Chapter 2
The Party
September 8th, 2009 (Tuesday)
Blair sat in History class after yet another night of those damn nightmares. She was tired and irritable and she couldn't wait for the school day to be over.
At least her nighttime routine had gone according to plan. Every night was the same choreography: gym after dark—one hour of cardio, one of kickboxing. (The owner knew her; she'd been doing kickboxing there since she was five, and he let her use the place after hours with her own key.) Then home for a long, half-hour soak in the tub, followed by three hours of studying. Then the nighttime skincare: double cleanser, toner, essence, beauty water, eye cream, moisturizer or night cream for her face; moisturizing lotion for the body, plus waxing twice a week including a full Brazilian, because she was the kind of fastidious person who hated body hair. She would then do a mani-pedi, prepare her schoolbag, choose the outfit for the next day, and then drink chamomile tea with milk (no sugar) before going to bed.
And then she would masturbate. For about half an hour, sometimes with her hand, more often with toys from the third drawer of her bedside table. It depended on how horny she was or whether she'd had sex that day. She wouldn't think about anything in particular, letting her mind go blank. In a way it was almost like meditating, except with orgasms. It relaxed her, helped her sleep more deeply. Luckily, since she suffered from Short Sleeper Syndrome, she didn't need more than five or six hours of sleep every night.
But this morning, the nightmares had thrown everything off—again. Tonight was the party at the Falls, and she needed to be at her best.
She forced herself to pay attention. It wouldn't do for people to think she was slacking off—and besides, she genuinely loved this subject. Just… not today. Today, not even the Civil War could compete with the fog in her brain.
"The Battle of Willow Creek took place right at the end of the war in our very own Mystic Falls," Mr. Tanner was saying. "How many casualties resulted in this battle? Ms. Bennett?"
Bonnie startled. "Um… a lot? I'm not sure. Like a whole lot."
"Cute becomes dumb in an instant, Ms. Bennett." Tanner turned his sights on Matt. "Mr. Donovan? Would you like to take this opportunity to overcome your embedded jock stereotype?"
Matt shrugged. "It's okay, Mr. Tanner. I'm cool with it."
"Elena? Surely you can enlighten us about one of the town's most significantly historical events?"
Elena's eyes dropped to her desk. "I'm sorry, I—I don't know."
"I was willing to be lenient last year for obvious reasons, Elena. But the personal excuses ended with summer break."
Blair kept her face expressionless but her nails bit into her palm under the desk. That was a low blow, even for Tanner.
"Blair, why don't you enlighten us? I'm sure you know the answer."
The way Tanner caressed her name made her stomach turn. She swallowed the nausea. "There were 346 casualties, Mr. Tanner."
He beamed. "Correct as usual, Blair."
"Miss Gilbert's answer is correct, of course," Stefan interjected from a few seats away. "But she forgot to mention the local civilians."
Tanner's smile disappeared. "I'm afraid, Mr… ?"
"Salvatore."
"Salvatore. Any relation to the original settlers here at Mystic Falls?"
"Distant," Stefan said. There was something strange in his tone that Blair couldn't quite place.
"Well, Mr. Salvatore, as I was saying, there were no civilian casualties in this battle."
"Actually, there were twenty-seven, sir. Confederate soldiers fired on the church, believing it to be housing weapons. They were wrong. It was a night of great loss." Stefan paused, a smug look crossing his face. "The Founder's Archives are stored in Civil Hall if you'd like to brush up on your facts, Mr. Tanner."
Tanner glared, speechless. Blair bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.
Stefan Salvatore, a history buff. Guys who looked like him weren't usually into academics. How intriguing. How very intriguing.
Blair sent a satisfied grin to her reflection. "What do you think?" She asked, turning slowly in front of Caroline's full-length mirror. "Will Stefan Salvatore like my outfit?"
They were getting ready at Caroline's place. Liz Forbes was working late, luckily, because the sheriff would not approve of their outfits. Blair's, most of all.
Her hair was styled in gentle waves cascading past her shoulders. Smoky cat-eye makeup made her green eyes pop. Red lipstick—her signature—emphasized her full lips. And the outfit did the rest: black leather jacket over a black fishnet crop top that left her midriff bare, with a black lace push-up bra visible underneath; a high-waisted, tight leather mini skirt (high enough to cover her belly button); thigh-high black stockings; black heeled ankle boots. Everything specifically chosen to accentuate her best features: her long legs, her toned thighs, her round butt, her slim waist and her big boobs.
Caroline, in a short sleeveless blue dress with cream pumps and a long cream cardigan, her hair in perfect curls, looked her up and down with an appraising eye. "I think he won't be able to keep his eyes off you. Or his hands, for that matter."
