She could feel her eyes rolling back into her head and her mouth filled with a metallic, bitter taste. In the distance, Jasmine gasped and Matt shushed her quickly.
Then it was like Bonnie was speeding through the night sky above Dalcrest, the wind rushing through her hair. She hovered over the campus, feeling the pull toward Pruitt House, her old dorm, where she knew the captive vampire was locked in the basement. No, she thought firmly. Someone else. Further back.
There was an immediate jerk at her consciousness, but weak and in more than one direction, scattered. The other vampires Jack made, she realized. There were a lot of them, more than she’d supposed.
No, she thought again, more firmly. Further back. Older.
For a moment, she thought it was hopeless. Her consciousness hovered uncertainly, and then started to slide backward. She could see herself from above, her red head tilted back, the black smoke rising from the mixture of herbs and blood toward the ceiling. She was falling back into her body. No! she shrieked silently, trying to pull away.
There was a sudden tug somewhere in her center, and Bonnie was rising again, flying faster, feeling light and buoyant. She zoomed over the campus, past Pruitt House, past the playing fields, and felt herself slow as she reached the stretch of woods on the other side of campus.
There was something—someone—down there. The blood was yanking her toward it. The sensation was stronger than what she had gotten from the vampires in the woods and somehow felt older and darker than the pull toward Damon’s captive.
Down, down, closer and closer. The image was becoming clearer: a shadowy figure in a small room. Some kind of little house deep in the woods behind the campus. Through the window she glimpsed the bell tower of the Dalcrest chapel.
Satisfied, Bonnie let her concentration slip. Immediately, she was rushing backward through blackness, feeling like she was falling, and then her vision cleared. Through the smoke of the burning herbs, thin and wavery now, the candles sputtered. Her friends were all watching her.
Bonnie cleared her throat, her mouth dry. “I know where the vampire is,” she said. “And it’s close.”
Chapter 14
As they walked through the woods, Elena sent her Power questing out around her, trying to find some trace of the vampire Bonnie said was nearby. Nothing. Beside her, Bonnie moved confidently straight ahead, seemingly sure of their direction. The others followed, Alaric muttering a charm of protection, Jasmine holding a stake and Matt a long hunter’s stave. The sun was rising over the trees and the birds sang loudly, waking up around them.
Matt cleared his throat. “I really think we should have waited for Damon before coming out here.” He sounded nervous, and Elena didn’t blame him. But they knew where the vampire who’d provided the blood for Jack was, and Elena couldn’t just sit back and let this chance slip away. It had been hard enough to wait for daylight. They weren’t total idiots—they weren’t going to go after a traditional vampire at night.
Every moment before sunrise, though, Elena had felt anxious and jittery, ready to burst out of her skin. If she had been just a few minutes earlier at the drive-in, she could have caught Siobhan, could have saved the lives of that young couple in the car.
If she’d seen through Jack’s facade just a few minutes earlier, maybe she could have saved Stefan.
“We can’t wait for Damon to get back,” she said, determined. “This might be our only chance to track it down and find out about Jack.”
Matt’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, but then he gave her a small smile and pressed forward. Jasmine’s face was set, and Bonnie’s small chin jutted forward defiantly. Alaric nodded at Elena.
We can do this, Elena thought. We have to.
The woods opened up into a clearing with a small house at the center, and they stopped at the edge, still sheltered by the trees.
“That’s it,” Bonnie said.
Hansel and Gretel, Elena thought. It looked just like the witch’s cottage, gabled and ornamented with a swooping roof. Scrollwork edging hung off the porch and windows. The cottage was precious and nestled deep in the woods. Elena wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. There was something about this little house.
“Are we ready?” she asked, staring at the house. Its windows flashed, reflecting sunlight back at her. Did something move behind them? She tried to focus her Power to see if she could sense an aura there, but felt nothing.
“Maybe we should try talking to the vampire first,” Matt blurted out. They all looked at him, and he blushed. “He—or she—hasn’t attacked us. We want information, not a fight. And we know not every vampire is just going to try to kill you right away. Damon wouldn’t. Stefan and Chloe wouldn’t have.” Jasmine’s hand slipped into his, Elena noted. So Matt had told her about poor Chloe, his college girlfriend who had become a vampire and then died.
“You’re right,” Bonnie said. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to hold a vampire anyway, without Damon’s help.” She glanced at Alaric. “If we can put a strong enough protection spell over all of us.”
As they spoke, Elena’s discomfort was growing, vague twitchiness escalating to apprehension. She began to breathe faster, her heart banging against her chest. She focused on the first floor windows. They seemed ominous, like hooded unfriendly eyes gazing out at her across the porch.
“There’s something wrong,” she said suddenly. She was sure of it.
She had to get in there right now. Something inside her was opening up, and she felt hypersensitive to everything around her: the breeze through the trees, the chirp of the birds, the fresh morning smell of pines and maples. Most of all, the tiny house where nothing moved.
It was her Guardian Powers. Behind those blank windows, some innocent human was in trouble.
“What’s going on?” Bonnie asked her, but Elena was already striding out into the clearing, abandoning any attempt at stealth. She barely noticed the others hurrying after her.
The porch steps creaked under her feet. Up close, the gingerbread cottage was grimy and out of repair, the scrollwork trim cracked. Elena hesitated for a second, clutching her stake. She tried again to find an aura inside the house, but her perception remained frustratingly blank. The sense that something terrible was happening only grew stronger.
“We have to get in there right now,” she said urgently. She slammed her shoulder against the door once and then again, grunting in frustration when the latch held. “Help me.”
