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Bring Your Own Blood	By : krypteria Category: S through Z > Vampire Diaries Views: 1726 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Vampire Diaries, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story

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/Clink... Clink... Clink... Clink…/

“Mmm... what?” Hannah whined groggily, forcing herself to open her eyes as something clinked against the window again.

/Clink!/

Hannah groaned and got out of the bed to open the window. Something small and hard hit her on the forehead. A pebble.

“Ow! Ashton!” she said angrily, rubbing her forehead. She scowled down at the messy-haired teenage boy on the lawn.

At the sight of him, a heavy gust of wind whipped against her cheek, sending a dark chill down her spine.

“Ashton...? What d’ya want?” Hannah called down to him, puzzled and slightly unnerved.

“I need to talk to you,” he called back, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his pants. “Please?”

Hannah could never turn down a friend in need, especially Ashton. “Okay,” she answered at last. “Meet me at Edward’s in ten minutes.”

She saw him give a small nod and she turned back into the small bedroom. She grabbed her black converse sneakers and slid into them and pulled her leather jacket on over her black nightdress before climbing out the window. Looking over the edge of the roof, she took a deep breath, muttered “here goes nothing”, and then she jumped.

She landed flat on her behind in the soft grass, which, thankfully, had not been mowed in a long while.

“I’m going to kill Ash,” she hissed, rubbing her bottom. “This is definitely going to leave a bruise.”

Ashton stood waiting by the swings. Walking up to him, she looked into his dark brown eyes. They were so cold, so empty. For a minute, she was so taken-aback by their iciness that she couldn’t speak.

“What’s up?” she asked finally, concerned.

He shrugged and looked away.

“Did you and Kenny break up again?”

She swore she saw him smile slightly, but when he looked back at her, his face was a mask of ice.

“And if we did?” he said quietly, carelessly.

The feeling of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach grew. “What’s the reason this time?” she replied, sounding more calm than she felt.

/What was wrong with him?/ She had never felt so uncomfortable around him, so... frightened.

This time he did smile, a cruel twisting of his mouth. “My interest reside in another woman.”

“Okay...”

“Don’t you want to know who?” Ash moved closer, invading her territory, trapping her. His lips were inches from hers and she could feel his cool breath as he said, “It’s you, my love.”

/You’re not Ash./ The realization hit her like a cold shower and her body tensed in awareness. Ash would never call he his love. Ash was never so cold or callous. /You’re not Ash!/

“How did you know I was at Nic’s house?” she asked quietly.

“You told me,” he answered instantly. “Ages ago. Have you forgotten?”

Hannah straightened up and faced the Ash-double stubbornly. “I never told anyone. Who are you? You’re not Ash. What have you done with him?”

His laugh was as sharp and cold as a dagger. “Don’t you worry your pretty, little head over that. The boy’s fast asleep in his bed, no doubt.”

Hannah shoved hard against his chest, terrified. He laughed again and grabbed a hold of her upper arms. No matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t break free. His grip was like a vise.

“Who are you?” she demanded, giving up her struggles and looking up into that stony face.

“I am Death,” he said arrogantly. “I am Fear. I am a nightmare’s nightmare, a devil incarnate. I am the purest of all evils.”

He stepped away from her, releasing her arms at last. There was a bright flash and Ashton disappeared. In his place stood a tall man with eyes like liquid silver and hair as white as snow slicked back into a long ponytail. He was dressed in black robes of fine silk and his skin was the color of moonlight. Hannah couldn’t help but note that he was beautiful. In a sinister type of way.

She felt every ounce of evil and power radiating from him. He’d let his shields down long enough to show her what he truly was and the aftermath left her skin prickling, as if it was being stuck by thousands of needles at a time. So much evil it made her sick.

“What are you?” she choked out.

“I am a warlock. A very powerful warlock. But I’m sure your psychic senses can already tell you that.” His voice was deep and rumbling, cruel and cutting and glacial. “I am Marcellus.”

“What do you want with me?”

