𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒆, stefan salvatore

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

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𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀 𝐀𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐘, 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘, 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐔𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒. Her eyelids fluttered, weighed down by the lingering fog of the crash, each blink scraping against the dryness in her eyes as she fought to orient herself. The world returned in fragments first: the low hum of an engine vibrating through the seat beneath her, the faint scent of leather mixed with a strong taste of bourbon and cologne, and the blurred streaks of sunlight burning through the windshield.

A deep ache pulsed across her sternum from the impact of the airbag earlier, and her neck throbbed with a soreness that pulsed in time with her heartbeat, rhythmic, persistent, but dull enough to ignore once the rest of her senses sharpened.

She shifted slightly, her fingers brushing the cold glass of the window beside her, and only then did she realize she wasn't in her own car. The seats were smoother, the air colder, and the engine stronger, a low, controlled purr that belonged to something far more powerful. A voice came from the driver's seat, smooth and unmistakably amused. "Well, well. Sleeping Beauty awakens."

Veronica inhaled sharply, her gaze snapping toward the silhouette behind the wheel. Damon Salvatore. His profile was carved sharply by the dim dashboard lights — high cheekbones, dark hair falling effortlessly into place, and those crystalline eyes flicking toward her with a glint of irreverent amusement.

Her confusion hit all at once, followed by a wave of unease that made her pulse quicken. "D–Damon?" she whispered, her voice frayed and shaky. "What... what happened? Where—"

"You crashed," he said simply, almost casually, as though discussing the weather. His tone held that infuriating nonchalance he always carried, but beneath it, buried deep, was something tauter, something that almost resembled concern. "More specifically, you swerved to avoid our very rude mystery guest standing in the middle of the road. You and Elena went flying. I showed up just in time to drag both your unconscious asses out before the car decided to stop cooperating with being a car."

He glanced at her again, his jaw tightening for the briefest of seconds, so quick she almost believed she imagined it.

Veronica swallowed hard. "Elena— Where's Elena? Is she—"

"Safe," Damon replied, but this time his voice lost its casual veneer. It softened, only a fraction, but enough to feel real. "She woke up right after the crash, panicked, obviously, but she's fine. Fell asleep again about ten minutes ago. She's in the backseat."