Blood Will Tell

by L. J. Smith

  ^*!! sugar concrete out of the stove burners . . . And yet it never hardened when we tried to pull it, oh, no . . . This is the end of Bonnie’s candy making craze, and if she doesn’t agree, the world is going to see its first Homicide By Toffee case . . . OH, GOD, WE HAD

  FUN.

  But knowing the words by heart wasn’t the same as being there, as seeing Elena’s face flushed with the heat of the stove, as counting the wisps of damp gold hair curling on her forehead; as watching her laugh and snap out orders and apologize by turn.

  He wanted to see that.

  “I vaguely remember. Bonnie had to have it cut out of her hair,” Meredith was saying.

  Her eyes were mildly curious.

  “I’d like to see that. Little things like that, if you can remember them. Just any little thing—”

  He was repeating himself—and he was starting to break down. Meredith put a hand on his elbow, guiding him to the threadbare brokenspringed couch in this room that had been his home for the happiest days of his life.

  Meredith

  Meredith was worried about Stefan. Those haunted green eyes . . . they’d used to be a brighter leaf green. Now they were dark as emerald. The tightly molded planes of his face, the beauty of his features, the soft promise of his mouth were all there . . . but still, somehow, these days Stefan managed to look like a condemned man. It wasn’t just since the monster had started attacking Fell’s Church. It was since losing Elena. Stefan had become the most beautiful walking shadow of his former self.

  Fear assailed her suddenly, and she had to know about their champion. “Stefan?

  With human blood in your veins, and White Ash in your hands, how do you rate your chances?” she asked him.

  “How can I know? All I do know is that I’ll fight him with everything I have; with everything you’re giving me.”

  With what they were giving him. A wry, mocking voice started in Meredith’s head.

  Making a bargain with the devil? You’re going to let this lesser fiend have his way with you, breech your veins, just so he can go into a hopeless battle with a greater devil?

  Yes. Oh, yes, indeed. She’d do much more than give her blood to a halfbroken lost soul like Stefan if it would allow her a chance to save Fell’s Church. Revenge . . . even revenge for her grandfather and Sue Carson . . . was pointless. If everyone insisted on revenge then the world would be full of maimed things: widows and orphans and gibbering phantoms. But if Stefan wasn’t able to stop that monster tonight, the monster would blaze through Fell’s Church, and leave it ruined in his wake. Hundreds of gibbering phantoms . . .

  Grandfather . . .

  Grandfather, there’s a real devil loose and nobody fit to stand up to him. And Damon may have—how would Stefan put it?—already played us false. He’s not a very good choice of ally. But what I know is that Stefan won’t. Stefan will hang in there until he stops that thing, even if it means he has to die.

  I have to help him in any way I can.

  She wondered why she was telling herself this, why she was so vehement. But the answer was too obvious. She was facing an old fear now with Stefan. Since her grandfather’s—breakdown—she had a terror and a disgust for vampires. She’d been young enough to believe him and develop that. Now, was she woman enough to hold herself still and face those translucent needlelike fangs when they were hovering over her throat?

  It was time to see.

  Stefan

  Stefan thought, God help me, don’t let me let her down—or Bonnie, either. If it hadn’t been that Elena was in every atom of his body, every breath of air he did not take; that she was in the marrow of his bones, and in his vision, somehow always there in his sidesight no matter what desperate situation was in front, he would have mistrusted himself. The gallantry of these two girls in facing a horror all humans shared made him admire them almost too much. He had no fears of forgetting Elena for a millisecond, but both Bonnie and Meredith, in their own ways, were so dear to him, so fine in their characters and in their graceful bodies, that tonight he was close to loving them.

  And what that could lead to, while he was drinking their blood . . . . . .

  “We’re your friends,” Meredith said, still helping him, as they sat. “Friends pooling their strength—out of lovingkindness—for the sake of all the ignorant people who don’t even know they’re in danger.”

