hen simply gulped. She was thirsty and Clarion
Loess Black Magic wine didn’t have any alcohol—as such—in it. It
certainly didn’t taste like regular wine. It tasted like remarkably
refreshing effervescent spring water that was flavored with sweet, deep,
velvety grapes.
Damon, she noticed, had forgotten to sip as well, and when he
offered her a second glass to match his, she accepted willingly.
His aura sure had calmed down a lot, she thought, as he picked up
a wet cloth and began, gently, to clean the cut that almost exactly
followed the line of her cheekbone. It had been the one to stop bleeding
first, but now he needed to get the blood flowing again, to cleanse it.
With two glasses of Black Magic on top of no food since breakfast,
Elena found herself relaxing against the back of the chair, letting her
head drop back a little, and shutting her eyes. She lost track of time, as
he stroked the cut smoothly. And she lost strict control of her aura.
When she opened her eyes it was in response to no sound, no
visual stimulus. It was a blaze in Damon’s aura, one of sudden
determination.
“Damon?”
He was standing over her. His darkness had flared out behind him
like a shadow, tall and wide and almost mesmerizing. Definitely almost
frightening.
“Damon?” she said again, uncertainly.