The Bloodlust (14 page)

Chapter 29

D
amon and I ran at vampire speed through the streets of New Orleans. Unlike when we first arrived and Damon lagged reluctantly behind me, we ran side by side, the adobe and brick houses blurring past us like melting wax.

Something had shifted between us in that arena, I felt it in my very being. Something had changed in Damon’s eyes as he’d regarded me and refused to attack, even as the crowd jeered on. I wondered how the match would have ended had the tent not gone up in flames—would we have taken the humans one by one, or would one Salvatore brother have ended up dead and bloodied on the dusty floor?

The image of the Mystic Falls church blazing like an oversize torch sprang to my mind. The town had burned down the church and the vampires trapped within it the night our father killed us—and the vampire Damon had loved.

But Damon and I were still here, like phoenixes rising from the ashes of the vampires who came before us. Perhaps out of the fire of this circus in our new home city, a new kinship between us would spring to life—like the new life that arose in prairies after the previous year’s crops had been burned to the level of the soil.

Damon and I continued to run, our feet slapping against the cobblestones in perfect unison, down the back alleys and streets I’d learned so well in my few weeks of living here. But as we rounded the corner onto Dauphine, the same street where Lexi had taken me shopping, I stopped short. Affixed to the window of the tailor’s shop was a crude drawing of me and Damon, our fangs bared, both of us crouched low.
The fight of the century
,
the posters read. I wondered if Callie had drawn them. Probably.

Damon leaned in close, examining the poster. “That drawing makes you look a bit stocky, brother. Might be time to lay off the barmaids.”

“Ha, ha,” I said dryly, looking around. Shouts sounded behind us, in the direction of the circus. We had a good head start, but if Callie had distributed these posters as widely as we had the posters for Damon, then we wouldn’t be safe until we were inside.

The spindly spire of a church rose in the distance—the church that was kitty-corner to Lexi’s place.

“Come on!” I pushed Damon in the direction of the church, and we didn’t talk until we reached the rickety white house.

“This is where you live?” Damon’s lip curled as his eyes flicked up from the sagging, whitewashed porch to the dark windows.

“Well, I understand that it may not measure up to your standards, but we all must make sacrifices every now and again,” I said sarcastically as I led him to the back door.

The door swung open, allowing a triangular slice of light to pour out over the dark backyard.

I put my hands up as Lexi appeared in the doorway. “I know you said no visitors, but—”

“Come in. Quickly!” she said, locking the door the second we crossed the threshold. In the main room, candles were burning, and Buxton, Hugo, and Percy were all perched on the chairs and couches, as if they were in the middle of a meeting.

“You must be Damon.” Lexi nodded to him slightly. “Welcome to our home.” I was aware of Damon watching her, and wondered what he saw.

“Yes, ma’am,” Damon said with an easy grin. “And I’m afraid that during our time in captivity, my brother somehow failed to mention you and your”—his eyes flicked over Percy and Buxton—“family.”

Percy bristled and half-rose from his seat, but Lexi put up a hand to stop him. “I’m Lexi. And as Stefan is your brother, my home is your home.”

“We escaped,” I started to explain.

Lexi nodded. “I know. Buxton was there.”

“You were?” I whirled around in surprise. “Were you betting for me or against me?” Damon let out a little snort.

Lexi laid a hand on my forearm. “Be nice. He was there to help you.”

My eyes widened. “You were going to help me?”

Buxton leaned back in his chair. “I was. But then someone had the bright idea to burn down the whole place, so I left.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking pleased at himself for being part of the action.

“It was Callie. She lit the fire,” I said.

Lexi’s eyes registered surprise. “I was wrong,” she said simply. “It’s been known to happen.”

“You must forgive my poor manners in interrupting, but do you have anything to eat?” Damon asked, not turning away from the portrait of an old woman that he was examining. “I’ve had a rather difficult few weeks.”

For the first time since we had escaped, I really looked at my brother. His voice was hoarse, as if he was unused to using it. Bloody gashes covered his arms and legs; his clothes were in tattered rags; and his shock of black hair was filthy and lank against his pale neck. Red rimmed his eyes, and his hands trembled slightly.

“Of course. You boys must be starving.” Lexi tsked. “Buxton, take him to the butcher shop. Let him eat his fill. I doubt there are enough humans in New Orleans to quench his thirst. And tonight, at least, he deserves to eat like a king.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Buxton said, bowing slightly as he raised his bulk from the chair.

“I’ll join him,” I said, heading toward the door.

“No.” Lexi shook her head and grabbed my arm—hard. “I have tea for you.”

“But . . .” I protested, confused and annoyed. I could practically taste the pig’s blood on my tongue.

“No buts,” Lexi said sharply, sounding remarkably like my mother.

Buxton opened the door for Damon, who wiggled his brow at me as if to say, “Poor boy!”

If Lexi saw, she pretended not to notice, instead busying herself with the tea kettle while I slumped on one of the rickety chairs set up around the table, my head resting on my hands.

“When you become a vampire, it’s not just your teeth and diet that change,” Lexi said as she stoked the fire in the stove, her back toward me.

“What does that mean?” I asked defensively.

