Sanguine Veritas Read online

  Text copyright ©2013 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Warner Bros Entertainment Inc. and Alloy Entertainment, LLC.. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements of The Vampire Diaries remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Warner Bros Entertainment Inc. and Alloy Entertainment, LLC., or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Sanguine Veritas

  Michelle Hazen

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Understanding

  Chapter 2: Confession

  Chapter 3: Communion

  Chapter 4: The Door

  Chapter 5: Native Language

  Chapter 6: Your Wish

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Michelle Hazen

  What to read next!

  Author’s Note

  The title is Latin, roughly translated as “Truth in Blood.” The story starts in episode 4x02, “Memorial” during the Damon and Elena bloodsharing scene in the bathroom of the Grill. I extend and expand what we saw of the scene, and then from there, the story goes in a completely new direction. Happy reading!

  Chapter 1: Understanding

  ELENA

  I am shaking with hunger, so I don’t realize until he locks the door behind us that Damon has just pulled me into the bathroom at the Grill. I’m alone with him, which is the exact situation I have been avoiding since my transition. I couldn’t always trust myself around him as a human. As a vampire, I figured it was better not to risk it.

  "What are you doing?" I ask nervously.

  I can’t keep animal blood down, and I’m afraid to feed off a human, and I really fail to see how being alone in a locked room with Damon Salvatore is going to solve either of those problems. I chose Stefan, but I knew that wouldn’t automatically cool off what was between Damon and me. Which made it all the more important, with my volatile new nature, to be nowhere near him.

  "Giving you what you need,” he says shortly.

  Is he really crazy enough to think we can just have sex right now?

  I glance at the door, heat rising in my body even as I try to think of how I should respond. It isn’t until he bites into his hand that I realize for once he didn’t mean something in a sexual way.

  The blood welling up into his palm distracts me from the blush starting in my cheeks and my mouth goes dry and tingly as my hunger accelerates into starvation.

  "Drink,” he growls.

  "What?"

  Vampire blood? Would that work? Would it help? I can’t look away from his hand and I’m fully aware that I’m not thinking clearly, but that doesn’t make me able to do anything about it.

  "You're a new vampire Elena: you need warm blood from the vein. Maybe this will do the trick."

  I’m shifting back and forth, unable to keep still. I’m starving for blood, but what pools in his offered palm doesn’t just smell like blood. It smells like Damon and that makes it twice as dangerous.

  "Or not. Just don't tell Stefan," he says tersely, avoiding my eyes.

  That rings alarm bells in my mind even through the fog of bloodlust.

  "Why not?"

  Damon’s gaze locks onto me with an intensity that is too intimate for what we are allowed to have together. "Because blood sharing is kind of…personal."

  God, the smell of him is incredible. I am going to have to drink or run, but I can’t keep myself still for a second longer.

  "What do you mean it's personal?" I manage to ask, knowing that even if I don’t care right now, I should care.

  "Just drink!" he snaps impatiently and I remember how worried he’s been about me since my transition.

  The last bit of my conscience that I can still hear over my raging hunger whispers that he may not want to do this with me, that he’s just offering because he is scared that I’ll starve. I search his face, looking for hesitation, but there is none. Just desire. He wants me to do this.

  He nods once and nothing else matters. If it did, I doubt I could hold back anyway.

  I take his hand, at least trying not to be an animal about it, and bring it to my mouth as slowly as I can bear.

  It feels so good to give in, to let my fangs lengthen into their true form. It feels good to bite him, my canines pushing into his flesh even though I don’t need to release more blood. He’s already given me what I need. As usual.

  It’s funny that as much as I have been obsessed with blood lately, needing it and not wanting to need it, that I’m not prepared for the taste. I guessed it would taste like that guard at the Young farm: like scratching an itch. Coppery, a bit dusty. Necessary.

  Damon’s blood tastes fierce. The predator in me is singing.

  He tastes wild, and gentle. Sweet edged with tartness. Dark chocolate spiced with wine. Sharp teeth and hard, protective hands. The scent, the feel of his skin, all the contradictions of him are pouring into me, moving through my throat, my veins.

  I’m never going to get enough of this, of him. I’m so far gone I don’t even consider what that means.

  There’s a jolt as we stagger back into the wall, both of us too caught up in each other to maintain balance in something as unimportant as legs.

  Sex and confidence, loneliness and uncertainty.

  My body curls naturally into his chest, his big hand stroking my hair as if we’re embracing, as if we’re giving and receiving love instead of blood. Maybe we are.

  His hand on my hair pulls at something deep in my belly, makes my scalp come alive with a tingling burst. The brush of my forehead against his throat is as bright and intense as sex.

  His touch and his blood are a protection spell, drugging all my new fears about being a vampire into complacency.

  A vampire is what Damon is. He will help me. He won’t let me fail at this. He never forsakes me, in the end.

