dance with the devil ✧ DAMON SALVATORE

chapter sixteen

As Jordan eyes slowly flutter open she still feels like she is dreaming. A lock of her blonde hair has fallen in front of her vision and as she tries to move it she realises her wrists are bound. It is no use to wriggle them, because her wrists are tied – with what Jordan assumes is rope – tightly behind her back. Her heart starts to trump louder in her chest, and she can feel panic move through her entire body like the fast paced beating of her heart.

The room is dark, and Jordan's vision is minimalised. She keeps her tongue between her teeth to keep her from crying out for help. Instead, she casts her eyes as far as she can, to the left and to the right. They rest upon a figure beside her, and she has to squint her eyes to make out the outlines of a body.

"Stefan?!"

A soft mumble escapes Stefan's lips, but it doesn't indicate that he acknowledges Jordan. Jordan is dumbfounded as she looks at Stefan. His hands are tied above his head and bruises have formed where the rope rests. She squints her eyes in confusion at the rope, it glistens in the darkness, and Jordan figures it must have been coated with some sort of liquid substance.

"Stefan, please wake up, I don't know where we are and who are after us."

Whilst his head falls into his neck, multiple groans of protest fall from his mouth. "What the..."

A weight lifts off Jordan's shoulders, and she is glad she doesn't have to face their abductors alone. "Be careful Stef, I think your ropes are coated with vervain of some sort."

Stefan's head snaps to his right, where Jordan is seated on a chair with her legs and arms bound. "Jordan? Are you alright?"

Jordan nods her head, but Stefan knows she is lying. Because whereas Jordan's vision is troubled, the darkness is no barrier for Stefan's vampire sight. Not that he needed his sight to detect Jordan's troubled state of being. The aroma of fear and panic sticks to her body like a second skin. "Don't be afraid, you're going to be alright."

The softness and tenderness of Stefan's voice makes heavy and strained breaths escape through Jordan's nose and mouth. She shakes her head rapidly from left to right, not at all comforted by his words. "You don't understand. I don't care about my wellbeing, I don't care that I am going to come home bloodied and bruised, I don't care if our abductors were to take my life. I don't care. What I do care about is Elena. And Jeremy. And Jenna. And my friends. Even Damon. I can take the breaking of my soul, but what I can't take is for them to see me break. I can't bear the look in their eyes when they realise I'm hurting nor can I bear when they hurt. They can beat me all they want, but they will never hurt me. Only when the ones I love are tormented does my soul scream in anguish. Do you understand, Stefan?"

The sting of the vervain that seeps into Stefan's skin doesn't come close to the breaking of his heart at Jordan's words. "I understand, but-."

"Good," Jordan interrupts him, but Stefan isn't done voicing his opinion.

"No, Jordan, that is not good. It isn't good to drain yourself to let others drink. It isn't good to break your arm to mend the one of another. It is not good to push yourself to the background to help others."

Jordan's eyes reflect those of the middle of an ocean, a mix between a raging and uncontrollable storm and still water. "I-I just can't help it. I just can't help that I want to fix everything that is broken at the cost of myself. I can't help it," Jordan is mumbling, and Stefan figures that she's talking more to herself than giving Stefan an answer. "I can't help it that I'm a nymph."

Jordan's remark is enough to make Stefan's thoughts go haywire, she is a what now? And he is sure that she doesn't realise how big of a bomb she has just implanted in their lives. Stefan knew that Jordan was something else, but he figured she had some features of a creature. He never thought she would be something as exclusive as a nymph. He has never met a nymph before, like probably eighty percent of the supernatural population hasn't, and he is sure she has just put a price on her head. But Stefan can't comment about it, because suddenly the room of their small compartment opens, and the light temporarily blinds his eyes. To drown at the glaring of the fluorescent lamp, he screws his eyelids shut. Only when the door closes again, and he finds himself in utter darkness, can he adjust his sight. But what he sees – or rather doesn't see – is enough to grind his teeth and resist the burning of the vervain as he pulls on the rope, because an empty chair is what is staring up at him. And an empty chair means they took Jordan.