“It means that you and your brother aren’t who you used to be. You’ve both changed, and you may not know Damon as well as you think,” Lexi said, carrying two steaming mugs in her hands. “Goat’s blood.”

“I don’t
like
goat’s blood,” I said, pushing the mug away angrily. I sounded like a petulant toddler, and I didn’t care. “And no one knows Damon better than I do.”

“Oh, Stefan,” Lexi said, looking at me kindly. “I know. But promise me you’ll be careful. These are dangerous times—for everyone.”

At the word
dangerous
,
something clicked in my mind. “Callie! I have to find her!”

“No!” Lexi pushed me back down on my chair. “Her father will not harm her, but he’ll kill you, given half the chance, and you’re in no shape for a fight.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Lexi cut me off.

“Callie is fine. You can see her tomorrow. But for now, drink the blood. Fall asleep. When you awaken, you will be healed, and you, Damon, and Callie will figure out everything then.”

Lexi left the kitchen with a swish of her aprons and extinguished the lamp.

Suddenly exhaustion fell over me like a heavy blanket, and the desire to fight Lexi’s advice drained from my body. With a sigh, I lifted the mug and took a small sip. The liquid was warm and velvety, and I couldn’t help but admit that it was good.

Lexi was right—I would see Callie tomorrow to say good-bye. But I needed rest. My entire body hurt, even my heart.

At least you know you have one
,
I imagined Lexi saying, and I smiled in the darkness.

Chapter 30

October 19, 1864

I
’m out of danger, but I don’t feel safe. I wonder if I’ll ever feel safe again, or will I forever long for a desire that I’ll never fulfill? Will I get used to the ache? Twenty, two hundred, two thousand years from now, will I even remember these weeks? And will I remember Callie and her red hair, her laugh?

I will. I have to. Callie has saved me and given me another chance at life. In a way, it’s like she was the daylight that followed the darkness Katherine had cast upon my existence. Katherine turned me into a monster, but Callie has changed me back into the Stefan Salvatore I’m proud to be.

I wish her love. I want nothing but the best for her. I want for her to live in the light and find a man—a human—who will appreciate and adore her, who will take her away from Gallagher’s house forever to a quiet home on a lake, where she can teach her children to skip stones.

Maybe that’s how I’ll live in her memory: Not as a monster, but simply as someone who shared a warm summer morning with her and taught her that skipping stones was as simple as a flick of the wrist. Maybe someday we’ll both be thinking of that memory at the same time. Maybe she’ll even tell her children, and her children’s children, and they will all know me as the man who taught her to skip stones. It is a tiny hope, but it is something. Because as long as Callie remembers me, then she and I are somehow connected. And maybe, in time, simply being connected by a single strand of remembrance will be enough.

I woke in the middle of the night to what I thought were hailstones bouncing against the windowpane. Despite Lexi’s rules, I peeked through a tiny slit in the curtains and squinted into the darkness. The trees were bare, their branches like ghostly limbs stretching toward the sky. Though it was a moonless night, I could see a raccoon scamper through the yard. And then, a figure standing timidly behind one of the columns on the portico.

Callie.

I hastily pulled on a shirt and slipped down the stairs, taking care to not make any noise. The last thing I wanted was for Buxton or Lexi to know that a human had followed me home.

The door shut with a thud behind me, and I saw Callie jump.

“I’m here,” I whispered, feeling thrilled, confused, and excited, all at once.

“Hi,” she said shyly. She was wearing a blue dress and a fur stole. A hat was pulled low over her curls, and she had a large carpetbag over her shoulder. She nodded, shivering. I wished more than anything that I could bring her upstairs so we could lie under my covers and warm up.

“Are you going somewhere?” I asked, nodding at her bag.

“I hope so.” She clasped my hands with her own. “Stefan, I don’t care what you are. I’ve never cared. And I want to be with you.” She looked into my eyes. “I . . . I love you.”

I gazed at the ground, a lump in my throat. Back when I was a human, I thought I’d loved Katherine until I saw her, chained up, muzzled, and foaming at the mouth. I’d felt nothing but disgust at that vision. And yet Callie had seen me unconscious, bleeding from vervain, staked by captors, and pummeling my brother in the ring, and she still loved me. How was that possible?

“You don’t have to respond,” Callie rushed on. “I just had to tell you. And I’m leaving no matter what. I can’t stay here with Father, not after everything that’s happened. I’m getting on the train, and you can come with me. But you don’t have to. But I want you to,” she babbled.

“Callie!” I interrupted, placing a finger to her lips. Her eyes widened, shifting between fear and hope.

“I would go with you anywhere,” I said. “I love you, too, and I will for the rest of my life.”

Callie’s face broke into a relaxed, joyful expression. “You mean your un-life,” she said, her eyes dancing.

“How did you know where I lived?” I asked, suddenly shy.

Callie blushed. “I followed you home once. When you ran away after the first vampire fight. I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Well, now you do.”

Unable to restrain myself, I pulled her into my arms and lowered my lips to hers, no longer afraid to hear the blood coursing in her veins or to hear her heart beat faster in anticipation. She tightened her grip around me, and our lips touched. I hungrily kissed her, feeling the softness of her lips against mine. My fangs didn’t grow, my desire was all for her, in her human form, as she was.