“I want to know where the vampire is,” he hissed. “You conjured both of us, and only one of us can be here without destroying the balance. Only one of us can exist on this plane, and that will be me. Where is he? If you tell me now, I promise to make your death quick and painless. I just want to know where the half-breed bastard is.”

Hannah’s hand came up of its own accord and slapped him, hard, across the face. She instantly knew it was a mistake, but she was instinctively defensive of Damon. “I will never tell you where Damon is. And threatening me will not work either.”

“You little bitch!” he ground out, blood rising to his cheek where she’d slapped him. “You’ll pay for that!”

He flicked his wrist at her and she felt a rush of magickal energy slam into her chest, sending her flying into the pavement. Marcellus lunged after her. Mid-lunge, he was knocked off course by a large black wolf. It growled furiously and tore at the fallen warlock’s throat. Still growling, the wolf shifted into human form.

“Damon, no! He’ll kill you!” Hannah cried out, standing up quickly.

Damon whipped his head toward her, black eyes blazing, mouth drenched in blood. “Stay out of this! You’ll only get yourself hurt!” he yelled.

“No!” Unbidden, tears came to her eyes. “I can’t...”

Marcellus flicked his wrist again and Damon went flying. He slammed into the brick wall beside Hannah. A stream of blood ran down his temple and he grimaced in pain. A few feet away, Marcellus stood up.

“Damon!” Hannah ran to him, but he pushed her away and stood once more.

He lunged at Marcellus again and the warlock made a slashing motion with his hand. Hannah could see the red magickal energy that burst from his fingertips and pierced through Damon’s left arms, leaving a bloody hole in its wake.

“Oh, Goddess,” Hannah moaned.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nic running toward the fight, still in her pajamas. Damon was on the ground just a few feet away; Marcellus towered over him, prepared to make the last devastatingly fatal blow.

“I have to do something!” she growled.

Hannah didn’t even need to think. She heard Nic scream, heard Damon shout, “NO!”, but she still thrust herself in front of him.

She found herself immersed in a red glow as she was hit square in the chest, doing to her what it would have done to Damon. She fell back against the shell-shocked vampire, feeling her blood pool beneath her.

“Hannah,” Damon whispered, though it sounded far away.

Marcellus’ face twisted in anger and shock, his eyes widening in disbelief. “What have you done, you stupid girl?! Why?! Why would you save that monster?”

She looked up at him unflinchingly. “Because I love him,” she whispered hoarsely. It was that simple.

“Well then you can join him in Hell!” Marcellus raised his hands again. “I’ll kill you both!”

“NO!” Hannah cried, forcing herself into a sitting position. “Not if I can help it!

‘I am protected by your might

O gracious Goddess, day and night

Thrice around the circle’s bound

Evil sink into the ground!”

Marcellus paused, as if he were stuck to the ground, but with a slight effort, took one step toward her. “It seems the little witchlet is weakened. Can’t even cast a simple protection spell? Pity.” He threw his head back and laughed.

Damon’s fingers laced through hers and she felt wave after wave of his power course into her.

“I SAID /SINK/, GOD DAMNIT!!!” she thundered.

And that he did; just disappeared into the cement so fast he didn’t even realize it himself.

“Bastard,” she murmured, suddenly feeling very tired.

Damon was cradling her gently in his arms, the lines of pain evident on his face. “You are so stupid,” he whispered.

She smiled slightly. It was all she could manage; she hurt too much. And everything was becoming so dark.

“Nic, go call 9-1-1,” Damon commanded. “And get some towels to stop the bleeding.”

Hannah looked up into Damon’s eyes. Despite his hopeful words, she saw that he knew. She would die before help came.

“Damon...” she croaked, so softly it was almost inaudible, but he heard her.

Those ebony eyes met hers, intense and determined and desperate. “I can save you,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically husky. “But I don’t know if that’s what you want.”

A few tears leaked out of her eyes and onto his shirt where her face met his chest. “I don’t want to die,” she pleaded.

He ran his fingers tenderly through her hair. “I won’t let you, then,” he promised.

