The Asylum (The Vampire Diaries 18)

her. I knew that all too well.

I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly I could see stars on the insides of my eyelids. If Lexi were here, she’d have suggested a cup of goat’s blood tea to feel better. If Lexi were here, I probably wouldn’t have gotten into this situation in the first place.

Stop it, I said to myself. Feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t help matters. I needed to sleep. But lately, every time my eyes closed, my mind drifted to the root of my problems. How I’d become who I was now. I’d close my eyes, eager to untangle a complicated web of thoughts and emotions, only to be interrupted by the image of her porcelain face. Katherine. Her large, doelike eyes. Her lips, parting, ready to . . .

Sc-ratch, sc-ratch. My eyes shot open. A rat was burrowing next to me, its beady eyes practically glowing in the darkness. Instinctively, I reached out, snapped its neck, and drank its blood in large, quick gulps.

It was as foul as a pool of standing water, but it was something. Blood of any kind still had an intoxicating effect on me, tapping into a primal part of my being that I’d tried to suppress.

It was only once the blood was rushing down my throat that I became aware of my surroundings again, and remembered Cora was only a few feet away. Pulling the dead animal from my lips, I leaned closer to her. Her breathing was as steady as ever. She must be asleep. Relieved she hadn’t witnessed my true nature, I laid back down, trying to find a comfortable position on the ground.

And then a voice cut through the darkness like the light from a candle.

“I hope you enjoyed your dinner.” Cora. But she didn’t sound frightened. Instead, she was equal parts curious and concerned.

I felt shame rising like bile in the back of my throat, mingling with the acrid taste of blood from the rat. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that I hadn’t meant for her to see that. “Good night,” Cora said, as if my midnight snack had been nothing but a glass of warm milk.

I listened to the echo of her voice in the empty tunnel. “Good night,” I finally whispered back.

But she didn’t answer.

3

Throughout the night, I could hear the clawing of rodents and the endless dripping of water. London seemed miles away, when, in reality, it was only a hundred or so feet above me. But despite the distractions, I somehow fell into a deep, dark sleep.

…Until I felt that familiar paranoid tenseness—someone was watching me. I opened one eye, then another. A pale blue eye looked back. Scrambling backward and instantly fully awake, I realized I was mere inches from Cora.

“What are you doing?” I asked roughly, running my tongue over my teeth, relieved to find that they were short and straight. As I stood, I heard the sickening crack of my joints. I may not have aged in two decades, but a year of living on the Abbott farm had softened me; I was no longer used to sleeping on the hard ground.

Cora’s face fell. “I’m sorry,” she said, sitting up and pulling her knees to her chest. She smoothed the fabric of her skirts down over her legs. “I got frightened.” Her red hair was matted on one side of her head, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her skin was sallow, and her lips were cracked. It was odd to see her so vulnerable, after she’d been so strong the previous night. It was evident that she needed a friend. And truthfully, so did I.

“It’s all right,” I said, softening my voice. “Sometimes I just don’t trust myself.”

“Well, if you can’t trust yourself, then who could trust you?” Cora asked, her piercing gaze boring into me. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll ever be safe,” she said ruefully.

An uncomfortable silence fell between us. Beyond the sounds of dripping water and scrambling rodents, I could hear a symphony of human sounds from far off in the tunnel: coughing, limbs creaking, a steady thrum of hearts pumping blood through bodies. Our immediate vicinity was deserted, and I knew Cora couldn’t hear our neighbors like I could. But we weren’t the only inhabitants of the Underground. I wondered if that was why Damon had been in such a hurry to leave us.

“He’s feeding, isn’t he?” Cora asked, reading my mind.

“Most likely,” I said. I sat back on the ground, the dust settling around me. In the darkness of the tunnel, it was impossible to tell whether it was night or day. Not like it mattered much. Without a plan, we were in limbo.

“You saw me feed last night.” It was not a question.

Cora nodded. “I heard the snap of bones breaking, so I looked over. It wasn’t terrible. Not so different than watching some of the men at the Tavern slurp soup. You don’t frighten me, Stefan,” she said, as though it were a challenge.

“Does Damon?”

Cora shook her head, a faraway expression in her eyes. “No. Maybe he should. But he doesn’t. If anything, Damon … what’s the opposite of fright?” Cora asked, biting her lip.

“I suppose the opposite would be comfort,” I said, mystified as to how we’d gotten into this thread of conversation.

“Comfort … no, not that,” Cora mused. A small smile appeared on her pale face. “I think you’re more comforting, even if you are very destructive to rodents. Damon keeps me … sharp. He makes me think. I feel like there’s an edge to him, and you always have to be at the top of your game. I never would have thought of him stealing the conductor’s clothes on my own. It only came to me when I was watching him.”

“It was a good idea,” I said, thinking it was she, not Damon, who was sharp. She’d known about this tunnel, after all.

“Well, thank you. I only hope I keep coming up with them,” Cora said, smiling slightly. Then she turned away. “Do you think Violet is drinking human blood?”

“Yes.” There was no reason to sugarcoat the subject. If Violet was with Samuel, she most certainly was drinking human blood. The only uncertainty was who her food supply would be—a compelled blood-slave or some poor soul soon to be considered another one of Jack the Ripper’s bloody conquests.