  Lovingkindness, now there was an apt word. Had it been used since the days of long skirts and governesses? But it was exactly right. Meredith and Bonnie both knew the value of lovingkindness.

  Then Meredith did something that would seem to offset what she had just said.

  Deliberately, she snapped the lamp beside her on. This brightened the room so much that Stefan found it almost painful; Mrs. Flower’s had changed his lowwattage bulb for a slightly higher one. But it also seemed to bring the matter into the sane, level ground of the daylight world. It acted as a shock and a restorative for both of them.

  “I want this in the light,” she said. “No vampire mind control—I won’t need it. I’ve made up my own mind, and I’ll stick to my decision; if you can believe that.”

  “Yes,” Stefan said simply. He added, “I’ll do my best without controlling your mind. I know how—uneasy—you are about anything interfering with your thoughts.” Meredith smiled, a little sadly. “That’s not the only issue, my friend, and I think you know it. But if you don’t mind . . .”

  “I don’t mind.”

  And then for a moment they both just sat, looking at each other in the toobright light, searching each other’s eyes, and neither of them able to think of a thing to say.

  Finally Stefan said, somewhat huskily, “We should really . . .”

  “ . . . get started.” Meredith nodded. She unbuttoned her blouse again. “Just . . .

  tell me what to do . . .”

  Terrified. She was terrified. Stefan made himself smile warmly, and he held out an arm wide for her to rest against, but all the time his mind was racing wildly through options.

  Terrified meant that she would rebel. He had promised not to use mind control. She would experience agonizing pain; she might even lose her balanced, diamondbright mind.

  He was about to put her through hell.

  What could he do to help her? How could he get her past the fear that was making her rigid in his arm, with little tremors running through her? He knew what she was thinking about: the crystalline fangs with their double sting and the long, frozen moments after as her life substance leaked away.

  And then he thought of something. A “Plan C,” as Elena might have said.

  “Meredith, could you shut your eyes for a moment?” he asked, his voice still husky. “I wanted to ask you something and it’s a little embarrassing. I remember one thing Elena told me, and that was that you used to—well, to take on her discarded boyfriends for a little while, to comfort them, before turning them lose in the world again. And I was wondering—

  could you think of me that way?”

  Meredith’s eyes flew open and her held breath exploded in laughter. “You!”

  “I fulfill all the requirements, I’m sure. Low selfesteem. Can’t sleep, can’t eat. I think about Elena night and day. I can’t picture myself—ever—wanting another girl—” Meredith laughed and laughed and the tension that had been holding her rigid broke.

  “All right, all right. You’re an Elena’sex. Join the very large club. But what can I do for you?”

  “Meredith, my friend, my sane, levelheaded friend . . . for a few minutes, will you pretend with me? Just for a few minutes will you pretend that everything we’re doing here is not for a desperate cause?”

  Meredith’s eyes were dark and unreadable. “What are you saying, Stefan? What is it you want?”

  Always so forthright. Stefan felt a wave of relief. Meredith was very close to full womanhood—although she had probably been that way since she was twelve or thirteen.

  She was not a tightly closed blossom, but a
fragrant, soft rose in full bloom. He could treat her as an adult.

  “Would you—would you let me kiss you? I—”

  He stopped, surprised, because Meredith was laughing again, her dark eyes flashing and sparkling in a rainbow of colors. And then he realized that Meredith was actually closer to crying than merriment. The rainbow glittering was tears.

  “Would I let you?” Meredith repeated. “Oh, my dear dimwitted friend. You’re serious, aren’t you? You don’t know your own power, do you?”

  Stefan felt himself flush a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Stefan, let me tell you something. I may be fond of Alaric Saltzman—and someday, someday I may marry him, true—but you can kiss me anytime you like. Yes, I’ll pretend with you, Stefan. If I’m going to die tonight or tomorrow, I would be glad to go having a memory of comfort instead of fear.”

  She understood that it could be either. That was the important point. And when she rested back into the crook of Stefan’s arm, her body was relaxed. Stefan didn’t wait for new doubts or fears to overtake her. He put a gentle hand to her cheek and shut his eyes.