  It feels so good not to be scared that I’m going to hurt someone, or be disgusting. Damon won’t be repulsed by what I am now. I wonder why the ferocity of my feeding is making him so gentle and I’m glad that I need to feed so I can pretend I don’t know how he’s holding me. I can pretend I don’t want him to touch me like he is.

  But I do.

  * * *

  DAMON

  I’m quivering with how good, how right this feels and that is obscene considering the reality of what I’m doing.

  This is the pity fuck of blood sharing. It’s a crumb I’m throwing myself because a moment is all I can get. I’ve offered myself to this girl dozens of ways and this time is going to end the same as all the rest. She’s going to give me one wide-eyed look of scared confusion and then she’s going to take off because what I’m offering is either not enough or too much for her.

  I wish I knew which it was. I wish I didn’t care.

  I shudder with the sweetness that pours through my body, unaffected by my dark thoughts. My hand tightens in her hair.

  It took me a long time to get why it feels so good to have your blood taken like this. It’s a heady thing, to be fully understood. It’s intoxicating.

  It’s better when the person doesn’t ditch you afterwards.

  It’s intimate because what you are is written in your blood and vampires can taste it when we feed. Because vampires are so much more than people, drinking from them is like reading a newspaper in bold, large type. When you drink human blood the same truths are written, but lightly, with small letters and vague sentences.

  That’s why killing is so enticing. It is what cannibalism was always meant to be. You’re consuming another person in the fullest sense of the wor
d.

  * * *

  ELENA

  Maybe it is because he is giving it to me to save me, from death and guilt and myself, but Damon’s blood tastes of love. I don’t know if the emotion is his or my own. I’m afraid it’s both. I’m terrified it’s both.

  His blood is lighting up my whole body and I feel like I opened my eyes for the first time directly into the sun. Only instead of being blinded by it, I can see the details, the wretched beauty that humans can’t handle, can’t hold. Can’t bear.

  I can see Damon better with my eyes closed, with his blood in my mouth, than I could ever see him when I looked at him. He is everything I couldn't face or accept or even conceive of last week when I made that terrible, cruel phone call to tell him my choice was made.

  My head is spinning and I lean a little closer to him, balancing against his body, and I feel his response to me. My eyes fly open. I know I shouldn’t feel this part of him, that I need to stop this and run while I still can, but I’m still feeding.

  My tongue tastes of sex, dirty and beautiful.

  Deliciously forbidden fantasies run through my head. I can’t stop thinking about all the erotic things I’ve ever dreamed of him doing to me. I can remember all too clearly how he looked on my birthday, naked in the foyer of the boarding house while he smiled arrogantly at me, his muscles adorned with bubbles from the bath.

  I’m hopelessly turned on and I know I have to get this under control right away or I know where I will end up. That will only hurt all of us more in the end even if right now it would make me feel so, so good. Better than food or breathing. Better than a ring that lets me walk in the sunlight. Better than blood.

  The only way I make myself stop is that I don't deserve the gift of his blood after what I've done to him.

  I run my tongue over his palm, savoring one last taste like I am condemned. I pry my body away from his. I don’t dare look at him, even for a second. I’m in more danger alone with Damon than I was in that whole room of mortal, fragile humans with my bloodlust running wild.

  I pull away from his kind hands and those overwhelming glacier-blue eyes. I spin to face the wall, pressing my palms against it so hard that I can feel the tiles bend against the force of me. I push my forehead against the tiles too, trying to shackle myself to the safety of this inanimate surface.

  In Denver, it was unbearable, wanting him. Resisting him, impossible. Now with heightened everything, I’m lost, and I do what I always do when I’m lost.

  “Damon, I need your help.”

  He’s turned to stay close and though no part of him touches me, I can feel him everywhere. He stands just behind me, the distance between our skin calibrated and cataloged to the millimeter by my overly efficient vampire brain and senses.

  “What do you need, Elena?” The emphasis on the word need is so slight I wouldn’t have heard it a week ago. The velvet whisper of his tone licks me and I shiver from head to heels.

  “Stop me. Don’t let me…”

  “Don’t let you what?”

  My tongue is dry as dust and it tastes of him. I can smell him on my lips.

  His hands slide over mine, his skin rasping against mine in a symphony of sensation. Our hands press together against the wall. No other part of us touches.

  My unsubtle vampire emotions are cutting through my confusion in one way: I know for absolute certain that I want Damon, in more ways than I want to want him. I just wish the loudspeaker of my heart would let me know what the hell I am supposed to do about it.

  I need to babble, to make a speech explaining why we can’t do this now, to make him understand so he can stop me even though I know asking Damon to help me resist him is like asking kerosene to put out a fire.

  But to talk I need to be able to breathe and I can not.

  Maybe if I hold very, very still, he will do beautiful things to me and I can pretend I’m not responsible, that it isn’t my fault. That it wasn’t my willpower that flatly refused when I asked it to keep me away from Damon.

  My eyes are closed and I reach deep inside myself, past my crazed maze of desires, past my responsibilities and all my ideas of right and wrong and I try to remember who I am.

