Jack gripped the nozzle of the flamethrower in both hands and lifted it up, taking aim—and then, suddenly, flew backward. Like a rag doll shot by a slingshot, he sailed through the air, hitting the side of the building behind him with a satisfying crunch. He slid into the grass, a limp, broken form.
Damon blinked in dazed shock. After a moment, he thought to look behind him.
Over the top of the hill behind the science building, Elena appeared, her face coldly ferocious, her Guardian Powers clearly in full force. “My hero,” Damon muttered wryly, and his knees buckled.
Damon blinked back to full consciousness and found himself lying propped up against the trunk of a tree, Elena’s arms around him. She smelled sweet and her skin was soft; Damon let himself luxuriate in lying next to her for a moment before he licked the blood away from his lips and coughed.
“Are you all right?” Elena asked as he tried to sit up.
“Not particularly,” Damon said weakly, and patted along his chest. The wounds were only half-closed, and he was still bleeding. He couldn’t breathe properly. “Where’s Jack?”
“He got away while I was helping you,” Elena admitted.
“Next time, then.” Damon coughed again, wincing.
“What were you thinking, Damon?” In contrast to her stern words, her hands stroking his hair were gentle, and her face was creased with concern. “You promised to be careful, and then you go chasing after Jack.”
Damon squinted up at her. “I had my reasons,” he said. He couldn’t talk about how hard it was to do nothing when Stefan was dead. Anyway, Elena knew. She could feel it through their connection; he didn’t have the strength to hide his thoughts from her right now.
“We’ll talk later,” Elena said. “First, we need to get you back on your feet.” Damon coughed again, and her eyes widened at the spatter of blood that came from his mouth. “You need to feed,” she said instantly, pulling her hair aside. “Here.”
She smelled so good, the blood pulsing beneath her skin less than an inch from his lips. Damon recalled clearly how sweet and rich Elena’s blood had always been—the best he’d ever tasted, something special. He could imagine gulping it down, feeling it heal his wounds and fill him with warmth and Power.
Still, he hesitated. She was his brother’s, bound to Stefan now by death even more securely than in life. It would be different to drink her blood now, feeling her grief over Stefan. “Are you sure?” he murmured.
Elena nodded, her face white and strained, but determined. “I’m sure,” she said, and pulled him closer.
Damon couldn’t resist any longer. I’m sorry, little brother. He slipped his canines beneath Elena’s skin as gently as he could and teased them lightly back and forth, encouraging the flow of her blood into his mouth. Those first swallows were warm and sweet, as heady as wine, filling him with life. He could feel the blood streaming down his throat as he gulped, quenching his thirst and hunger, helping to heal his injuries. The stab wound in his back closed, and the pain disappeared. Elena was sharing her Power with him, and he would be strong again soon.
His mind brushed hers, and he had such a strong feeling of Elena, stronger even than came through their bond. He wanted to dive into her, curl up in her essence. There was grief there, and passion—and, abruptly, an overwhelming sense from Elena of off limits. Damon pulled back as if he’d been burned. He tried to shut his own mind off, to give her some privacy. It was like pressing your body against another person’s, but both averting your eyes.
Still, images and emotions came through their bond. Frustration. Worry. Fear. And a deep, painful sense of loss. A picture of Stefan’s ivory-handled dagger, clutched in Damon’s bloodstained hand, came to him from Elena, and he winced. The dagger belonged to her as much as it did to Damon.
I had to take it, he told her silently.
I know, came back to him immediately, and with it a wave of sorrow and of love. She was torn apart inside, but she was there. He still had her. Damon drank deeply, letting Elena’s blood, Elena’s sorrow, Elena’s love, fill him once again.
Chapter 5
“But is Damon okay?” Alaric asked, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth.
“Damon’s always all right,” Meredith said swiftly. That wasn’t quite true, of course—Damon had died once—but there was so much going on at the steakhouse Alaric had brought her to that she couldn’t concentrate on their conversation. Alaric had thought it would be nice for them to have a real date night, but Meredith wasn’t sure she was going to be able to cope with the crowd.