"Good. Because if he behaves well tonight, he might even get a taste."
Blair liked sex. She liked it a lot, ever since she discovered it at the age of 13. She had been lucky. Her first time had been fantastic. It had happened with a twenty-year-old guy from Whitmore College, who had known what to do to make it pleasurable for her. She even had an orgasm, which she knew was rather rare for a first time. (The after-sex part hadn't gone as well; he had treated her like an easy lay he had picked up in a bar for a one-night-stand, throwing her out of his dorm room as soon as he got what he wanted, but she didn't like to think about that so she preferred to ignore it'd happened at all.)
Ever since then, good sex or bad sex was a deal-breaker for her. She wasn't one to wait. What was the point? Elena believed you needed to get to know someone first, build something, before the physical. She'd dated Matt for five months before sleeping with him—and she'd known him her entire life.
Blair thought that was an absurd waste of time. In her opinion, there was no better way to know someone than to sleep with them. People were never more honest than when they were having sex. You could learn so much from someone by the way they behave with their sexual partners—whether they were attentive or careless, generous or selfish. Compatibility mattered, and she'd rather know upfront.
The cawing of a bird made her thoughts scatter. Blair turned from the mirror. A large crow was perched on the windowsill of Caroline's bedroom, its head cocked, dark eyes fixed on her.
She stared at it. It was the third time today. She'd seen it once this morning, on a lamp post outside the house when she left for her run. Then again, this afternoon, in the school parking lot, on another lamp post near her car. And now here—at Caroline's window, watching her.
No. It couldn't be the same one. That was ridiculous.
Blair shook her head. The nightmares were making her paranoid. She put everything out of her mind except the party. Tonight was about having fun, preferably with Stefan Salvatore.
"Come on, let's go," Caroline said, grabbing her bag. "You have your prey for tonight and I have mine. Let's go hunt."
Blair chuckled. "That was lame."
Caroline winced. "It totally was. I don't know why I said that."
Blair scanned the clearing while sipping from her plastic cup the cheap beer they were serving at the party. She grimaced at the taste: watered-down and barely cold. She wasn't a fan of beer, never had been. She much preferred wine, white wine specifically. Something crisp, like a Sauvignon Blanc or a Pinot Grigio. Beer was what teenagers chugged at parties like this to get drunk as quickly as possible. Blair had never seen the appeal.
She wondered what Stefan's drink of choice was. He didn't look like a beer guy either. He looked more sophisticated than the average seventeen-year-old, with more refined tastes, besides being hot as hell. Maybe he was a scotch drinker, or bourbon. Something that matched that whole brooding, mysterious vibe he had going on.
Ah, there he was. Standing alone near the edge of the woods, hands in his pockets, watching the party from a distance like he was deciding whether to participate in it or not. Perfect.
Blair sashayed toward him, hips swaying with each step—the runway walk she'd spent weeks perfecting in middle school, practicing in front of the bedroom mirror until every movement looked effortless.
She was acutely aware of the eyes that followed her. Some lustful, some envious. She ignored them all except one: Tyler's. He was standing in a cluster of other football players, Vicki's bony fingers curled around his bicep like she was afraid he'd float away. But Blair caught the exact moment his head turned in her direction, tracking her progress across the clearing.
Good. Let him watch.
"So, you made it after all," she said once she'd stopped in front of Stefan, her voice dropping to a husky purr. She bit her lower lip slowly and looked up at him through her lashes, giving him her best bedroom eyes. The kind of look that promised all sorts of wicked things if he played his cards right.
"I did," Stefan replied in a flat voice. Yet, for just a fraction of a second, something flashed across his face. Heat. Want. His pupils dilated and his eyes dropped to her mouth before snapping back up.
Her presence didn't leave him indifferent, no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise. "Let's get you a drink."
"Well, I'm—" Stefan tried to protest but Blair didn't let him finish.
"Oh, come on." She reached out to touch his arm lightly, her fingers trailing down the fabric of his shirt. "It will help you loosen up. You look so tense."
He looked down at her hand on his arm, then back up to her face, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Alright," he answered and even his attempt at reluctance felt like surrender.
He followed her to the keg and poured himself a glass, taking a long sip that told Blair he needed the liquid courage more than he wanted to admit.
They walked through the woods together, stepping away from the rest of the partygoers. The air was cooler here, the trees swallowing the sound of the party behind them until it felt like they were the only two people in the world. Blair made sure to walk close enough that their arms occasionally brushed, each contact sending little sparks of awareness through her body.
