He walked over to the antique secretary in the corner of the room and opened one of the ornate drawers. Finding a handful of safety pins (nifty contraptions that had been invented just before he was daggered), he strode over to her to help her.
"Here," he said impatiently as she tried in vain to get the zipper to work. "No matter how much you tug on that zipper, no amount of abuse is going to get it to budge. Now hold it up so I can fasten it."
She did as he'd ordered, holding the gown to her breasts, and he pulled the back closed to fasten it securely with safety pins. He couldn't resist running the backs of his fingers down her back, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake. He just had to touch her one more time.
When he was done he picked her bobby pins up off the floor and handed them to her. She attempted to style her hair back to the way it was before, but was unsuccessful. He snickered in amusement.
"What?" she asked defensively, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Oh nothing…it's just that no matter what you try to do with your hair, you will walk out of this room looking thoroughly ravished."
She scowled. He couldn't take the expression seriously – she looked too cute doing it. "I'll manage. No one will notice," she huffed.
He snorted. "Yes, I'm sure no one will notice that you look like you just went skydiving, and none of the vampires crawling all over the ballroom will notice the stench of sex wafting through the air," he replied dryly. "I can smell myself on you from here."
"Why do you even care?" she blurted out suddenly. Honestly, her brain-to-mouth filter was seriously lacking these days. So, apparently, was her sense of self-preservation. Maybe she was one of those adrenaline junkies that went thrill seeking and threw themselves into dangerous situations just to feel alive. Yes, that must be it.
His face twisted into a grimace. That was a good question; one he didn't know the answer to. "Someone has to make sure you retain some sort of dignity." He looked up, seemingly considering something. "Although if you're complaining, I could easily rip your pretty little ball gown to shreds and leave you here until you either walk out of here…naked, or someone finds you here…naked. Either way there will be some sort of nakedness on your part." He leered at her. "Although I'm sure none of us would mind."
She huffed and threw something at him and he caught it easily. By the smell he realized they were her torn panties. He held them up by his little finger, letting them dangle tantalizingly in front of his face.
He smirked at her. "Is this an invitation?" he growled huskily.
"No," she denied quickly – too quickly. "This is never happening again. But, since you're being so nice to me," she stated, his face cringing at her words, "I'll let you keep them. Consider them…a souvenir, of sorts."
The anger that he felt – mostly directed towards himself – at her mention of him being nice (as if he were capable of kindness – not bloody likely) couldn't hold a candle to the desire for her that raged through his veins. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and haul her up to his bedroom to have his wicked way with her all night; and then again several times in the morning. Alas, it was not to be.
Elena felt herself flush hotly when he made a show of bringing her panties up to his face, inhaling deeply while his glittering eyes held her gaze. The rumble that came from his chest was the most primal of noises, one that called to her womanhood and demanded that she let him ravish her again. And again. And then again after that.
"Mmmm, I do appreciate it darling," he said slyly; the words slithered off his tongue like silk. "I do believe this is the best gift I've ever received." He bowed mockingly. "Bravo."
"Should I give myself a pat on the back?" she said sarcastically, echoing her words from earlier. This time they were said teasingly and with amusement, the corners of her mouth quirking up into a smirk that he was proud of.
He laughed. "Well, I do know that you're flexible enough to reach it," he drawled, eyeing her up and down in a way that made her shiver.
She made a noise of outrage, this time leaning forward to smack him on the arm since she lacked ammunition to throw something at him. "Stop it. You're being rude. And creepy," she added.
"That's what I do best, darling," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I'm rude, I'm mean, I'm violent, I'm cruel, and I have an insatiable craving for sex and blood that makes me impulsive and unpredictable. I'm dangerous," he said menacingly, stepping forward to whisper in her ear, "and you love it. You crave it."
When she said nothing, neither in confirmation nor denial, he chuckled, running his lips down her neck to nibble on the skin of her shoulder. "Am I right, darling?"
She grumbled in response and crossed her arms. She could not bring herself to lie to him, no matter how much it hurt her pride. She found that she didn't have the energy to fake it. She found that she didn't really care.
"Someday your lack of self-preservation is going to get you killed," he said as he pulled away from her, instantly missing her closeness. His voice went back to its usual smooth lilt. "But not today."
She could hear the poison seep back into his voice, sensed the darkness return to his heart. It cast a shadow over the connection they'd formed.
But that connection was still there, tenuous but noticeable. She would let him go for now; but someday, she vowed, she would shed light on it again, exposing it in a way that did not allow such an easy escape. Someday she would make him smile again, if only to feel validated for a moment; if only to feel like she'd made a difference. There was a spark in him that only needed to be reignited – she had seen it earlier, shining out through his eyes. It only served to prove her theory: that there was always hope for people, no matter how lost they were – all they needed was a good map. Even the blackest of souls could be lit; all they needed was a proper lantern.
She would be his map.
Kol was inclined to be concerned about his feelings for Elena Gilbert, but those concerns could wait until later, when he had the quiet and peace of mind needed to process such information. Later, he promised himself, he would address the questions that he had; for that's what she had done – made him question everything he knew. Later he would ponder the light that had seeped into him while in her presence – like the sunrise he'd compared her to earlier – and wonder at the implications. But not now. His thoughts were too jumbled to make sense of. His heart was in knots.
Giving her one last look, he held out his arm. She took it.
"They're going to kill you, you know," she said softly.
"It's nothing that hasn't been done before; trust me, I've been through worse," he replied, amused at her concern for his well-being.
She frowned. "Perhaps I should be more concerned with them killing me," she said, gnawing at her bottom lip in anxiety.
He shrugged. "You'll certainly make quite a splash," he commented nonchalantly. "And stop worrying your lip, Miss Gilbert. Fretfulness does not become you."
Elena lifted her chin and he saw her eyes harden. A smirk that he could be proud of spread sensuously across her lips.
"Well, it's been awhile since anyone's taken me seriously. Perhaps this will get their attention." She grinned. "Plus, there hasn't been nearly enough drama in Mystic Falls lately," she said sarcastically. "Maybe it's time to shake things up."
Like she had shaken him up, he thought.
"Minx," he growled.
"You bet."
"I knew I liked you for a reason," he joked, winking at her. Opening the door, they stepped out into the light.