The waitress set down their sides—potato, creamed spinach, salad—and Meredith flinched. It was one of her favorite meals, but it smelled terrible, cloying, like sweet-rotting vegetation. The waitress herself, though, smelled delicious, warm and salty and ripe. Meredith averted her eyes and took a tiny sip of ice water. She was always thirsty these days, but if she drank too much water, it made her sick. It wasn’t what her body wanted.
She took a deep breath and concentrated. I am stronger than this, she told herself. She hadn’t fed, not even from an animal. If she drank blood, the vampire inside her would get the upper hand, defeat the real Meredith. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, and she took another sip of water. The vampire would never be the real her. There had to be a way to fix this.
Behind her, plates clattered and Meredith jumped. She could hear twenty different conversations, all overlapping one another—why don’t you think it’s a good idea, I’d better call the sitter and let her know, the client isn’t always right, you know what I mean, I don’t think she’s as hot as she thinks she is, we’d been trying and trying, did you see the preview for, not potatoes, rice, well, why did you come, then—on and on, and it was making it really hard to concentrate. There was a sudden, raucous burst of laughter from the table in the corner, and Meredith flinched again. If this was how vampires experienced the world, she didn’t know how they ever managed to focus.
And the smells. Half of them were sickening—the food, someone’s overly floral perfume, the harsh cleanser they’d used on the carpet—but the warm, living smell of the other diners was tantalizing.
It was way too bright in here. Meredith pressed a hand to her temple.
“Are you okay?” Alaric asked, his golden-brown eyes warm with concern. “I thought this would take our minds off everything that’s been going on.”
Determinedly, Meredith yanked her attention away from a disturbing medical conversation three tables away. “I’m great,” she answered, forcing a smile. “You’re right, this is a nice night away from it all.”
She couldn’t tell him. Every time she tried to open her mouth and confide in Alaric, the one person she loved most in the world, it felt like a rough hand was squeezing her lungs, leaving her breathless and silent. He’d stood by her through so much. She was a hunter, with all the danger that entailed. She’d had to kill her own brother, and it had scarred her, made her angry and silent for a while. Law school ate up so much of her time and energy. She was uptight and hard to please. They had survived all that, but this—this was different. She was going to fix this, somehow. He would never have to know.
Alaric smiled. “Try your steak,” he suggested. “Rare enough for you?”
Hesitantly, she picked up her fork and knife and cut into it. She did like her steaks rare, she always had. It was red and juicy inside, almost bloody. She was so hungry. And Alaric was watching her, his forehead furrowing into a frown of concern. Meredith cut off a piece of meat and put it into her mouth.
Bile rose in her throat, and Meredith stifled a gag. It was foul, like she’d bitten into something rotten. Pretending to wipe her lips, Meredith spat the bite into her napkin and smiled half-heartedly at Alaric. Her mouth felt coated in rot, and she tried to discreetly scrape her tongue against her teeth.
She’d seen Damon eat human food at least a hundred times. Not very much, but he’d seemed to enjoy it. Even if she was different now, why couldn’t she eat?
Meredith straightened her shoulders, reminding herself that she was strong. She could fight this. If science could cause her to feel this way, then science must be able to fix her.
She had gone back to where Jack had operated on her, but he’d been gone, the operating room just another bland office in a medical center. She hadn’t dared to try the phone number and address on the business card he had given her.
Alaric was saying something, gesturing happily with one hand as he talked, eating more of his own steak. Meredith blinked at him and tried to smile and nod. She couldn’t hear him properly, his voice drowned out by the millions of noises all around them and the welter of scents filling her nose.
Alaric’s smell in particular, warm and fresh. She could hear his heart again, pounding steadily in her ears, her own heart speeding to match it. Her canines slowly began to lengthen, and Meredith clamped her mouth shut. She couldn’t stop staring at the side of his throat, at the tendon and vein there. She imagined leaping across the table and sinking her fangs into him. She could almost feel how satisfying it would be for Alaric’s flesh to rip beneath her teeth.