She remembered Stefan’s face when he finally gave up. When Meredith wrestled with him and yelled at him, saying something about over an hour without air, and brain damage. The words filtered in to Bonnie, but their meaning didn’t. She just thought it odd that while Meredith and Stefan were screaming at each other they were both crying.
Stefan stopped crying after that. He just sat there holding the Elena-doll. Meredith yelled some more, but he didn’t listen to her. He just sat. And Bonnie would never forget his expression.
And then something seared through Bonnie, bringing her to life, waking her to terror. She clutched at Meredith and stared around for the source. Something bad… something terrible was coming. Was almost here.
Stefan seemed to feel it, too. He was alert, stiff, like a wolf picking up a scent.
“What is it?” shouted Meredith. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You’ve got to go!” Stefan rose, still holding the limp form in his arms. “Get out of here!”
“What do you mean? We can’t leave you—
“Yes, you can! Get out of here! Bonnie, get her out!”
No one had ever told Bonnie to take care of someone else before. People were always taking care of her. But now she seized Meredith’s arm and began pulling. Stefan was right. There was nothing they could do for Elena, and if they stayed whatever had gotten her would get them.
“Stefan!” Meredith shouted as she was unaccountably dragged away.
“I’ll put her under the trees. The willows, not the oaks,” he called after them.
Why would he tell us that now? Bonnie wondered in some deep part of her mind that was not taken up with fear and the storm.
The answer was simple, and her mind promptly gave it back to her. Because he wasn’t going to be around to tell them later.
Sixteen
Long ago, in the dark side streets of Florence, starving, frightened, and exhausted, Stefan had made himself a vow. Several vows, in fact, about using the Powers he sensed within himself, and about how to treat the weak, blundering, but still-human creatures around him.
Now he was going to break them all.
He’d kissed Elena’s cold forehead and laid her under a willow tree. He would come back here, if he could, to join her, after.
As he’d thought, the surge of Power had passed over Bonnie and Meredith and followed him, but it had receded again, and was now drawn back, waiting.
He wouldn’t let it wait long.
Unencumbered by the burden of Elena’s body, he broke into a predator’s lope on the empty road. The freezing sleet and wind didn’t bother him much. His hunter’s senses pierced through them.
He turned them all to the task of locating the prey he wanted. No thinking of Elena now. Later, when this was over.
Tyler and his friends were still in the Quonset hut. Good. They never knew what was coming as the window burst into flying glass shards and the storm blew inside.
Stefan meant to kill when he seized Tyler by the neck and sank his fangs in. That had been one of his rules, not to kill, and he wanted to break it.
But another of the toughs came at him before he had quite drained Tyler of blood. The guy wasn’t trying to protect his fallen leader, only to escape. It was his bad luck that his route took him across Stefan’s path. Stefan flipped him to the ground and tapped the new vein eagerly.
The hot coppery taste revived him, warmed him, flowed through him like fire. It made him want more.
Power. Life. They had it; he needed it. With the glorious rush of strength that came with what he’d already drunk, he stunned them easily. Then he moved from one to another, drinking deep and throwing them away. It was like popping tops on a six-pack.
He was on the last when he saw Caroline huddling in the corner.
His mouth was dripping as he raised his head to look at her. Those green eyes, usually so narrow, showed white all around like those of a terrified horse. Her lips were pale blurs as she gabbled soundless pleas.
He pulled her to her feet by the green sashes at her waist. She was moaning, her eyes rolling up in their sockets. He wound his hand in her auburn hair to position the exposed throat where he wanted it. His head reared back to strike—and Caroline screamed and went limp.
He dropped her. He’d had enough anyway. He was bursting with blood, like an overfed tick. He had never felt so strong, so charged with elemental power.
Now it was time for Damon.
He went out of the Quonset hut the same way he’d come in. But not in human form. A hunting falcon soared out the window and wheeled into the sky.
The new shape was wonderful. Strong… and cruel. And its eyes were sharp. It took him where he wanted, skimming over the oak trees of the woods. He was looking for a particular clearing.
He found it. Wind slashed at him but he spiraled downward, with a keening scream of challenge. Damon, in human form below, threw up his hands to protect his face as the falcon dived at him.
Stefan ripped bloody strips out of his arms and heard Damon’s answering scream of pain and anger.
I’m not your weak little brother any more. He sent the thought down to Damon on a stunning blast of Power. And this time I’ve come for your blood.
He felt the backwash of hatred from Damon, but the voice in his mind was mocking. So this is the thanks I get for saving you and your betrothed?
Stefan’s wings folded and he dived again, his whole world narrowed to one objective. Killing. He went for Damon’s eyes, and the stick Damon had picked up whistled past his new body. His talons tore into Damon’s cheek and Damon’s blood ran. Good.
You shouldn’t have left me alive, he told Damon. You should have killed both of us at once.
I’ll be glad to correct the mistake! Damon had been unprepared before, but now Stefan could feel his drawing Power, arming himself, standing ready. But first you might tell me whom I’m supposed to have killed this time.
The falcon’s brain could not deal with the riot of emotions the taunting question called up. Screaming wordlessly, it plummeted on Damon again, but this time the heavy stick struck home. Injured, one wing hanging, the falcon dropped behind Damon’s back.
Stefan changed to his own form at once, scarcely feeling the pain of his broken arm. Before Damon could turn, he grabbed him, the fingers of his good hand digging into his brother’s neck and spinning him around.
When he spoke, it was almost gently.
“Elena,” he said, whispered, and went for Damon’s throat.
It was dark, and very cold, and someone was hurt. Someone needed help.
But she was terribly tired.
Elena’s eyelids fluttered and opened and that took care of the darkness. As for the cold… she was bone-cold, freezing, chilled to the marrow. And no wonder; there was ice all over her.
Somewhere, deep down, she knew it was more than that.
What had happened? She’d been at home, asleep—no, this was Founders’ Day. She’d been in the cafeteria, on the stage.
Someone’s face had looked funny.
It was too much to cope with; she couldn’t think. Disembodied faces floated before her eyes, fragments of sentences sounded in her ears. She was very confused.
And so tired.
Better go back to sleep then. The ice wasn’t really that bad. She started to lie down, and then the cries came to her again.