I told him. "She's been through enough already--she's not like the women at Belladonna. She didn't come here for that." He sighed. "True. Even I can't be that amoral. But you should take your own advice, brother. Watch yourself." I smiled and knelt on the floor in front of his chair. "I will if you will." He reached out one hand to touch my face, and I caught it, kissing the palm. I ran my tongue up one finger, then sucked on it, reminding him wordlessly of what else I might do. "To bed?" he asked. I let my smile turn a tad feral. "But it's so early." "I didn't mean to sleep, idiot." "All right," I said, "if you insist." I started to stand up, but he caught me by the arms and dragged me into his lap, fixing his mouth firmly on mine. I managed not to knee or elbow him in an unfortunate area and wrapped myself around him with a sigh. Despite my chaste reputation back in Virginia, I had been with my share of women over the centuries. I had lived many decades drowning in debauchery, hoping to silence the endless clamor of my conscience and the drone of my self-hatred. I'd had whores and duchesses, odalisques and a President's daughter--and no woman, in all those years, had ever kissed me the way he did. There was such an intensity, yet tempered with something almost tender, demanding but sometimes a little uncertain. I could have lived an eternity on those kisses, with nothing else to nourish me. It was like being eaten alive--but in a good way, if that was possible. For vampires I suppose it was. "You're amazing," I murmured when I had a chance to catch my breath. "You're observant," he replied, and took my mouth again. There was something tantalizing in the thought of having Bonnie walk in on us screwing like mad rabbits, but she had already dealt with enough for one day, so after a few breathless moments I coaxed him off the chair and down the hall. We shed clothes as we went; she could think of that whatever she liked. Bachelors were expected to be slovenly, after all, even without the usual array of empty beer cans and pizza boxes a human male might accrue. "It's cold in here," I noted, closing the bedroom door behind me, blinking in the darkness that was not dark to immortal eyes. He pushed me back against the door and unbuckled my belt with one hand. "Do you want to stop and light a fire?" "Not on your life." We only made it about halfway to the bed before sinking to the floor, stripping off the last remaining barriers of fabric between us. Despite all the practice we got on humans, when it was just us alone together we seemed to have two speeds--reverent, and wild. He growled low in his throat and flipped me onto my stomach, pinning me down by the shoulders. Sometimes I liked to pretend, just for a moment, that I wasn't so pathetically eager; I resisted a little as he pried open my mental shields and forcibly joined my mind to his, then joined his body into mine. I had learned to crave the brief flash of pain that faded in seconds, leaving me clawing the wood floor and trying, for the sake of our houseguest, not to cry out. He clamped one hand over my mouth to silence me, for which I was profoundly grateful, then fucked me so hard and for so long I think I lost consciousness at least twice. We ended up on the bed eventually, once the animal drive to tear each other apart had been sated, and I lay on my back with my hands curled around the headboard while the world contracted, condensing into the single overwhelming pleasure of his mouth gliding up and down the length of my cock. He paused, and I looked down, my vision clearing slightly from the fog it had been in for the last two hours. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." There was humor in his voice, mentally and aloud; I knew from experience he enjoyed seeing me fuck-drunk, admiring his efforts the way a sculptor might stand back and admire a new bust. He knew, as well as I did, that it took very little to get me there, but he still liked the effect. "Then don't stop..." A chuckle. "Are you sure? I thought you might like to try something different this time." I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Like what?" He moved up the bed, leaning on one elbow, letting one hand trace a line from my belly to my neck. "Like me." "Are you serious?" I asked. "It's only fair." My surprise, as well as my enthusiasm, amused him; he kissed me lightly then asked, "How do you want me?" I laughed. "Any way I can have you." My first impulse, given how aroused I was already, was to do what he'd done to me earlier on the floor...but the novelty of switching places, along with the trust it implied, calmed me. I wanted to savor every second, like the first night we were together, learning him from the inside like a new language. I went so slowly, in fact, that he turned his head up from the pillow and said, "You won't hurt me." I sighed, barely able to concentrate on anything besides the feeling of being surrounded, and held...I moved in deeper, inch by inch, up to the hilt, before affirming, "I know." "You've taken the lead with our prey many times," he added, shifting a little, drawing a slightly shaky breath as his body adjusted to taking me in, waiting for me to ease into a rhythm. "I know," I repeated, leaning in to flick my tongue against his ear. "But that's...almost like business. It's always different when it's someone you l--" I froze, barely stopping in time to keep the last word from slipping out, but I knew he'd heard it. My heart hammered, and if I could have I might have pulled away; as it was, if I tried that at this point I'd probably hurt him, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. The moment stretched out in silence before he finally said, very quietly, "It's all right. You can say it." "I--I can?" "Only if you mean it." I lay my head against his shoulder, my heart quaking, and closed my eyes. "I do." He ran one hand along my arm, twining our fingers together, and sighed softly--but said nothing. Two I couldn't sleep. I suppose it was to be expected. Every time I closed my eyes I heard the gunshots; every time I allowed myself to cross the border into dreams, I saw and felt a rain of fists, felt myself slammed into the wall, heard breaking glass and my own screaming. "Stop," I moaned, looking up through a haze of blood and terror. I was on my knees in the kitchen all over again. "Please, stop." The only answer was a kick to my stomach, the one I knew sealed the baby's fate. That night, standing in the living room, the gun still in my hands, cramps seized my belly and I bled. In a normal world, the world I had lived in a year ago, I would have been rushed to the hospital, and my husband would have held my hand and said, smiling reassuringly, "It's okay, baby. We'll try again." In the world I knew now, I bled all over the cheap apartment carpet. Blood streaked down my thighs as I wandered from room to room, packing a bag. Blood pooled on the kitchen tile as I mindlessly drank a glass of water. Blood soaked into the jeans I pulled on. As I left the apartment, thoughtfully locking the door behind myself, the first wave of nausea and dizziness hit me, as much from the stench as from anything else. Somehow I got to the car, and somehow I drove. Somehow I made it to Elena's condo. I was embarrassed at the thought of bleeding all over her expensive furniture--furniture she'd paid for with the check she got from Stefan every month, wherever he was--but by the time I got to the top of the stairs I was on my knees, almost crawling, reaching the doorbell seconds before I passed out. Human she might be, but Elena had connections. When I woke up I was at a doctor's office--a friend of Alaric's, I think. Elena kept in touch with the Salzmans, though they were still in Europe and I hadn't spoken to them in months. It was really too bad Meredith wasn't here; she always knew what to do, and I knew that presented with a bleeding and broken woman and the murder of the perfect husband, she wouldn't bat an eye. Then too, she was a lawyer, and I was going to need one of those if I lived through the night. But Elena was there, and she took care of things. She was like that, since the separation. I knew she missed him, but I also knew she was happier alone; she was dating some guy from the same country club Matt and I belonged to. He was solid, average, except for his bank account. I wondered what the skinny, plastic-surgery-and-Atkins- diet bitches there would say if they saw me now. They had always gossiped, always wondered what a "catch" like Matt was doing with a fat hippie who came to dinners with paint still dried in her hair, who would rather talk about Kabballah and archaeological evidence of matriarchal cultures than who was sleeping with whose babysitter or who got her boobs done last month in Florida. Elena's doctor friend patched me up, and gave me a transfusion. He didn't want me to leave; I needed to be in the hospital, he said. It would take testing to find out if I could still have children. I laughed in his face. I stared at the ceiling of this unfamiliar room, thinking of the gun in my bag. It was Matt's. Men liked to shoot things. He had traveled a lot for a while--medical conferences and so forth--and wanted me to be able to protect myself, in the unlikely event. I think what he really wanted me to protect was his big-screen TV. Hours went by. I watched the red digital numbers on the clock pass one, two, three in the morning. I closed my eyes, and I heard gunshots. I opened them, and I saw the endless span of days I now had to face alone--a fugitive, a murderer, used up and thrown away. I could, at least, set up an altar. I doubted the boys would care about my religious proclivities as long as I didn't make a mess. I rolled painfully, slowly out of bed, sat up, reached for my bag. The pain in my shoulder reminded me of earlier, when Stefan had helped me undress. Was it my imagination? Had he really wanted to touch me? I could feel it from him, but when it came to the two of them my senses were already confused. There was something very odd at work in this apartment, an undercurrent of...what was it? I had no idea. I was so exhausted that it could very easily have been a delusion. The scary thing was, if he'd asked I probably would have offered myself to him on the spot, for comfort, and the relief of knowing not everyone in the world hated me now. It had been hard enough seeing Damon again, remembering what might have been ten years ago if he hadn't walked away from that clearing and out of our lives. I had buried those tentative, half-formed feelings, telling myself he was gone and that was that, finally convincing myself to fall in love with Matt--someone I thought was normal, and real, and there. Now everything I knew was gone, and here I was, a fugitive Witch living with two vampires. I cleared a corner of a low bookshelf and fished in my bag, moving slowly with protesting muscles. I unfolded a dark blue scarf and spread it over the shelf, then added a jar candle, a small burner for cone incense, a seashell to hold salt water. Last I removed a small statue I had bought months ago and kept hidden in my sock drawer, taking it out on those rare nights I felt safe doing ritual or praying. I unwrapped it, revealing the serene face of the Goddess, whose resin form reclined on a crescent Moon. Her painted smile seemed to brighten at being remembered--She, at least, looked confident in my choices. I placed Her on the shelf, then realized that while I could get water from the bathroom, salt was a more daunting proposition. Did they even have such basic human necessities here? I couldn't sleep, so I might as well have a look in the kitchen. If nothing else I could raid the impressive liquor cabinet I'd seen in the living room and drink myself unconscious. I pulled on some clothes, just in case, and limped out into the hallway. My room was second on the right; I took a moment to get my bearings, wondering how many bedrooms the place had. Three, at least, and there were four doors; one might be a closet or something. There was a faint, wavering light coming from under the door opposite mine--a fireplace, I thought. My room didn't have one; perhaps that was the master bedroom. It was therefore most likely Damon's. I wondered if he was awake. Were they nocturnal? I couldn't imagine him as a day person unless he had to be. He'd always seemed much more at home in the dark. Looking back, I had too. Maybe that was why I'd been drawn to him even as a teenager. Or, I thought with a wry smile, maybe it was just because he was so damned beautiful. The two of them together was almost too much to look at. For just a second I entertained the notion of a Salvatore sandwich, but I banished the thought, feeling a little warm. After all I'd been through sex ought to have been the last thing on my mind...but the thought of being touched, touched without fear and violence, made my eyes hurt with unshed tears. When was the last time anyone had touched me except to hurt me? Tonight, I remembered. Stefan had helped me undress, and his fingers had rested just a little too long on my skin, reminding me that it was possible, that there were men out there that knew how to treat a woman with kindness, even deference. I made my way through the living room and into the huge, unused kitchen. There was nothing in the fridge but a few bottles of high- end beer, a half-empty jar of olives--probably for martinis--and several plastic bags of blood, still with hospital labels on them. That would explain how Stefan could conscience drinking human blood...but...could blood taken from a sterile, lifeless pouch have given him the strength I knew he had now? It didn't seem likely. The life force contained in hospital blood, which might be days old, couldn't be as strong as fresh. Perhaps this was a supplement, for nights when they couldn't hunt? Funny how thinking about this was much easier than thinking about myself. I found a panel of light switches, one of which was fortunately on a dimmer, so I turned on enough light to see by and inspected the cabinets. Just as I'd feared--they were all empty, except for glassware and a set of dishes that looked like it had probably never been used. Everything was spotless, shining. There was, of course, no salt. I sighed, took a bottle of Baileys from the liquor cabinet, and found a glass and some ice. I leaned back against the kitchen island and drank a whole glassful in several long swallows, then filled it up immediately before putting the bottle back and venturing back toward my room. I sipped as I walked, and the alcohol burned the edge off my soreness and stiffness as well as the ragged edges of my thoughts. I'd never been able to hold my liquor; by the time I got done with this glass I'd be good and wasted, surely able to fall asleep. As I reached the bedroom I noticed that the firelight under the opposite door was brighter; not only that, it edged around the whole door, and I realized the door was ajar about half an inch. Had it been before? I couldn't remember. Out of drink-induced boldness, I moved closer and carefully eased the door open a little farther to peek inside. My gaze went to the fireplace first, and someone moved--I stood still, heart pounding with fear of discovery, until I saw that he was facing away from me. As expected, it was Damon, stirring the fire; it looked like he'd just added another log, which accounted for the brightness. He was dressed in a dark robe, which he shed as he went back to the bed. I bit my lip, feeling myself blush, but I only got the barest glimpse of pale skin before he slid back beneath the covers. Disappointed, I started to retreat... ...but then I saw he wasn't alone. My free hand went to my mouth in complete, utter shock. Damon pulled the comforter up and smoothed it out, tucking it in around Stefan, who was fast asleep facing the doorway. Damon curled up against his back, brushing the hair from his slumbering brother's eyes, a small and proprietary smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He kissed Stefan where neck joined shoulder, murmuring something I couldn't hear; then he wound an arm around him, and settled in to sleep with a contented sigh. There were clothes strewn about the bedroom floor, and I noticed a shirt on the floor of the hallway as well. In fact there was a trail of castoff garments leading from the living room. Holy shit. I stood staring for another long minute, watching as Damon's breathing evened out. He held onto Stefan tightly, like a teddy bear. As much as I wanted to be horrified, maybe