07 The Return_ Midnight - L. J. Smith

wanted. Like the slavers do. I didn’t know how to fight—then.”
“Oh, no. You fought and fought. I’ve never seen a human fight so hard. But even when you
fought, you felt the call of my heart to yours. Try to deny that.”
“Damon—why now—all of a sudden…?”
Damon made a move as if to turn away, then turned back. “Because by tomorrow we may
be dead,” he said flatly. “I wanted you to know how I felt about you before I died—or you did.”
“But you haven’t told me a word about how you feel about me. Only about what you
think I feel about you. And I’m sorry that I slapped you the first day I was here, but—”
“You were magnificent,” Damon said outrageously. “Forget it now. As for how I feel—
maybe I’ll get a chance to really show it to you someday.”
Something sparked inside Elena—they were back to fencing with words, as they had
been when they’d first met. “Someday? Sounds convenient. And why not now?”
“Do you mean that?”
“Do I habitually say things I don’t mean?”
She was waiting for some kind of apology, some words spoken as simply and sincerely
as she had been speaking to him. Instead, with the utmost gentleness, and without glancing around to
see if anyone was watching them, Damon cupped Elena’s scarf-bound cheeks with his bare hands,
pulled the scarf just below her lips with his thumbs, and kissed her softly. Softly—but not briefly, and
something in Elena kept whispering to her that of course she had heard his call from the moment she
first saw him, first felt his aura call to her. She hadn’t known that it was an aura then; she hadn’t
believed in auras. She hadn’t believed in vampires. She’d been an ignorant little idiot…
Stefan! A voice like crystal sounded off two notes in her brain, and suddenly she was
able to step back from Damon’s embrace and look at the palanquin again. No sign of motion there.
“I have to go back,” she told Damon brusquely. “I have to know what’s going on with
Bonnie.”
“You mean to see what’s going on with Stefan,” he said. “You needn’t worry. He’s fast
asleep, and so is our little girl.”
Elena tensed. “You Influenced them? Without seeing them?” It was a wild guess, but one
side of Damon’s mouth crooked up, as if congratulating her. “How dare you?” she said.
“To be honest, I don’t know how I dare.” Damon leaned in close again, but Elena turned
her cheek, thinking, Stefan!
He can’t hear you. He’s dreaming about you.
Elena was surprised at her own reaction to that. Damon had caught and held her eyes
again. Something inside her melted in the intensity of his steady black gaze.
“I’m not Influencing you; I give you my word”—in a whisper. “But you can’t deny what
happened between us the last time we were in this dimension.” His breath was on her lips now—and
Elena didn’t turn aside. She trembled.
“Please, Damon. Show some respect. I’m—oh, God! God!”
“Elena? Elena! Elena! What’s wrong?”
Hurts—that was all Elena could think. A terrible agony had lanced through her chest on
the left side. As if she’d been stabbed through the heart. She stifled a scream.
Elena, talk to me! If you can’t send your thoughts, speak!
Through numb lips, Elena said, “Pain—heart attack—”
“You’re too young and healthy for that. Let me check.” Damon was unfastening her top.
Elena let him. She could do nothing for herself, except gasp, “Oh God! It hurts!”