She was soft and warm and tasted like tangerines. In those moments, I imagined our future. We’d take the train as far away from New Orleans as possible, maybe to California, or perhaps even sail to Europe. We’d nest in a little cottage and keep livestock for me to feed from, and Callie and I would live out our days together, away from the prying eyes of society.

A nagging thought tugged at the corner of my mind: Would I turn her? I hated the thought of doing it, of sinking my teeth into her white neck, of making her live a life in which she craved blood and feared the daylight, but I also couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her grow old and die in front of me. I shook my head, trying to release those thoughts. I could deal with them later. We both could.

“Stefan,” Callie murmured, but then the murmur turned into a gasp, and she slipped out of my clutches and onto the ground. A butcher’s knife stuck into her back, blood pooling out of it.

“Callie!” I cried, sinking to my knees. “Callie!”

Frantic, I tore a vein in my wrist, trying to feed Callie my blood to heal her. But before I could press my arm to her gasping mouth, an unseen hand yanked me up by the shirt collar.

A low, familiar chuckle cut through the night air. “Not so fast, brother.”

Chapter 31

I
whirled around, my hand ready to strike, my fangs bared. Before I could move, Damon grabbed my shoulders and flung me across the street. My body hit the road, hard, my arm snapping at an unnatural angle. I scrambled to my feet. Callie was lying in the grass, her red hair fanning over her shoulder, a pool of blood darkening around her. She let out a quiet moan, and I knew she must be in agony.

I started to race back to her, pumping my blood to my open wound so she could feed easily. But Damon intercepted me, lowering his shoulder into my chest and knocking me backward.

I scrambled to my feet. “This stops now!” I yelled, ready to pounce. I flew toward him, ready to rip him apart, to give him what he’d wanted for so long.

“Does it stop now? Before dinner?” Damon asked, a slow smile forming on his face. I watched in horror as Damon knelt down, bared his teeth, and sunk them into Callie’s neck, drinking long and hard. I tried to push him away, but he was far too strong. How many people had he fed from since our escape?

I kept tugging, trying to free Callie, but Damon stayed in the same position as if he were a marble sculpture.

“Help! Lexi!” I roared, as Damon sent me flying backward with a swift jab of his elbow.

I hit the grass with a thud. Damon kept drinking. I realized with horror that Callie’s moaning had stopped. So had the steady, thrumming sound of blood I’d gotten so used to hearing in Callie’s presence. I fell to my knees.

Damon turned toward me, his face smeared with blood. Callie’s blood. I blanched at the sight. Damon chuckled. “You were right, brother. Killing
is
what vampires do. Thanks for the lesson.”

“I’ll kill you,” I said, rushing toward him once more. I knocked him to the ground, but Damon took advantage of my injured arm and flipped me over, pinning me to the ground next to Callie.

Damon shook his head. “I don’t think I will die tonight, thank you. You’re done being the one to make the life-and-death decisions,” he hissed.

He stood up, as if he were going to walk away. I crawled over to Callie. Her eyes were wide open and glassy, her face pale. Her chest was still rising and falling, but barely.

Please live
,
I thought, gazing into her unblinking eyes in a desperate attempt to compel her. I saw her eyelids flutter. Could it be possible that it was working?

I want you to live. I want to love you while you’re alive
,
I thought, squeezing blood from my wounds into her open mouth.

Then, as drops fell on her face, I felt an agonizing pain in my abdomen. I sprawled on the grass as Damon kicked me over and over and over in the stomach, a demonic look in his eye.

Summoning all my strength, I scuttled on the dew-damp earth away from Damon.

“Help me,” I called again toward the house.

“Help me!” Damon mocked in a sing-song voice. “Not quite the big man, anymore, are we, little brother? What happened to taking over the world? Got too busy having tea parties with your little friends and falling in love with humans?” He shook his head in disgust.

Something inside me snapped. Somehow, I pushed myself to my feet and raced toward Damon, fangs bared. I pushed him to the ground, my fangs carving a long, jagged cut along his jugular vein. He fell to the ground, blood draining from his neck, his eyes closing.

For a moment, he looked like my brother again. No bloodshot eyes, no voice laced with hatred. Just the broad shoulders and dark hair that always symbolized Damon. And yet he wasn’t Damon anymore. He was a monster on a spree of destruction, stopping at nothing to make his threat of making my life miserable come true.

I surveyed the ground around us, finally glimpsing a small tree limb, a few feet away, fallen after a storm. I crawled over to the branch and raised it high above his chest.

“
Go to hell
,” I whispered, fervently meaning each word.

But as the words left my mouth, Damon lunged up from the ground, his eyes red and his fangs bared. “That’s no way to talk to family.” He scoffed, throwing me to the ground. “And that’s no way to hold a stake.”

He raised the branch high over my chest, a gleam in his eye.

“Here’s the death you didn’t let me have. Slow, and painful, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it,” Damon said, cackling as he brought the stake down with all his might against my chest.

And then everything went black.