even disgusted, I couldn't help but think the scene was...sweet, somehow. Safe, comforting, the way two people who cared about each other were supposed to look together. Finally I forced myself back to my room, and sank onto the floor in front of my makeshift altar, clutching my glass of Bailey's like a lifeline. I took a sip, but it had gone abruptly tasteless, so I sat it on the floor, removing one ice cube and sucking the liquor off of it before placing it in the seashell to melt. I could get salt tomorrow when I ordered groceries. This would do for now. I leaned back on the bed, wishing I had my mind together enough to meditate, but the alcohol had loosened my reflexes too much to concentrate on anything. Instead my thoughts ran in little circles, trying to make sense out of things, looking for alternate explanations and finding none. So the reason Stefan stayed here wasn't just that he and Elena had separated. Like her, he had found...someone else. I wasn't sure what was harder to digest--the thought of either brother sleeping with a man, or the thought of them sleeping with each other. Although the thought of them sleeping with each other was very intriguing to me at the moment, due in no small part to the drink...I let my eyes drift shut, picturing that room, the two of them bare- skinned, touching...Damon would be top, of course, bending his head to trace Stefan's lips with his tongue, kissing him deeply...hands moving in the firelight...two lithe bodies like a living sculpture, moving in slow rhythm-- Before I could get too far into the fantasy, however, I felt my consciousness slipping down the incline toward oblivion, and fell asleep sitting on the floor with my back against the bed and my hand curved under the waistband of my shorts. ***** Matt's face went slack, expressionless, as he toppled over. There was blood everywhere, and a spray of brains across the pristine white wall of what had once been our dining room. The cold fury that had gripped me held fast as I walked across the plush carpet now stained red and stood over his body. His eyes were still open, as if surprised that the back of his head had been blown off. One arm was outstretched, his wedding ring catching the chandelier's light and gleaming dully, the same way the metal of the gun gleamed. I stared at the ring for a moment, then held my breath and stomped on his hand, over and over, until the ring was bent and the fingers smashed into an unrecognizable mess of blood, bone, and gristle. Then I took a step back and aimed the gun at his crotch. But then I was on my back, screaming, as he held me down on our bed. I couldn't see out of one eye; he'd hit me. He'd never hit me before. He reeked of beer and cigarettes, and I tried to tell him he was drunk, that he didn't want to do this, that I loved him. He was still yelling--I made him so angry, why did I make him do this? Why couldn't I just be normal? Why did I have to embarrass him? I didn't know what I had done. I didn't remember doing anything. I was painting and he burst into the studio, drunker than I'd ever seen him, and dragged me by the arm up the stairs. I fought, so he hit me. I begged, so he hit me again. Then he held me down and fucked me, while I sobbed. Afterward he apologized for days and bought me roses, a necklace, a trip to Paris. Then I was crying again, watching the blood flow down my legs, watching the blood flow from his chest, watching the blood...it was everywhere...I tried to soak it up, wash it out, but it stayed, and I could smell it and taste it, feel it sticky on my fingers, feel the life of the tiny thing that had been growing in me dripping onto the floor. Pain seized me, and I screamed, doubling over. /"Stop, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please stop--"/ /"Bonnie."/ Someone was shaking me. /"Bonnie."/ Something took hold of my mind, and warm darkness enveloped me, casting the images into shadow. Suddenly I could think--a nightmare, it was only a nightmare. I was sobbing for real this time, my eyes opening to a field of dark blue, the steady thrum of a heartbeat under my cheek. I was clinging to someone, weeping, on the floor where I had fallen asleep. I looked over and saw Stefan's worried face in the doorway; he was in a green robe, like the blue one I was holding onto. He crossed the small room and knelt beside me, moving the melted ice-and-Bailey's out of the way. I leaned back, looked up, into fathomless black eyes. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying. "I woke you up." He shook his head. He had gathered me into his lap like a child with a skinned knee, and cradled me against his chest; I was freezing, shaking, and felt a blanket being wrapped around me, comforting hands and the heat of another body at my back. They held me between them for a long time in silence, and I knew Damon at least was using Power on me, soothing me, banishing the horror of the dreams. I was half asleep when I felt them lifting me off the ground, but I didn't think too much about what they were going to do with me; all I knew was, moments later I was bundled into a soft bed, with one brother on each side of me, a thick down comforter and the distant warmth of a burning hearth fending off the chill...and this time, when I fell asleep, even my dreams knew I was safe. Three The following night we planned to go to Belladonna, since we'd fed off the street the night before on the way to the symphony. I wasn't sure I was comfortable bringing prey to the house with Bonnie there, but we had to at least visit the club; the patrons and the humans were more confident if they had frequent glimpses of the owner. Bonnie slept that entire day, and probably would have continued to do so if we hadn't gotten out of bed; the lack of our presence woke her, so that when I came out of the bathroom freshly showered she was sitting up, rubbing her eyes, looking around with interest. She blushed bright pink when she saw me, and it occurred to me that we had inadvertently given ourselves away in trying to help her. Even if she hadn't put two and two together, seeing Damon emerge from the bathroom behind me in the same state of dress and wet-headedness spoke volumes, as did the way he let his fingers trail across the back of my neck before going to the closet to hunt up some clothes. Her expression was weary, but a smile lurked there, and I found myself smiling back, almost laughing. "Well," she said, "Elena always said she wished you two were closer." Now I did laugh, as much out of relief as humor. Her reaction could have been one of a hundred--it was good that she'd picked one of the ten or so that meant she could stay. Damon, buttoning his shirt, smiled. "I saw you peeking in the door last night." Bonnie turned positively scarlet. "Sorry. It was open." "Don't be. You had to find out sooner or later." She nodded. "Thank you, for..." I smiled, crossed the room to finish off Damon's buttons for him. He gave me an indulgent look. "You're welcome," I said, though most of the effort had been his and not mine; I had woken to the sound of her screaming, and by the time I got to the bedroom he already had her in his arms. The protective anger in his eyes at the way she had been treated made me the tiniest bit jealous, but not very, since I felt much the same way--or, so I told myself. "...paying attention," Damon said, tapping me on the chin. I looked up, sheepish. "Wear your heavy coat," he said. "It's cold as fuck outside tonight." I nodded, and he went into the living room, leaving me alone with her. "So," she began, obviously trying to choose just one question to start with, "you two...how long has this been going on?" I sat down on the edge of the bed. "Since a month or so after I got here." "And...are you...in love, or is it just a sex thing?" Then she chuckled at the expression on my face, and amended, "Never mind." She toyed with a corner of the comforter a moment before saying, "I can tell you're happy." "I am," I said, hoping she couldn't see the turmoil beneath the smile. "I think we both are." "I envy you. Having a place to belong, someone to belong to. I wish I could have that." I lay a hand on her arm, squeezing gently. "You will one day. You're too good a person and too wonderful not to have a home, Bonnie." She made a noise that said clearly she didn't buy that. "Sure." There were tears in her eyes, and I fought the urge to pull her to me and kiss her tears away--or whatever else it took to make her smile out of genuine happiness, just once. I remembered waking during the day, feeling her softness so close, resisting the desire to touch her, taste her breasts, watch her writhe with pleasure under our four practiced hands. "Where are you going?" she asked, luckily jolting me out of my thoughts before they started to show on the outside. "To hunt," I replied, then clarified. "There's a club, a hunting ground we call it; humans go there to go home with a vampire. We trade blood for sex, usually, which charges the blood with energy and makes it more nourishing. The humans know what they're getting into." Now she looked genuinely taken aback. "Both of you? I thought you were a couple." I shrugged. For a moment I had forgotten she was human and still had to contend with things like labels and stereotypes. I reminded myself that it wasn't so long ago I was mired in them too--I was still amazed how easy it had been to discard my humanity. "We are, but not the way two mortals would be. It gets infinitely more complicated when you factor in eternity." Damon appeared at the door and motioned for me, saying to Bonnie, "While we're out, go ahead and order whatever you need--the door next to yours is the office. I left a credit card on the desk for you to use." "I'll give you cash afterward," she said. "I don't want to owe anyone anything." He seemed about to say something, but merely nodded. "All right." I rose and went to join him, then paused and said to her, "When we get home you might want to stay in your room a while until we're settled in here. And try to shield yourself if you can--we tend to give off a good deal of sexual energy when we feed." She looked a little nervous at that, and Damon gave her a dazzling smile and said, "Welcome to the underworld." ***** The whole way to Belladonna, I watched his profile, trying not to watch. My mind was still in a twist, my heart trying to make sense of things, but the question remained: /why didn't he say it back?/ I knew I shouldn't expect him to. I had told myself over the months that I was the only one feeling this strongly, that he enjoyed my company and cared about me but it didn't go any deeper than that. Still, my heart ached dully that I had finally said it--to him and to myself--and got no real response. Now he wasn't looking at me. He'd been almost unusually attentive at the apartment, for Bonnie's benefit lest she think there was a problem, but with several hours between now and my admission I understood how badly the words had shaken him. He didn't want me to love him. That much was plain--but it was equally plain he'd already known. I didn't understand. The club was its usual pounding bass and glitz, and we took our usual places on the catwalk to survey the menu, while down below a hundred humans put on an unconscious show of their strengths and weaknesses, their auras and their behavior telling us which was most likely to keep us nourished the longest. I nodded and greeted the vampires upstairs that I knew; most had ready smiles in return, though a few were guarded if not openly hostile. It was to be expected that we would have a few enemies, though most of them stayed far away from Damon's territory after Thorn's demise. Damon spoke to almost every one of our kind in attendance, more out of political savvy than genuine interest. I noticed Diana and Raine were there, emerging from a back room looking sated and content. They paused for a slow, lingering kiss to share the last taste of blood from their prey, and I found myself watching them wistfully; they were openly affectionate, even doting at times, and I envied their easy way with each other as they came up the stairs arm in arm. "What do you want tonight?" Damon asked me, bringing my attention back to the matter at hand. I frowned. "The pickings are a little slim." "Choose and let's get to work." I held back a sigh, knowing it was going to be a difficult night; he was already aloof, and we couldn't do our best work unless we were fully connected. I looked at the crowd halfheartedly. "Let's go fishing." I could tell he wanted to refuse, but couldn't come up with a decent excuse quickly enough. "All right." We walked down the stairs side by side, the other vampires moving out of our way, some nodding in deference and others looking at us through hooded expressions that could mean anything or nothing at all. It was the way of our kind to be enigmatic; I chose not to overanalyze. That was his job. I often found it amusing that, though we were partners in a way, I was essentially the dutiful wife, there to look good on his arm. I figured eventually that might bother me. For the time being it was something of a relief. We stopped on the edge of the dance floor, and I held back a smile as a number of heads turned--the humans knew exactly why we were standing there, and some attempted to catch our attention and divert it from whomever we had already picked. In this case, though, we didn't have anyone in mind, and were hoping they would give something, anything, to spark our interest. There were a few others of our kind on the floor, doing the same thing, waiting to be surrounded and then choosing from among those with the balls to approach a vampire uninvited. I let the music move through me, and drew him out with me into the maddening crowd, where the crush of people parted to let us pass. I could have picked a human at random from the balcony, but this was an old trick of mine for those nights when some darkness haunted his thoughts and kept him distant. One thing I had learned about my brother: he loved to dance. It worked like a charm. I pulled him to me, into the beat, and damned if he could resist. I pushed the rest of the night away and held his attention right here and now, not even needing any otherwordly influence; music, motion, and attraction were a powerful force of their own. My heart rose back up from the floor where it had fallen as he reached for me, and the energy flowed between us, give and take, essentially fucking with our clothes still on. It was a heady, delicious feeling, better than blood, as solid and palpable in the room as the feel of his hard muscles against mine. Naturally, we attracted a crowd. Eventually I noticed the humans pressing in around us, wanting a taste of the Power and of us. I knew we made quite a picture, two creatures of shadow and flame. I felt a mortal body at my back, one that was strong and had a darkness of its own, and knew we'd found our catch. I stretched back and touched the human's mind, beckoning for him to follow as we slid off the dance floor, still touching, unable to stop. Ignoring the human for the moment, I leaned in and whispered, "I want you." In response, Damon took me by the shoulders and pinned me back against the wall, his tongue in my mouth before I could breathe. I hooked my hands in his belt and held on, trying to put all the force of raw desire into that kiss, knowing that, for now, he was mine. The human cleared his throat. "Hello?" Damon growled into my mouth, then turned his head and snarled, "Wait your turn." The boy made an impatient noise. "Whatever. I can find somebody else, you know." Something in the human's attitude irritated the hell out of me--I hated the cocky ones, the ones that were there for show, that considered us trophies. Supposedly there were even clubs of humans that kept score; they rated us according to attractiveness, strength, reputation. We drew a lot of those types, having all three qualities in abundance. If this human knew who we were chances were he was already anticipating a lot of points for the night. Humans always had to feel they had the upper hand, that our survival was a game to them; never mind that, if we liked, we could feed and fuck and kill them without any effort or consent on their part. Some of us did just that. "We can find someone else too," I told the boy. "Go." He immediately got contrite. "Hey, I'm just kidding. I'll make it worth your while, I swear." We both looked at him. He was certainly cute, in a very blond sort of way. Very boy-next-door. I wasn't sure what I had