"So, Stefan." She glanced sideways at him. "Tell me more about yourself. How does someone decide to move to Mystic Falls of all places? It's not exactly the most exciting town in Virginia."
He shrugged. "I have family here." The words were clipped, almost defensive. This line of questioning made him uncomfortable. Interesting.
"Zach Salvatore, right? The one who lives at the Boarding House? I've seen him around town once or twice but he keeps mostly to himself. What is he, your uncle?" Blair pressed, watching his face carefully for any reaction.
Stefan nodded, offering nothing more.
"You don't talk much, do you?" She tilted her head to study him. "Is it shyness? Reserve? Or you just don't like me?"
Stefan stopped walking and finally turned to look at her directly. "I don't know you, Blair. And, to be honest, I'm not sure I want to."
"Ouch! Rude!" She said in mock offense—although, in truth, the words had hurt. But she would never show that it did. Instead, she stepped closer and watched his whole body tense in response. "You want to know what I think? I think I make you nervous. I think you're attracted to me, but you don't want to be attracted to me." She took another step, until their bodies were almost touching. "Oh, you like Elena, that's pretty obvious. And Elena is so easy to like. She's sweet and kind and warm. I'm the complete opposite. Of course, you don't want to want me. But you still do. Don't you, Stefan?"
His jaw tightened, but he didn't step back. There was irritation in his eyes, sure, but there was something else too. Hunger.
The same dark want she felt coiling in her own belly.
Gotcha.
"You know, Blair," Stefan said, his voice strained, "I dated someone like you once. Beautiful on the outside and ugly on the inside. I don't plan on repeating the experience."
The words were precise, meant to wound. A sharp blade finding tender flesh. Ugly on the inside. It wasn't the first time someone had said something like that to her. But hearing it from Stefan, who barely knew her…
Of course, her expression didn't change. That was the whole point of being the Ice Queen: you couldn't bleed if you were frozen.
She closed the remaining distance between them—close enough now she was a breath away from his lips. "Is that so?" she challenged.
"Yes," Stefan replied, his tone unyielding.
Then he was kissing her and both their drinks ended up abandoned on the forest floor. His hands grabbed her face, his lips crashed against hers and his tongue invaded her mouth. The kiss was harsh and furious, almost violent—pure anger and hunger in equal measure, like he was trying to punish her for making him want her, for making him lose control.
Blair responded with equal ferocity, biting down on his lower lip in retaliation, hard enough to draw blood. Stefan growled and shoved her against the trunk of a tree with bruising force. He kissed her again, deeper, hungrier, a battle of lips and teeth and tongues, a battle Blair was intent on winning.
She brought her hands to his head, fingers threading through his hair and pulled hard, her nails scratching against his scalp. Stefan made another one of those delicious growling sounds and pressed his body flush against hers, pinning her completely to the tree, trapped against his hard body. Stefan's right hand fisted in her hair and yanked, tilting her head back and exposing the column of throat.
His other hand slid down her body to grip her thigh, fingers digging into the bare skin below the hem of her leather skirt. He forced her leg up to encircle his hip, opening her legs and settling his body firmly between them. The new angle opened her completely to him, and he took advantage of the position to rock the hard line of his erection against her core. She moaned into his mouth, could already feel how soaked her thong was, the slick heat of her arousal coating her folds.
A crow cawed somewhere above them. Blair ignored it, her attention consumed entirely by Stefan and what he was doing to her body.
She grabbed his ass with both hands and pulled him harder against her, grinding against him shamelessly, rolling her hips so the thick ridge of his cock rubbed directly over her clit through their clothes. He shuddered—a full-body tremor—and released a groan that sounded barely human, low and guttural, from deep within his chest.
His right hand left her hair and shoved inside her crop top, pushing her bra up so he could palm her bare breast. He squeezed the soft flesh, thumb flicking roughly over her nipple until it tightened into a hard peak. Blair arched into his touch and gasped when he lowered his head and sucked her other nipple into his mouth right through the fabric of her shirt and the lace of her bra. The wet heat of his tongue and the sharp scrape of his teeth made her cry out. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer while her pussy clenched around nothing, the ache between her thighs becoming unbearable, a pulse that matched the pounding of her heart.
Every nerve-ending in her body was alight. She'd been with plenty of guys, and she'd had good sex and bad sex and everything in between. But she had never felt anything quite like this. This intense heat, this almost feral hunger, something that wanted to consume and be consumed in return.
At the same time, his left hand moved up her thigh, under her skirt, between her legs, fingers pressing firmly against her clit over her soaked thong. Then he pushed the fabric aside to touch her bare skin, finding her wet and swollen and ready. Two thick fingers dragged through her slick folds, spreading her wetness from her entrance up to her swollen clit. He circled the sensitive nub with firm pressure, then pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and Blair mewled, her hips bucking against his hand.
