for life.
It’s all right, she thought, and realized that for some time now she
had been sending her thoughts to Damon. I know what I’m doing. I’m
ready to be responsible for this.
Are you sure? Damon’s voice came to her, as uncertain as she’d
ever heard him. Because I’m sure as hell not going to take care of some
old hag when you get tired of her. I’m not even sure I’m ready to deal
with whatever it’s going to cost me for killing that bastard with the whip.
Elena turned to look at him. He was serious. Well, then why did
you kill him? she challenged.
Are you joking? Damon gave her a shock with the vehemence and
venom of his thought. He hurt you. I should have killed him more slowly,
he added, ignoring one of the litter bearers who was kneeling beside
him, undoubtedly asking what to do next. Damon’s eyes, however, were
on Elena’s face, on the blood still flowing from her cut. Il figlio de
cafone, Damon thought, his lips drawing back from his teeth as he
looked down on the corpse, so that even the litter bearer scurried away
on hands and knees.
“Damon, don’t let him leave! Bring them all over here right
now—” Elena began, and then, as there was a sort of universal gasp
around her, she continued nonverbally, Don’t let the litter bearers leave.
We need a litter to carry this poor woman to the doctor. And why is