sensed from him earlier, but there was an underlying shadow of some kind that was at least a little intriguing. There would be plenty of time for the two of us to tear each other apart later. I was starving, and I knew Damon was too...but we could do better. Much better. "Sorry," I said, "You've already outworn your welcome." I saw a moment of outrage pass over the boy's face, but he didn't press; he shook his head, said "Fuck you, then," and stalked off toward the back rooms. In the end we settled on a petite redhead, a woman this time, and both pretended her appearance was a coincidence. She was much more agreeable, with a bright smile and a clear, ringing laugh. She seemed, at least to me, more like Bonnie should be, in a world where life was fair and her beauty and heart were valued instead of denigrated. We led the girl, who said her name was Abby, out of the club and to the street. The weather had warmed a little, or we were overheated from the club, so we opted to walk; Abby didn't mind the suggestion, having worn something approaching sensible shoes. She walked in front, and we followed. A block or so down, to my astonishment, he took my hand, squeezed it, then let it drop. We only lived about half a mile from the club, and in that time we learned that Abby was a secretary for a law firm downtown, she had a German shepherd and a love of opera, and she had just broken up with her boyfriend of two years. Again, surprising me, Damon actually talked to her--she'd snared him with a comment about the Metropolitan Opera's performance of /Aida,/ and they debated the finer points of the soprano's talents for most of the walk. It was a rare pleasure to hear him talk at such length, and I let my mind idle, loving the sound of his voice, the faint rise and fall of our native accent coming through now and then. I was so content, in fact, that I didn't notice I'd fallen a little behind. I also didn't hear footsteps. I did, however, feel the impact of something hard and blunt with the side of my head. I don't know if I made any noise, but the ground rushed up, and someone seized me roughly by the arm and dragged me off the street, into an alley. A strange, botanical odor hit me just as my senses spun wildly off axis--I remembered the smell, and the confusion it cast. Vervain. Oh fuck. I couldn't get my mind together enough to call for help; I could barely summon a thought at all, but I knew enough to recognize the face that hovered in my swimming vision. The boy from Belladonna, the one we'd rejected, shoved me onto my back and straddled me, fishing for something in his coat. I saw something flash--pale wood. A stake. I heard the boy say something, something garbled about God and judgment and perversion. My brain allowed a thought: a vampire slayer. I had never actually seen one, though I'd heard about them. They were mostly a nuisance. Not really dangerous. They picked off a few of the weaker ones, but were usually killed before they could cause a real problem. If the situation had been a little different, if it weren't for the vervain sending my senses into a whirl, I would have found him laughable, and shown him a judgment even God would fear. I watched as he held the stake over my chest and brought it down, in slow motion. I expected the impact to hurt, but it didn't immediately; my senses were too twisted for the pain to register. Time continued to crawl as something ripped the boy off me, and distantly I heard the sound of bones breaking, a cry. Weakness washed over me, and my head lolled off to the side, so that the last thing I saw was Abby, standing in the alley's mouth, white-faced, screaming. Four I clicked 'place order,' my free hand reaching for another slice of pizza, and watched the little hourglass on the screen while the grocery store's website logged everything I'd just purchased. I hadn't been terribly extravagant, but had decided that damn it, I deserved to get what I liked; I no longer had to worry about feeding Matt. I never had to cook a pot roast again. The thought pleased me. Tomorrow I would have hummus, pita bread, and tiramisu ice cream, just for starters. I sat in Damon's desk chair with my legs crossed, feet tucked under me, in yoga pants and a tank top that had a hole over the left nipple. There was no one to remark that I looked like trailer trash with my hair up in a pony tail and no makeup on. Even if the boys had been home I suspected they wouldn't give a shit about what I wore; in fact they would be perfectly happy, I knew without doubt, if I walked around naked. I also didn't have to eat black olives on my pizza anymore. Killing your husband did have its perks. I ordered double pepperoni and plowed through it like a college kid, washing it down with an expensive foreign beer I'd pilfered from the fridge. I shifted in the seat, the leather creaking softly, and went to set up a new email account on a free service, using a fake name. I could live without diamonds, caviar, cocktail parties; I couldn't live without the Internet. Thankfully they had a cable modem, a very impressive system, and the most comfortable office chair I'd ever experienced. I could get used to this. I emailed Elena. /"Arrived safely. Boys say hello."/ I wondered what she would think if I told her... She would, most likely, die of shock. I still wasn't sure I believed it myself. I sat back, yawning, looking around the office. I wondered how they made all the money it must take to finance a lifestyle like this one. I couldn't picture either of them with a nine-to-five job. Apartments this big in the city didn't come cheap. At least they didn't have to budget for food. My eyes fell on a music stand in the corner, and on a violin that rested there. Which one played? I got up, stretching, and went over to the little instrument, running my fingers lightly over its surface. It looked old, very old, and despite its polish had a few scratches and dings from its adventures. I picked it up, turned it over; randomly, I got a mental picture of the hands that played it, and knew whose they were. My psychic ability was like that most of the time--random, a little unpredictable. What training I'd had was woefully incomplete, thanks to Matt's prejudices and my own fear. There were things I could do on demand, but the need had to be great, the energy high. That was rare these days. I turned the violin over, and noticed a flat metal plaque attached to the wood. Would something like that throw off the sound? I held it in the light, and realized it was inscribed, in Italian. I sounded out the words, only recognizing a few. /Al mio corvine--dal Michael.../ To...to my...I looked around for a dictionary, but didn't see one. I supposed someone that had been speaking the language for five centuries didn't really need a dictionary. But who was Michael? There was more, none of which I could really read. Something about stars, and the year: 1881. Across the apartment, I heard the door open and slam shut. Again, my psychic ears gave me a ghost of information: the boys. But...something... Something was wrong. I put the violin down, looked out of the door, but couldn't see around the corner to the living room. The sense of trouble drove me forward, though, and I followed the sounds of movement. I saw blood. Instantly my memories rose up, threatening to overwhelm me--Matt dying, his blood all over the carpet, my own dripping down, down...I fell back against the wall, fighting the panic, trying desperately to focus. I heard a soft whimper of pain, and my vision cleared enough to register what was going on. Damon eased Stefan onto the couch, then shucked his coat, tossing it on the floor. He was covered in blood, but I knew it wasn't his--it was Stefan's, and the reason for it was plain. A narrow shaft of wood jutted out of Stefan's chest. He'd been staked. "Oh my God," I gasped. Damon, startled, looked up at me; he hadn't even noticed I was there, which told me just how worried he was. So did the look on his face. I'd seen that look before, once, and for the same reason. I crossed the room and knelt by the couch, biting back nausea at the too-familiar smell of blood. "What happened?" He didn't answer; his attention was fixed entirely on his brother, who was conscious but dazed from pain and shock. "Here we are again," Stefan murmured. "So--stupid--just...like...always..." Damon took a deep breath, then pulled the stake out with a single motion; Stefan cried out in agony, and a new wave of blood rushed from the wound. It wasn't a heart shot; in fact, it was way off the mark. I didn't know if it was fatal or not, but I knew it was serious. "He needs blood," I said unnecessarily. I started to rise. "I'll get some from--" "It's old," Damon said sharply. "It won't help." "Where's...the girl?" Stefan asked hoarsely. Damon snorted softly. "She screamed like a bloody fool and then ran. She was gone before I could catch her, and there's no one on the street in this godawful weather." "What are you going to do?" I asked. "Will he..." He was silent a moment, staring down at Stefan, whose breathing was growing ragged and shallow. "I don't know." Their eyes met, and something passed between them. "No," Stefan said, summoning the strength to sound adamant. "Absolutely not." "Don't be an idiot. Do you want to die?" "Don't. You can't." But Damon's eyes had hardened. He looked up at me. My stomach clenched in fear. It was the look of a hungry predator on the verge of leaping. I took an involuntary step back, my hands going to my throat. "It won't do," Stefan insisted. "After what she's been through...and you know she's not strong enough." Something took hold of my mind and froze me in place. Damon's voice was like ice. "She will be." My limbs moved of their own accord; I went back to the couch, sank onto the floor. All the while my heart hammered in my chest, and my mind battered against the bonds that held it, uselessly, like a rabbit in a trap. I felt my tentative shields being pushed open, and the dark velvet grasp of Damon's Power wrapped around me, as he shifted away from Stefan and put his hands on my skin. He pulled me to him, and to the floor, stretching out as his mouth found mine. I understood, I thought, what he was doing, and though my mind rebelled, my body arched toward his, not needing any Power to crave even a moment's touch. There was no time for gentleness, but I didn't need it--I couldn't fight the fire that consumed my every cell. He didn't bother with most of my clothes, only pulling aside what was necessary, pushing my shirt up over my head and using it to pin me to the ground while his free hand snaked down between my thighs. I was already wet, and the pressure of his fingers nearly made me scream. I wanted my hands free. I wanted to claw his back and tear my way through his clothes, to feel the muscle and skin that were just inches away. I fought against the arm that was holding me down. He seemed to think I was trying to stop him, and to my terror I realized that, even if I said no, there was a very good chance he was going to take me anyway. That shouldn't have turned me on. It should, in fact, have horrified me. I twisted my body violently to the left, surprising him, freeing my arms. I threw the shirt away, then pulled myself into a sort of crouch, like a cat waiting to pounce or flee. Our eyes met. Right at that moment, I knew this was no longer about Stefan. The feeling that possessed me was unlike anything I'd ever known--it was elemental, intense, and my will meant nothing to it. Was it me? Was it him? Did it matter? We came back together practically snarling, the wildness seizing us both, and stripped each other almost frantically. He flipped me on my back, kissing me hard enough to suck my soul out through my lips, and I dug my nails into his arms, wrapping my legs around him. He expected to be in charge. I found myself laughing. I slid downward, lifting, and pulled him into me, the plush carpet burning my shoulders. He was looping the energy that built between us, letting it feed itself, and I could see it; I was only half trained, but I still knew more than any ten average humans about Power and how to use it. I reached into it and dragged him into the flow, so that it was made of both of us equally instead of just draining me. He didn't like it, but I didn't give him a chance to protest; I lifted my head and bit him on the neck as hard as I could, instinctively knowing what that would do. I tasted his blood--old, and sweet, like mulled wine. The energy exploded. I felt him grab my arm and pull it away from my body, toward the couch; just before the wave of orgasm rocked through me I felt a sharp sting in my wrist, and when the Power hit it went through all three of us. He shuddered, collapsed. My muscles contracted around him and the world faded temporarily to a seductive and welcoming darkness. Moments or years later I opened my eyes, stared up into his. There was something there, in that dark gaze, that made my heart quake. Connection, recognition--I didn't know what to call it, but I couldn't look away until the Power that had held me in its grip began to loosen, reality began to assert itself, and I began to realize just what he had done. Whatever I had seen in his eyes faded, and they were cold and hard again, unyielding. He levered himself off of me wordlessly, glancing over at the couch. I followed the glance and saw Stefan sitting up, no trace of a wound in his chest, soaked in his own blood and staring at us with wide, frightened eyes. "What...what did you do to me?" I whispered, groping with numb hands for my clothes. Damon looked at me. "What we do." "You...you didn't even ask," I said, pulling my underwear back on. They were ripped. "It didn't matter to you." "Should it have?" "Damon," Stefan said, a warning in his tone. The elder vampire glared at him, but he didn't back down. "She might not have been willing--" "She was willing," he replied. "Because you made me that way," I snapped, trying to dress, shaking too hard to succeed. "And if I hadn't been? Would it have stopped you?" "It would have. The sheer amount of Power it would take to force someone to come against their will is a waste of time and effort. It's like trying to hypnotize someone to murder--it doesn't work." He shook his head, reached for his own clothes, his anger plain. "But if it makes you feel better to think I raped you, Bonnie, then by all means go ahead. I've been blamed for much worse." He lifted his chin, revealing the still-bleeding mark on his neck where I had bitten him, and added, "You have a funny way of saying no." I could still taste his blood on my tongue. I managed to get to my feet, ignoring the way my thighs were trembling and my back threatened to spasm. There were a hundred things I wanted to say, accusations I wanted to make, but they all rang false. All I could do was step back, then again, and retreat to my room, before my legs gave out and I fell onto the bed, crying. Five "I can't believe you did that," I said softly. He was angry, I knew, though at what precisely I wasn't sure. "You would rather be dead?" "That's not the point. She's not some random human from Belladonna, she's our friend." He finished putting his clothes back on, though we were both in need of a shower and my shirt was a lost cause. "There was no time for anything else. What would you have had me do?" "Ask her permission?" "She gave it. Perhaps not out loud, but she gave it all the same. You know that." His tone went from ire to something dangerously like rage. "Maybe you're just upset because I had her first." I gaped at him. "Have you lost your mind? I would never have laid a hand on her without talking to you first. Don't you know that?" "I know that you're berating me for saving your life." He got up, a little stiff, and went to the window that looked out over the city far below. His hand moved up and traced over the base of his neck, over the bite mark. I took a deep breath around the dull ache in my chest. The last time I'd had wood put through me, despite Elena's supernatural healing powers, I had been in pain for weeks. That had been much worse; I might well have died tonight, but it wasn't the certainty it had been on that Solstice Eve. I felt sick inside with residual fear and pain, knowing how close it had been--he was right. There hadn't been time for niceties like discussion or foreplay. That didn't make me feel a lot better. I suspected that, deep down, it didn't make him feel good about it either, for all his pretense of cruelty. I was probably the only person left alive who knew