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It was like a circuit connecting. Warmth flooded through Elena’s body, and she wobbled for a moment, ready to fall into his arms. Stefan became utterly still, his eyes dilated and dark as he stared at her. She thought he was holding his breath. There was a moment when it seemed like time was suspended, like anything could happen.
And then, with an intense jolt of sorrow, Elena pulled away, letting her hand fall limply to her side.
“Here,” Stefan said abruptly, pulling something from his pocket with the sleeve of his shirt. His voice shook, and he was staring at his hands, refusing to meet Elena’s eye. He handed her what looked like a handful of scrappy, skinny weeds, a few with small pale flowers. “Keep these with you for good luck. You can even make herbal tea out of them.”
Elena accepted the flowers, recognizing them as vervain. If she kept it close, it would keep vampires from being able to cloud her mind. But Stefan didn’t know yet that Damon was in town, certainly didn’t know about Katherine. Who was he protecting her from? Then she got it.
Himself, of course. It was just like Stefan, to be thinking of himself as a danger while he did everything he could to protect her.
“Thank you,” she said, looking down at the wilting weeds as if they were the most precious thing she’d ever touched.
She stared up at him again, holding her gaze until, reluctantly, he let his eyes meet hers again. “Remember,” she said softly. “I don’t believe in monsters.”
Stefan’s face twisted, and he turned and walked away, disappearing into the gathering dusk.
Elena sighed and tucked the vervain into her pocket before heading home. She felt safe, despite the dark. Even if she couldn’t see him, Stefan would guard her carefully all the way home.
#TVD13StelenaReturns
Ninety-seven. Ninety-eight. Elena brushed her hair with smooth, even strokes, watching herself in the elaborately framed Victorian mirror above her dresser. She met her own reflected gaze levely, her dark blue eyes as steady as her hand on the hairbrush. Her golden hair fanned out like silk across her shoulders.
It was odd, she thought, that she looked almost exactly the same here as she did in her own time. Her friends were younger, softer, but Elena’s appearance hadn’t changed since she had drunk the Water of Eternal Life and Youth back in her freshman year of college. When she had chosen to be with Stefan forever.
She was not going to think about Stefan.
Her hand slowed and her eyes dropped.
There was still that instant fire between them. The rest of the world melted away when she was with Stefan. It had felt so right, so perfect, to talk to him and touch him again.
But it didn’t matter. She had to stay away from Stefan. It didn’t matter how much she yearned to be with him. She couldn’t get caught in that trap. Giving in to her love for Stefan led, in the end, to death and despair. There was a reason she was here.
She put the brush down on top of her rosewood dresser, lining it up neatly between her jewelry box and her comb, and reached into the top shelf of the dresser for a lacy white nightgown. The house was silent. Aunt Judith and Margaret were already fast asleep, but Elena was buzzing with nervous energy. Still, she should try to rest.
Suddenly, there was a rap at the window, a sharp, cracking noise. Elena spun around. Outside, she could just make out a pale face in the darkness, hair and clothes as black as the night around him. Damon.
“Let me in.” The low, coaxing voice sent a shiver up Elena’s spine. She didn’t move. “Open the window, Elena. You want to let me inside.”
He was trying to compel her? A hot flush of anger ran over her. In two quick steps, she crossed the room and flung the window open.
Damon’s eyes widened a bit. She knew she wasn’t moving in the dreamy way a compelled person usually would, but the corners of his lush mouth tilted, and Elena could tell he’d decided to go with it. “Good,” he said, his tone soothing, “Now, invite me in, Princess.”
Elena folded her arms in front of her. “I don’t know if I should,” she said slowly. Her heart was pounding. Gratefully, she thought of the withered vervain in her pocket.
Cocking his head to one side, Damon eyed her thoughtfully. Sitting on a branch of the quince tree outside her window, one arm braced on the windowsill, he somehow managed to look as comfortable and graceful as ever. “You’ve got vervain,” he said.
“I do.” Elena didn’t offer anything else. If she wanted him intrigued by her, it was probably best to leave a little mystery.
Damon’s smile sharpened. “Didn’t you say you knew I would never hurt you?”
Elena’s mouth went dry, and then she swallowed hard and stepped back from the window. This was Damon. She was safe. “Come in, then, Damon,” she said.
Damon hesitated for just a moment, uncertainty flickering over his face, and then he was through the window smoothly and standing in front of her. “You know my name,” he said warily.
“Yes.” She didn’t try to explain. What could she say? All the things that might make Damon trust her were still in the future.
Damon moved closer. There was something hot and hungry in his gaze, and she had a sudden urge to raise her hand to cover where her pulse beat.
Elena was glad that she was still dressed in the clothes she’d worn to the woods, not the low-necked nightgown in her hand. It would have felt wrong, would have felt dangerous, if he had seen her like that right now, her throat so exposed.
