"She's been hurt," said Matt grimly. "And she's in shock or something. The question is, where are the others? Vickie, was Elena with you?"
Vickie sobbed, putting her hands over her face as Meredith settled Bonnie's iridescent pink wrap around her shoulders. "No… Dick," she said indistinctly. It seemed to hurt her to speak. "We were in the church… it was horrible. It came… like mist all around. Dark mist. And eyes. I saw its eyes in the dark there, burning. They burnt me…"
"She's delirious," said Bonnie. "Or hysterical, or whatever you call it."
Matt spoke slowly and clearly. "Vickie, please, just tell us one thing. Where is Elena? What happened to her?"
"I don't know." Vickie lifted a tear-stained face to the sky. "Dick and I—we were alone. We were… and then suddenly it was all around us. I couldn't run. Elena said the tomb had opened. Maybe that was where it came from. It was horrible…"
"They were in the cemetery, in the ruined church," Meredith interpreted. "And Elena was with them. And look at this." In the overhead light, they could all see the deep fresh scratches running down Vickie's neck to the lace bodice of her slip.
"They look like animal marks," said Bonnie. "Like the marks of cat's claws, maybe."
"No cat got that old man under the bridge," said Matt. His face was pale, and muscles stood out in his jaw. Meredith followed his gaze down the road and then shook her head.
"Matt, we have to take her back first. We have to," she said. "Listen to me, I'm as worried about Elena as you are. But Vickie needs a doctor, and we need to call the police. We don't have any choice. We have to go back."
Matt stared down the road for another long moment, then let out his breath in a hiss. Slamming the door shut, he put the car into gear and turned it around, each motion violent.
All the way back to town, Vickie moaned about the eyes.
Elena felt Stefan's lips meet hers.
And… it was as simple as that. All questions answered, all fears put to rest, all doubts removed. What she felt was not merely passion, but a bruising tenderness and a love so strong it made her shake inside. It would have been frightening in its intensity, except that while she was with him, she could not be afraid of anything.
She had come home.
This was where she belonged, and she had found it at last. With Stefan, she was home.
He pulled back slightly, and she could feel that he was trembling.
"Oh, Elena," he whispered against her lips. We can't—
"We already have," she whispered, and drew him back down again.
It was almost as if she could hear his thoughts, could feel his feelings. Pleasure and desire raced between them, connecting them, drawing them closer. And Elena sensed, too, a wellspring of deeper emotions within him. He wanted to hold her forever, to protect her from all harm. He wanted to defend her from any evil that threatened her. He wanted to join his life with hers.
She felt the tender pressure of his lips on hers, and she could hardly bear the sweetness of it. Yes, she thought. Sensation rippled through her like waves on a still, clear pond. She was drowning in it, both the joy she sensed in Stefan and the delicious answering surge in herself. Stefan's love bathed her, shone through her, lighting every dark place in her soul like the sun. She trembled with pleasure, with love, and with longing.
He drew back slowly, as if he could not bear to part from her, and they looked into each other's eyes with wondering joy.
They did not speak. There was no need for words. He stroked her hair, with a touch so light that she could scarcely feel it, as if he was afraid she might break in his hands. She knew, then, that it had not been hatred that had made him avoid her for so long. No, it had not been hatred at all.
Elena had no idea how much later it was that they quietly went down the stairs of the boarding house. At any other time, she would have been thrilled to get into Stefan's sleek black car, but tonight she scarcely noticed it. He held her hand as they drove through the deserted streets.
The first thing Elena saw as they approached her house was the lights.
"It's the police," she said, finding her voice with some difficulty. It was odd to talk after being silent so long. "And that's Robert's car in the driveway, and there's Matt's," she said. She looked at Stefan, and the peace that had filled her suddenly seemed fragile. "I wonder what happened. You don't suppose Tyler's already told them… ?"
"Even Tyler wouldn't be that stupid," said Stefan.
