by L. J. Smith
It didn’t really matter. She cast a glance toward the old oak tree. He was still there, standing between the upthrust roots, panting, supporting himself against it with one hand. He was looking at her with his endlessly black eyes, his brows drawn together in a frown.
Don’t worry, she thought. I can take care of this one. He’s stupid. Then she flung herself on the green-eyed one again.
“Elena!” he cried as she knocked him backward. His good hand pushed at her shoulder, holding her up. “Elena, it’s me, Stefan! Elena, look at me!”
She was looking. All she could see was the exposed patch of skin at his neck. She hissed again, upper lips drawing back, showing him her teeth.
He froze.
She felt the shock reverberate through his body, saw his gaze shatter. His face went as white as if someone had struck him a blow in the stomach. He shook his head slightly on the muddy ground.
“No,” he whispered. “Oh, no …”
He seemed to be saying it to himself, as if he didn’t expect her to hear him. He reached a hand toward her cheek and she snapped at it.
“Oh, Elena …” he whispered.
The last traces of fury, of animal bloodlust, had disappeared from his face. His eyes were dazed and stricken and grieving.
And vulnerable. Elena took advantage of the moment to dive for the bare skin at his neck. His arm came up to fend her off, to push her away, but then it dropped again.
He stared at her a moment, the pain in his eyes reaching a peak, and then he simply gave up. He stopped fighting completely.
She could feel it happen, feel the resistance leave his body. He lay on the icy ground with scraps of oak leaves in his hair, staring up past her at the black and clouded sky.
Finish it, his weary voice said in her mind.
Elena hesitated for an instant. There was something about those eyes that called up memories inside her. Standing in the moonlight, sitting in an attic room … But the memories were too vague. She couldn’t get a grasp on them, and the effort made her dizzy and sick.
And this one had to die, this green-eyed one called Stefan. Because he’d hurt him, the other one, the one Elena had been born to be with. No one could hurt him and live.
She clamped her teeth into his throat and bit deep.
She realized at once that she wasn’t doing it quite right. She hadn’t hit an artery or vein. She worried at the throat, angry at her own inexperience. It felt good to bite something but not much blood was coming. Frustrated, she lifted up and bit again, feeling his body jerk in pain.
Much better. She’d found a vein this time, but she hadn’t torn it deeply enough. A little scratch like that wouldn’t do. What she needed was to rip it right across, to let the rich hot blood stream out.
Her victim shuddered as she worked to do this, teeth raking and gnawing. She was just feeling the flesh give way when hands pulled at her, lifting her from behind.
Elena snarled without letting go of the throat. The hands were insistent, though. An arm looped about her waist, fingers twined in her hair. She fought, clinging on with teeth and nails to her prey.
Let go of him! Leave him!
The voice was sharp and commanding, like a blast from a cold wind. Elena recognized it and stopped struggling with the hands that pulled her away. As they deposited her on the ground and she looked up to see him, a name came into her mind. Damon. His name was Damon. She stared at him sulkily, resentful of being yanked away from her kill, but obedient.
Stefan was sitting up, his neck red with blood. It was running onto his shirt. Elena licked her lips, feeling a throb like a hunger pang, but which seemed to come from every fiber of her being. She was dizzy again.
“I thought,” Damon said aloud, “that you said she was dead.”
He was looking at Stefan, who was even paler than before, if that were possible. That white face filled with infinite hopelessness.
“Look at her,” was all he said.
A hand cupped Elena’s chin, tilting her face up. She met Damon’s narrowed dark eyes directly. Then long, slender fingers touched her lips, probing between them. Instinctively Elena tried to bite, but not very hard. Damon’s finger found the sharp curve of a canine tooth and Elena did bite now, giving it a nip like kitten’s.
Damon’s face was expressionless, his eyes hard.
“Do you know where you are?” he said.
Elena glanced around. Trees. “In the woods,” she said craftily, looking back at him.
“And who is that?”
She followed his pointing finger. “Stefan,” she said indifferently. “Your brother.”
“And who am I? Do you know who I am?”
She smiled up at him, showing him her pointed teeth. “Of course I do. You’re Damon, and I love you.”