"God, you're dripping," he snarled.
He pressed two fingers inside her without warning, thrusting deep in one smooth stroke. Her walls fluttered around the sudden intrusion, gripping him tightly as he started pumping them in and out. She whimpered into his shoulder while he set a rhythm that was hard and fast and utterly relentless, his thumb pressing her clit while his fingers curled inside her, and it was so good, so exactly what she needed, that she was already close—
She refused to be the only one undone so she reached down and pulled his zipper open. Her hand slipped inside his jeans and boxers, wrapping around his cock. He was thick—thicker than she'd expected—and rock-hard, the head already slick with precum.
"Fuck," Stefan groaned against her breast, his hips jerking forward into her fist as if he couldn't help himself, and the sound he made—wrecked, guttural, like she'd broken something open in him—was the hottest thing she'd ever heard.
She stroked him firmly from base to tip, twisting her wrist over the swollen head on every upstroke, spreading the leaking fluid to make the glide smoother.
His forehead dropped to her shoulder, his breath ragged against her skin, his fingers still moving inside her, though the rhythm had turned erratic—both of them losing focus, the world narrowing to just this: the wet heat of his hand between her thighs, the weight of him in her palm, the sound of their breathing in the dark.
"Blair—" he rasped, voice strained, but he didn't stop fingering her. If anything, he fucked her harder with his fingers, adding a third one on the next thrust, stretching her open while his thumb rubbed tight circles over her clit.
She pumped him faster, squeezing the thick shaft, feeling every vein and the way his cock pulsed in her grip. His breathing grew ragged, his mouth moving frantically over her neck—kissing, licking, then biting down just hard enough to send sparks of pain-laced pleasure through her body.
The tension in her belly coiled tighter and tighter. The dual sensations—his fingers stretching and stroking her dripping pussy while she pumped his leaking cock—pushed her right to the edge, her pussy clenching rhythmically around his thrusting fingers, her thighs trembling.
Stefan stiffened without warning. Then he was gone—wrenched away from her so fast she stumbled, catching herself against the tree. One second he was pressed against every inch of her, and the next he was three feet away, his back to her, his shoulders heaving.
When he turned around, she saw it.
His eyes were black where the whites should have been, while the irises were ringed with red. Beneath them, dark veins crawled under his skin, branching and pulsing in a web of purple-black. And his lips… his lips were parted over teeth that were too long and too sharp.
She had never seen it in person. But she had seen it described, drawn in careful ink in the margins of Jonathan Gilbert's journals. She knew exactly what she was looking at.
"No, no, no," Stefan muttered, pacing, his hands raking through his hair. "What the hell am I doing?" He stopped, zipped up his jeans, and took a deep, shuddering breath.
Blair straightened, tugged down her skirt and adjusted her top with hands that were steadier than they had any right to be. The throbbing between her legs was still there—insistent, unresolved—but she pushed it aside. She wiped the smeared lipstick from around her mouth with her thumb, buying herself time to think while her heart pounded against her ribs. Not from fear—or not only from fear. Some reckless, broken part of her looked at his true face and felt the same pull she'd felt all night, even stronger now that the mask was off.
"You're a vampire," she said.
Stefan's head snapped toward her. "What did you say?"
His face was human again, though his pupils were still blown wide and she could see, when her gaze dropped, that he was still hard. "You're a vampire," she repeated. "Don't deny it. I saw your face just now. How your eyes changed."
One moment he was several feet away; the next he was directly in front of her, so close she could see the faint ring of gold returning to his irises. He did something with his eyes—his pupils dilated unnaturally, then contracted, boring into hers. "You're going to forget everything that happened here. I followed you to the keg to get a beer. You came on to me, but I told you nothing was going to happen between us and then I walked away. You were just taking a walk in the woods. I was never here and you never saw my true face."
She realized immediately what he was trying to do. He was trying to compel her.
Compulsion. The ability to bend a human mind, to rewrite memory and will.
She'd read about it in the Gilbert journals. And her parents had told her about it too—one of the many things they had taught her in their private lessons about the supernatural world, the ones Elena never knew about. Humans could only protect themselves against compulsion with a plant they could either ingest or wear on their person: vervain. But witches were naturally immune, even siphoners.
Blair could feel it pushing, a faint, insistent pressure behind her eyes, but it didn't take hold. She let her expression go slack, made her voice flat and dreamy. "You were never here," she repeated. "I was just taking a walk in the woods."
She had no idea what a compelled person actually sounded like. She held her breath and prayed he'd buy it.