  Then he bent to his first real kiss—not dream, not reverie—since Elena had died. He noted that Meredith’s lips were soft and surprisingly warm—and then there was a sort of silken explosion in his mind. Meredith was opening to him, giving of herself, showing him that Elena was not the only one who could turn a kiss into a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven. Or into the garden of Eden; the garden of green valleys which Stefan could glimpse, but never again enter. Heartstricken, he clung to her, and the kiss stretched on far longer than he had ever meant it to. It resonated like a chord so pure and beautiful that it builds and builds until everything is vibrating to its tone, until Stefan felt it in his bones and in his aching body . . . and his aching fangs.

  Hazily, he sensed the thoughts of logical, practical Meredith—and found them too hazy themselves, with too great a generosity in her, too much willingness to give of herself.

  They mustn’t go straight from this into the bloodfeast. Even in the daze of Stefan’s desire for it he knew that much. They had to tune this down.

  Stefan broke from the kiss.

  Meredith made a faint, longing noise and tried to cup his head back down, only to meet in her fingers the steel of a stubborn vampire’s neck. She sighed, her breath slowing.

  Then she opened her eyes and he saw the rainbow sheen of tears in their darkness and the dampness on her face.

  “You cannot do that to Bonnie,” she said, with a tremor in her voice. “You can’t.”

  “Bonnie’s a little girl.”

  “You think? You’ll find out. Bonnie was born a woman—in certain areas. Yes, she dots her i’s with little hearts. But, maybe because she’s psychic, or a witch, or whatever, she’s grown up in that one matter.”

  Stefan laughed, glad to see that they were both calming down. As for Bonnie, it wasn’t even worth arguing over: giddy Bonnie of the flashflood emotions; Bonnie who was a sweet bubbly child, nothing more. “All right,” he said amiably. “I won’t. But before I forget”—he held Meredith’s eyes and waited a beat and then said—“thank you.”

  “Thank you,” Meredith returned and for one moment her eyes misted over. But she had regained her composure, although her olive skin was still flushed and her breathing still slightly unsteady. “Now I know that Elena wasn’t just bragging on you.”

  “And now I’m embarrassed.”

  “You’re not. You must have heard it, in all sorts of ways, from all sorts of girls. Over all sorts of centuries.”

  Stefan, with those dark eyes on him, felt his own skin flush. He met Meredith’s gaze squarely. “I won’t lie to you. It’s a—tool—in the repertoire of vampire tricks. Usually. But that was . . . the meeting of two kindred souls in lovingkindness, I think. And I thank you.” Meredith gave a longer sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if anyone can catch a vampire unawares without a snappy answer.”

  “I’ve been playing this particular game for”—he smiled—“all sorts of centuries.”

  “And that’s usually how it’s started, is it? Getting the blood you need. Under the guise of romance?”

  “Or straightout mind control.” He wasn’t happy talking about this, but Meredith had the right to ask whatever she liked of him, as long as they got on with it soon.

  “And sometimes you feel things strongly, like just now, just like a human—”

  “Almost just like a human.” Stefan could hear the undercurrent of savagery in his own voice.

  Meredith ignored it. “And when you’re drinking blood and you’re—tempted to go too far—you’re able to keep your head? The way you did a few minutes ago when I wanted to go on kissing and you wouldn’t let me?”

  Stefan stared at her.

  It was one of the most courageous things he’d ever heard done in cold blood, Meredith asking that question.

  He knew Meredith would rather not think about the bloodfeast at all, and certainly would rather not talk about it. And he knew she didn’t want to think about the consequences of this particular feeding.

  He shook his head slightly. He’d underestimated her again.

  And now he had to face the question, too, and it didn’t matter that the situation had been forced on him, against his most violent objections. Meredith was right: he had been tempted a few minutes ago.