He bent his head and kissed her softly of the lips before pulling back to remove his shirt. A small cut on the base of his throat welled up with blood. He leaned over her and she pressed her lips to the cut. As she sucked, she felt herself grow weaker, her life ebbing.

Distantly, she heard sirens and then her heart slowed to a stop and the world faded away.

----------------

Suddenly she woke. At least, she thought she was awake. Everything was pitch-black around her. And cold, so very cold. She lazily stretched out her hands, reaching above her head into the darkness. And hit cold metal. She could feel the same metal at her back where she lay. It was some sort of long, steel, enclosed box. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled the scent of the metal all around her.

Her nails clawed at the metal above her in panic and she heard the hesitant thud of footsteps in response to her scratchings. Some small, insistent part of her demanded that she stop. She was supposed to be sleeping, it said. And she instinctively obeyed.

Above her head, the box opened and she felt herself pulled from it as if on a metal slab. She felt bright fluorescent lights flash against her eyelids and sensed a person lean over her.

/How funny../ She could hear their heart beating frantically, smell the stench of their fear, nearly taste the blood flowing in their veins. And she was hungry.

She heard the man slowly sigh out his breath in relief and start to move away. Her eyes snapped open and she lunged at him, wrapping her hands around his neck. He tried to scream but her fingers had already crushed his windpipe and seconds later, her fangs ripped deliciously into his throat.

Blood filled her mouth and soothed her burning throat. It was so warm, so rich. Forbidden. It was ecstasy. Life. She drank until his veins were dry, until she was full to bursting, dropping his lifeless body carelessly on the ground.

She slid soundlessly from the metal slab, the new life still thrumming in her veins, making her feel giddy and strong. She looked around the bright room. Everything was silver and shiny. And it smelled strongly of chemicals and death. The Morgue.

Panic flooded her again. She looked into the reflective surface of a metal door... and gasped. It wasn’t her reflection! But when she pressed her hand to the door, the strange girl in front of her did too. It couldn’t be her...

The girl had her glossy auburn hair that fell just past her shoulders. But her breast were slightly smaller and perfectly round, just above a tiny waist, flat belly and narrow hips. Her thighs were strong and toned, her legs long.

She looked into the reflection’s face. The eyes were the same startling blue with a lingering sadness. The same full pink mouth. And that was her nose, upturned and elven, only smaller. Her cheeks were thinner, her eyebrows perfectly arched and golden, like her eyelashes. Her skin was a flawless porcelain, even paler than it had been before and unmarked by blemishes or scars. But it still couldn’t be her...

Her breath came in shallow gasps of anxiety. /What had happened?/ She couldn’t remember. All she knew was that she was scared and alone. /What was happening?!/

She let out a small sob and pressed herself into a corner, sliding down the cool wall and pressing her head against her bare knees. She shook from head to toe and all she could do was sit there as one thought entered her mind/Damon./

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Damon walked silently but lithely down the hall to the city morgue. He was late. He hoped she hadn’t woken yet, or worse, been found by Marcellus. If she was disoriented... He didn’t want to think of what trouble she could get herself into.

Inside the morgue, he instantly saw the mortician dead on the ground. She was awake. He found her huddled in the farthest corner, arms wrapped around her naked body. She was different, physically. Still beautiful. But he knew it was her. And she was shivering. From cold or fear, he couldn’t tell. Most likely a mixture of both.

When he knelt before her and stroked her cheek with his thumb, she jumped slightly, but then she realized it was him. She sighed his name and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his chest. He tensed slightly as she pressed herself against him, at the feel of her breasts rubbing against his chest, and the soft, giving flesh beneath his hands.

“Damon,” she sighed again, trying to get closer.

“Shh,” he soothed, running his fingers through her hair. “It’s okay/rossa/. I’m here.” He pulled away and looked down at her. “Let me get you something to cover you up,” he said, and stood.

She let out a sound of protest and reached out for him.

He grasped her hand lightly for a moment. “It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

He took the white lab coat from the mortician and draped it over her shoulders. She smiled up at him gratefully and began to clumsily button up the over-sized coat. He turned back to the man’s corpse and lifted him onto the empty steel slab, draping him in the white body sheet and sliding the slab into darkness. He shut the metal door with a resounding click.