Stefan studied her face for a long moment. "Good," he finally said.
A second later, he was gone—a blur of speed and displaced air that made the leaves stir in his wake.
Blair didn't move, barely breathed. She counted to sixty, then counted again, making sure he was truly gone. Her hands were trembling. She pressed them flat against the rough bark of the tree until they stopped.
Then she exhaled.
A vampire. She'd just let a vampire kiss her, touch her, push his fingers inside her. She would have let a vampire fuck her against this tree if he hadn't stopped. A tiny part of her mind recoiled at the thought that she'd been so willing, so eager, with a creature that could have killed her. Yet she wasn't sure, even now, standing alone in the dark with her pulse still racing and the phantom sensation of his hands still on her skin, that she wouldn't do it again. Even now, even knowing what he was, a part of her wished he hadn't stopped.
And he had stopped.
His mouth had been on her throat—on her pulse—and he'd stopped. He could have drained her dry. They'd been alone in the woods, no witnesses, no one close enough to hear her scream. The perfect opportunity. But he hadn't. He'd pulled himself away from her like it cost him everything he had, and then he'd tried to erase it from her memory.
What did that mean? That he didn't drink human blood? Did vampires like that even exist? Was he a vegetarian vampire, like the Cullens?
Blair grimaced. God, how lame. Does he sparkle in the sun too? She held back a laugh, then sobered. He could walk in the sun—she'd seen him do it all day. But the Gilbert journals said vampires burned in daylight. How was he managing it?
She gave herself ten minutes. Ten minutes to slow her heartbeat, smooth her hair, straighten her clothes, reapply her lipstick. Then she walked back to the clearing.
She scanned the crowd for Caroline first: there, chatting with Matt, a genuine smile on her face. Good for her. Maybe Caroline would get lucky tonight, unlike her—though the guy in question was Matt Donovan, so probably not.
Then she looked for Elena next. She found her on the little wooden bridge overlooking the falls. Stefan was with her. They stood close together, talking in a way that could only be described as intimate, their heads tilted toward each other.
Stefan had gone running back to Elena.
Of course he did. Elena was the safe choice.
Elena was smiling. A true smile—the kind that reached her eyes, that softened her whole face. Blair hadn't seen that smile since before their parents died.
And Stefan was smiling back.
She wondered if he would kiss Elena with Blair's taste still in his mouth and his fingers still wet with her arousal.
A small, ugly part of her wanted to walk over there and ruin it. She could. It would be so easy. Hey, Elena. Your new crush just had his fingers inside me ten minutes ago. Thought you should know.
But not even Blair was that much of a bitch.
Her chest did something complicated—half bitter jealousy, half relieved happiness. She rolled her eyes and looked away.
Then she looked at Elena again—Elena, who was gazing up at Stefan like he was the best thing that had happened to her since before their parents died, completely unaware of what he was.
Should Blair tell her? Should she warn Elena that Stefan was a vampire? It would be the right thing to do. He could be dangerous—regardless of the fact that he'd stopped himself tonight, regardless of the fact that he hadn't bitten her. If Elena was going to be with Stefan, she deserved to know the truth about what Stefan really was. She deserved to know what she was really getting into.
But Blair wasn't supposed to know. Because Stefan thought he'd compelled Blair. She was supposed to have forgotten everything. If she told Elena, she'd have to explain how she remembered, which meant revealing that she was a witch, which meant revealing everything their parents had hidden from Elena.
She could claim she was on vervain. She was a Gilbert, it wouldn't be strange. But it would still mean telling Elena that the guy she clearly liked just had his hand down her sister's skirt.
Blair didn't want to do that. Not now. Elena had barely smiled all summer. Blair had watched her sister drown in grief, locked away in her room, and had done nothing—unable or unwilling to help, she wasn't sure which. But the point was, Elena was smiling tonight, and Stefan was the reason, and Blair wasn't going to take that away from her.
She didn't tell herself it was noble because it wasn't. It was complicated, and selfish in its own way. Because Blair was selfish, she was mean, and she was a terrible sister.
Ever since middle school, everything between them had turned into a competition. Grades, popularity, boys—especially boys. Blair would win, more often than not, because Blair was willing to play dirty, willing to offer what Elena wouldn't—though never while they were still together; she had rules about that. The thrill was always in the chase, never the keeping. Once she won, she'd lose interest.
But this felt different, because Elena hadn't truly smiled since their parents died, and she was smiling now. Because of Stefan.
And really, Blair hadn't done anything wrong, technically. Stefan wasn't Elena's boyfriend—not yet. He wasn't cheating. Elena didn't need to know.
