The Asylum (The Vampire Diaries 18)

“He must have put a spell on the room,” I said slowly. I remembered how small and helpless Cora had looked in that room in the Magdalene Asylum. Even though her arms and legs were free of any chains to bind her, she’d been utterly immobile. She must have been terrified.

“We need to see Ephraim,” I decided. The only thing I knew for certain was that if Samuel had witches on his side, he was capable of anything.

“No!” Cora yelped. “Not Ephraim. I had a bad feeling about him. How do we know that Ephraim isn’t working for Samuel? If my own flesh and blood turned against me, no one can be trusted,” Cora said, setting her jaw. “We need to come up with another plan.”

“Ephraim isn’t Seaver—he won’t hurt you. We need someone who can perform magic on our side. Otherwise, Samuel will have the advantage over us,” I said. I stood up and paced back and forth, willing my mind to come up with a smart trap that would ensnare Samuel and free my brother. But I still felt weak and shaky and utterly unable to concentrate. The rat blood had only taken the edge off my hunger.

“I think you should drink real blood,” Cora said quietly. “Like your brother. Like Samuel. It would make you strong enough to fight him, right? It would make the fight even, like you said.” Her eyes glittered like diamonds in the darkness.

“I can’t!” I exploded, unleashing all the tension I’d held during the day as my voice echoed off the walls of the tunnel, sending rodents skittering to unknown hiding spots. “I can’t control myself. When Damon feeds, he’s smarter and faster. When I feed, all I want is more blood. I can’t think logically or rationally. All I can think of is the next kill. I’m a beast on blood, Cora.”

Cora opened her mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it. “All right. But Stefan,” she said, grabbing my wrist with a surprisingly strong grip, “this is a war, and I won’t have you lose on principle.”

“What do you mean?” I yanked my wrist away as I continued to pace up and down the tunnel. A few nights before, I would’ve heard the far-off moans and heartbeats of other tunnel dwellers. Tonight, there were none, and I was glad they’d moved on. After a day like the one I’d had, the sound of blood rushing against veins would be far too tempting. “It’s more than principle—it’s survival. I don’t drink human blood.”

“I know you don’t. All I meant was that I’d do whatever it took to stop Samuel from taking more innocent lives. And I hope you’d do the same. Maybe drinking human blood would be different for you now. Maybe you could try.”

“I can’t,” I said sharply. “You don’t know what blood does to me. And I don’t want you to find out.”

Cora looked at me indignantly, but I didn’t want to push the subject any further. “We should get some sleep,” I said. I settled on the hard ground on the opposite side of the tunnel. I heard her shaky breathing, but I couldn’t tell if she was shivering or crying. I didn’t ask.

I closed my eyes and pressed my hand to my forehead, a move that did nothing to ease the relentless pounding in my skull. Cora’s suggestion echoed in my mind: Drink human blood.

Could I? I hadn’t in twenty years, not since I was in New Orleans, where I’d sometimes drank the blood of four, five, ten humans a day with little thought to the consequences. I often dreamt of it, the moment when I was bent over a victim, smelling the rushing liquid iron, knowing it was about to run down my throat. Sometimes the liquid was bitter, like strong, black coffee. Sometimes it was sweet, with traces of honey and oranges. It used to be a private, perverse game of mine: to guess the taste before the blood touched my tongue. But no matter what the flavor, the result was the same: With human blood in me, I was stronger, faster.

Ruthless.

And in a way, Cora was right. In the short term, blood could be the fuel to power me in our fight against Samuel. But in the long run, it would destroy me.

I reached across the darkness and allowed my hand to graze Cora’s slim fingers. She gently squeezed my hand, and together, somehow, the two of us fell asleep.

EXCERPT FROM VAMPIRE DIARIES: THE HUNTERS VOL. 1: PHANTOM

1

Glena Gilbert stepped onto a smooth expanse of grass, the spongy blades collapsing beneath her feet. Clusters of scarlet roses and violet delphiniums pushed up from the ground, while a giant canopy hung above her, twinkling with glowing lanterns. On the terrace in front of her stood two curving white marble fountains that shot sprays of water high into the air. Everything was beautiful, elegant, and somehow familiar.

This is Bloddeuwedd’s palace, a voice in her head said. But when she had been here last, the field had been crowded with laughing, dancing partygoers. They were gone now, although signs of their presence remained: empty glasses littered the tables set around the edges of the lawn; a silken shawl was tossed over a chair; a lone high-heeled shoe perched on the edge of a fountain.

Something else was odd, too. Before, the scene had been lit by the hellish red light that illuminated everything in the Dark Dimension, turning blues to purples, whites to pinks, and pinks to the velvety color of blood. Now a clear light shone over everything, and a full white moon sailed calmly overhead.

A whisper of movement came from behind her, and Elena realized with a start that she wasn’t alone after all. A dark figure was suddenly there, approaching her.

Damon.

Of course it was Damon, Elena thought with a smile. If anyone was going to appear unexpectedly before her here, at what felt like the end of the world—or at least the hour after a good party had ended—it would be Damon. God, he was so beautiful. Black on black: soft black hair, eyes black as midnight, black jeans, and a smooth leather jacket.

As their eyes met, she was so glad to see him that she could hardly breathe. She threw herself into his embrace, clasping him around the neck, feeling the lithe, hard muscles in his arms and chest.

“Damon,” she said, her voice trembling for some reason. Her body was trembling, too, and Damon stroked her arms and shoulders, calming her.

“What is it, princess? Don’t tell me you’re afraid.” He smirked lazily at her, his hands strong and steady.

“I am afraid,” she answered.

“But what are you afraid of?”

That left her puzzled for a moment. Then, slowly, putting her cheek against his, she said, “I’m afraid that this is just a dream.”