Hannah got to wobbly legs and stumbled into Damon’s arms.

“Careful,” he said, holding on to her tightly. She leaned her head against his chest and sighed contentedly. “Come on; let’s get you someplace safe.”

She hesitated and placed a hand on the body locker in front of her- the one with the mortician inside, and pulled out the body.

“Hannah?”

She ignored him and picked up a scalpel off a small tray a few feet away. She looked at the sharp blade for a minute, transfixed, before moving back to the mortician. But when she ripped open his expensive-looking dress shirt and pressed the blade to his left pectoral, Damon placed a halting hand over hers. It remained there for a long moment, but then slid away, deciding to let her have her way.

The blade slid into his skin with surprising ease and little blood. She carved the symbol slowly and carefully, a symbol for her new state of existence; the first thing that came to mind. The Chinese symbol for holy mother. And on the left side. The side for evil.

She smiled at her handiwork and slammed the body all the way back into its locker. She dropped the bloody scalpel on the floor. Damon watched her warily, but when she melted into his arms once again, he decided to let it go for the time being. He had to get her out of there before someone came along.

“We can’t be seen,” Damon explained as he ushered her to an open window, “by anybody; not with you in a lab coat and nothing else. Do you think you can climb through this window?”

In answer she pulled herself up through the window. The window was ground-level and the grass beneath her hands was wet. Her knees sunk into the mud. It must have rained. She heard Damon climb out the window behind her. The next moment, he was steering her toward a black Mitsubishi Eclipse and opening the door for her.

“I stole it,” he said as she eyed him suspiciously. “Get in.”

Inside, she didn’t even bother to buckle her seat belt as she stuck her hands deep into the pockets of her lab coat. She pulled out a large leather wallet. Inside was the mortician’s license: Robert K. Liechtenstein; and 200+ dollars in cash, not to mention all the credit cards. She fanned the green bills out and grinned. She liked money.

“We’re here,” Damon announced, interrupting her inspection.

She looked up at the tall building. The Embassy Suites Hotel. She’d been there, but she couldn’t remember when. Stuffing the wallet back into her coat, she took the hand Damon offered and stepped out of the car, allowing him to lead her through the extravagant lobby, past prying gazes and into a beautifully elegant suite on the top floor.

Her eyes widened in awe and she drew in a sharp, gleeful breath, spinning in circles to look around like a little child would, trying to get a 360 degree view of the room. Finally she plopped down on the king-size bed and sighed. It was so comfortable. The bed sank beneath Damon’s weight as he sat down. She opened her eyes and grinned up at him toothily, showing small, pointy white fangs.

He smiled back hesitantly. “Get some rest/rossa/. You’ll need it.”

She frowned. She didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to go out, hunt, use her new vampiric senses. But his jaw was set and the look in his eyes was firm. Her mouth quirked mischievously. /I can change that./

“What’s that look about?” Damon asked wearily.

She pulled back on his shoulders and made him lie beside her.

“Hannah-”

He broke off with a soft groan when she nipped teasingly at his neck and slipped her hands beneath his shirt to rake her nails lightly down his chest. He arched himself harder into her nails, but before he could allow her to do more, he rolled on top of her and restrained her arms above her head. She struggled uselessly beneath him.

“I’m not going to take advantage of you/rossa,/” he said quietly. “After you’ve had some rest... then we can do whatever you please. But right now, just get under the covers and get some sleep. Please.” He kissed her softly on the forehead before standing up and saying, “I’m going to take a cold shower. When I come out, you’d better be in that bed and fast asleep.”

With that said, he shut the bathroom door behind him. A moment later, she heard the roar of the shower and the tantalizing slide of a zipper- things she never would have heard as a human. She liked it. She sighed disappointedly and climbed beneath the covers, her body filled with a near-unbearable tension. But as soon as her head hit the soft pillow, she was out like a light, not even waking when Damon climbed into the bed next to her, his Jean-clad thighs rubbing against her bare ones as he settled himself beneath the blankets.
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Bring Your Own Blood