just how soft his heart was and how long he carried his sins. "I need a bath," I said tiredly. "Are you coming?" "Later." I rose, biting my lip at the catch in my ribs, and made my way slowly to the bathroom, where I turned the shower on as hot as it would go and scalded myself for half an hour until the dirty, diseased feeling had started to fade just a little. I scrubbed the dried blood off my skin, remembering the incredible surge of heat and Power that had burned away the wound--it shouldn't have healed that completely, or that fast. She had done something to him, something he hadn't expected, that had nearly doubled the strength of the wave. That was a sobering thought. Once I was clean I climbed out, hoping I hadn't used up all the hot water, and wrapped myself up in my robe. The bedroom was empty, the bed still made; I could hear the sound of strings down the hall. I thought of going to him, but I had learned there were times it was best to leave him to his brooding. I still wasn't sure whether to stay angry or not, but truth be told it would do no good; I could rage at him and in the final analysis there was little he could do to push me away. Perhaps that was part of what scared him so badly. The rest, I didn't yet know, and was almost afraid to find out. Instead, I crossed the hallway and knocked lightly on Bonnie's door. I thought I heard an answer, but even my ears couldn't make out what it was, so I pushed the door ajar and looked in. She, too, had showered, and lay on the bed curled up in a ball, staring off into space. She had dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, the curve of her legs folded on themselves, her feet bare except for a silver anklet. Her abundant hair was fanned out over the pillow to dry. I followed her gaze to the impromptu altar she had set up the night before. "Hey," I said quietly. "Can I come in?" She didn't look up. "Sure." I closed the door behind me and went to sit on the bed beside her. "You need candles," I said. She nodded. "I ordered some." "Good." I toyed with a loose string on my robe a minute before saying, "So you're going to stay?" She made a noise that sounded like a laugh, but had no humor in it. "Where else would I go?" Her voice sounded old, tired. "It's sad...even when Matt and I were really in love and he didn't hit me or hold me down, he was never that good." I smiled sadly. "I wish it had been better for you with Matt. He never seemed like a bastard back then." "I know." She closed her eyes as if reliving a disturbing memory. "He wasn't, at first. But he wanted to forget everything that happened in high school and just be normal. I tried to tell him I couldn't be normal--that even if I tried, eventually the talent would start taking over again, and it would be a lot better if I learned how to use it so I could control when it happened. He disagreed." In spite of myself and what had happened, I lay a hand on her shoulder, stroked her hair. "Anyone who would treat you that way is a fool." "Does that include your brother?" "Yes, it does." Now she managed a half-smile. "He's not a fool. He's in love. That tough-guy act works on the rest of the world, but I've seen beneath it before. He would have killed me in a heartbeat to save you." I shook my head. "I don't know about that." Her smile broadened just a hair. "Then you're the fool," she said. I smiled back. Our eyes held a moment, and my skin started to feel a little tight, much to my discomfort. Now wasn't really the time. "So...are you all right?" Bonnie closed her eyes again, but there was no dissemblance in her words. "I think so. There's...a lot has happened. I'm not sure how much more I can take." "Well if you need me, I'm here," I said. "I probably can't fix it, but I'll try." The smile returned. "Thank you." I leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, and the scent of her rose up to surround me, soap and shampoo and warm femininity. I felt her small, soft hands on my face, and she looked me deep in the eyes, then kissed me. She tasted like honey and vanilla, and in half a minute I was completely intoxicated. She pulled back a little, her eyes dark and dilated in the dimly lit room, her hand sliding up under the neck of my robe. "Stay," she murmured. "Are you sure..." She had to be weak and hurting, with the strain of what had passed in the living room on top of the injuries she had borne here, but there was no doubt in the way she touched me. "I'm sure." I lowered my lips to hers, tasting her again, and she urged me up onto the bed beside her. She sat up, wincing a little with the movement, but undaunted, kissed me again and sought the tie of my robe. I let her push the terrycloth off my shoulders and onto the ground, then carefully lifted her shirt, minding her already-injured shoulder. I helped her out of her shorts, leaving her smooth, rosy skin bare. I drank her in with my eyes, and she blushed--clearly she wasn't used to being appreciated. She was, I could tell, fighting the impulse to cover herself. "Human men are notorious for their bad taste," I said, one hand whispering over her skin, drawing goosebumps. "You're better off without them." She favored me with a real grin. "Human women are a lot smarter." "For which I am profoundly grateful," I replied, leaning in to kiss her shoulder, leaving kisses in a winding path down her arm, then back up, down her neck. She was so warm, and so soft...my mouth wandered over the hills and valleys of her flesh, sightseeing, pausing to nibble here and there. She sighed, relaxed. Leaning against me, hair splayed out over my back, she looked like Venus, and I told her so. She turned pinker. "I do not." I frowned at her. "Do you know how old I am, Bonnie?" She blinked. "Very?" "I was born in 1487. Don't you think, in that time, I've learned what beauty is?" She still looked doubtful. I sighed. "Fine, don't believe me. You don't have to believe you're a goddess to let me worship you as one." She chuckled. "I didn't figure you for the religious type." "Allow me to prove it to you." I eased her back on the bed, making sure she had pillows aplenty to offset her aching muscles and weary bones, and returned to my explorations, this time dipping both mouth and hands to her belly, luxuriating in her sweetness. She closed her eyes, her good arm moving up under her head, as I shifted downward, trailing fingers into the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. She gasped, surprised, I think, that I knew what I was doing-most men had to fumble about for a minute and then went at a woman's clit like a game hunter on safari, forgetting there was so much more to it than that. I settled in alongside her and followed the path of my fingers with my tongue, flicking lightly, then a little harder, the taste and smell of her making it very difficult to go slowly. She moaned, soft and low, her hand gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles were white. She didn't speak, but I could hear her thoughts as loudly as my own, practically begging--/please--please--I need you inside me--now--/ I didn't have to be asked twice. I moved up on my knees like a penitent at the altar, lifting her hips to enter her, her back arching and her legs wrapping around me like twining vines. She was warm, and wet--still I controlled myself, moving carefully, one hand still stroking her almost idly. She made little noise, but the energy coming off of her was more than enough; something flashed in the corner of my eye, and I glanced over to see that the flame of the single candle she'd lit had tripled in height, and was flickering in the same rhythm as we were. This was my favorite part, watching the wave build, and this once I had no agenda; I wasn't bringing her higher to nourish myself, but only to nourish her. She deserved this, and better, for the rest of her life; poor pilgrim that I was, I could make this much of an offering. I kept my mind purposefully separate from hers, exerted no Power. Only the warm dark depths of her exquisite body mattered. Higher--higher--and she rocked against me, a shudder running through her, still silent--the energy contracted, then rushed outward, vibrating, practically singing. Her back arched, nails dug into the bed--and, as quickly as it hit, it moved through her and left her shaking, gasping for air, eyes closed against tears of relief. Satisfied, I changed position, stretching out over her; it didn't take long at all for my own wave to hit, especially with her softness all around me and her sweat soaking into my skin. I stared down at her for a long minute, until at last her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at me with something like wonder. I lay down beside her, exhausted, pulled the covers up over her. "Amen," I murmured into her hair. There was a smile in her voice. "Thank you." "My pleasure." She sighed. "You're so different," she said, almost to herself. "Like night and day." "Not really. Who do you think I learned from?" "Then I suppose I should thank you both." "I'm sure you'll have a chance." She turned, looked at me. "I don't know. I don't know if I can handle that again--it was amazing, but--intense." "I know." I returned her smile, kissed her forehead. "Now sleep--you need rest." She nodded, eyes already closed, curled up on her side with one arm under the pillow. Her weariness was combining with my own, and I could have stayed there with her until morning, but I knew it would be best for all concerned if I left her alone. Her breathing evened out after a few minutes, and I carefully got up, retrieved my cast-off robe and tied it back around me. I needed another shower. That would make three in one night. I went into the bedroom, found myself caught and held by a dark, knowing gaze. We stared at each other for a long minute as I tried to read his emotions and, as usual, could not. There was no hint in his face or his eyes as to whether he was angry--as if he had a right to be. He was in bed, ostensibly reading, but really waiting. "You heard?" I asked finally. He raised an eyebrow. "The whole building heard." My ears burned with embarrassment, but I still held his gaze. "Are you upset?" He lowered his eyes back to the book. "Fair is fair." I didn't believe him for a second. Just the fact he couldn't stare me down spoke volumes. "Why should you care?" I asked, coming to sit on my side of the bed. "You had her too. Why shouldn't I? At least in this case it was her idea." "Fine." He was ignoring me now. It was almost funny, him acting like a jealous boyfriend. I took a deep breath, held it a moment, let it out slowly. Then I pushed my robe off on the floor and got in bed, shower be damned. I was suddenly too tired to care what I smelled like. I turned to face away from the light, shoving the pillow up under my head, and tried to get comfortable--but I was spoiled, too used to having arms around me, and I knew there was no way I could sleep otherwise. I rolled back over and watched him for a minute. He kept his gaze on the book, and after a moment reached up and turned the page. I slid my hand beneath the covers, let my fingers brush his skin. No response. I moved the hand over the hard muscles of his thigh, following the curve, then-- "Don't." I looked up at him, surprised. "What?" He lowered the book, lowered his eyes, and I was astonished at the anger, and the barely-veiled hurt, that I could see clouding them. "I was saving your life," he said. "What's your excuse?" I blinked. I hadn't thought of it that way; I thought, as he said, fair was fair, and there was no reason not to since he already had. It hadn't occurred to me that it wasn't exactly fair, that his first thought in taking her had been healing me, but I had gone into it strictly for pleasure, hers and mine--that, if he wanted, he could construe it as infidelity, of a sort. "I--" "That's what I thought." I sat up. "Hold on," I said, hoping to banish the sudden pang of guilt with indignation. "Since when are we exclusive? We bring home a dozen humans a week." "Together," he replied, "and this is different." "Different why? Because she's a friend, because she's staying here?" "Because you care about her," he snapped, "because up until six months ago you were straight, because you seem to have a thing for human women, because I have no reason to believe you'll be any more loyal to me than you were to your wife--shall I go on?" "Wait just a goddamned minute," I said, my voice rising despite my best efforts, "You have no right to accuse me of anything. How am I supposed to know the rules when I don't even know what I am to you? Why should I be loyal? You've never given me any indication I'm more than just a fuck to you." I had never seen the expression on his face before; it looked like I had slapped him. I instantly regretted my words--not only were they angry, they were untrue. When he spoke again, it was very quietly, in that deadly calm voice that was usually followed by someone dying a slow and painful death. "Haven't I?" My heart was in my throat. "I--I didn't mean that like it sounded." Up to now I had never actually seen him hurt before, but I was pretty sure this was it. The next words were almost a non sequitur, as he looked away from me, toward the window that was covered with a heavy curtain, as if he could see the city beyond it far below. "Do you know how many companions I've had?" I shook my head. "No. How many?" "Two." "Two--in how long?" He almost smiled. "In my entire life." "Is that two plus me, or--" "Two. Including you." There was a long silence while I digested that. Only two--that was a long time to be alone. I knew from observing our kind that a relationship like ours, a partnership based on something approaching mutual trust, was a rarity, much sought-after but almost never successful. We were predators; we were territorial, and suspicious, and sharing ourselves and our lives meant we were open to attack. "I know what you want to hear," he said, still looking away. "I know what you want from me. I don't know if--" I nodded, understanding, aching. "You don't know if you want to give it." Our eyes met, and he smiled, with an underlying touch of something I realized was sorrow. "No. I don't know if I can. Not--not again." "Again? What do you mean?" He didn't answer. He put the book on the nightstand, switched off the lamp, and sank down into the covers, facing the window. Six Life with the brothers had a strange rhythm to it, one that I got used to remarkably quickly. They rose at sunset, usually, or thereabouts; they went to hunt, and off on various adventures I wasn't privy to. If they didn't bring a human home from Belladonna, they weren't back until three or four. It didn't take long to learn to ignore the humans. I stayed in my room when they arrived, waited until I heard the bedroom door click shut across the hall, then emerged to watch TV or surf the Net, or make dinner, while the two of them fucked and fed. I learned to tune out the noises coming from their room, noises that were entirely the human's. As I remembered, neither of them had made a sound with me either. Eventually, most of the time as I was cleaning up the kitchen, the human would stumble out bleary-eyed and walking funny, with one of the brothers guiding them to the door, helping them into their coats, giving them cab fare, and I presumed altering their memories so they couldn't find their way back. They hardly ever noticed me. They were absorbed in the boys, in anticipation, sometimes in fear, always in awe. I supposed they had reason to be awestruck; the two of them taken together were a force of nature. After that night, neither of them touched me. I wasn't sure what was going on between them, but I knew it wasn't good. Damon's behavior was the same, but I sensed something amiss even as shielded as he was; Stefan was easier to read, and the way he watched his brother, the longing and pain in his leaf-green eyes, told me more than I wanted to know. I hadn't wanted to cause a problem. Somehow I had anyway. But, I thought irritably, rattling pots and pans (ordered just for me) on the stove, it wasn't my fault. Their drama was their drama. I was doing good just to get up in the evenings. How was I supposed to know, coming here, that I was going to end up a homewrecker? And if it was so terrible, why had they fucked me in the first place? I didn't have any answers, and I knew I wasn't supposed to ask. I tried to put it out of my mind, focusing on my own life, or lack thereof, trying to think of what few options I had. The police were still looking for me. I read the news