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"He wanted just what's happened to happen. He wanted you to doubt yourself, to think you were a
killer. But it isn't true, Stefan. Oh, Stefan, you know that now, and you don't have to be afraid
anymore." She stood up, feeling joy and relief course through her. Out of this hideous night, something
wonderful had come.
"That's why you've been so distant with me, isn't it?" she said, holding out her hands to him.
"Because you're afraid of what you might do. But there's no need for that any longer."
"Isn't there?" He was breathing quickly again, and he eyed her outstretched hands as if they were
two snakes. "You think there's no reason to be afraid? Damon may have attacked those people, but he
doesn't control my thoughts. And you don't know what I've thought about you."
Elena kept her voice level. "You don't want to hurt me," she said positively.
"No? There have been times, watching you in public, when I could scarcely bear not to touch you.
When I was so tempted by your white throat, your little white throat with the faint blue veins beneath
the skin…" His eyes were fixed on her neck in a way that reminded her of Damon's eyes, and she felt
her heartbeat step up. "Times when I thought I would grab you and force you right there in the school."
"There's no need to force me," said Elena. She could feel her pulse everywhere now; in her wrists
and the inside of her elbows – and in her throat. "I've made my decision, Stefan," she said softly,
holding his eyes. "I want to."
He swallowed thickly. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"I think I do. You told me how it was with Katherine, Stefan. I want it to be like that with us. I don't
mean I want you to change me. But we can share a little without that happening, can't we? I know,"
she added, even more softly, "how much you loved Katherine. But she's gone now, and I'm here. And I
love you, Stefan. I want to be with you."
"You don't know what you're talking about!" He was standing rigid, his face furious, his eyes
anguished. "If I once let go, what's to keep me from changing you, or killing you? The passion is
stronger than you can imagine. Don't you understand yet what I am, what I can do?"
She stood there and looked at him quietly, her chin raised slightly. It seemed to enrage him.
"Haven't you seen enough yet? Or do I have to show you more? Can't you picture what I might do to
you?" He strode over to the cold fireplace and snatched out a long piece of wood, thicker than both
Elena's wrists together. With one motion, he snapped it in two like a match stick. "Your fragile
bones," he said.
Across the room was a pillow from the bed; he caught it up and with a slash of his nails left the silk
cover in ribbons. "Yoursoft skin." Then he moved toward Elena with preternatural quickness; he was
there and had hold of her shoulders before she knew what was happening. He scared into her face a
moment, then, with a savage hiss that raised the hairs at the nape of her neck, drew his lips back.
It was the same snarl she'd seen on the roof, those white teeth bared, the canines grown to
unbelievable length and sharpness. They were the fangs of a predator, a hunter. "Your white neck," he
said in a distorted voice.
Elena stood paralyzed another instant, gazing as if compelled into that chilling visage, and then
something deep in her unconscious took over. She reached up within the restraining circle of his arms
and caught his face between her two hands. His cheeks were cool against her palms. She held him that
way, softly, so softly, as if to reprove his hard grip on her bare shoulders. And she saw the confusion
slowly come to his face, as he realized she was not doing it to fight him or to shove him away.
Elena waited until that confusion reached his eyes, shattering his gaze, becoming almost a look of