And the vampire question… that was Stefan's secret to tell. He would tell her. Eventually. Right?
He hadn't hurt Blair. No reason to think he'd hurt Elena.
Blair turned away from the bridge.
She looked for Bonnie next—force of habit. Not with Caroline, not with Elena, which was odd. Those were really the only two people Bonnie was close to, besides Blair by proximity. She shrugged. Maybe Bonnie had gone home.
Tyler and Vicki had disappeared too. Of course—probably off somewhere in the woods together, doing exactly what Blair had almost done with Stefan. Like Blair and Tyler had done more than once when they were together.
It didn't bother her, she told herself. Tyler could fuck Vicki as many times as he wanted. Blair would find someone better—someone hotter, someone who would make both Tyler and Stefan sick with jealousy for what they'd lost, or what they'd chosen not to have.
The problem was: where did you find someone hotter than Stefan Salvatore in this town?
A 'wild animal' had attacked Bonnie in the woods. She was alive—bleeding from a wound on her neck, rattled, but alive. Blair stood at the edge of the crowd that had gathered, watching the paramedics load Bonnie onto a stretcher. She should have looked for Bonnie when she'd noticed her missing.
But what could she have done? It wasn't like she could have taken on a vampire—not with the pitiful amount of magic stored in her pendant. Not to mention the fact that she hadn't used any magic since her mother had died.
Could Stefan have done this? He was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he ran from the scene of the crime.
No. It didn't make sense. If Stefan had attacked Bonnie, why hadn't he attacked her too? She'd been alone with him, her blood pumping hard and fast with arousal, her pulse bared under his mouth. If he'd wanted to feed, he'd had every opportunity—she had been the far easier target. Yet he didn't.
Which meant—unless he was a particularly picky eater who hadn't liked her blood for some reason (but that seemed very unlikely)—there was another vampire in Mystic Falls.
Was this other vampire the one responsible for the missing campers and the young couple found dead right outside of town? And if they were, why was Bonnie still alive? Blair was glad she was, of course, but why leave Bonnie alive when everyone else this vampire had gotten to was dead (as far as she knew)?
Blair's mind raced, and then it snagged on a detail that should have been obvious to her before.
Stefan Salvatore.
Of course. Why hadn't she thought of this before?
There was a Stefan Salvatore in the Founders' Registry signed in 1864. Along with his older brother, Damon. Both had supposedly died that same year. But according to Jonathan Gilbert's journal, they hadn't died. They'd been turned.
Both of them.
If Stefan wasn't the one attacking people… was Damon?
"Blair?" Caroline's voice jolted her back to reality.
Blair turned. Caroline's eyes were red and puffy, her mascara smudged. She'd been crying—of course she had. One of her best friends was on her way to the hospital.
Blair couldn't produce a single tear, as usual. Not that she would cry in public even if she could.
"Do you want to go to the Grill?" Caroline asked, her voice small. "Wait for news?"
"Yeah. Let's do that. Not much else we can do."
"Elena's staying at the hospital overnight. She's not family, technically, but everyone knows her, so they're making an exception."
Blair nodded. "That makes sense."
Stefan sat at his desk, journal open, pen in hand. He needed to write. He needed to put what had happened tonight into words, contain it on the page, trap it there so it couldn't escape, so it would stop echoing through his thoughts, would stop lingering on his body.
"I lost control today. Everything I've kept buried inside came rushing to the surface," he wrote. "And she's the one who pulled it out."
Bonnie was in the hospital and Elena was distraught. His thoughts should be on them—on her, the girl he'd come back to Mystic Falls for.
He'd spent an entire summer watching Elena from a distance, drawn by her impossible resemblance to Katherine yet captivated by how different she was underneath. Elena was kind where Katherine had been cruel, genuine where Katherine had been conniving, compassionate where Katherine had been selfish. That was why he'd enrolled at the high school, why he'd stayed. For her.
So why couldn't he stop thinking about her sister?
"She makes me lose control like no one I've ever met. The desire I felt for her wasn't something I could reason with. I wanted to possess her. I wanted to consume her. I wanted to fuck her against that tree until she screamed my name and then I wanted to sink my teeth into her throat and drink until there was nothing left. I wanted it more than I've wanted anything in longer than I can remember.
"I came so close to destroy everything. Tonight, with her, I wasn't the man I've spent decades trying to become. I was the predator, the monster that takes what he wants and doesn't stop.
"Even while I was with Elena—even standing on that bridge, watching her smile, feeling the peace that only Elena gives me—the memory of her kept intruding. Her eyes. Her mouth. Her body. The sounds she made when I had my fingers inside her."
Stefan paused for a moment and closed his eyes. Even hours later, his mind couldn't stop replaying what he'd done.