  * * *

  DAMON

  My body hovers just behind hers. She is silent, but the heaving of her breath and the frantic drum of her heartbeat fill my ears.

  It is an impressive measure of her resolve that we aren’t both naked while I take her right here against the wall. She is incredibly aroused.

  I’m not surprised. I’m not even particularly flattered. I’ve known since the day we met that she was physically attracted to me.

  I wonder cynically if she would think the perfect man was Stefan’s mind in my body. She doesn’t have the same response to him, and he knows it. It is impossible to lie to vampire senses about something as basic as attraction. It’s major fuel for his rage and jealousy toward me, though I doubt he’s ever brought it up to Elena. How emasculating that would be.

  Not quite so bad, I think, as knowing that she wants to jump me and is making a literally superhuman effort not to because she doesn’t like who I am as much as how I look.

  Still, my heart is cut clean out of my chest by the intimacy of the blood sharing, and all the cynicism and sarcasm in the world aren’t enough to convince me to step away from her yet. My body leans toward hers as if we are held here by something stronger and more basic than bloodlust, against the best interests of our emotions, our futures, ourselves.

  “Don’t let me touch you,” she breathes, finally, the sweetness of her voice making acid irony of her words.

  “Why would you ask me that, Elena?” My voice is like a whip, cracking against her skin. Maybe if I pour all my cruelty, all my bitterness into it, then it will release the hold she has over me and let me step away. Maybe even leave this room under my own power before she has a chance to run from me. Again.

  I’m probably not that lucky.

  “Because you’re my friend,” she says achingly.

  There might be a God after all, because that does it. I manage three steps away, nearly all the way to the opposite wall, blistering her back with my eyes.

  “I may not have many friends, Elena, but I do know that a real friend isn’t someone who only shows up when they need something from you.”

  She turns at that so I see her expression change, a different part of her nature taking over and her inner bi-polar vampire stoking this new fire to the same heights as the old.

  I know what she’s about to say. I was right the first time. There is no God. This is pure devil. Pure demon temptation and I have long been a sinner.

  “Do you want my blood?” she offers softly.

  “What?” I’m stalling, hoping that my body at least will recognize the trap and see itself out the door since my brain and my body are perfectly happy to stay in here, letting her torture me.

  She holds out her wrist in treacherously innocent generosity, her earth-colored eyes earnest.

  “You gave me your blood. You’re right. I always take from you. I never give back. Let me give you something back.”

  “Why?” My voice rasps like someone has been cleaning my esophagus with a wire brush.

  “Yours tasted–” She swallows. “Good. Maybe mine will taste good to you. I know you’re not hungry like I was hungry, but you’re right.”

  Her eyes are full of guilt. Man, did I push the wrong button. That was the missile launch button, not the ejector seat. My mistake, and I’ll go down in flames for it in more ways than one.

  “I’ve been selfish too many times with you,” she says.

  I wonder, now that the compulsion has worn off, if she remembers my words and she just twisted them to deliberately hurt me.

  I love you. That’s why I can’t be selfish with you.

  Is it possible that this is actually Katherine impersonating Elena? No, even Katherine can’t do a mind-fuck like this. To cut this deep, you have to be totally unaware of the evil of your a
ctions, so you can’t be blamed for them, no matter how terrible they are.

  So all the hatred I can muster to fight this hurt festers in my own chest, at my own lack of self-preservation for keeping me in this room with my own walking, talking Kryptonite.

  “God, I didn’t even say anything, did I?” she says in horror, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, which she’s already licked clean of my blood. The thought of that makes my abs tighten with arousal, even in the midst of all of this.

  “When you kicked me out of Ric’s seat, I didn’t tell you how sorry I was, or ask how you were doing.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I don’t need to kill anybody. I’m already becoming a despicable person.”

  Oh damn it. Her tears kick my casual persona back into gear, and I can be thankful for that at least. “Nah. I’m just being a dick,” I tell her. “Don’t take it personally. No one else does.”

  “No,” she says fiercely. “You’re not. You’re trying to take care of me, like you always do. Even when I’m too focused on my own needs to support you after you lost your best friend.”

  I shift uncomfortably. I may have impulsively sent her on a guilt trip, but she’s not the only one being selfish. I know my blood won’t help her. Vampire blood is tasty, but it’s like water. It’ll fill you up, but it doesn’t give you what you need. I was just being…fuck, I don’t even know.

  The time when I am going to have to force Elena and Stefan to deal with the facts of life and vampire nutrition is coming very soon. Fortunately, I was born to play bad cop. If it were any more cliché, Stefan would be blonde.

  Elena’s coming closer. Shit, that was so not the plan.

  “Damon, give me another chance.” She holds out her wrist. “I am going to be a better friend to you. Let me start with this. It’s only fair.”

  I shake my head harshly. She doesn’t get it yet: after one time you’re so overwhelmed with sensation it’s difficult to understand everything that’s involved when you share your blood with another person.

  “Come back when you know what you’re asking for,” I tell her bluntly.