He rolled his eyes. ❝Yes, you, you’re Elena.❞ And he said this with such confidence, such conviction. Damon felt rage stirring in his gut, his fingers stretching and squeezing around her arms, ready to actually begin shaking her, to shake common sense back into her brain, to make her get away from him. He could kill her. He could kill Elena just like he killed Jeremy. God, he didn’t even want to think about Jeremy. ❝Are you...crazy? Legitimately mentally ill? That’s the only reason to explain why you came all the way out...❞ Choked up, Damon’s voice suddenly wavered.
Warm, smooth fingers gently silenced Damon, causing the tension between them to melt into something tangible. All he did was gape at her speechless for a long, disbelieving moment. How could she touch him looking the way he did? Damon wasn’t sure if it was kindness of stupidity on her part, maybe a mixture of both. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this exposed, his raw emotions laid out open for anyone else to see — there was an infinite number of reasons why Damon Salvatore did not do vulnerable in the first place. He didn’t like it for one. His body remained rigid, mouth twisting in a grimace. And then, her words fell into the darkness surrounding them, filling him up with their impossibility. A scoff lodged itself somewhere at the base of his throat, but swiftly died while his breath hitched instead.
This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be for real.
Damon released his grip on her arms in exchange for forcefully snagging one of her wrists and tugging her against his chest. He continued to hold her there, waiting for her to protest. Almost hoping for a scream. Still, his teeth were neatly tucked away. He could hear the steady cadence of her heartbeat, feel the thrum of her pulse humming underneath her skin. She was so human he could drown in it. There was no mistaking that fact, but her very existence called forth multiple questions that Damon didn’t even want to think about entertaining. He came out here to feed and find someone tasty. Someone whose throat he could tear into until there was nothing left. Just a cold, empty corpse that was as hollow inside as he was. And he could have, could have continued down that path, could have kept lashing out at the world with his pain and misery...
Damon knew he should let her go now, but he'd never really been good at doing what he should. Especially not when she’d dropped such a huge bomb on him, especially after she told him she was waiting for him. Damon had spent more than a century waiting for Katherine, longing for Katherine. Messy desire intermingled with blind hope was all he knew as he did his best to mold himself into the type of person who would be worthy of her love. Only Katherine didn’t want him. And now this girl was telling him that she came all the way out here, for him?
❝Well, you found me.❞ Even with those big, pretty doe brown eyes of hers, she was no Elena. He could tell that much, though he still didn’t understand it. He simmered in uncharacteristic silence, before his tone turned biting, acerbic. ❝I can only imagine how disappointed you must be, Freyja.❞
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