Elena straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m still going to hunt Jack.”
“It’s not necessary, but we know you will pursue your own way,” Mylea said calmly. “Your attention should, however, be elsewhere. Use caution, Elena. Remember who you are.”
Mylea swung the door of her SUV open. As she stepped into the car, there was a bright flash of white light and Elena closed her eyes against it automatically. When she opened them again a second later, the SUV, and Mylea with it, were gone. The side of the highway was empty. A breeze, chilly with the first signs of autumn, lifted Elena’s hair, and she shivered, rubbing absently at her scar.
Chapter 7
Damon slipped from shadow to shadow, from alleyway to darkened doorway. The main street of Dalcrest was almost deserted this time of night—occasionally a car’s headlights swept quickly across the fronts of the closed shops and restaurants, and one or two late wanderers hurried down the sidewalks. But he made sure the few people he encountered did not see him.
Stealth was one of his best talents, Damon thought with a small private smile as he lingered in the shadows of a storefront awning, his back pressed against the building’s cold brick. Thanks to Elena’s blood, he’d recovered from the beating he’d taken at Jack’s hands the day before, and he felt strong and fierce.
He ran his tongue across his lips, remembering. Elena’s blood had tasted so sweet. She’d shielded herself against him, but no matter—she was filled with tenderness for Damon, he had felt it through their bond, mixed with her grief and love for Stefan.
Stefan. Damon winced, gritting his teeth. Jack had to pay. He was going to be clever about it this time, though, he told himself sternly. No leaping into action without getting a full picture of the situation. He would have to be patient. Not, unfortunately, one of his best talents.
Damon narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. He was following just a trace of wrongness, something he’d sensed that felt slightly off—similar to what he’d sensed from Jack. His nose wrinkled. There was something acidic about the almost-human scent. Like a drop of something sour in a glass of water.
It was one of Jack’s synthetic vampires, he was almost sure, hunting a human. The creature was about two blocks away. He let it cross another street before he pushed off the building to follow, melting into the night. If he could catch the vampire, he could learn more about what Jack was up to and where he was hiding. Maybe he could even figure out how to kill them.
Hurrying down the street, Damon kept his senses pinned on the figures ahead. The synthetic vampire was too loud and yet hesitant. It was a girl, he realized, listening to the weight of her feet pattering along behind the human, sometimes fast and close as if she was getting ready to pounce, sometimes slowing as if she was almost ready to let her victim go. Inexperienced, Damon thought. Frightened. Jack must have made this one recently.
He stretched out his Power, listening, trying to sense the minds of the vampire and victim. There it was again, that flash of something almost human, but just slightly off. This one wasn’t as good at hiding it yet as Jack was, more evidence that the vampire was freshly made.
The footsteps suddenly stopped, and Damon heard a cut-off shriek. There was a surge of fear—the human—and he quickened his pace. A feeding vampire would be distracted and easier to catch.
The fear in the air drew him toward a deserted parking lot behind a Mexican restaurant. The restaurant was closed for the night, but Damon could still smell the tacos and enchiladas as he rounded the corner of the building. And, overpoweringly, the scent of blood. Damon licked his lips, his canines automatically lengthening. His mouth was watering, and he wanted.
But he couldn’t drink. He couldn’t take an unwilling human, not without hurting Elena. He would never hurt her.
The synthetic vampire and her victim were almost concealed by a wide-spreading tree at the edge of the parking lot. The victim, a young woman, was struggling feebly, whimpering.
Silently, Damon slipped closer to the entangled figures. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he was ready to leap, to take the young false vampire down. Closer… closer still…
He crouched to spring, and then froze. Something familiar about the scent. And the way the vampire moved, smooth as a predator, her long dark hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. Shock ran through him like lightning as his mind caught up with his senses, and he was frozen for a moment.
Then he dashed forward and pulled the vampire off her victim with one hand. “Meredith?”