online, watched the story move from the front page of the Richmond papers to the interior of section A, and farther and farther back, as no new leads appeared. The wife of award-winning doctor Matthew Honeycutt, the prime suspect in his murder, was nowhere to be found. Her friends and relatives in the Richmond area had been questioned; there was no trail of credit card charges or phone bills. The authorities were baffled. I sat in the office chair, fiddling with my pentacle as I surfed, thinking that if I was a failure as a wife, I was a spectacular success as a criminal. I was living in a city I had no connection to, with people that weren't supposed to exist; I was using someone else's Visa Platinum; I had a fake name on Hotmail that could only be traced to an IP address that would never be traced back to me. I had the gun in a drawer in my room, so there was no way it could be evidence. I had, it seemed, vanished into thin air. It couldn't last. I had to figure something out. I couldn't live here forever, I knew; if nothing else, I was bored out of my mind, afraid to go out even though I had no reason to believe the police here were looking for me. I supposed I could dye and cut my hair, maybe wear colored contacts. But where would I go? If that wasn't bad enough, I knew my presence here was causing the tension, and I feared my welcome would soon wear out if something didn't change. Beyond the door I heard movement, shuffling. The night's prey was leaving. How had I gotten used to this? Was it a woman or a man this time? If it was a woman, was she beautiful? Would they remember her tomorrow? Would--would they remember me after I was gone? I didn't like where my thoughts were leading, but just then there was a soft knock, and Stefan appeared, looking tousled and so incredibly sexy I had to grip the edge of the desk not to jump him. "How are you doing?" he asked. He made it a point to check up on me, to engage me in conversation, to try and make me feel at home. We hadn't talked about that night. Silence, it seemed, was the rule in this place. "Okay," I said, smiling as reassuringly as I could. "Just checking my email." He returned the smile, leaned against the doorframe. "How is she?" I didn't have to ask who. "Fine. She's--she's dating someone." His smile turned a shade sad, regretful, but not at all jealous. "That's good," he replied. "What's he like?" I chuckled, thinking of Dr. Thomas Anderson, successful plastic surgeon. "He's--ordinary. Dull. And balding. And he calls her 'muffin.'" He laughed out loud at that. "Well, good luck to her," he said, shaking his head. "I hope they're very rich together." I tilted my head to one side, curious. "Do you miss her at all?" He sobered, considered. "Sometimes. Sometimes I wonder--if I'd tried a little harder, if--after all we went through together, it felt like we should have been in love forever, but sometimes it doesn't work out that way." "It's probably better this way," I told him. "She can have kids, and you can have--whatever it is you want." Something, some unpleasant thought, passed over his face, but he didn't give voice to it. I had my suspicions as to what it was he really wanted, and I knew without doubt he already had it, he just didn't know. "Where's Captain Moody tonight? Already asleep?" He grinned at the name. "Yes, I think so. In bed at least. I was on my way back, actually, I just wanted to see if you needed anything." Answers, I thought, but I knew none were forthcoming. I looked around the room, trying to remember if there was anything, and my eyes fell on the violin. I turned back to Stefan. "Who's Michael?" I asked, surprised at my own temerity. His eyebrows shot up. "Michael?" Shit. It hadn't occurred to me he might not know--can open, worms everywhere--damn it. "Um--well--" I gestured helplessly at the violin, and he came into the room, frowning, and lifted the slender instrument with careful hands, turning it over. When his eyes fell on the plaque, they widened slightly. "What does it say?" I asked. "I couldn't translate it. I mean, I know it's none of my business--" "'To my beloved Raven,'" he read softly, "'from Michael--1881--doubt that the stars are fire--doubt that the sun doth move--'" He lifted his head. "It's a quote from /Hamlet."/ It sounded familiar, something about love. "You didn't know anything about it, did you," I said, chagrined. "I didn't mean to cause trouble." "It's all right, Bonnie. Don't worry about it. I--" He trailed off, set the violin back down, leaving it as he'd found it. I didn't know what he was thinking, but I had a feeling he knew more about it than he let on. "It's all right," he repeated. "I'll see you in the evening, then. Good night." He left me alone then, and I stared at the door, wondering. Out of something akin to morbid curiosity, I pushed myself up out of the chair and went to the corner, stretching out a hand, letting it touch the instrument's polished wood. I knew I had some clairvoyant talent, though it was as unreliable as the rest. It was horribly invasive of me, but-- I breathed slowly, deeply, letting myself open, extending my mind just a little, closing my eyes. A flood of images, sensations: /a rolling hillside, the salt of sea air, waiting--hands taking mine--soft, loving kisses, frightening in their gentleness, so different from anything before--the deep, fierce pleasure of a summer night, his mouth moving over me, leaving fire in its wake--a woman with red-gold hair and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes--blood--pain--pain--no--it can't be, oh God, no--how could you--/ With a jolt, I tore my hand away, my head reeling. My knees were too weak to stand, and I let myself sink to the floor, gripped by that last image and the agony of a wooden stake buried in my chest, of looking up, and seeing--hearing her laugh, seeing the hatred in his eyes--the world burned away, the abyss beckoned, only the abyss was my heart-- Not my heart. Not mine. I repeated it to myself over and over, trying to separate myself from the visions, trying to use the training I had to step back, to be an observer and not a participant. The pictures were jumbled, with no sense of time, only emotion after emotion, love so complete it was terrifying, and then fear, and then grief. Not me. Not my heart, not--I opened my eyes, the room still spinning a little, and looked up at the violin, at the light shining off the plaque. Stupid, I thought, my head already beginning to pound. That's what you get for poking around in people's lives. But--what had I seen? I couldn't put enough together to make sense of it. There was, at least, one thing I did know: whoever Michael was, he was dead, and I was glad. Seven "Do you know anything about the companion before me?" I asked, taking the proffered glass of wine and trying to sound casual. Raine smiled at me. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to ask that." Diana emerged from the apartment onto the balcony where we stood. It was cold and clear outside, a few brave souls venturing out for fresh air and cigarettes. Inside, the party was in full swing, or as much swing as it would be; their friends were generally not the wild type we encountered at Belladonna, but cultured, far more likely to discuss the works of Milton than to get high and have sex in the bathroom stalls. "You two all right out here?" Diana asked. Raine favored her with a warm smile and said, "Stefan wants to know about Michael." Diana's face changed, her levity fading, and she joined us, winding an arm around her companion's waist. Again I felt a twinge of jealousy, but I pushed it aside, my need to uncover the truth far more important now. "How did you find out about him?" Diana asked, casting a glance through the doorway, seeing that Damon was ensconced in the living room, probably still debating the finer points of stylistic whatever in Beethoven's something-or-other with a French vampire who played the cello. I sighed, sipped my wine. "The violin. It was a gift, wasn't it?" Diana nodded, but Raine spoke. "A Christmas gift, in the late nineteenth, I believe. It was his first instrument, the one he learned on. I admit I'm surprised he kept it all this time, after--" "After what? Tell me." Diana picked up the thread. "They had already been together twenty years when we met them. We were new to the city, and they showed us around. This was when Belladonna was something different--more of a bordello than a club, but catering to the highest society, both human and vampire. He and Michael were the undisputed rulers of the city." She smiled a little. "God, they were so much in love. It gave me hope for the two of us." I nodded, though I'd had no idea Belladonna had existed for so long. "What went wrong?" They exchanged a glance, and Raine said, "Her name was Vanessa. She was young, weak, barely a century old--but her innocence was a façade. She met Michael at the opera house. She was little more than a whore, but had the cunning of an assassin." "Raine, as you can guess, hated her on sight," Diana added with a laugh. "I was wary, but at first she seemed good for them. Michael was young too, and had never had a male lover before, so I think he felt a little alienated. But you know the Raven--he could almost make a lesbian think twice." I grinned wryly in spite of myself. "I'm well aware." "They both slept with Vanessa at first, but she started demanding more and more of Michael's time--luring him away, gaining his confidence. There was some unrest in the city, so Raven was busy, making sure the government and his enemies couldn't destroy Belladonna. Meanwhile Vanessa somehow convinced Michael that he'd been seduced, that it wasn't really love." Diana looked disgusted, but went on. "She poisoned him against Raven slowly, telling him it was unnatural for the two of them to be together, and that there was only one way he could be free of the creature that had made him a pervert." "One way--" Raine nodded. "They tried to kill him, one night in October. We had just left their house, after a party like this one, but I had forgotten my bag, so we went back. If we hadn't gotten there when we did--" She shuddered. "Vanessa had staked him. There was so much blood...I'll never forget. Luckily they heard us coming in and ran like hell instead of staying to finish the job. Later on, he said that--that the last thing he saw before he blacked out was Michael, his beloved, laughing." My hand went to my mouth, realization hitting me, Damon's behavior suddenly making perfect, horrible sense. "Oh God. I--I had no idea." Diana looked back over her shoulder into the apartment, saying, "The next night, toward morning, Raven appeared on our doorstep with blood on his hands--he had killed them both, out of anger, and watched them bleed to death as they had planned to watch him. The look on his face--they might not have killed him, but something in him died that night. After that no one thought he would ever let anyone else into his home, much less his life. Imagine our surprise." I wanted to smile, but I felt too sick at heart to do more than nod. I took a long swallow of wine, hoping it would steady me, but in reality I wanted nothing more than to go into the living room, lay my head in his lap, and weep. "But that's all past now," Raine said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "The two of you are happy, that's what matters." "Right," I said vaguely, turning to look out over the rail so they couldn't see my face. "That's what matters." ***** Later, near dawn, I stood in the bathroom doorway, watching him settle in with a strange new mix of emotions in my heart. I imagined him as he might have been back then, before betrayal, before--had he smiled more? Had they walked arm in arm, paused to kiss in the watery light of a street lamp, perhaps sat in their box at the symphony with fingers entwined--I stood, transfixed, hurting for him. Was that what had driven him to hunt down and torment me--anger and grief over losing the one person who had...I found my eyes hurting, as if with unshed tears. I decided not to tell him that I knew. He guarded his history well, had hardly ever spoken of the past to me. I needed his trust, and knowing I had pried into his life might shake that. He opened his eyes, saw my expression, and regarded me the way one might regard a madman that had stumbled into one's room wearing a live animal as a hat. "What are you staring at?" "Nothing," I insisted, removing the towel I wore and hanging it in the bathroom. I climbed into the bed beside him with a sigh. He'd been distant this past week, letting me just far enough in that we could hunt, but no farther. That needed to end. He had spent too many years closed off, too long alone--that was all over with now. It was time he understood that, even if it scared the hell out of him. I shifted closer. He was burrowing back into the pillows, ready to go to sleep, so it surprised him when I wound myself around him and leaned in to kiss his temple. I drew one hand up his arm, then neck, and along the line of his jaw, bringing his mouth to mine. I half expected him to move away, but he didn't. He hesitated at first, then returned the kiss. I traced the soft inner edges of his mouth with my tongue, earning the barest ghost of a smile. He started to change position, no doubt intending to take the lead, but I put my hands on his shoulders and held him down, gently, without any real force. "Let me," I said, holding his gaze. Finally, in reply, he relaxed and closed his eyes again. I returned my attention to his lips for a moment, then moved downward, kissing along his neck, up to the sensitive spot just below his ear. I licked the skin there, feather-light, and a tremor ran through him. I knew every inch of his body as well as he knew mine, but I set to exploring as if I had never touched him before, relearning muscle and contour, tasting, nibbling here and there. I could feel his heartbeat as I kissed the inside of his wrist, and I smiled at how rapid the pulse was. It had been days since we'd really touched-- we'd barely done more than mindlessly fuck and fall asleep all week. I could tell he'd missed this as much as I had. Gradually I made my way down his chest, tongue flicking lightly here, lingering there, pausing long enough to bite a nipple, just hard enough to elicit a gasp. I touched his mind gently. /You're so beautiful,/ I murmured, letting my hands follow where my mouth had already gone, gliding over the cool silk of his skin, which was heating up rather quickly under my attentions. His fingers were digging into the linens, tightening more and more the further down I reached. "Move up," I told him, a touch of mischief making its way into my voice. Amusement and anticipation mingled, making his eyes sparkle in the room's darkness. He reached up, took hold of the headboard, and pulled himself higher on the bed so that he was reclining in the pillows rather than lying down. "Perfect," I said, smiling. Then I leaned in, nuzzled his throat, letting my teeth extend, and bit him. He hadn't expected that. A low sound like a lion purring--one of the few sounds I'd ever heard him make in bed. I was quite pleased with myself. /Enjoyed that, did you?/ I chuckled. /How about this?