It was only then, as the chance that Elena’s body might live suddenly shot upward, that Stefan began to worry about other things. Like exactly what was going to happen when Elena did awaken. Like what the monster who had killed could do to save her in the future.
Actually, in his soul, he already knew the answers.
* * *
Elena had been so happy. She was still happy, although her connection to Stefan had changed, diminished. It didn’t matter. She could remember everything that had happened after Stefan had enfolded her in his arms as if it were happening to her now.
In only moments, she had been in that hazy, euphoric
state where it seemed as if Stefan’s soul and hers were melting together. She had kissed him passionately and then arched her head to bare her throat.
But now it wasn’t about passion, Elena was thinking, knowing that Stefan could hear her thoughts and rejoicing in self-revelation. Good chemistry—the sea-storm and violet sparks of mad attraction—was only a part of it. The other part was the timeless, unquestioning knowledge that Stefan was hers and she was his, and that this had ever been so since the first light had broken through the darkness of the universe, and that it would still be so when the last light in the universe quietly faded.
When the last evensong was played by the last of the star-winds, Stefan would still be hers, and would still be himself. A shelter to her, a home to return to; a gentle and strong and nurturing demon lover.
Words weren’t enough to convey what she felt for her eternal beloved. Kisses weren’t enough. Even bodies wouldn’t be enough, Elena suspected, although they had not yet made this experiment. There was only one way to share herself completely with Stefan, and that was the blood.
Stefan, as always, had been initially reluctant to take more than a token sip of blood. Elena’s tender-hearted vampire didn’t want to again begin the cycle that would end with them trying to keep Elena balanced precariously on the knife’s edge between life and undeath.
Could Stefan justify doing that for a few minutes of pleasure?
A few minutes of pleasure? Or to seal our souls’ immortal bond? Elena sent to him telepathically, managing to put a world of irony into the thought. It was so much easier to communicate this way than with clumsy lips. She added, Come on, Stefan, let’s not be hypocrites.
Stefan was not a hypocrite. He seemed to hesitate another instant and then Elena felt more blood being drawn through the two delicate puncture wounds in her throat. She felt her entire soul go with it.
This was the place where she and Stefan ceased to become separate beings, where they melted together—and where Elena experienced the wildest and sweetest delight. It was as if she had come upon a part of herself that she had forgotten, and that in reclaiming it, she was suddenly twice as much as she had been.
Warmth and welcome surrounded her, infused her. She seemed to be floating in a roseate sunrise, with ravishingly beautiful colors all about. Palest peach and coral-reef and apricot blended with dazzling shades of corn yellow and old gold that heralded the sun. Amethyst and iris-ice showed where the blue of the new day’s sky would be coming, while blush rose and pink lotus tinted the clouds.
This wasn’t the rough magic of passion. It was the peace of heavenly adulation. It was the wonderful mystery of Stefan’s love for her. And with it came the stunning ability to explore the world through another individual’s senses.
I’m floating very high . . . for very long, Elena thought, dazzled. Stefan was so cautious when biting her that often she had only the barest glimpse of this glorious place in his heart. Usually she was forced to try to remember what the colors had looked like afterward, never quite able to put her finger on them. But now she could practically touch the wondrous hues.
It never occurred to her—or to Stefan, who was joined with her—that for her to hover at the peak of emotional bliss like this had to mean that Stefan was still drinking her blood. It never occurred to her that the higher they floated together, the longer they stayed, the less capable of rational thought both of them became.
That was how it had happened, then. Disaster had struck because Elena had been so happy for so long, and because Stefan had wanted her to be that happy always.
After a while things became foggy and muzzy. But that was rapture, too: surrendering herself completely to the drowsiness that shaded the world in plum and gentian, and even softly shimmering silver-gray. Bright shadows beckoned to her.
Elena sank down through the layers of color. Her eyes were shut now; she could sense the sparkling ebony into which she was descending directly on her skin. A voice from her own mind whispered to her: Sleep, for you have already chosen your path. Did you think you could float forever without sinking? Sleep now.
It was only then that Elena had realized that she was dying. The process had gone too far for her to rise back up through the layers of color to find the world of life. But Stefan . . . Stefan couldn’t die with her. That would be a tragedy. She gathered herself to make a momentous effort and managed to disengage his spirit from hers. He was healthy, she could tell, and why shouldn’t he be? He had more than half her blood supply empowering him.
But he would be unhappy when he discovered what had happened to Elena. Elena had collected the last of her strength to send a message winging upward after him.
Stefan . . . this was my fault . . . not yours. Please . . . I’m not afraid . . .
That was the important thing. She wasn’t afraid of anything anymore. She added her last wish.
Dream of me now and then . . .
And, whimsically, Nothing is ever really forgotten . . .
Then she was exhausted. But it was all right. She had done all she needed to do. It was time to rest.
During all the commotion afterward, she slept the deepest sleep of her life, unable to respond to Stefan’s calls to her, unheeding of the tumult around her motionless body.
She was resting in the black satin peace of her own grave.