by L. J. Smith
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.
And now it was Meredith’s job to submit to this creature: to an intelligent being, a person, but not a human.
To try and distract herself, she wondered what name the scientists might give this variation on humanity, on homo sapiens sapiens. Homo sapiens vampiris? Oh, come on, Meredith, what was the Latin for vampire? Homo sapiens lamius? Maybe they wouldn’t bother with tradition and would go for a word that simply denoted what the new beings were: homo sapiens raptor—or homo sapiens superioris. They would undoubtedly take over the world if they could find a way to reproduce fast enough, and to cooperate with each other. For that matter, Meredith wondered that they hadn’t already taken over.
There was no question that the creatures were more intelligent than humans, quicker, stronger, higher on the food chain—oh, that was funny if you thought about it.
Anything was funny if you had to think about it in this situation. What wa
s being demanded was perhaps the ultimate submission, that she give her very blood to one of these creatures; that she remain still while skewered like a grub on the toosharp canines of an insectivore.
She could feel the flow of blood, yes, and she could feel a sort of pleasure in being rid of it, as if medieval theories about leaches and cupping were true and she was overbloated with it. The warm flow was almost pleasant, relaxing. But she was far too aware of her own entire powerlessness, as if she were bound hand and foot, unable to have any say in the control of her own body. And she was far too aware of the—inhuman human—who held her. He was drinking her blood, for God’s sake! She had been relegated to the ranks of FDA products. They could measure her blood donation in terms of nutritional value—how did you decide what made up a single serving . . . ?
I gave my word, she thought, using the last of her discipline to keep herself from screaming. I gave my word. To save Fell’s Church. To save other girls from just this kind of . . . rape of their veins. Tears rolled down the sides of her face and fell into her hair, unheeded. And still she lay in Stefan’s arms, unmoving.
There was no rending pain, at least, so she supposed she was not resisting enough to merit that. But the only thing remotely like pleasure was the desperate thought that soon . . . it must be soon . . . this would end.
And then . . . oh God, she would have enough to think about. Starting with how to look Stefan in the face.
Maybe you shouldn’t look at him. Maybe you should just pack up your things and run from this town . . .
Stefan
Meredith’s blood was as complicated a flavor as the color of Meredith’s eyes. Blackberry wine was Stefan’s first thought. But it lingered and changed on the palate, becoming dryer, less sweet, more smoky with a hint of bramble. It ended with an aged, mature taste that was entirely individual, entirely indescribable because it was Meredithflavored—and it left him yearning for more.
And it packed quite a kick.
Meredith’s life force was strong. As strong, in its own way, as Elena’s had been, because Meredith herself was so strong in both body and mind. She also had something vampires loved in donors, a wisdom that had nothing to do with age. All that combined in the blood to make a heady wine indeed, and tempted Stefan to drink more than he should.