"You're not making this any easier," I muttered.
"You must have me mistaken for someone who cares about making your life easier," Damon said, suddenly cold, his eyes flashing.
"You know, you've taken a lot of effort to make sure you stay in my life," I pointed out. "Are you sure it's just to make me miserable?"
He stared at me. "What are you getting at?"
"I think you need me, Damon," I growled. "I think that under your anger, you're scared and horrified of what you've become. I am the last link to your human self, the only person who knows who you are. And I'm the only person for the rest of eternity who will. "
Damon narrowed his eyes at me.
"Brother, you don't know anything about me," he hissed.
He threw the door of the cab open and swung himself up and out. A soft thunk indicated he had landed on the roof. I stuck my head out the window and looked up.
I watched with horror as Damon picked up the driver and ripped his neck open, sucking only a mouthful or two before throwing him off the cab and on to the street.
"Damon! Stop!" I yelled, but it was too late. I tried to dive out the door, to go after the injured man, but Damon threw an arm out and pushed me back into the carriage as he sped around a corner.
Perched on top of the cab, mouth covered in blood, Damon whipped the horse into a frothing frenzy. And so we two brothers hurled northward, one driving and one being driven, like Satan compelling the damned.
Chapter 19
By the time we reached the Sutherlands', our horse's lips were covered in foam and its eyes were rolling back until they were ringed with white.
"Not much of a racehorse," he said carelessly, leaping down and giving it a pat on its neck. "Wouldn't surprise me if it dropped dead from the exertion. "
I stepped out of the carriage, a putrid smell assaulting my nose as if the Thayers had taken up residence next to a slaughter yard. "I think he may already be dead," I said gingerly. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. I had to be ready for whatever came next, be it Damon taking action against the Sutherlands or having to spend the night with my new bride. If that happened, it would be hard to keep my own promise of no more compelling humans. . . .
Steeling myself, I headed for the door.
"Not so fast, brother," Damon said, putting a hand on my chest. Then he slipped it inside my waistcoat as lightly as a pickpocket, and pulled out the check Winfield had written me. "I'll be needing this," he explained happily.
"Oh yes. Money without the tracks," I said bitterly. "Much less obvious than robbing a bank vault. So tell me, what about the cab driver? A dead man in the middle of the road - what about those tracks?"
"Him? No one will notice him," Damon said, obviously surprised by my interest. "Look around, Stefan. People die in the streets here all the time. He's no one. "
Damon had become the type of vampire who had no problem with killing even when it didn't directly benefit him, and he committed murder at the drop of a hat. When I killed in my first days, it was always for thirst, or self-protection. Not for sport. And never simply for the kill.
"Besides, it really, really irritated you," he added with a grin. "And isn't that what it's all about?"
He gave a little bow and indicated I should enter our new home first. Looking up at its beautiful gray walls and growling gargoyles, I wished no one had ever invited me in, that I had been forced to remain outside forever, a poor creature relegated to the park.
And then somebody screamed.
Damon and I both rushed in, practically tearing the door off its hinges in our effort to get through.
Margaret was standing in the living room, white as a sheet, her hand over her mouth. And it was very obvious why.
The entire place was spattered in what my spinning mind could only assume was black paint, until its smell hit my nose with the force of a truck: blood. Human blood. Gallons and gallons of it slowly dripping down the walls and congealing in pools on the floor. It threw me off guard, my vampire senses reeling from the sheer quantity.
Damon held one hand over his face, as if trying to stifle the sensations, and pointed with his other hand.
At first all I saw was a pair of stockinged legs askew on the rug, as if someone had too much to drink and fell down. Then I realized they weren't attached to a body.
"No. . . " I whispered, sinking to my knees in horror.
The bodies of Lydia, Bridget, Winfield, and Mrs. Sutherland were scattered around the room in pieces.