Prophecy

Learning To Feed

Chapter Thirteen

Blaire

The first thing I notice is the warmth of the sun on my skin, rousing me from my slumber. My face feels sticky from drool, and as I sit up, I wipe it away with my sleeve, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of a car.

I squint against the sunlight, trying to orient myself. It doesn't take long to recognize who's behind the wheel. Damon glances at me through the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. Before I can ask, he tosses a blood bag over his shoulder, which lands in my lap. I glare at him but tear it open, the hunger clawing at me.

"Where are we?" I demand between sips.

"Georgia," he replies casually, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

My mind races at the realization. "Georgia? You've got to be kidding. Pull over, Damon. This isn't funny. I'm only seventeen. You can't just take me across state lines like I'm a sack of luggage. Jenna's probably already called the National Guard by now."

He rolls his eyes. "You're a vampire, Blaire. You'll be seventeen forever. Might as well get used to doing what you want." He pulls over near a rundown shack, and I stumble out of the car, feeling weak and unsteady on my feet.

The world tilts slightly, and Damon is suddenly beside me, catching me before I can fall. "You need to feed to feel better. Get back in the car," he instructs firmly.

I try to pull away, but he's right—I don't have the strength to argue. "Is Elena okay?" I ask, reluctantly letting him guide me back into the passenger seat.

"She's fine. I healed her and made sure she got home," he says, closing the door and slipping back behind the wheel.

"Then take me home," I insist, feeling the weight of all my worries pressing down on me.

Damon just shakes his head. "We're almost there," he says, a hint of excitement in his voice.

"Almost where?" I ask, suspicion lacing my words.

"A little place outside of Atlanta. Come on, just forget you're mad at me for one day and live a little, would you?" He grins, like he's offering me a treat rather than dragging me on this insane road trip.

Reluctantly, I settle back in my seat, finishing the blood bag and eyeing him warily. Damon tosses me a bottle of water and a towel. "You might want to clean up," he says, gesturing to a fresh set of clothes on the back seat. "So you can get dressed."

In the cramped space of the car, I grab the towel and a bottle of water, wiping away the remnants of blood from my skin. I change into the clothes he left out, but when I realize he didn't include a bra, I shoot him a look that could kill.

"You went through all this trouble and forgot a bra?" I accuse.

He gives me a shameless wink. "Don't act like they aren't perky."

"You're insufferable," I mutter, looking away.

The rest of the journey passes in silence until we pull into a small town with quaint streets and rustic shops, the kind of place that seems frozen in time. Damon parks the car outside a bar with a faded sign reading The Rusty Nail. He gestures for me to follow him inside, but instead of going through the door, he leads me around to the back of the building and into the woods.

"Where are we going now?" I ask, suspicious. My initial anger is fading, replaced by a strange curiosity about whatever plan Damon has in mind.

He flashes me a quick grin. "Patience, Blaire. I'm taking you to my favorite spot around here—a little place to, well, indulge."