Was that the past? Was it the future? I didn’t know, but I was transfixed, wanting to see more. Samuel was stil speaking, but I barely listened. Al that existed in my mind was an image of Damon, dead.
“You may have turned your brother into a vampire, but he’s been the one to kil you, countless times. He’s destroyed your soul. And the only thing left to do is destroy him.” I nodded, almost unbidden as the image in Samuel’s eyes began to morph and suddenly, Damon was the one bent over the woman, his lips on her neck, brushing away her red hair. And I knew who the woman was. Cal ie.
The flames were getting hotter, and al of a sudden, I was no longer on the dock. I was back in New Orleans, on a hot, sticky September night. I was about to kiss Cal ie, when she staggered into me, a knife sticking out of her back. I’d lunged toward Damon, but I’d been too late. Cal ie was dead, but I stil wanted more than anything to destroy Damon. I knew it wouldn’t bring her back to life, but it would give me the closure I so desperately craved. So Damon despised me for turning him into a vampire? Fine. Then let me kil him and be done with it.
But going after innocent people just to torture me? To prove some point about what happened in the past? I had wanted to kil Damon, then, back when he’d stabbed Cal ie.
But I hadn’t. I’d held off. Deep down, I’d thought maybe something would change. Deep down, I’d thought I’d regret kil ing my brother. But some people didn’t deserve a chance. I thought of how Cora had kil ed Violet. She’d cried, but she’d realized that the creature she kil ed wasn’t truly her sister. Why couldn’t I do the same?
Samuel must have sensed my vulnerability. He knelt down next to me and whispered in a low voice, “Kil Damon.”
“Kil Damon,” I repeated. It felt as if a cloud had lifted from my mind, and everything suddenly clicked together with unflinching clarity. It was so simple. I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to realize what I had to do to final y feel free. I had to kil my brother.
If Damon were dead, I wouldn’t have to wonder who he was torturing, or being tortured by. I wouldn’t have to worry about his moods, or his temper, or his tendency to laugh in the face of death. Most important, I wouldn’t have to worry if Damon was going to turn on me and kil me at any given moment. If Damon were dead, I wouldn’t have to worry at al .
I looked Samuel directly in the eyes, a smile forming on my face.
Samuel handed me a stake. “You know what you have to do.”
I did. The whole time I’d been in London, I’d been fighting the wrong enemy. The enemy was Damon. Now I had a new mission: Destroy my brother.
15
I frantical y searched the docks for my brother—my prey.
Damon had overtaken two young vampires. One was lying on his back, his head at an unnatural angle, while the other had a stake protruding from his chest.
Adrenaline throbbed in my veins. But it was odd: It was as if my body was pul ing for Damon. For the past few weeks, whenever I saw Damon in the middle of a battle, I’d feel my Power surge as though it could leap from my veins to his. I wasn’t sure if it ever worked.
No, that was wrong. I didn’t want to help Damon. I glanced again at his victims. These would be my brother’s last murders. I would make sure of that. More vampires were circling Damon, but none had attacked. It was clear they were bound to whatever Samuel said and wouldn’t go in for the kil until given the instruction by Samuel.
“Stand clear!” Samuel commanded. The vampires stepped even farther away, opening up a path to my brother. I walked steadily toward Damon, hatred surging in my veins and overriding any instinctual inclination to help him. Yes, he had been my brother, but that was a lifetime ago. It was time to final y cut the filial ties. I’d be better off.
With each footstep, I came up with new reasons to hate him. He worked tirelessly to steal Katherine from me. He killed Callie. He forced me into marriage in New York. He killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of innocent people.
He promised me an eternity of misery for turning him into a vampire, when all I’d wanted was my brother by my side.
We were face-to-face. I saw his blue eyes flicker toward me.
“Brother?” Damon asked.
Hatred flared in me. I hated the way he said it, so territorial and possessive. As if being brothers al owed infinite betrayals. How dare he stand in front of me, so cocky and self-assured? How dare he not apologize for the hel he’d put me through ever since Katherine had come to Mystic Fal s?
“Stefan?” he asked tentatively. There was a note of something I hadn’t often heard in his voice. It was fear.
“You deserve to be frightened,” I said quietly. “Because this battle is personal, and I won’t forgive you for anything.
Not until I’ve drained you of every last drop of blood in your body.” Before he could respond, I lunged at him, wresting the stake from his hands.
“Brother?” Damon asked again, this time in confusion, attempting to wriggle out of my grip. “You’re being compel ed. Stefan, this isn’t you. This is Samuel, the one you’ve been fighting for weeks. Don’t let him win, don’t let him do this to you.”
“No, Damon. That’s where you’re wrong. This is al I’ve thought about for the past twenty years. Now I final y have my chance.” I raised the stake and was about to plunge it into Damon’s chest when he shoved me away, sending the stake flying from my grasp. I pushed him back and we began wrestling on the pier. A remote part of my brain registered that we used to wrestle like this as children, testing our strength on the grounds of Veritas. But we weren’t children anymore.