The Invitation

Willow leaned against the door, her heart pounding. Thank God for deadbolts, she thought, trying to shake off the terrifying scene that had just unfolded before her.

His face, those black veins spreading out from his eyes—she shook her head, trying to erase the image from her mind.

She must have been drunk. She’d had a few drinks tonight and hadn’t eaten anything. That was it. She was just drunk.

She repeated this to herself as she rinsed the cut on her arm under the sink. It wasn’t as deep as she’d first thought, but it was still bleeding.

Kneeling down, she opened the cabinet under the sink, hoping the previous tenant had left some gauze or at least a large Band-Aid.

She found a Band-Aid big enough to cover most of the cut. Standing up, she dried her arm and tossed the wrapper into the trash.

She placed her hands on the marble countertop and looked at herself in the mirror.

She looked paler than usual, but she thought she could act normal enough to get as far away from Heathcliff Estate as possible.

A sharp knock on the door made her jump, her hand flying to her mouth.

“Willow, it’s just us,” Damon called.

She didn’t want to see them either. She couldn’t explain how they’d gotten to her so quickly—over sixty steps in the blink of an eye.

She shook her head, backing away from the door, but didn’t say anything.

She grabbed her clutch from the counter and slid down the wall furthest from the door, lighting a cigarette as she went.

“Open the door. We’re not going to hurt—Are you smoking in there?”

“If you were normal you wouldn’t smell that,” she muttered, shaking her head as she took another drag.

She’d cut back on smoking, but tonight might have set her back to square one.

“Please open the door.”

“No,” she said louder. “Now go away. I want to leave.”

There was a thud against the door, then Sebastian’s voice, “We just want to make sure your arm’s okay.”

She looked down at her arm, remembering that Jacques had licked her blood.

“He…he said I smelled delicious,” she said, shaking her head, her breath coming in short gasps. “Why would he say something like that?”

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real.

Suddenly, the lock was broken, the door swung open, and Sebastian’s face was right in front of her.

“Breathe, Willow,” he said softly, his hands on her cheeks, trying to get her to focus on him.

Damon stood back, watching them with sharp eyes.

“You need to breathe slowly,” Sebastian repeated, his brow furrowed.

“What’s the problem?” Damon snapped, tapping his foot impatiently.

“I can’t compel her,” Sebastian said, sounding surprised. “That hasn’t happened before…not with a human.”

“Just calm her down,” Damon growled, glaring at his brother.

“Willow, breathe,” Sebastian repeated, finally getting her attention.

A few moments later, her breathing slowed. She slapped his hands away from her face and stood up, almost tripping over her dress.

“Get away from me.”

“Just let me check your arm,” Sebastian said, taking a step toward her. She held out her arms, shaking her head.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me,” she said, her voice trembling.

Damon sighed loudly and grabbed her arm.

“Let go, let go, let go!” she screamed, trying to pull her arm away, but Damon’s grip was firm.

He removed the bandage and sighed in relief, then shook his head at Sebastian. “No bite.”

“No bite?” she echoed, her voice louder than she intended. “Bite?” she repeated, trying again to pull her arm away from Damon.

“We just had to be sure.”

Sebastian tried to comfort her, but she had too many questions—and she wasn’t sure she wanted answers to any of them right now.

“What…what happened?” she asked, looking at Damon.

“What do you think happened?”

“Don’t give me that shit,” she spat. “You know damn well what I saw—Both of you know.”

Sebastian and Damon exchanged a look before Damon sighed and let go of her arm.

“If you want answers, here isn’t the place. Come on then,” Damon said, turning and walking out of the bathroom.

Willow blinked a few times, trying to figure out what to do next.

Sebastian walked toward her, gently lifting her injured arm to his lips. For a moment, she thought his eyes flashed red, but it was over too quickly for her to be sure.

Before she could ask him what he was doing, he ran his tongue over the wound. The sensation was different from when Jacques had her pinned down—it was strange, but not unpleasant.

“Oh,” she said softly. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes, but when she looked at her arm, the cut that had been bleeding was now just a faint red mark.

“What—”

“Come on,” he interrupted. “Here really isn’t the place.”

She followed him, but Damon was nowhere in sight.

“Where are we going?”

“Upstairs,” he said, pointing to where Damon stood at the top of a grand staircase.

Her stomach clenched and she had a feeling this was a very bad idea, but she found herself following Sebastian upstairs anyway.

He opened the door to a large room that was similar to the ballroom downstairs, but a bit smaller.

There was a fireplace with a couch in front of it and a bar where Damon was already pouring three drinks.

Sebastian gently closed the door behind her, the faint click of the lock echoing in the silence.

She found herself seated at the far end of the bar from Damon, accepting the drink he slid her way before doing the same for Sebastian.

She didn’t dare take a sip though. Her stomach was somersaulting, and she knew that if she tried to swallow whatever was in that glass—something undoubtedly too potent for the moment—she’d end up throwing up.

Instead, she busied herself with the strap of her clutch, avoiding the intense stares of both men.

“Willow, we’re vampires. I believe you already know that,” Sebastian said, his voice a gentle whisper compared to Damon’s harsh growl.

She shook her head in denial. “Vampires aren’t real.”