The Ripper (The Vampire Diaries 17)

“Damon!” I yelled again into the darkness. I sniffed the air, feeling the urge to retch when I smelled the familiar iron scent all around, enveloping me. “Damon!” My feet flew toward my cabin, and I pushed against the door with all my might.

I blinked in horror.

In the center of the floor was Violet, leaning down over Oliver, taking large sips from a gaping wound on his neck. Blood was trickling onto the floor in a dark, deep pool.

“Oliver!” I called helplessly. Violet turned around, her newly formed fangs glistening with blood, a blank expression on her face. She leaned down, burying her face back in Oliver’s neck.

“No!” I lunged toward them and attempted to grab Oliver from her grasp. The little boy’s body was limp and lifeless, and I couldn’t hear a heartbeat. But his tiny body wasn’t entirely drained of blood. Not yet. Violet pulled him away from my hands and brought his neck to her lips.

Just then, I heard the door click shut. I turned, ready to fight my brother.

Only it wasn’t Damon. Framed in the doorway was Samuel, his hair blond and lionlike around his face, his white shirt and tan trousers impeccably pressed. I blinked. So Samuel was one of Damon’s foot soldiers as well. Of course. I felt the hatred for my brother deepening.

“Where is he?” I growled, my hands flexing into fists. I would make Samuel pay, but first, I needed him to lead me to Damon.

“So this is your country estate, Stefan,” Samuel said, unwinding his bow tie and draping it over the back of a chair and sitting down as if he were paying a simple social call.

“Where’s Damon?” I repeated.

“I don’t know.” Samuel shrugged, crossing one leg over his knee and leaning back on his chair. “And I don’t care. I came here looking for you. Our time in London was so rushed, I felt that you hardly got to know me at all,” he said, arching a blond eyebrow.

“You’re not here for Damon?”

“Your brother?” he asked lazily, licking his lips. “Not hardly. As I said, I have no idea where he is. Nor do I care. What really matters is where people think Damon is,” Samuel said, a small smile playing on his lips.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my head spinning. I couldn’t stop staring at the stone on his necklace, and the more I stared at it, the more bewitched I felt by it.

“I mean that Damon . . . or, I’m sorry, Count DeSangue, may soon have another soubriquet. I hope he likes the sound of ‘Jack the Ripper.’” Samuel rose and stalked toward Violet, who was still crouched over Oliver. She seemed unsure whether to dive back in and feed again. Samuel stood above them, and for a second, I wondered if Samuel would snap Violet’s neck, too, simply to show his power. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand rested gently on the top of Violet’s head.

“I think you could be useful,” he mused to himself. “Yes, I think you have what it takes. Hunger, certainly,” he said as Violet lowered her head to drink as if in a trance. Then he turned toward me.

“Where’s Damon?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Is he . . .”

“Dead?” Samuel let out a harsh laugh that sounded like a bark. “What would possibly be the fun in that? I can promise you, he’s not dead. I came up with another plan for him. Since I know how much he craves the spotlight, I found a way for him to be splashed all over the London papers. He’s about to be known as London’s most notorious killer. They’re receiving an eyewitness sketch of him as we speak. And that’s just the beginning. I think he’ll like that, don’t you?”

“You’re the Ripper,” I realized, everything clicking into place. Samuel had murdered Mary Ann and attacked Martha. And Samuel intended to frame Damon for the murders. Which meant that Samuel had written the warning message in the park.

I stepped back, my body slamming against the wall. I’d cornered myself.

“I want to destroy Damon. And death would be far too easy,” Samuel hissed, stepping up to me and laying one hand on each shoulder. “So I will make him pay first. I’ll take him away from the London society he loves so much and ruin the image he enjoys maintaining. That was the plan, and that’s what shall be carried out,” Samuel explained, his face now inches away from mine. “When you ca

me along, I didn’t have quite as much time to plot your punishment. But I’m quite pleased by what I came up with. I ruined the family you loved so much and blamed it on you. I got your girl to come to the dark side . . . I think I did rather well,” Samuel said, smiling.

“Why are you doing this to us? What have we ever done to you?” I asked, trying to placate him by not struggling. My mind was whirling. I could just hear the sound of shouting in the distance, and knew it wouldn’t be long before an angry mob surrounded the cabin.

“You did enough. And I don’t really feel like giving you a history lesson. But speaking of brothers, I do know that you hurt mine. And I think that alone makes a rather strong case against us being friends, don’t you agree?” he asked. His smile was dangerous, and I knew he was about to pounce. I closed my eyes, gathered my strength, and charged toward him, hoping the surprise of my action would catch him off guard.

But quicker than lightning, he wrestled me to the ground until I was pinned underneath him. With his face only inches from mine, I could smell human blood on his breath.

I twisted free and scrambled backward. He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once, and suddenly, I caught the whiff of something burning. Our scuffle had upset a table, and an overturned candle had started a fire, the flames licking the dry pine walls. The light from the flames danced on Samuel’s angular face. Our eyes locked for a moment, and a faint smile crossed Samuel’s lips. Then he lunged toward me, catching me unaware as he pushed me toward the hearth. I fell onto my knees.

“Get out,” Samuel barked to Violet, who ran toward the door, leaving Oliver’s lifeless body on the ground.

“You’ve lived for far too long,” he said, quickly grabbing a chair and snapping it over his knee as if it were a twig. He stood over me, each foot on either side of my waist, one hand holding a broken chair limb, ready for it to serve as a stake.

But instead of driving it into my chest, he glanced at me in disgust, then spit onto my face.

“You’re not worth killing; that’s too easy,” Samuel muttered, almost to himself. “I want you to suffer. You deserve it. In fact, that’s the only thing you deserve.”