/ I paused a moment, watching the blood well up in the two little holes, tiny rivulets running over his collarbone and down. I let it flow, the rich scent overwhelmingly arousing, and I admired the way the bright red almost glowed against ivory skin, waited until it reached mid-stomach...then I lowered my head again, and licked. God, I'd forgotten how he tasted. We very rarely drank from each other. The blood of our own kind was less nourishing than a human's; it was blended of stolen lives, borrowed energy, never as alive. It was generally taboo, in fact, to take from your own kind, except in the most intimate of moments, or an emergency, or to bind yourself to another. I ran my tongue up the length of his body hungrily, lapping like a cat, not allowing even a drop to escape. They were, after all, clean sheets. Meanwhile, I let one hand drift down, finding him rock-hard, and stroking with the edges of my fingernails, drawing another gasp. I looked up and saw he was biting his lip to stay silent--I would have liked to coax more out of him, but I knew he wouldn't allow it, and that we'd already crossed the line into unknown territory. By the time I reached his neck the holes had closed. I could have reopened them and done it again, but I could tell by his breathing and the wild hammering of his heart that he wouldn't be able to take it. I wanted this to last, all morning if it could. I licked the last blood from the wound, then kissed him, letting him taste his own blood in my mouth, and wasn't all that surprised when he bit my tongue and sucked hard. I groaned, pressing against him, nails digging into his arms. There was fire in his eyes when he pulled back, and quick as a snake, bit my throat this time. As my blood flowed I opened myself to him, reaching, and to my amazement he reached back without hesitation, our senses merging so thoroughly I wasn't sure whose eyes I was looking out of, whether I was the one drinking or the one being savored, one swallow at a time...and echoing through my whole being, one thought: /Mine./ /Yes/ I thought back, as much as I could think. /Yours. Forever./ One last swallow, and he disengaged from me enough that I knew who I was again, and could look down into his eyes, seeing something there I never had before...vulnerability, perhaps, and a desire that bordered on need. Speaking of need--before the moment could pass and passion fade into the quiet dark, I pushed myself up and slid down the bed, letting my mouth return to its previous employment, this time lower. His entire body tightened under my hands as I drew my tongue, leisurely, up the length of his cock. I went back to what I knew was a maddeningly slow pace, barely touching, nibbling lightly up one side and down the other, teasing him wickedly. Then, when I sensed he was near the breaking point, but still off-guard, I circled him with one hand and, in a single fluid motion, plunged downward, taking him all the way down my throat. That had taken practice. As one might expect after centuries of heterosexuality I had needed a bit of coaching when it came to giving head, especially when the subject in question was as--well- proportioned--as my brother. When I finally got the hang of it, so to speak, I devoted myself to becoming the Zen master of oral activity, ostensibly for the hunt, but in all reality for moments just like this, when a single, upward suck was all it took for him to lose control completely, a violent shudder rushing through him and therefore through me. I stayed where I was, swallowing reflexively, not letting go until he had stopped shaking and was starting to soften in my mouth. I crawled up the bed and collapsed, noting with satisfaction that he was panting, eyes shut tightly, gripping the headboard hard enough to turn his knuckles white. After a moment one dark eye opened, dilated, followed by the other. I smiled a little smugly and reached over the side of the bed for a castoff towel, wiping my mouth; I remembered there was a glass of water on the nightstand on my side, and took a drink, watching him as he was watching me. We held each other's eyes for a long minute, and I noticed that our minds were still touching, which was a bit odd. Odder still, when I started to withdraw, I suddenly found that I couldn't. "What--" I felt a little dizzy, and lay back down, untwisting the covers with one arm and pulling them up over us. "Something's different." He nodded, still too dazed to speak, but I felt the thought clearly: /mingled blood./ I curled up against him, felt his arms moving slowly around me, a little stiff. /How long will it last?/ I asked, switching to telepathy, testing the psychic connection and finding it remarkably steady. The link between predator and prey was usually a tenuous thing, fading in and out unless nurtured, eventually dissolving. When you turned a human it was stronger, but still temporary. /Last?/ He looked at me, seeming surprised at the question. /Yes--hours, days, how long? It's strange, but--I kind of like it. / There was a definite mental chuckle. /That's good./ I frowned. /Why?/ Now, he realized that I was genuinely confused, as if he'd thought I was kidding up until now. /It's not going away, brother. It's permanent./ "What?" I couldn't help it, I spoke aloud that time, utterly shocked. /Why do you think I've refused every time you wanted to trade blood? When two of our kind exchange, it isn't just for pleasure. It's binding. I--/ He sounded a little sheepish, and worried. /I thought you knew that./ "No," I replied, leaning back, trying not to overreact. "I must have missed that lesson." Then something occurred to me, and I asked, "If you knew what would happen, why did you go along with it?" I got the mental equivalent of a shrug, though I knew just from the flavor of the thought that there was more to it than that. I decided for once not to push; we were both tired, and there was no reason to ruin a peaceful moment between us--but I couldn't stop wondering just what the consequences were going to be--and better yet, wondering how someone as private and closed-off as he was could accept it so easily. There was, however, one last thing. He was already half asleep, but I lifted my head a little and kissed him, saying very quietly, "I know you don't want to hear this...but you need to. I love you." He started to protest, but I put a hand over his mouth and added, "You don't have to say it back. You don't have to feel the same way. But I'm going to keep saying it until you believe it." I removed my hand, and he took a long, slightly shaky breath, but didn't reply. I hadn't expected him to. I nestled in and started to drift off, and as I fell asleep, I felt him take my hand, kiss it softly, and lay it over his heart. ***** "You did what?" Taken aback by the surprise in her voice, I gestured for her to keep her voice down. Then I finished pouring her Scotch and returned to the couch, glancing quickly as I passed the hallway to see if the office door was still half-shut. It was. I knew that the little room was fairly soundproof--having a house guest had forced us to pay a little more attention to what went on where. Raine was wide-eyed, which made her look young and angelic. I'd always thought she was attractive, and I suspected that there would have been at least periodic foursomes if they weren't very clearly Not Into Men. Lucky for us, that didn't extend to friendship, and to return the favor of inviting us to their party we'd taken them out to the theatre and home for drinks. Damon and Diana had ventured into the office to discuss something involving the NASDAQ and e-trading. Among her many talents, Diana was a shrewd investor. I'd taken the opportunity to get Raine's input about the morning before. "It's not a big deal..." I said, sitting down, but the look on her face made my stomach flip. "...is it?" "Well, it's not, and it is," she replied, taking the glass I handed her. "I mean, Diana and I have done it. It didn't change things that much for us as far as Power goes--you can communicate and share energy more easily, but since you two have been sharing for a while when you hunt, it won't seem that different. Think of it as an upgrade of sorts. In terms of relationship, though..." I nodded encouragingly. "Go on." She tilted her head to the side, reminding me briefly of Bonnie, and thought a moment. "It's a commitment," she said finally. "Most vampire partnerships only last a century or so--eventually something gets in the way. Blood-binding is different. It never fades. It means you're pretty much stuck with each other for the duration." I stared at her. "What, like marriage?" "Oh, much worse than that, though it's certainly not so formal. If you're married you can divorce. The only way to undo a blood bond is for one of you to die." "Holy fuck," I said before I could stop myself. I stared into my own glass, and asked, "Did he and Michael ever..." Raine shook her head. "No. That's why I was so surprised. They were together for a long time, even by our standards, but they never did. If they had, Raven would have figured out something was wrong long before it all went to hell. It's hard to lie to your partner when you're connected like that." Her expression turned amused, and a little bewildered. "Then you come along, and a year later, you're bound, which to me means one of three possibilities." "And those are..." She held up a finger for each. "One, it was a spontaneous thing in the heat of the moment. Two, he decided in a few short months that you were The One. And three, the one I'm personally voting for..." She trailed off as the office door opened, and our respective lovers emerged. Diana smiled. "They've been talking about us," she said. "She's blushing." Damon smiled. "So is he." "I am not," I insisted, but my face was already warm. Damn. "Come on, love," Diana said. "It's time we headed home." Raine stood, leaving her glass on the coffee table, and we followed them to the doorway where, as I helped her into her trench coat, I leaned in to Raine and asked in a whisper, "What was the third possibility?" She gave me a sidelong grin. "Third...he's been after you a lot longer than you think." Damon locked the door behind them, leaving us alone again. Down the hall I heard Bonnie stirring; she went quietly from her room to the office, closed the door, probably thinking we had left too. I wandered over to the window, looked out on the city. Winter had at last set in--it was already the middle of December, Christmas around the corner. The whole city was decked out in evergreens and lights, though it was impossible to see up this high. "We don't have a tree," I remarked idly, feeling him come up behind me, arms encircling my waist. "We didn't last year either. I don't really do Christmas." "Oh..." I thought back. I had arrived in August; this was my second December with him. "You're right." I leaned back against him, remembering Raine's words, and ventured, "It's hard to believe I've been here a year...or that it's been ten since Virginia." He didn't reply, so I turned my head slightly and said, "Can I ask you a question?" He raised an eyebrow. "That depends on the question." "Did you..." I wasn't sure quite how to frame the sentence, as I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted to know. "Before I came here, did you ever..." Frustrated, I decided to try out the connection between us, and I projected the essence of what I was asking without words, hoping it would translate. "Ah." He seemed--relieved, I suppose, is the only word for it. It occurred to me he probably thought I was going to ask about Michael; this was much easier to deal with. "You want to know if I've always wanted to fuck you, or if it's a recent development." I smiled. "Something like that." He was silent a moment, then said, "Since we were human." "Are you serious?" I was gaping and I knew it, but couldn't help myself. "That long? But--I thought you hated me." "I did, for a while. In fact I wouldn't admit to myself that I wanted you until after you were already married and, I thought, out of reach." He permitted himself a smile, a real one, and my insides quivered. "Strange how things work out." "I'll say," I muttered. "That's a long time to wait for someone." The smile broadened just a hair. "I didn't wait. I had plenty to occupy me all this while. It was only sometimes, some nights, when it was too quiet or I was alone--and after Virginia--it hadn't been that long since I--lost something precious to me. I thought I would never want anyone again, not even you. And then you showed up at my door, brokenhearted and still so damned beautiful, and--I didn't have a chance in hell." This was the most he'd ever said about the past, and the closest I'd heard him come yet to talking about Michael, and his unexpected honesty shook me a little. He was like that, though; all flippant and sarcastic one minute, then deadly serious the next. I had learned to navigate most of his moods, but these rare moments of genuine sincerity and genuine emotion always caught me by surprise. So did the next--without further ado, he kissed me, hard, and I felt him reaching in to unbutton my pants all in the same breath. It was arguably the best change of subject I'd ever seen. "I didn't get a chance to thank you for yesterday," he said with that devilish undertone I knew meant I was in terrible trouble, and the luckiest bastard on Earth. "But Bonnie--" I half-protested, in reality not caring what she saw. "--needs an education," he finished for me, and holding my eyes, he knelt. I was facing the hallway, so when the office door opened I froze; seeing the look on my face he turned to see what I was staring at, obviously irritated at the interruption. Bonnie wandered out of the office, white as a sheet, her eyes wide and shining. She didn't seem to notice we were there at first, and got halfway across the living room before she stopped, blinked, and saw me. "What is it?" I asked. "What happened?" She lifted her gaze to mine, and I could read shock and disbelief clearly all over her. After a moment she found her voice. "It's Elena," she said. "She's been arrested." Eight They stood behind me, reading the article over my shoulder, as I stared at the words and willed them to say something else. The glowing screen cast a blue pallor over the little room, and the words stayed the same, no matter how many times I read them. "Conspiracy to commit murder," Stefan read under his breath. "Based on what evidence?" The article didn't say, but I had a sinking feeling I knew. "The doctor," I said, my voice sounding small and hoarse. "The one that patched me up after--he must have talked. He must have told them she helped me." Stefan shook his head. "That's aiding and abetting, not conspiracy. How can they tie her to the--incident in question?" I spared him a grateful thought for not calling it a murder to my face. I had no answer for him, but Damon did. "They can't," he mused. "They're trying to draw you out. Matt's family must know you and Elena are close. They can't find you, they're getting desperate, so they bring her in as bait." I shut my eyes tightly, but my mind confronted me with an image of Elena in jail, being strip-searched, handcuffed, her stylish and hand- tailored clothes taken away--for me. I knew his family, and their resources. They would do whatever it took, even creating evidence out of thin air. "What do I do?" I asked, putting my head in my hands. "25,000 dollar bail," Stefan said. "Shit." Damon didn't hesitate; he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, hit a number, then took a few steps back toward the corner to lean against the wall. His free hand, I noticed distractedly, rested on the violin. After a moment he was having a rapid conversation in Italian. I couldn't help it--even in the state I was in, hearing the lyrical words rolling off his tongue was a definite turn-on. I glanced over at Stefan and saw he was watching too. We probably had the same facial expressions. He caught my eye and smiled. "What's he doing?" I asked, keeping my voice down. "Hmm? Oh--paying her bail." I looked back up at Damon, swallowing hard. "That's so much money--" He had hung up by now, and merely shrugged. "She'll be out in the morning. The more pressing problem, of course, is what to do after that." I felt panic rising in my stomach. "I don't know. I don't know what to do. Maybe I should just turn myself in. Maybe--maybe I can get off on self-defense, if there's a mostly female jury, or if I get a good enough lawyer--" I sounded on the verge of hysteria; I was. I started sobbing into my hands. "Do you know any good lawyers?" "Calm down," Stefan said soothingly, kneeling by the chair and laying a hand on my knee. "We'll think of something. Won't we?" Damon looked pensive, not particularly distressed by the situation, but more as if he was running down a list of some sort in his mind. "Let me make a few calls. Stefan, take her to bed and help her sleep." Something in his tone told me two things: one, he already had a solution in mind; two, I didn't want to know what it was. "Are you going to kill anyone?" I stammered, as Stefan helped me to my feet. "Of course not," Damon, looking offended at the suggestion. "I have people who do that." ***** I expected Stefan to guide me to my room, but he didn't. First he steered me to their bedroom, sat me down on the bed like an invalid. Then he vanished briefly, returning with a glass of what looked like Coke, and was--with the liberal addition of rum, or rather, rum with a splash of Coke. "Here," he said, pressing it into my shaking hands. "I don't want to get drunk," I said, tears running down my face that I didn't bother to wipe away. "Yes, you do. It's either that or Vicodin. You pick." I took an experimental sip, deemed it not too bad, and followed it with several long swallows that burned my throat and made me cough. I couldn't