2
Stefan’s voice was quietly savage. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, Damon? And now you’ve got it. You had to make her like us, like you. It wasn’t enough just to kill her.”
Damon didn’t glance back at him. He was looking at Elena intently through those hooded eyes, still kneeling there holding her chin. “That’s the third time you’ve said that, and I’m getting a little tired of it,” he commented softly. Disheveled, still slightly out of breath, he was yet self-composed, in control. “Elena, did I kill you?”
“Of course not,” Elena said, winding her fingers in those of his free hand. She was getting impatient. What were they talking about, anyway? Nobody had been killed.
“I never thought you were a liar,” Stefan said to Damon, the bitterness in his voice unchanged. “Just about everything else, but not that. I’ve never heard you try to cover up for yourself before.”
“In another minute,” said Damon, “I’m going to lose my temper.”
What more can you possibly do to me? Stefan returned. Killing me would be a mercy.
“I ran out of mercy for you a century ago,” Damon said aloud. He let go, finally, of Elena’s chin. “What do you remember about today?” he asked her.
Elena spoke tiredly, like a child reciting a hated lesson. “Today was the Founders’ Day celebration.” She looked up at Damon, flexing her fingers in his. That was as far as she could get on her own, but it wasn’t enough. Nettled, she tried to remember something else.
“There was someone in the cafeteria … Caroline.” She offered the name to him, pleased. “She was going to read my diary in front of everyone, and that was bad because …” Elena fumbled with the memory and lost it. “I don’t remember why. But we tricked her.” She smiled at him warmly, conspiratorially.
“Oh, ‘we’ did, did we?”
“Yes. You got it away from her. You did it for me.” The fingers of her free hand crept under his jacket, searching for the square-cornered harness of the little book. “Because you love me,” she said, finding it and scratching it lightly. “You do love me, don’t you?”
There was a faint sound from the center of the clearing. Elena looked and saw that Stefan had turned his face away.
“Elena. What happened next?” Damon’s voice called her back.
“Next? Next Aunt Judith started arguing with me.” Elena pondered this a moment and at last shrugged. “Over … something. I got angry. She’s not my mother. She can’t tell me what to do.”
Damon’s voice was dry. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem anymore. What next?”
Elena sighed heavily. “Next I went and got Matt’s car. Matt.” She said the name reflectively, flicking her tongue over her canine teeth. In her mind’s eye she saw a handsome face, blond hair, sturdy shoulders. “Matt.”
“And where did you go in Matt’s car?”
“To Wickery Bridge,” Stefan said, turning back toward them. His eyes were desolate.
“No, to the boarding house,” Elena corrected, irritated. “To wait for … mmm. I forget. Anyway, I waited there. Then … then the storm started. Wind, rain, all that. I didn’t like it. I got in the car. But something came after me.”
/> About the Author
L. J. Smith has written more than two dozen books for children and young adults. She lives in the Bay Area of California, but is happiest in a little cabin near Point Reyes National Park, which has lots of trees, lots of animals, lots of beaches to walk on, and lots of places to hike. Please visit her online at www.ljanesmith.net for new stories about old characters and even sneak peeks of upcoming books.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
BOOKS BY L. J. SMITH
The Vampire Diaries:
Vol. I: The Awakening
The Vampire Diaries :
Vol. II: The Struggle
The Vampire Diaries:
Vol. III: The Fury
The Vampire Diaries:
Vol. IV: Dark Reunion
The Vampire Diaries:
The Return Vol. 1: Nightfall
The Vampire Diaries:
The Return Vol. 2: Shadow Souls
The Secret Circle:
The Initiation and The Captive Part I
The Secret Circle:
The Captive Part II and The Power
Copyright
Logo and cover photo © and trademark
The CW Network, LLC. All rights reserved.
The Vampire Diaries: The Struggle
Copyright © 1991 by Daniel Weiss Associates, Inc.
and Lisa Smith
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © AUGUST 2010 ISBN: 978-0-062-06474-5
www.harperteen.com
Produced by Alloy Entertainment
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Library of Congress Catalog Card Number:
2009931738
ISBN 978-0-06-199076-2
Typography by Jennifer Heuer
10 11 12 13 14 OPM 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Revised paperback edition, 2010
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