He pulled up behind one of the police cars, and reluctantly Elena unclasped her hand from his. She wished with all her heart that she and Stefan could just be alone together, that they would never need to face the world.
But there was no help for it. They walked up the pathway to the door, which was open. Inside, the house was a blaze of lights.
Entering, Elena saw what seemed like dozens of faces turned toward her. She had a sudden vision of what she must look like, standing there in the doorway in the sweeping black velvet cloak, with Stefan Salvatore at her side. And then Aunt Judith gave a cry and was holding her in her arms, shaking her and hugging her all at once.
"Elena! Oh, thank God you're safe. But where have you been? And why didn't you call? Do you realize what you've put everyone through?"
Elena stared around the room in bewilderment. She didn't understand a thing.
"We're just glad to see you back," said Robert.
"I've been at the boarding house, with Stefan," she said slowly. "Aunt Judith, this is Stefan Salvatore; he rents a room there. He brought me back."
"Thank you," said Aunt Judith to Stefan over Elena's head. Then, pulling back to look at Elena, she said, "But your dress, your hair—what happened?"
"You don't know? Then Tyler didn't tell you. But then why are the police here?" Elena edged toward Stefan instinctively, and she felt him move closer to her in protection.
"They're here because Vickie Bennett was attacked in the cemetery tonight," said Matt. He and Bonnie and Meredith were standing behind Aunt Judith and Robert, looking relieved and a little awkward and more than a little tired. "We found her maybe two, three hours ago, and we've been looking for you ever since."
"Attacked?" said Elena, stunned. "Attacked by what?"
"Nobody knows," said Meredith.
"Well, now, it may be nothing to worry about," said Robert comfortingly. "The doctor said she'd had a bad scare, and that she'd been drinking. The whole thing may have been in her imagination."
"Those scratches weren't imaginary," said Matt, polite but stubborn.
"What scratches? What are you talking about?" Elena demanded, looking from one face to another.
"I'll tell you," said Meredith, and she explained, succinctly, how she and the others had found Vickie. "She kept saying she didn't know where you were, that she was alone with Dick when it happened. And when we got her back here, the doctor said he couldn't find anything conclusive. She wasn't really hurt except for the scratches, and they could have been from a cat."
"There were no other marks on her?" said Stefan sharply. It was the first time he'd spoken since entering the house, and Elena looked at him, surprised by his tone.
"No," said Meredith. "Of course, a cat didn't tear her clothes off—but Dick might have. Oh, and her tongue was bitten."
"What?" said Elena.
"Badly bitten, I mean. It must have bled a lot, and it hurts her to talk now."
Beside Elena, Stefan had gone very still. "Did she have any explanation for what happened?"
"She was hysterical," Matt said. "Really hysterical; she wasn't making any sense. She kept babbling about eyes and dark mist and not being able to run—which is why the doctor thinks maybe it was some sort of hallucination. But as far as anyone can make out, the facts are that she and Dick Carter were in the ruined church by the cemetery at about midnight, and that something came in and attacked her there."
Bonnie added, "It didn't attack Dick, which at least shows it had, some taste. The police found him passed out on the ch
urch floor, and he doesn't remember a thing."
But Elena scarcely heard the last words. Something had gone terribly wrong with Stefan. She couldn't tell how she knew it, but she knew. He had stiffened as Matt finished speaking, and now, though he hadn't moved, she felt as if a great distance was separating them, as if she and he were on opposite sides of a rifting, cracking floe of ice.
He said, in the terribly controlled voice she had heard before in his room, "In the church, Matt?"
"Yes, in the ruined church," Matt said.
"And you're sure she said it was midnight?"
"She couldn't be positive, but it must have been sometime around then. We found her not long after. Why?"
Stefan said nothing. Elena could feel the gulf between them widening. "Stefan," she whispered. Then, aloud, she said desperately, "Stefan, what is it?"
He shook his head. Don't shut me out, she thought, but he wouldn't even look at her. "Will she live?" he asked abruptly.
