tered to Elena. Shinichi. The kitsune with
his black, scarlet-tipped hair, who had made them give up so much just
for the location of Stefan’s cell.
“Mascalzone! Maleducato—” Elena lost track of Damon’s cursing
again. So it was true. Last night had been completely stolen from
Damon, taken from his mind as simply and completely as the interval
when she had used Wings of Redemption and Wings of Purification on
him. The latter he had agreed to. But last night—and what other things
had the fox been taking?
To cut out an entire evening and night—and this evening and night
in particular, implied that…
“He never shut down the connection between my mind and his. He
still can reach inside me any time he chooses.” Damon had finally
stopped swearing, and stopped moving. He was sitting on the couch
opposite the bed with his hands drooping between his knees. He looked
singularly forlorn.
“Elena, you have to tell me. What did he take from me last night?
Please!” Damon looked as if he might fall on his knees in front of her,
without melodrama. “If—if—it was what I think—”
Elena smiled, although tears were still running down her face. “It
wasn’t—what anyone would think, exactly, I suppose,” she said.
“But—!”
“Let’s just say that this time—was mine,” Elena said. “If he’s