seem to stop crying. "I can't do this," I whispered, staring into the glass and wishing the answers would appear on its surface. "I'm so tired of running and of being afraid--all I want is to be left alone. To start over. But I'm going to end up in prison for the rest of my life--maybe it won't be so bad. Or maybe I'll get sold to some repeat offender for a carton of Marlboros, and--" The hysteria returned, and I nearly dropped the glass, but Stefan took it out of my hands and sat down beside me, pulling me into his arms. I buried my face in his shoulder and cried for I don't know how long, until my head ached and my insides felt dry and hollow. The injustice of it all--that I'd been beaten up, and beaten up, and when I finally fought back it was all my fault, and now the one person left there to give a damn about me would go down for it too-- was the worst part. Distantly I heard Stefan murmuring to me, felt him stroking my hair, but for a while I was lost in my own private hell, imagining all the horrible ways this could turn out, trying to decide which one would be the least awful. Finally, I lifted my head, and he smiled. "Better?" I tried to breathe in, but my nose was clogged quite thoroughly. "Not really." "We'll take care of you, Bonnie. Elena too. You don't have to be afraid. Just trust us." I sagged, my head falling back on his shoulder. "I want to believe you." I felt a twinge of painful humor. "But hey, I'll probably look good in an orange jumpsuit." He chuckled. "With your complexion? I kind of doubt it." There was a spark in his eyes that reminded me very much of his brother. "Maybe you could lobby the state for a different color. I think orange could be construed as cruel and unusual punishment." Now I was laughing. "I'll start writing to my Congressmen immediately." I couldn't help but feel a little better; if I could still laugh, it might not be so hopeless after all. "Now lay down," Stefan said gently, practically picking me up and doing it for me, pulling the blankets and sheets over me. Surrounded by what were no doubt outrageously expensive linens and feather pillows, I realized I was totally drained, even though I'd only been awake for a few hours. I'd spent most of that reading in my room; I came out while the boys were off on their evening of merriment with their friends, the lesbians. I remembered asking if there were any straight vampires left, to which Damon had replied matter-of-factly, "Not in this city." I was drifting off, my thoughts roaming, gradually turning around on themselves to spiral back toward sleep. I felt the bed move a little, and warmth on my left side...breath at my ear...an arm around me, a hand just barely grazing my breast...and the lulling sound of a heartbeat, at my back. Safe again, I slipped over the divide between waking and sleeping, hoping against hope I wouldn't dream. ***** Several hours later, I woke slowly and groggily from a blessedly nightmare-free sleep, to the sound of a gasp, a soft moan, and a wave of energy that hummed through me like the air after a lightning strike. My whole body instantly began to burn with vicarious pleasure, and I fought not to shift position to stick my hand down my shorts and give away the fact that I was awake. Instead, I surreptitiously slit one eye open, and saw exactly what I expected to see...but still wasn't quite prepared to see. The brothers Salvatore, not three feet from me, skin bare to the firelight, were entwined in the sheets and in each other in a most non-fraternal fashion. The elder, in fact, was at this point lowering himself down half on top of the younger, as if he'd been crawling up the bed, and looked very pleased with himself. It appeared I'd come in on the tail end of something--I bit back a snort at the pun. Stefan's body was glistening with sweat, and he was breathing raggedly, his hands still clenching the blankets, his eyes glazed over. After a moment, his breath began to slow, and he looked up at Damon, who was gazing down at him with a smile unlike anything I'd ever seen on his face before. /Stefan,/ I thought, /if you don't find what you're looking for in that smile, you're blind, and an idiot too./ "You're welcome," Stefan said, barely above a whisper. The smile turned into amusement. "You all right?" "Mmm...can't feel my toes." "Well, then, my work here is done." Stefan looked disappointed. "Not yet--it's not even dawn." He curled one hand up around Damon's neck. "Besides, now we have to find something fun for you." They kissed, and as I was afraid of, I got even more turned on. Trying to think coherently and distract myself, I reflected that it was weird to see the two of them so...cute. It wasn't baby talk and pet names or anything, thank the Goddess, but it was still affection, and there was an openness and vulnerability in Damon's demeanor that was strange and, if possible, made him even more attractive. There had always been something about Stefan and Elena together that was wrong to me, somehow, as if they were two puzzle pieces you could swear fit together, but on closer inspection were just a little off. This was different. This made sense. The brothers fit. I was immediately, painfully jealous. I think deep down I had, for a while, entertained the notion that there might be room for me here, some role I could fulfill. They didn't need me...but moreover, this wasn't my world. I'd been given a chance to touch something beautiful, a reminder, perhaps, that things like love and contentment still existed, and if they could be found here, they could be anywhere. But eventually it would be time for me to move on. I sensed that time was fast approaching. There was, however, no reason not to enjoy myself while I was here. As if that thought had escaped into the ether and found its way into his head, Damon suddenly lifted his lips from Stefan's, and looked over at me. I snapped my eye shut, but the damage was done. I heard him chuckle. "It's not polite to stare," he said. My face flamed. "Sorry to wake you," he added with a glint of wicked humor. "Next time I'll put something in his mouth." "Again?" Stefan asked vaguely, sounding just a wee bit drunk. "All right." "It wasn't that," I managed. "It was the...overtones." I started to sit up, unsure what to do with my hands. "Maybe I should go back to my room." They exchanged a look and, I was willing to bet, thoughts as well. Damon looked a little uncertain, but Stefan nodded at him once, touched his face gently. With a sigh, Damon nodded back. The wickedness then spread to Stefan, who said, "Or maybe you would like to stay and watch?" If possible, I turned even redder. "I--um--you'd--" "I don't think she wants to watch," Damon remarked. "I think she'd rather participate." "No," I said sharply, then felt stupid for saying it. "I mean, I'd be okay with just--if you want--" They were laughing at me, but it was a sympathetic laughter, not at all mocking. "Stay there, then," Damon told me. "Enjoy the show." I couldn't help but smile back, albeit nervously. Why not? Why should I be uncomfortable when I'd already been with both of them? Surely there wasn't that much more I didn't know. I got my first indication of how wrong I was when they started kissing again, and Damon moved slightly, revealing an absolutely gorgeous tattoo that spread across his entire back. I'd never seen that before; it seemed to have a life of its own in the darkened room, curling its wings from shoulder to shoulder, and I wondered if the skin there would feel different... "Come closer and find out," he said, startling me. "How did you--" "You're projecting," he replied. "Loudly." I cursed myself for not keeping better control over my thoughts, but how was I supposed to know they had ears like bats? Never mind. Curious, I scooched across the bed, careful to keep the blanket around me even though I was fully dressed. The way they were both watching me, as if I was a particularly tasty-looking dessert, made me feel naked, moreso than I had been when fully unclothed with Stefan. I remembered I was wearing the shirt with the nipple-hole again. Great. The temptation was too strong to resist, though. I reached out tentatively, avoiding both their gazes, and let my fingers rest on the back of Damon's neck. I ran the hand down, and yes, the lines of ink were ever so slightly raised. I traced one wing, then the other, and to my complete surprise, felt him shiver. Inspired, and feeling crazily bold, I moved a little closer, leaned in, touched my lips to the ink very lightly. No protest--he was waiting, curious, to see just how far I was willing to go. He'd shifted again so he was mostly on his side, back to me, with Stefan in front watching attentively. I slid my hand down his shoulder and arm, then over his hip, beneath the sheet. Meanwhile I let my lips drift over the tattoo, feeling every line, every curve, and then began to retrace them with the very tip of my tongue. Stefan, who could see his face, winked at me over Damon's shoulder, his own hand moving down between them. On impulse, I sent my hand to join his, the two of us stroking him in tandem, enjoying the little tremors of delight that ran through him. I licked in a single, long line up his neck, then over to an ear, amazed at how shameless I was being given what had happened last time we'd touched. Then I heard a light, gentle voice in my mind: /Bite him./ I lifted my eyes to Stefan, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. I remembered the effect my teeth on Damon's neck had had before--did I want to awaken that wildness again? Would it? /Don't think,/ I told myself. /Don't hesitate. Pull the trigger and accept what comes./ I grazed his ear with my teeth, kissed back down along the jawline, then dropped my mouth to where neck joined shoulder and bit. It happened so quickly I never saw him move--next thing I knew I was on my back, my arms pinned up over my head, his mouth clamped firmly on mine while his free hand busied itself stripping off my shorts. For a moment I fell into the kiss, loving the taste of him, which come to think of it was probably the taste of them both--but I tore myself away, turning my head, and said, "No." He didn't reply, but I got the distinct impression he was contemplating whether or not to acknowledge what I'd said. He was breathing hard, and the sharp ends of his canines flashed in the firelight, just barely longer than the teeth to either side. His eyes were a strange color, almost glowing like a wolf's in the dark, and I knew I was looking at the predator--and he was hungry. There was apparently just enough reason left to keep him from devouring me whole. I suppose, in retrospect, that should have scared me, but I was caught up in it, staring death in the face and liking what I saw. I took the opportunity to look up into his eyes and murmur, "Not me--I wanted to watch, remember?" I glanced over at Stefan, whose eyebrows shot up at the expression on my face. "I want to watch you fuck him." I lifted my gaze back up, let an edge of darkness creep into my smile, touched a finger to his lips. "Make him scream for me." Black eyes met mine, shadow for shadow. He smiled. He looked over at Stefan, then, whose face reflected a mix of emotions that included excitement and a little nervousness. There was also familiarity, though--I got the feeling that nobody was ever in a relationship with Damon without experiencing at least periodic intensity. I'd bet money the boy was a Scorpio. Moving smoothly as a panther, he shifted off me, and nuzzled Stefan's neck. "Hmm," he mused, "I wonder what I could do to you that would satisfy our houseguest's curiosity?" He took hold of Stefan's shoulders and pushed him onto his stomach; Stefan propped his chin on his folded arms, looking very pleased with the whole situation and the possibilities it afforded. The flickering light from the hearth danced over the graceful line of his body, a line that Damon followed lightly with his hand, then again with his mouth, kissing a slow and lingering path from his neck all the way down to his lower back. Stefan closed his eyes, smiling contentedly--and a little complacently, I thought, considering what I had asked his brother to do. Damon looked up at me, and I saw another expression I'd never expected to see in him--playfulness. I got the mental impression of "Watch this." Then, he settled in alongside Stefan, oriented in the opposite direction. He nudged Stefan's legs apart with one hand, running long fingers over the perfect curve of Stefan's ass--and then leaned in and elicited a gasping, ragged moan with a single well-placed flick of his tongue. I bit my lip as a surge of energy swelled from Stefan, made stronger by surprise; apparently this wasn't a game they played often, perhaps even never before. The surge redoubled as Damon licked again, then again, light at first like a cat, then deeper, finally sliding his tongue inside. Stefan cried out and grabbed the headboard with both hands, the air in the room vibrating, my vision swimming--I could have shielded myself from it, but why? Just feeling their pleasure was better than a good three fourths of the sex I'd ever had. I saw Damon smile to himself at the reaction, and he started alternating licks with the slip of a finger, pushing in a little harder with both. Stefan was gripping the bed so hard his arms were shaking, and I thought I actually saw him bite the pillow to keep from making more noise, though muffled moans and whimpers escaped anyway. I heard Damon's thought even though it wasn't directed toward me; he'd pitched it loud enough for all three of us. /"Do you like that, little brother?"/ The reply was halting, as if even thinking was almost beyond his capability. /"God--yes--don't stop--"/ /"I think I might,"/ Damon said, the mischief returning. /"My tongue is getting tired, and we can't have that. Maybe there's something else you'd like?"/ /"Fuck me."/ The playfulness darkened for a moment. /"Not unless you beg."/ The entreaty in Stefan's mental voice was almost desperate. /"Please--God, please, I need you--take me--now--or I'll die--"/ Damon chuckled. "I doubt that," he said out loud, "but then again--" He bent his head and, like a striking cobra, licked one more time. Stefan's answering groan sounded more like agony than ecstasy, and a shudder ran through him. "Please," Stefan said again, this time whispering. Retracing his steps, Damon kissed back up Stefan's back, ending at his neck, then sucking on one ear as he moved over him. They knew each other so well that Stefan automatically lifted his hips, arching up to meet the hard shaft that plunged into him almost violently, pulling him into a forceful rhythm that had them both breathless in less than a minute, each undulation of their bodies twisting their minds further around each other, until I could no longer tell where one aura stopped and the other began. The thought arose that I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life--and I was about to lose my mind with need, though I wanted to wait until they were done before I saw to that--if I could stand it. Abruptly, Damon stopped, drawing yet another tortured sound from his partner, who looked back at him accusingly. He started to say something, but Damon silenced him with a kiss, then said, gently, "I think you've earned a little reward--both of you." He looked over at me again, and said, "Come here." I frowned, confused. "Where exactly?" Apparently he gave orders to Stefan mentally; Stefan pushed himself up on his hands, leaving a space underneath him. I didn't need to be told twice; my body was burning unbearably, my half-discarded shorts practically soaked as I shoved them and my t- shirt off. They were both watching me hungrily as I tossed my clothes over the side of the bed and crawled over to them, carefully winding under one arm and onto my back. I stared up into Stefan's darkened green eyes, knowing this wasn't going to be like last time--at least, not last time with him. I wound one leg on either side of him just in time for him to enter me, roughly, and this time it was my turn to cry out. Amazingly, Damon appeared to have it together enough to create another energy loop, this time taking in all three of us, wrapping mind around mind around mind. The force of their desire slammed into me as I writhed beneath him, my hands reaching up for the headboard, ending up around Stefan's wrists. I shoved myself upward and caught his mouth, sucking hard on his tongue, earning an appreciative noise and an equally intent return kiss. Even drunk and angry, Matt had never fucked me this