"The doctor said there was nothing much wrong with her," Matt said. "Nobody's even suggested she might die."
Stefan's nod was abrupt; then he turned to Elena. "I've got to go," he said. "You're safe now."
She caught his hand as he turned away. "Of course I'm safe," she said. "Because of you."
"Yes," he said. But there was no response in his eyes. They were shielded, dull.
"Call me tomorrow." She squeezed his hand, trying to convey what she felt under the scrutiny of all those watching eyes. She willed him to understand.
He looked down at their hands with no expression at all, then, slowly, back up at her. And then, at last, he returned the pressure of her fingers. "Yes, Elena," he whispered, his eyes clinging to hers. The next minute he was gone.
She took a deep breath and turned back to the crowded room. Aunt Judith was still hovering, her gaze fixed on what could be seen of Elena's torn dress underneath the cloak.
"Elena," she said, "what happened?" And her eyes went to the door through which Stefan had just left.
A sort of hysterical laughter surged up in Elena's throat, and she choked it back. "Stefan didn't do it," she said. "Stefan saved me." She felt her face harden, and she looked at the police officer behind Aunt Judith. "It was Tyler, Tyler Smallwood…"
* * *
Chapter Nine
« ^ »
She was not the reincarnation of Katherine.
Driving back to the boarding house in the faint lavender hush before dawn, Stefan thought about that.
He'd said as much to her, and it was true, but he was only now realizing how long he'd been working toward that conclusion. He'd been aware of Elena's every breath and move for weeks, and he'd catalogued every difference.
Her hair was a shade or two paler than Katherine's, and her eyebrows and lashes were darker. Katherine's had been almost silvery. And she was taller than Katherine by a good handspan. She moved with greater freedom, too; the girls of this age were more comfortable with their bodies.
Even her eyes, those eyes that had transfixed him with the shock of recognition that first day, were not really the same. Katherine's eyes had usually been wide with childlike wonder, or else cast down as was proper for a young girl of the late fifteenth century. But Elena's eyes met you straight on, looked at you steadily and without flinching. And sometimes they narrowed with determination or challenge in a way Katherine's never had.
In grace and beauty and sheer fascination, they were alike. But where Katherine had been a white kitten, Elena was a snow-white tigress.
As he drove past the silhouettes of maple trees, Stefan cringed from the memory that sprang up suddenly. He would not think about that, he would not let himself… but the images were already unreeling before him. It was as if the journal had fallen open and he could do no more than stare helplessly at the page while the story played itself out in his mind.
White, Katherine had been wearing white that day. A new white gown of Venetian silk with slashed sleeves to show the fine linen chemise underneath. She had a necklace of gold and pearls about her neck and tiny pearl drop earrings in her ears.
She had been so delighted with the new dress her father had commissioned especially for her.
She had pirouetted in front of Stefan, lifting the full, floor-length skirt in one small hand to show the yellow brocaded underskirt beneath…
"You see, it is even embroidered with my initials. Papa had that done. Mein lieber Papa …" Her voice trailed off, and she stopped twirling, one hand slowly settling to her side. "But what is wrong, Stefan? You are not smiling."
He could not even try. The sight of her there, white and gold like some ethereal vision, was a physical pain to him. If he lost her, he did not know how he could live.
His fingers closed convulsively around the cool engraved metal. "Katherine, how can I smile, how can I be happy when…"
"When?"
"When I see how you look at Damon." There, it was said. He continued, painfully. "Before he came home, you and I were together every day. My father and yours were pleased, and spoke of marriage plans. But now the days grow shorter, summer is almost gone—and you spend as much time with Damon as you do with me. The only reason Father allows him to stay here is that you asked it. But why did you ask it, Katherine? I thought you cared for me."
Her blue eyes were dismayed. "I do care for you, Stefan. Oh, you know I do!"
"Then why intercede for Damon with my father? If not for you, he'd have thrown Damon out into the street…"
"Which I'm sure would have pleased you, little brother." The voice at the door was smooth and arrogant, but when Stefan turned he saw that Damon's eyes were smoldering.
