The Struggle by L. J. Smith

eyes had looked that way when she was undressing. And there was something disturbing and hungry about her smile.
    As she watched, standing still, the image suddenly whirled around and around, as if dancing. Horror swept over Elena. She began to run down the hall, but now all the reflections had a life of their own, dancing, beckoning to her, laughing at her. Just when she thought her heart and lungs would burst with terror, she reached the end of the corridor and flung open a door.
    She was standing in a large and beautiful room. The lofty ceiling was intricately carved and inlaid with gold; the doorways were faced with white marble. Classical statues stood inniches along the walls. Elena had never seen a room of such splendor, but she knew where she was. In Renaissance Italy, when Stefan had been alive.
    She looked down at herself and saw she was wearing a dress like the one she’d had made for Halloween, the ice blue Renaissance ball gown. But this dress was a deep ruby red, and around her waist she wore a thin chain set with brilliant red stones. The same stones were in her hair. When she moved, the silk shimmered like flames in the light of hundreds of torches.
    At the far end of the room, two huge doors swung inward. A figure appeared between them. It walked toward her, and she saw that it was a young man dressed in Renaissance clothing, doublet and hose and fur-trimmed jerkin.
    Stefan! She started toward him eagerly, feeling the weight of her dress swing from the waist. But when she got closer she stopped, drawing in a sharp breath. It was Damon.
    He kept on walking toward her, confident, casual. He was smiling, a smile of challenge. Reaching her, he put one hand over his heart and bowed. Then he held out the hand to her asif daring her to take it.
    “Do you like dancing?” he said. Except that his lips didn’t move. The voice was in her mind.
    Her fear drained away, and she laughed. What was wrong with her, to have ever been afraid of him? They understood each other very well. But instead of taking his hand, she turned away, the silk of the dress turning after her. She moved lightly toward one of the statues along the wall, not glancing back to see if he was following her. She knew he would. She pretended to be absorbed in the statue, moving away again just as he reached her, biting her lip to hold in the laughter. She felt wonderful right now, so alive, so beautiful. Dangerous? Of course, this game was dangerous. But she had always enjoyed danger.
    The next time he drew near her, she glanced at him teasingly as she turned. He reached out, but caught only the jeweled chain at her waist. He let go quickly, and, looking back, she saw that the pronged setting on one of the gems had cut him.
    The drop of blood on his finger was just the color of her dress. His eyes flashed at her sideways, and his lips curved in a taunting smile ashe held the wounded finger up. You wouldn’t dare, those eyes said.
    Oh, wouldn’t I? Elena told him with her own eyes. Boldly, she took his hand and held it a moment, teasing him. Then she brought the finger to her lips.
    After a few moments, she released it and looked up at him. “I
do
like dancing,” she said, and found that, like him, she could speak with her mind. It was a thrilling sensation. She moved to the center of the room and waited.
    He followed her, graceful as a stalking beast. His fingers were warm and hard when they clasped hers.
    There was music, although it faded in and out and sounded far away. Damon placed his other hand on her waist. She could feel the warmth of his fingers there, the pressure. She picked up her skirts, and they began dancing.
    It was lovely, like flying, and her body knew every move to make. They danced around and around that empty room, in perfect timing, together.
    He was laughing down at her, his dark eyes glittering with enjoyment. She felt so beautiful;so poised and alert and ready for anything. She couldn’t remember when she’d had this much