Лиза Смит - The Return - Shadow Souls

And just as blushing was an involuntary physical response to his warmth and appreciation, Elena felt an involuntary emotional response — of thankfulness for what he had done, of gratitude for his appreciation, and of unintentional appreciation of Damon himself. He had saved her life tonight, if she knew anything about vampires possessed by Shinichi’s malach, vampires who were thugs to begin with. She couldn’t even imagine what such creatures would do to her, and she didn’t want to. She could only be glad that Damon had been clever enough and, yes, ruthless enough to take care of them before they got to her.

And she would have to be blind and just plain stupid not to appreciate the fact that Damon was gorgeous. After having died twice, this fact did not affect her as it would most other girls, but it was still a fact, whether Damon was pensive or giving one of those rare genuine smiles that he seemed to have only for Elena.

The problem with this was that Damon was a vampire and could therefore read her mind, especially with Elena being so close, their auras intermingling. And Damon appreciated Elena’s appreciation, and it became a little cycle of feedback, all on its own. Before Elena could quite focus she was melting, her weightless body feeling heavier as it molded itself to Damon’s arms.

And the other problem was that Damon wasn’t Influencing her; he was as caught up in the feedback as Elena was — more so, because he didn’t have any barriers against it. Elena did, but they were blurring, dissolving. She couldn’t think properly. Damon was gazing at her with wonder and a look she was all too used to seeing — but she couldn’t remember where.

Elena had lost the power to analyze. She was simply basking in the warm glow of being cherished, being held and loved and cared for with an intensity that shook her to the bone.

And when Elena gave of herself, she gave completely. Almost without conscious effort, she arched her head back to expose her throat and closed her eyes.

Damon gently positioned her head differently, supported it with one hand, and kissed her.

Time stopped. Elena found that she was instinctively groping for the mind of the one who was kissing her so sweetly. She had never really appreciated a kiss until she had died, become a spirit, and then been returned to earth with an aura that revealed the hidden meaning of other people’s thoughts, words, and even their minds and souls. It was as if she had gained a beautiful new sense. When two auras mingled as deeply as this, two souls were laid bare to each other.

Semi-consciously, Elena let her aura expand, and met a mind almost at once. To her surprise, it recoiled from her. That wasn’t right. She managed to snag it before it could retreat behind a great hard stone, like a boulder. The only things left outside the boulder — which reminded her of a picture of a meteorite she had seen, with a pocked, charred surface — were rudimentary brain functions, and a little boy, chained to the rock by both wrists and both ankles.

Elena was shocked. Whatever she was seeing, she knew it was a metaphor only, and that she should not judge too quickly what the metaphor meant. The images before her were really the symbols of Damon’s naked soul, but in a form that her own mind could understand and interpret, if only she looked at it from the right perspective.

Instinctively, though, she knew that she was seeing something important. She had come through the breathless delight and dizzying sweetness of joining her soul to another’s. And now, her inherent love and concern drove her to try to communicate.

“Are you cold?” she asked the child, whose chains were long enough to allow him to wrap his arms tightly about his drawn-up legs. He was clothed in ragged black.

He nodded silently. His huge dark eyes seemed to swallow up his face.

“Where do you belong?” Elena said doubtfully, thinking of ways to get the child warm. “Not inside that ?” She made a gesture toward the giant stone boulder.

The child nodded again. “It’s warmer in there, but he won’t let me inside anymore.”

“He?” Elena was always on the lookout for signs of Shinichi, that malicious fox spirit. “Which ‘he,’ darling?” She had already knelt and taken the child in her arms, and he was cold, ice cold, and the iron was freezing.

“Damon,” the little ragamuffin boy whispered. For the first time the boy’s eyes left her face, to glance fearfully around him.

“ Damon did this?” Elena’s voice started loud and ended up as soft as the boy’s whisper, as he turned pleading eyes on her and desperately patted at her lips, like a velvet-clawed kitten.

This is all just symbols, Elena reminded herself. It’s Damon’s mind — his soul — that you’re looking at.

But are you? an analytical part of her asked suddenly. Wasn’t there — a time before, when you did this with someone — and you saw a world inside them, entire landscapes full of love and moonlit beauty, all of it symbolizing the normal, healthy workings of an ordinary, extraordinary mind. Elena couldn’t remember the name of the person now, but she remembered the beauty. She knew that her own mind would use such symbols to present itself to another person.

No, she realized abruptly and definitively: she was not seeing Damon’s soul. Damon’s soul was somewhere inside that huge, heavy ball of rock. He lived cramped inside that hideous thing, and he wanted it that way. All that was left outside was some ancient memory from his childhood, a boy who had been banished from the rest of his soul.

“If Damon put you here, then who are you?” Elena asked slowly, testing her theory, while taking in the black-on-black eyes of the child, and the dark hair and the features she knew even if they were so young.

“I’m — Damon,” the little boy whispered, white around the lips.

Maybe even revealing that much was painful, Elena thought. She didn’t want to hurt this symbol of Damon’s childhood. She wanted him to feel the sweetness and comfort that she was feeling. If Damon’s mind had been like a house, she would have wanted to tidy it up, and fill every room with flowers and starlight. If it had been a landscape she would have put a halo around the full white moon, or rainbows amongst the clouds. But instead it presented itself as a starving child chained to a ball that no one could breach, and she wanted to comfort and soothe the child.

She cradled the little boy, rubbing his arms and legs hard and nestling him against her spirit body.

At first he felt tense and wary in her arms. But after a little time, when nothing terrible happened as a result of their contact, he relaxed and she felt his small body go warm and drowsy and heavy in her arms. She herself felt a crushingly sweet protectiveness about the little creature.

In just a few minutes, the child in her arms was asleep, and Elena thought that there was the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. She cuddled his little body, rocking him gently, smiling herself. She was thinking of someone who had held her when she’d cried. Someone who was — was not forgotten, never forgotten — but who made her throat ache with sadness. Someone so important — it was desperately important that she remember him now, now —and that she…she had to…to find …

And then suddenly the peaceful night of Damon’s mind was split open — by sound, by light, and by energies that even Elena, young as she was in the ways of Power, knew had been kindled by the memory of a single name.

Stefan.

Oh, God, she had forgotten him — she had actually, for a few minutes allowed herself to be drawn into something that meant forgetting him. The anguish of all those lonely late-night hours, sitting and pouring out her grief and fear to her diary — and then the peace and comfort that Damon had offered had actually made her forget Stefan —to forget what he might be suffering at this very moment.