"Oh, no, that isn't true," said Katherine. "Stefan would never wish to see you hurt."
Damon's lip quirked, and he threw Stefan a wry glance as he moved to Katherine's side. "Perhaps not," he said to her, his voice softening slightly. "But my brother is right about one thing at least. The days grow shorter, and soon your father will be leaving Florence. And he will take you with him—unless you have a reason to stay."
Unless you have a husband to stay with. The words were unspoken, but they all heard them. The baron was too fond of his daughter to force her to marry against her will. In the end it would have to be Katherine's decision. Katherine's choice.
Now that the subject was broached, Stefan could not keep silent. "Katherine knows she must leave her father sometime soon—" he began, flaunting his secret knowledge, but his brother interrupted.
"Ah, yes, before the old man grows suspicious," Damon said casually. "Even the most doting of fathers must start to wonder when his daughter comes forth only at night."
Anger and hurt swept through Stefan. It was true, then; Damon knew. Katherine had shared her secret with his brother.
"Why did you tell him, Katherine? Why? What can you see in him: a man who cares for nothing but his own pleasure? How can he make you happy when he thinks only of himself?"
"And how can this boy make you happy when he knows nothing of the world?" Damon interposed, his voice razor-sharp with contempt. "How will he protect you when he has never faced reality? He has spent his life among books and paintings; let him stay there."
Katherine was shaking her head in distress, her jewel-blue eyes misted with tears.
"Neither of you understand," she said. "You are thinking that I can marry and settle here like any other lady of Florence. But I cannot be like other ladies. How could I keep a household of servants who will watch my every move? How could I live in one place where the people will see that the years do not touch me? There will never be a normal life for me."
She drew a deep breath and looked at them each in turn. "Who chooses to be my husband must give up the life of sunlight," she whispered. "He must choose to live under the moon and in the hours of darkness."
"Then you must choose someone who is not afraid of shadows," Damon said, and Stefan was surprised by the intensity of his voice. He had never heard Damon speak so earnestly or with
so little affectation. "Katherine, look at my brother: will he be able to renounce the sunlight? He is too attached to ordinary things: his friends, his family, his duty to Florence. The darkness would destroy him."
"Liar!" cried Stefan. He was seething now. "I am as strong as you are, brother, and I fear nothing in the shadows or the sunlight either. And I love Katherine more than friends or family—"
"—or your duty? Do you love her enough to give that up as well?"
"Yes," Stefan said defiantly. "Enough to give up everything."
Damon gave one of his sudden, disturbing smiles. Then he turned back to Katherine. "It would seem," he said, "that the choice is yours alone. You have two suitors for your hand; will you take one of us or neither?"
Katherine slowly bowed her golden head. Then she lifted wet blue eyes to both of them.
"Give me until Sunday to think. And in the meantime, do not press me with questions."
Stefan nodded reluctantly. Damon said, "And on Sunday?"
"Sunday evening at twilight I will make my choice."
Twilight… the violet deep darkness of twilight…
The velvet hues faded around Stefan, and he came to himself. It was not dusk, but dawn, that stained the sky around him. Lost in his thoughts, he had driven up to the edge of the woods.
To the northwest he could see Wickery Bridge and the graveyard. New memory set his pulse pounding.
He had told Damon he was willing to give up everything for Katherine. And that was just what he had done. He had renounced all claim to the sunlight, and had become a creature of darkness for her. A hunter doomed to be forever hunted himself, a thief who had to steal life to fill his own veins.
And perhaps a murderer. No, they had said the girl Vickie would not die. But his next victim might. The worst thing about this last attack was that he remembered nothing of it. He remembered the weakness, the overpowering need, and he remembered staggering through the church door, but nothing after. He'd come to his senses outside with Elena's scream echoing in his ears—and he had raced to her without stopping to think about what might have happened.
Vampire Diaries 01 - The Awakening Page 9