The Asylum (The Vampire Diaries 18)

The man shrank back. “I’m sorry. I wanted to … is the Mortimer house?”

I nodded, giving a slight apologetic smile.

“Thank you,” the man said, fear flashing in his eyes as he rushed away.

Damon was waiting just inside the fence, pacing against the iron trellises. “I hate him. I want to pull him apart, limb from limb, in front of all his fancy guests. Just wait until they realize their precious councilor-to-be is a bloody murderer. It would serve all of them right to be killed.”

“Damon, listen to me,” I said urgently, leading him away from the property. “I noticed something tonight. His necklace. Did you see it?”

“No, I wasn’t paying attention to his jewelry,” Damon said as we hurried into the street. Mist swirling beneath the gaslights cast a ghostly shadow on his face. I pulled him away from the light. It wasn’t safe for him to be seen.

“He had a necklace like our rings,” I said pointedly. Finally, realization flickered in Damon’s eyes.

“Katherine,” he said finally.

The name hung between us, as palpable as the cobblestones under our feet. A shiver crept up my spine.

“He must have known her. He must have,” I said. I twisted my ring around my finger. The inside was tarnished, and there was a slight crack in the stone from one of the many bloody battles Damon and I had fought. But it was my lifeline to normalcy—and Damon’s, too. Without our rings, we would be bound to the darkness, unable to walk in the sun without bursting into flames. Damon’s ring was darker and even more tarnished, the silver nearly black. But the stone was just as blue as mine. As blue as the stone in Samuel’s necklace.

Damon nodded, a faraway expression on his face. I knew in his mind, he was back in the carriage house in Mystic Falls, Virginia. He was curling a lock of Katherine’s hair around his finger, planting a kiss on her porcelain cheek, or arching his neck in just the right way to allow her to…

I stopped imagining.

“Do you think … did Katherine ever mention Samuel?” I asked tentatively. A coach drove by, its well-dressed passengers most likely on their way to Samuel’s house.

Damon shook his head. “Katherine never mentioned any other man to me,” he said sharply. The end of the sentence went unspoken: Even you.

“She never said anything to me, either. Have you seen a stone like that anywhere else besides on our rings or Katherine’s necklace?”

“What does it matter?” Damon asked angrily, his voice piercing the night air. He threw up his hands. “All it proves is that the three of us shared the same dead vampire.” He kicked at the ground, sending a shower of pebbles further into the street. He lowered his voice. “I’m more of a man and more of a beast than Samuel ever was, or ever will be. And I want him to know that.” He turned on his heel and walked back toward the house.

“What are you doing?” I called.

Damon whirled around. “To hell with planning and plotting. I’m going to do exactly what I should have done in the first place. You were right, brother. Vampires can’t be trusted.”

“No!” I lunged at him. His expression was one I’d seen countless times. It was the same look he’d worn when he killed Callie and when he announced his intention to kill the Sutherland clan. He was out for blood, and I knew that if he attacked Samuel now, he’d be the one to end up dead.

But before either of us could make another move, we were interrupted by the crash of a door slamming shut. A girl wearing a jewel-encrusted blue dress stumbled out, blinking confusedly. I sniffed the air. I could sense her blood was wine-heavy, hear her heart beating erratically.

She wa

lked unsteadily toward the line of coaches arranged like children’s models around the vicinity of the property.

Damon let out a low whistle in the darkness. I grabbed his arm and dug my fingers into his flesh. What was he doing? Now was not the time for Damon to fulfill his urges.

The girl turned around, wavering on her feet as she looked around for the source of the noise.

“Sarah!” Damon called. “Over here!”

“Do you know her?” I muttered under my breath, not sure which answer would be worse.

“Just watch,” Damon whispered through gritted teeth.

The girl stumbled toward us, her hands smoothing her skirts over the curve of her hips. “Why, I’m not Sarah…” she said, trailing off as her gaze landed on Damon’s rich clothes. “Although I could be, depending on who’s asking. It’s dreadfully boring in there,” she pouted.

Damon bowed. As he righted himself, he swept his cloak around him with a flourish, masking his features. “Deeply sorry to misidentify you. I’m Lord Fox,” he invented. “And you are?”

“Beatrice!” she hiccupped.