  He was tempted now. The memory of Meredith’s blood, pulsing in the thin, soft skin of her lips; the warmth of it pulsing against his mouth—even now pulsing in the graceful olive column of her throat . . . Dear God, did she even know how she tempted him?

  Her dark eyes said she did and that she was sorry . . . and frightened.

  Almost against his will, Stefan put up a hand to touch her cheek again. It was wet, and that was his fault. He shut his eyes in pain, then spoke between set teeth.

  “Meredith, I’ve been doing this for a long time. And as you said, I was able to control myself before. I think I can promise you safety, or we wouldn’t even be here having this discussion. I—I never took enough to truly endanger Elena under normal conditions, and—” He winced and stopped.

  “And I’m not Elena, however tempting.”

  “No—”

  “I understand, Stefan. I wasn’t being catty. You’ve comforted me. And I think we’d better start now, while I’m comforted.”

  “Meredith . . .”

  “I remember what you wanted. To think of Elena, just in daytoday situations from the years you never saw her. And there’s something I want, if I’m allowed to ask.”

  “Of course.”

  “Let me hold you, Stefan. Let me think about—lovingkindness—and banish any thoughts about Grandfather from my head. I know, I can see what you’re going to say—”

  “It would be so easy if you would let me nudge your mind first. I could lock out any thoughts like that.”

  Meredith shook her head slowly but decisively. “No fiddling with my mind. You can read whatever I’m thinking about Elena—“

  “Then you’ll have to call to me. It should be easy enough once I’ve taken a little of your blood. Our minds will be separate, but close, and if you call ‘Stefan!” I should hear you. Other than that, I swear, I won’t even sense your thoughts. I’ll put all my energy into it.”

  “Thank you. Truly. I’ll trust to your . . . talents and to our love for Elena. This mind’s the only one I’ve got and I don’t want to mess with it.” Stefan groaned inwardly, made himself smile wanly for Meredith’s sake. And then he took her into his arms.

  He held her tightly. Elena had liked this, sometimes, feeling the ghost of his true strength, knowing that it could be increased a hundredfold to crush her, and that it never would.

  Meredith had said she would trust to his talents. Well, given the earlier conversation, that couldn’t have been plainer.

  Elena, help me, Stefan prayed. This young woman was your closest living confidante.

  Help me not
to hurt her, help me to give her what she deserves: a few minutes of safety and happiness in the middle of a nightmare.

  Then he trusted to instinct. With sudden boldness, he kissed Meredith, but so lightly and so briefly that it left her with her neck stretched, her lips parted to make a sound of disappointment. . .

  Which never came. Since that first kiss his canines had been aching fiercely in his jaw, and he’d been ashamed and afraid that they were distorting his speech. Now he simply let a tiny part of his instinctive desire slip the leash, and he struck once, teeth biting deeply into the arch of Meredith’s tanned throat. Meredith gasped once in pain—and then gasped once more.

  Meredith

  Meredith had feared, after that kiss, that the next part would be altogether too much for her. But it was a different kind of experience entirely, and Meredith understood that she had been wrong in trying to force a romantic aspect onto the bloodfeast. For these few moments—few hours or days, as far as she could tell—she was not Stefan’s sweetheart, she was not even Stefan’s friend joined in lovingkindness.

  S he was prey.

  Stefan was the predator and she was his victim.

  Of course, Stefan was a thinking predator, and as gentle a soul as had ever had to develop a hard shell in selfdefense, but he was a predator just the same.

  He had successfully fought his genes so that he was not simply a graceful, expert killing machine every time hunger drove him to appease it. But just the same—the romance that had made him and Elena a sort of legendary modernday Romeo and Juliet had come from another part of their selves entirely, Meredith thought. Elena had fallen in love with the beast despite the fact that he was, and would forever remain, a beast: a hunter, sniffing the wind, evaluating the odds, looking for the weak members of the herd. He was a different sort of being altogether than a human, and Meredith knew then that she could never do what Elena had done. She could never entirely trust; could never entirely relax with; and she could certainly never fall in love with a being like Stefan Salvatore.