"If I'll ever be so lucky to be with Elena one day, it will be slow and gentle. I'd hold myself in check because Elena deserves tenderness and I want to be the kind of man who can give her that. With her, there would be nothing gentle about it. Nothing tender. She would not want me to be and I would not be able to pretend. She'd want it rough and hard and desperate, and God help me, so would I. She's the kind of woman who wouldn't recoil away in fear at my darkness—she'd welcome it, meet it, make me look at it. She'd beg for my teeth as readily as the rest of me. And I would give her what she asked for. That's what terrifies me."
He stared at the words. Shame and desire twisted in his gut, two serpents intertwined and inextricable.
"With her, the ripper is closer to the surface than it's been in decades. I have to stay away from her. For her sake and for mine." Stefan closed the journal and put it back in its usual place on a shelf.
A crow flew through the open window and Stefan turned around.
His brother stood on the balcony, leaning against the railing, a smirk already in place.
"Damon." Stefan sighed. All those 'animal attacks'. He should have known it was him.
"Hello, brother."
"The crow's a bit much, don't you think?"
"Wait till you see what I can do with the fog." Damon sauntered past him, picking up objects from Stefan's shelves, examining them with disinterest before putting them back where he'd found them.
"When did you get here?"
"Well, I couldn't miss your first day of school." Damon's gaze swept over him appraisingly. "Your hair's different. I like it."
"It's been fifteen years, Damon."
"Thank God. I couldn't take another day of the nineties. That horrible grunge look? Did not suit you. Remember, Stefan—it's important to stay away from fads."
"Why are you here?"
"I miss my little brother."
"You hate small towns. It's boring. There's nothing for you to do."
Damon shrugged. "I've managed to keep myself busy."
"You left that girl alive tonight. That's very clumsy of you."
"Ah." Damon's smirk widened. "That could be a problem… for you."
"Why Bonnie Bennett? She's Elena's best friend. Did you target her on purpose?"
"Maybe. She's still alive, though, isn't she? You should be grateful."
So, he left her alive on purpose. Of course, he did—everything Damon did was calculated. "Why are you here, Damon? What do you want?"
"I could ask you the same question. However, I'm fairly certain your answer can be summed up into one little word… Elena." Damon stopped toying with Stefan's things and turned to face him directly. "She took my breath away. Elena. She's a dead ringer for Katherine. Is it working, Stefan? Being around her, being in her world? Does it make you feel alive?"
"She's not Katherine."
"Well, let's hope not. We both know how that ended." Damon tapped his chin in thought, like he was trying to solve some complicated puzzle. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little confused. What's your deal with that delicious brunette you were with tonight? I'm not sure Elena would approve."
"What are you talking about?" Stefan asked, though he already knew. Damon must have seen them.
"Don't play dumb with me, brother. I'm talking about the girl you had pinned against a tree tonight. Gotta say, I didn't think you had it in you. And with Elena's sister of all people… naughty naughty!" He mock-scolded him with a finger, clearly enjoying himself. "Not that I can blame you. She's smoking hot. Sexy. Seductive. A little mean. She reminds me of someone…" He paused, seemingly in thought before he snapped his fingers. "Oh, right, Katherine again."
Stefan said nothing. He wanted to argue, but the denial wouldn't come, because Damon wasn't wrong. Elena might wear Katherine's face but Blair was eerily similar to Katherine in personality. That same electric allure, that same quality that made you want to ruin yourself just to get closer. Maybe that was why Blair attracted him and repulsed him in equal measure—though, perhaps, 'repulsed' wasn't the right word. Whatever it was, Blair was right about one thing. He wanted her and he hated that he wanted her. Blair called to the parts of him he'd spent decades trying to kill.
Elena made him feel human while Blair made him feel like a vampire. She was dangerous.
It didn't matter, however. He would master this—he would overcome this sick desire he felt for Blair and focus on Elena the way she deserved. Blair would not come between them, he won't allow it.
"I thought you were gonna fuck her right there," Damon continued cheerfully. "Or, you know, rip her head off. One of the two. Instead, would you look at that, you actually controlled yourself. Congrats, Stef, you should be proud." He slow-clapped. "Tell me something, when's the last time you had something stronger than a squirrel?"
"I know what you're doing, Damon. It's not going to work."
"Yeah? Come on. Don't you crave a little?" Damon slapped his chest with the back of his hand—not hard, just enough to needle—trying to provoke him into a fight.
"Stop!"
"Let's do it together. I saw a couple girls out there. Or just… let's just cut to the chase, let's just go straight for Elena. Or Blair. Or both."
"Stop it!"