hard, and I had certainly never asked him to--Lord, what I had been missing! Vaguely I felt a bite on my breast, another on my throat, but not deep; they weren't bites for feeding, but something like affection. Snarling, I bit back. That did it. I would never have thought it possible, but all three of us came at the same moment, a single orgasm shattering us into a thousand pieces, my own screaming enough to peel the paint off the walls. I'm not normally a noisy fuck, but now at last I understood the chorus that issued nightly from this bedroom, if their prey got to feel even half of what went through me. I seem to remember them disengaging from me, gingerly, and collapsing on either side of me panting and bathed in all our sweat. Someone pulled a sheet up over us, as the heat surrounding the bed evaporated after a moment as the cool air hit our damp bodies and gave me a delightful chill. I was still on my back, arms up over my head, and when I lowered them they hurt from the strain. I had probably pulled half the muscles in my body. "Jesus--Christ--" Stefan said into the pillow next to my head. I murmured something in agreement, but couldn't summon anything remotely akin to the English language. Then I heard a soft laugh, also Stefan's, and I managed to turn my head enough to see what he was looking at. I had to stifle a laugh of my own: Damon Salvatore, sophisticated and experienced sexual adept, had already passed the hell out. Nine Things were a little different after that. Despite Damon's initial misgivings, he didn't seem to mind Bonnie's occasional company in our bed, though he rarely seemed to seek her out on his own. The next few days were entertaining to say the least. As Christmas approached, as we waited to see what would come of his plans for her future and Elena's freedom, the three of us descended into a sort of hedonistic paradise. We no longer had to stay in the bedroom and she no longer had to look the other way. Elena got out of jail the very next day, and all charges against her were mysteriously dropped. Not only that, but the doctor that had testified against her had a sudden change of heart--or, rather, a sudden cessation of heartbeat, as his body was discovered dangling from a necktie in his living room, the accompanying suicide note a perfect match to his handwriting. The note was a confession to Matt's murder. Bonnie found that hilarious, and totally unbelievable. "Why the fuck would he kill Matt? He didn't even know either of us." Damon merely looked at her, all innocence, which was no more believable than the story. "Of course he did," he said mildly. "You met at the country club a year ago, and saw each other periodically at society functions and dinners with the Medical Association. Witnesses can place you in the same room a dozen times in the last six months. His name was on the invitation lists of every banquet and awards function in the city that you two were at." She laughed, sipping her rum and Coke. She was, at present, curled up in my lap on the couch. "That still doesn't explain why he would kill Matt." "We're working on that," Damon answered. "I suspect the good doctor may have been in love with you or something similar. We'll see what we can plant at his apartment to that effect. It's a perfect motive-- he loved you, he saw how Matt treated you, and the whole thing becomes a crime of passion that can never be disproven. In fact, the police will find the .357 in the doctor's dresser drawer matches the ballistics report from Matt's autopsy, and his fingerprints are all over it." "So that's why you wanted the gun," Bonnie said. "It's registered to Matt, though--how do you account for that?" "I believe the investigators will discover," Damon said, looking casually at the ceiling, "that the registration is in fact in Dr. David Silverman's name, purchased several months ago from a store that has, unfortunately, since gone out of business. The only firearms registered to the family Honeycutt are a .22 and a collector's edition Colt revolver that is still in its glass case in Matt's study." She shook her head in amazement. "You are a real piece of work, you know that?" "One thing," I pointed out. "Why is Bonnie still in hiding, then?" "Just in case the story doesn't wash. There are a lot of variables in an operation this complex. We'll have a perfectly plausible explanation for that too." I would never know how he did it. I never asked. There were large parts of his life that I was better off staying out of. I had once, a long while ago, looked briefly at the contact list in his cell phone, and found two hundred entries, none of which I recognized, from at least ten different countries. God only knew what was on his computer address book. And along those lines--the next night found me sitting at the desk, doing a bit of research. He was off at Diana and Raine's going over some investment or another that they were venturing into jointly, leaving me alone with the Internet for an hour or so. I heard Bonnie come into the office and sidle up behind me. She lay a hand on my shoulder, squeezed, and peered at the screen. "Mizaki Atasuke? Is that the violinist that he likes so much?" At my nod, she asked, "Are you two friends?" "Not really," I said, closing the email. "I'm doing some digging about the violin, and thought he'd be a good person to ask." "What are you trying to find out?" I grinned. "Nothing." "Liar." "Shouldn't you be making dinner? You've been burning off a lot of calories lately." She laughed. "True. I guess that's your way of telling me to get lost?" "Something like that." Another laugh, and she started to leave, but paused with her hand on the door and turned back to me. "You know," she said, "I never saw you smile this much when you were with Elena." Then she closed the door behind her and went into the kitchen. After a moment I heard her rattling around pots and pans. I was going to miss her, though it would be nice to return to our routine. We'd lined up an apartment for her here in the city, so at least we could visit. As soon as the media frenzy and investigation had been put to bed, she would be gone. It would be very quiet around here without her. There was something about having a mortal around that enlivened our existence, gave it immediacy. I was determined we would stay in touch--preferably with a lot of touching. I was wary of spending too much time with her, though; I could tell the thought made Damon understandably skittish. The situation was a little too much like another that had ended rather badly. I pulled up the site I had bookmarked, checked what Mizaki had said against what I had found, and hit "buy." I had come to the city with a sizeable nest egg of my own, though I had given Elena most of our money and given Damon a lot of what was left to try and make up for the room and board and lavish gifts. One click of a mouse, and my savings was gone. I smiled, stretched, and closed out the browser window, then went in and carefully deleted my history just in case. The smell of cooking tomatoes wafted into the office, making me a little nostalgic for Italy. I wondered what it would take to convince him to take a trip there with me soon. I had kept our house in Florence, letting Elena have the one in London, which she preferred. The thought of walking along the cobbled paths and having drowsy, midnight sex out in the courtyard was an attractive one, especially considering who I would be with this time. I rose and followed the scent into the kitchen, where Bonnie was chopping garlic to add to a pot of bottled marinara sauce. She didn't look up at my approach, but must have heard me, as when I slid my arms around her waist she didn't start. I licked her ear. "What's for dinner?" She leaned back against me, gesturing at the counter. "Don't you fang-bearers hate garlic?" I laughed. "That's a myth, silly woman. Besides, I'm Italian-- hating garlic there is considered blasphemy." "Good--taste this. It needs something." She held up a spoon, and I obeyed, though vampire taste buds aren't exactly keen when it comes to human food. I did, however, know it needed a pinch of sugar, and told her so. She fussed over the sauce, and I stayed where I was, feeling her hips move against mine as she reached up in the cabinet for something. She was wearing a short knit dress, which showed off her legs and ample cleavage, and moreover gave easy access to an enterprising vampire such as myself. I slid my hands up under the hem of the dress, pushing it over her hips, pleased to find she wasn't wearing any underwear. I had a feeling that was for our benefit. "Not now," she said with a smile. "I'm busy." I snorted, kissed her neck, moved my hands up to her breasts to brush over her nipples, also bare beneath the dress. Smart girl. She sighed, lowering her spoon and tilting her head to one side. "So keep cooking," I told her impishly, letting one hand drop behind and between her thighs. She sucked in a breath and dropped the spoon on the counter, gripping the edge with both hands as I stroked and teased her, enjoying the rising heat and the way her hips pressed against my hand. Damon found us a few minutes later, her leaning on the counter, me standing behind her, letting her move back and forth, pulling me in and out, slow and deliciously wet. He watched a moment, then sighed, came over, and switched off the burner on the stove. "Nothing stinks like scorched marinara," he pointed out, then bit my ear and went into the office to file away the sheaf of paperwork he'd brought back from Diana's. "Think we should've asked him to join in?" she asked over the course of several breaths. "I'll make it up to him later," I said, and returned her attention to more urgent matters, making absolutely sure she was good and famished by the time her spaghetti was done. ***** She left on Christmas Eve, her name officially cleared, though she had no intention of ever returning to Virginia and the life she'd left behind. We would have been happy to finance her in the city in perpetuity, but she refused, and already had several interviews scheduled, one managing an occult supply store. She seemed quite satisfied to give up high society and wealth in exchange for freedom; her new apartment had ample studio space, and I had seen to it was equipped with all the art supplies she could use in a year. She hugged and kissed us both. "Thank you so much," she said, tears in her eyes. "I hope one of these days I can repay you for everything." She fixed her amber gaze on Damon. "You saved my life," she told him, taking his hands. "I owe you the world." He smiled. "You owe me nothing. Just promise to call if you need anything, any time." She grinned, and I was glad to see the smile was completely without fear or sadness, but held only promise. She waved once through the cab window as it pulled away from the curb, and was soon lost to the mad rush of traffic as day at last settled into night and the human population hurried home for its varied holiday festivities. We stood watching the cab disappear, and I reached for his hand, feeling his fingers warm around mine. "We're supposed to meet the women at Belladonna at ten," I said pointedly. "It's only seven now." He gave me a sidelong look. "Have something in mind to occupy those three hours?" I kissed him, felt the comforting weight of his arms around me. "I have a few ideas." We made our way back upstairs, nodding greetings to the doorman, mouth fixed to mouth in the elevator, and I wished that the building was a lot taller so there would be time enough for more than a few moments of frantic kissing before we reached our floor. Once in the apartment, I pulled away, saying, "I'll be right back." He made an impatient noise and tossed his coat on the back of the couch, then sat down. "Hurry." When I returned from the bedroom, his eyes fell on the box in my hands, and he raised an eyebrow. "I know, I know," I said, sitting down beside him. "You don't do Christmas. Happy Hannukah, then, or Blessed Yule, or whatever." The box was long, and had somehow survived rush overseas shipping in December unscathed, though the outer carton it had been shipped in had been battered and bent by the time it reached our address. It had taken careful machinations to pick it up without his knowing. I felt my heart crawl up into my throat as, looking puzzled, he opened it. He gazed down into it for a long minute. When he finally spoke, his voice was very low and quiet, almost afraid. "What is this?" I swallowed hard. I had imagined a hundred possible reactions, and had hoped fervently for a good one; it didn't look like my wish would be granted. "Open it." He lifted the case out of its corrugated nest, and I whisked the box away. He held it like it was a snake, but eventually set it on his lap and flipped open the brass clasps. Shining dark wood and strings glinted in the muted moonlight. Carefully, he lifted it from the case, staring, one hand running along the curve of the body, along the neck, over the strings. His fingers hit the inscription, and he turned it over to look. I'd had it done in the wood itself rather than attaching a plaque, at Mizaki's advice, to avoid distorting the sound. I had, in fact, sought out Mizaki's own craftsman in Rome, praying he would have an instrument ready and that it would be the right one, a Stradivarius like the one in the office, but much more finely crafted and, I hoped, with an even richer sound despite the youth of the wood. /"To my beloved, my brother, my Raven,"/ the script read in Italian, /"Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right myself will bear all wrong--"/ The moment stretched out in absolute silence, and I waited, afraid, sure now that the whole idea had been a mistake, that he wouldn't see the meaning of the gift, wouldn't understand--that he thought it was simply a replacement, when it was so much more than that. "How did you find out?" he asked, startling me. I knew what he was asking. "Diana and Raine," I said. "I saw the plaque on the other one, and I asked them." Silence again, as he held it in his hands, his expression unreadable. Then, he placed the violin back in its case, closed the lid, snapped it shut with slow, measured movements. I felt sick inside, thinking it was a rejection, but he turned to me, and there was something in his eyes I'd never seen before. Without a word, he touched my face with one hand, and then touched his mouth to mine. ***** Hours later, I woke in our bed, warm and deliriously comfortable in a cocoon of blankets with the fire burning low and the night waning. I was alone, and after a moment I found myself smiling with pure, overwhelming joy. I heard music. My eyes burned, my heart suddenly so full it hurt. I recognized the melody, true, but the sound was subtly different from the last time he had played it. There was a new depth to the sound, a change in the resonance, and I knew what I was hearing. I closed my eyes and listened, gathering the music to me, and lay awake until it faded into the shadows of the night. Epilogue I stood in the doorway for a long time, watching him sleep, absently rubbing my aching neck with one hand. My arm and shoulder were both stiff, but it didn't matter. I could still feel the strange, curved wood, my hands learning its texture and timbre, its tone so pure it could create nuances of melody that the other never had. It was perfect. There was no other word for it. The old one was in its case, and I had held it for a while, at once terrified and relieved to open the safe behind the Picasso in the office and lock it away. The safe door closed, and at that moment I knew that, at long last, it was done, buried, over--along with decades of regret. I set the new one on the stand, resisting the urge to try out the Paganini right away; there would be time, and there was something more important to do now, a ritual that had to be observed. I spent a moment banking the fire, then undressed and climbed into the bed, grateful for the thick comforter and the hearth against the December chill. I lay facing him, still watching, hypnotized as always by the play of light over his face, the rise and fall of his breath. Then, as I had done every single night since he had come to my side, I carefully kissed the base of his throat where I could feel his heart beating, and whispered, "I love you." And to my astonishment, his eyes fluttered open, their deep green alight. He held my gaze for a minute, then gave me a small, sweet smile, and said softly, "I know." Slowly, I returned the smile, then drew him into my arms. Fin.