Meredith Sulez—vampire hunter, always composed, always contemptuous of Damon, even when they fought side by side—swung around to face him. He couldn’t stop staring, trying to make some sense of what he was seeing. Meredith’s thick black eyelashes were wet with tears and bright blood was smeared across her mouth and down her chin.
She gave a quick, broken sob, her eyes dropping as her face colored with shame. “Damon,” she said, pleading. “Damon, I didn’t mean to. I’ve kept myself from feeding for so long, and I just couldn’t stop this time. I don’t want to kill her. I can’t—I can’t let her go like this—”
He swallowed and pushed away his shock. Meredith was clinging tightly to her victim, who seemed close to unconscious, her head sagging on Meredith’s shoulder. Of course she couldn’t influence the girl to make her forget: Jack’s vampires had no magic or Power, they were creatures of science.
“Please,” Meredith begged, bringing her desperate gaze up to meet Damon’s. She was biting her lip nervously, and a thin trail of her own blood trickled down her chin.
Slipping a cool mask over his surprise—When did this happen? How could I not have known?—Damon heaved a theatrical sigh and tugged the human out of Meredith’s arms. “Wake up,” he said, and shook her gently. The girl’s head bobbled from side to side, her short hair sweeping forward across her cheeks. Meredith had really made a mess of her victim’s neck—it was raw and ripped, blood still streaming out. Damon wrinkled his nose fastidiously. “Come on, now.” He shook her again, until she blinked blearily up at him.
Efficiently, Damon bit his own wrist and pressed it against the girl’s lips. He forced her to drink a few swallows, enough to make the bites on her throat begin to heal. “That’s enough.” Without waiting for an answer, he stroked his Power along her mind, pushing for obedience. “You won’t remember what happened. You were out late, and you fell, that’s how you hurt your neck. Everything’s fine. Go home.”
The girl stared at him blankly and dragged her tongue across her dry lips. “I have to go home,” she muttered. “I was out too late.”
“Good girl,” Damon said, setting her on her feet and straightening her top. It was a pity about the bloodstains, but there was nothing he could do. “Go on.”
The girl nodded and staggered off through the parking lot. Damon watched her go and then turned his attention to Meredith.
She was staring at him, her eyes wide and horrified, her chest heaving with panicky panting breaths. Damon could feel warmth radiating off her, and her heart was pounding hard. If Damon hadn’t known better—if he hadn’t seen her long, sharp canines and sensed that little bit of wrongness under her false aura, he would have thought Meredith was still human.
“So…” he said, enjoying her distress just a little bit, now that his shock had faded. “What’s new with you?”
Meredith gulped unhappily. “I was just so hungry,” she said, her voice strained.
Damon shrugged, keeping his expression bland. “You don’t need to explain to me, hunter,” he said. “How long since Jack changed you?”
Meredith rubbed at her face, trying to wipe away the blood and only smearing it across her cheek. “A week,” she said, her eyes downcast. It felt odd, seeing Meredith so humbled. “He was working on me before that, taking me in the middle of the night. I thought I was dreaming. I couldn’t see his face.”
Damon nodded. “Does anyone else know?” he asked. It wouldn’t be the first time that they’d kept him out of the loop, but he couldn’t believe Elena had known. He would have sensed her shock through the bond between them, and he’d felt nothing but her constant, aching grief.
Eyes widening in horror, Meredith grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close to her. “You can’t tell them,” she said fiercely. “No one else can know. I’m going to find some way to reverse it.”
Damon unwrapped Meredith’s fingers from his shirt. With a little thrill, he realized that Meredith’s predicament could be good. He could use this. “Fine,” he told her. “I won’t breathe a word. But there’s something I want you to do.”
Meredith’s eyes narrowed. It was admirable, Damon thought, how she could go from a quivering wreck to sharply suspicious, pulling herself together in an instant. “What do you want, Damon?”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her with a bitter laugh. “It won’t hurt. Probably.” She flinched, and he sighed, feeling guilty. “I want you to connect with Jack,” he went on, in a softer tone. “He made you for a reason. Surely he must want you to work with him.”