"Imagine what their blood tastes like."
Stefan's face transformed against his will.
"I can," Damon whispered.
"I said stop!" Stefan charged. He hit Damon at full speed, launching them both through the window, glass shattering around them. When he landed on the pavement, though, Damon was already gone.
"I was impressed," Damon said, now standing a few feet away, leaning against a lamp post with his arms crossed, looking merely amused. "I give it a six. Missing style, but I was pleasantly surprised. Very good with the whole face... thing." He gestured vaguely at his own face. "It was good."
The rage drained out of Stefan, leaving only exhaustion. "You know, it's all fun and games, Damon, huh? But wherever you go, people die."
"That's a given."
"Not here. I won't allow it."
"I'll take that as an invitation."
"Damon, please. After all these years, can't we just give it a rest?"
"I promised you an eternity of misery, so I'm just keeping my word."
"Just stay away from Elena."
Damon ignored him. "Where's your ring?" He glanced at the sky. "Oh, yeah, sun's coming up in a couple of hours, and, poof, ashes to ashes." Before Stefan could start to panic, he held out his palm. "Relax. It's right here."
Stefan took his daylight ring warily, sliding it back onto his finger. The moment it was in place, Damon's hand shot out, seizing him by the throat before hurling him into the garage. His back slammed against the door hard enough to dent the metal. Stefan hit the ground, gasping.
"You should know better than to think you're stronger than me," Damon said, standing over him now. "You lost that fight when you stopped feeding on people. I wouldn't try it again."
A light came on in the second-floor window of the Boarding House.
Damon glanced up. "I think we woke Zach up." His tone changed from aggressive to casual in the span of a breath. "Sorry, Zach."
Blair and Caroline sat at a table in the Mystic Grill, two untouched drinks between them, waiting for Elena's call.
"So," Caroline said, slightly tentative. "What happened between you and Stefan?" She must have noticed Stefan being glued to Elena's side for half the night.
Blair shrugged. "He rejected me. Told me nothing was going to happen between us and walked away. Can you believe it?"
She couldn't tell Caroline the truth—a truth she wasn't even supposed to remember. And anyway, better no one knew, so it couldn't reach Elena. (Stefan certainly wouldn't tell her.)
Caroline's eyes went wide. "Really? But that never happens."
"I know. No one's ever rejected me before. I don't know if I like the feeling. I mean, first time for everything but—"
"He obviously wasn't worth your time," Caroline immediately said, loyal as always.
"Right. If he can't see how awesome I am, his loss. I hope he and Elena will be very happy together, and I say that with complete sincerity." She paused. "It's not like I care about Stefan. He was just the new, hot guy I wanted to parade around in front of Tyler. Elena being interested was just a bonus. Though I'll admit… he did hurt my pride."
"You'd have loved hooking up with him, though. And steal someone Elena wanted. Again." Caroline knew her so well.
Blair didn't bother denying it. "So true. God, I'm such a terrible person."
"The worst." Caroline grinned. Blair grinned back and then they were both laughing. For a moment, sitting here with her best friend, things felt almost normal.
Then Caroline's phone rang. She glanced at the screen. "I'm going to the bathroom to take this," she said, standing up. "It's too loud in here."
"Okay."
Blair fished her own phone out of her pocket, more for something to do with her hands than anything else. She could never sit still for long—her body always buzzing, always restless, always needing to move or touch or do something. Tonight was worse than usual. She needed to burn off the energy still coiling inside her—the adrenaline, the unfinished arousal, all of it with nowhere to go. She should hit the gym later, tire herself out before bed.
She raised her head to check if Caroline was coming back. And saw him.
A man sat at a table not far from hers. Early to mid-twenties, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. He was lean and toned, and extremely attractive, with raven-black hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes so vivid she could see their color even from across the room.
She felt the breath leave her lungs. She knew those eyes. She had been seeing those exact eyes in her nightmares for the past two nights. Blue turning black. Purple veins writhing beneath the skin.
Another vampire.
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. What if… ?
"Damon?" she asked, just to see his reaction.
The man only smirked. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look anything except amused. "See you soon, Blair," he said before rising from the chair with leisured grace. He raised his hand in a lazy wave, then walked toward the exit.
"No, wait—" Blair said, but before she could get up to follow him Caroline materialized in front of her, blocking her line of sight.
"Were you talking to someone?" Caroline asked, confused.
Blair looked past her. He was gone.
"Never mind," Blair sighed, her pulse still racing. "So, what's the news on Bonnie?" she asked instead. She didn't feel like explaining something she wasn't even sure she could understand herself.
Caroline's face broke into a grin. "She's going to be okay."