Matt, stave in hand, took a running leap and kicked the door open. It hit the wall behind it with a crash, bouncing back toward them, and Elena shouldered it aside as she rushed into the cottage.
At first, the room seemed empty. The sun shone peacefully through the windows, falling on an empty sofa, a patterned rug. But the smell of blood hung in the air, heavy and overwhelming.
Elena turned—and froze in horror.
For a moment, she wasn’t sure what she saw. There was just a pattern of reds and flesh tones against the white wall.
As Elena’s vision cleared, the abstract bloodred shapes resolved to a hanging figure. A young girl, maybe fourteen years old, chained to the wall. She had been torn open, bright blood everywhere. Dark, glazed eyes stared unseeingly from a bloody face. Her hair was a honey shade of brown. Elena’s heart twisted with pity. She must have been a pretty girl, once.
Elena reached out and ran a hand lightly across the girl’s brow, as gently as if the girl could feel it. As if gentleness would do any good now, Elena thought bitterly, and bit her own lip hard to keep from crying. The girl was still warm, but her blood was sticky, drying. Once again, Elena was too late.
“Let me see.” Jasmine pushed in next to Elena, her strong, sure hands running over the girl’s body. Pulling off the ropes, she got her down from the wall and started CPR, but Elena knew it was useless. After a few minutes, Jasmine stopped and kneeled back away from the body. “He ripped her apart,” she said, her voice low with shock. “This wasn’t just for food. Whatever happened… he wanted to hurt her.”
Matt frowned. “Forget about talking to him. We’d better go back to planning an attack.”
Elena looked around the room. Blue curtains. Log walls, wooden floor. A stone fireplace at one side of the room, cold now but blackened with the smoke of an earlier fire. It was so familiar. Not Hansel and Gretel, but Snow White.
“Not him,” she told them, her voice a harsh whisper. “The vampire’s a her. Jack’s original vampire is Siobhan. My Guardian task.”
It was late afternoon when Damon landed on the sill of Elena’s bedroom window. He balanced carefully on the slightly too-small ledge, his talons digging into the wood, and tapped hard with his beak on the window. Elena was in there, he could feel her, and he was too tired to wait.
The Power animal blood gave him didn’t last as long as he’d hoped, not as long as a real meal. He could have flown for longer on human blood, but now his wings were aching and he felt dizzy and sick. He hadn’t wanted to change back while he was out, in case another attack came. He wasn’t confident he would have the Power to turn into a crow again.
Elena’s quick steps crossed the room, and she yanked the window open. “Damon,” she said.
He fluttered through the window, brushing her face with his longest wing feather as he passed, and landed on the wide soft bed before letting himself transform back into his real shape. Stretching out on Elena’s smooth white sheets, he rested his head on her pillow.
Elena’s face softened with surprise. “You’re as pale as a ghost,” she said. “Where have you been?”
Damon sighed. “The fake vampires found me. I didn’t want to come back here until I was sure I’d gotten rid of them.” Elena inhaled sharply, but Damon, closing his eyes, didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t sure if the false vampires had been tracking him, or if there were just a lot of them around, but whenever he’d been tempted to land, he had felt that strange metallic wrongness. Damon relaxed into the bed, rolling his shoulders back; he was terribly tired.
“Are you all right?” The mattress shifted as Elena sat down on the bed next to him. After a moment, her hand stroked softly over Damon’s arm. “You need blood,” Elena said firmly, and Damon opened his eyes to peer at her.
This still felt like something he shouldn’t be allowed to do, not with Stefan dead. But Elena scooted closer and lay down beside him, pushing her silky blond hair back to expose the long creamy line of her throat. Damon didn’t have it in him to resist her offer. Pulling her closer, he molded his body around Elena’s. He could feel his canines lengthening, aching with anticipation, and he kissed her neck gently before he laid the tips of his teeth against it. His canines were so sensitive that he shuddered with pleasure as they touched her.
Elena made a soft, encouraging sound, and Damon bit down. For a moment, her skin was taut against his teeth, and then they plunged through, blood bursting rich and hot into his mouth.
With the blood came a rush of emotions: love, worry, guilt. Relief at being able to do something for Damon. Under everything, that same constant pounding grief for Stefan.
She was sensing Damon’s emotions in return, he knew. He stroked her arm, sending her all the reassurance he could: He was fine, more than fine when he was with her like this. Sometimes he thought all he needed was this, was Elena and his connection to her. He let himself rest against her, felt his lips curve into a smile against the skin of her neck. Elena Elena Elena.
And then, unbidden, Meredith’s face swam up behind his eyes, and Elena twitched beneath his lips. He was usually better at shielding his thoughts than that; he’d had centuries of practice. He’d gotten distracted too easily.
Private, Damon thought fiercely, half-hissing as he arched away, his teeth almost leaving her throat. He could feel Elena’s confusion echoing through her blood and their bond. There was a sudden coldness between them, where there had been only tenderness mere moments ago. She began to pull away, and he tugged her back, close and warm against him, his arm around her.
He had promised Meredith, and now that he’d given his word, Damon couldn’t bring himself to break it. Once a gentleman, always a gentleman, he supposed.
He ran his fingers comfortingly through Elena’s silky hair in a silent apology, and worked his canines gently in and out of her throat, encouraging the flow of blood. Letting his mouth fill, he reached for his connection with Elena again. But she was holding back now. There was a strange hollow ache inside him, more than hunger.
As she pulled away from him at last, leaving him sated and warm with new blood, Elena wiped one hand across her neck. Damon’s gaze followed her hand as it carelessly smeared a single drop of blood toward her shoulder. When their eyes met again, Damon felt an unexpected pang.