Blood Will Tell (The Vampire Diaries 4.5)

Deliberately, she snapped the lamp beside her on. This brightened the room so much that Stefan found it almost painful; Mrs. Flower’s had changed his lowwattage bulb for a slightly higher one. But it also seemed to bring the matter into the sane, level ground of the daylight world. It acted as a shock and a restorative for both of them.

“I want this in the light,” she said. “No vampire mind control—I won’t need it. I’ve made up my own mind, and I’ll stick to my decision; if you can believe that.”

“Yes,” Stefan said simply. He added, “I’ll do my best without controlling your mind. I know how—uneasy—you are about anything interfering with your thoughts.” Meredith smiled, a little sadly. “That’s not the only issue, my friend, and I think you know it. But if you don’t mind . . .”

“I don’t mind.”

And then for a moment they both just sat, looking at each other in the toobright light, searching each other’s eyes, and neither of them able to think of a thing to say.

Finally Stefan said, somewhat huskily, “We should really . . .”

“ . . . get started.” Meredith nodded. She unbuttoned her blouse again. “Just . . .

tell me what to do . . .”

Terrified. She was terrified. Stefan made himself smile warmly, and he held out an arm wide for her to rest against, but all the time his mind was racing wildly through options.

Terrified meant that she would rebel. He had promised not to use mind control. She would experience agonizing pain; she might even lose her balanced, diamondbright mind.

He was about to put her through hell.

What could he do to help her? How could he get her past the fear that was making her rigid in his arm, with little tremors running through her? He knew what she was thinking about: the crystalline fangs with their double sting and the long, frozen moments after as her life substance leaked away.

And then he thought of something. A “Plan C,” as Elena might have said.

“Meredith, could you shut your eyes for a moment?” he asked, his voice still husky. “I wanted to ask you something and it’s a little embarrassing. I remember one thing Elena told me, and that was that you used to—well, to take on her discarded boyfriends for a little while, to comfort them, before turning them lose in the world again. And I was wondering—

could you think of me that way?”

Meredith’s eyes flew open and her held breath exploded in laughter. “You!”

“I fulfill all the requirements, I’m sure. Low selfesteem. Can’t sleep, can’t eat. I think about Elena night and day. I can’t picture myself—ever—wanting another girl—” Meredith laughed and laughed and the tension that had been holding her rigid broke.

“All right, all right. You’re an Elena’sex. Join the very large club. But what can I do for you?”

“Meredith, my friend, my sane, levelheaded friend . . . for a few minutes, will you pretend with me? Just for a few minutes will you pretend that everything we’re doing here is not for a desperate cause?”

Meredith’s eyes were dark and unreadable. “What are you saying, Stefan? What is it you want?”

Always so forthright. Stefan felt a wave of relief. Meredith was very close to full womanhood—although she had probably been that way since she was twelve or thirteen.

She was not a tightly closed blossom, but a fragrant, soft rose in full bloom. He could treat her as an adult.

“Would you—would you let me kiss you? I—”

He stopped, surprised, because Meredith was laughing again, her dark eyes flashing and sparkling in a rainbow of colors. And then he realized that Meredith was actually closer to crying than merriment. The rainbow glittering was tears.

“Would I let you?” Meredith repeated. “Oh, my dear dimwitted friend. You’re serious, aren’t you? You don’t know your own power, do you?”

Stefan felt himself flush a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stefan, let me tell you something. I may be fond of Alaric Saltzman—and someday, someday I may marry him, true—but you can kiss me anytime you like. Yes, I’ll pretend with you, Stefan. If I’m going to die tonight or tomorro

w, I would be glad to go having a memory of comfort instead of fear.”

She understood that it could be either. That was the important point. And when she rested back into the crook of Stefan’s arm, her body was relaxed. Stefan didn’t wait for new doubts or fears to overtake her. He put a gentle hand to her cheek and shut his eyes.

Then he bent to his first real kiss—not dream, not reverie—since Elena had died. He noted that Meredith’s lips were soft and surprisingly warm—and then there was a sort of silken explosion in his mind. Meredith was opening to him, giving of herself, showing him that Elena was not the only one who could turn a kiss into a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven. Or into the garden of Eden; the garden of green valleys which Stefan could glimpse, but never again enter. Heartstricken, he clung to her, and the kiss stretched on far longer than he had ever meant it to. It resonated like a chord so pure and beautiful that it builds and builds until everything is vibrating to its tone, until Stefan felt it in his bones and in his aching body . . . and his aching fangs.