The Struggle

Stefan meant to kill when he seized Tyler by the neck and sank his fangs in. That had been one of his rules, not to kill, and he wanted to break it.

But another of the toughs came at him before he had quite drained Tyler of blood. The guy wasn’t trying to protect his fallen leader, only to escape. It was his bad luck that his route took him across Stefan’s path. Stefan flipped him to the ground and tapped the new vein eagerly.

The hot coppery taste revived him, warmed him, flowed through him like fire. It made him want more.

Power. Life. They had it; he needed it. With the glorious rush of strength that came with what he’d already drunk, he stunned them easily. Then he moved from one to another, drinking deep and throwing them away. It was like popping tops on a six-pack.

He was on the last when he saw Caroline huddling in the corner.

His mouth was dripping as he raised his head to look at her. Those green eyes, usually so narrow, showed white all around like those of a terrified horse. Her lips were pale blurs as she gabbled soundless pleas.

He pulled her to her feet by the green sashes at her waist. She was moaning, her eyes rolling up in their sockets. He wound his hand in her auburn hair to position the exposed throat where he wanted it. His head reared back to strike – and Caroline screamed and went limp.

He dropped her. He’d had enough anyway. He was bursting with blood, like an overfed tick. He had never felt so strong, so charged with elemental power.

Now it was time for Damon.

He went out of the Quonset hut the same way he’d come in. But not in human form. A hunting falcon soared out the window and wheeled into the sky.

The new shape was wonderful. Strong… and cruel. And its eyes were sharp. It took him where he wanted, skimming over the oak trees of the woods. He was looking for a particular clearing.

Stefan ripped bloody strips out of his arms and heard Damon’s answering scream of pain and anger.

I’m not your weak little brother any more. He sent the thought down to Damon on a stunning blast of Power.And this time I’ve come for your blood.

He felt the backwash of hatred from Damon, but the voice in his mind was mocking.So this is the thanks I get for saving you and your betrothed ?

Stefan’s wings folded and he dived again, his whole world narrowed to one objective. Killing. He went for Damon’s eyes, and the stick Damon had picked up whistled past his new body. His talons tore into Damon’s cheek and Damon’s blood ran. Good.

You shouldn’t have left me alive, he told Damon.You should have killed both of us at once.

I’ll be glad to correct the mistake! Damon had been unprepared before, but now Stefan could feel his drawing Power, arming himself, standing ready.But first you might tell me whom I’m supposed to have killed this time.

The falcon’s brain could not deal with the riot of emotions the taunting question called up. Screaming wordlessly, it plummeted on Damon again, but this time the heavy stick struck home. Injured, one wing hanging, the falcon dropped behind Damon’s back.

Stefan changed to his own form at once, scarcely feeling the pain of his broken arm. Before Damon could turn, he grabbed him, the fingers of his good hand digging into his brother’s neck and spinning him around.

When he spoke, it was almost gently.

"Elena," he said, whispered, and went for Damon’s throat.

It was dark, and very cold, and someone was hurt. Someone needed help.

But she was terribly tired.

Elena’s eyelids fluttered and opened and that took care of the darkness. As for the cold… she was bone-cold, freezing, chilled to the marrow. And no wonder; there was ice all over her.

Somewhere, deep down, she knew it was more than that.

What had happened? She’d been at home, asleep – no, this was Founders’ Day. She’d been in the cafeteria, on the stage.

Someone’s face had looked funny.

It was too much to cope with; she couldn’t think. Disembodied faces floated before her eyes, fragments And so tired.

Better go back to sleep then. The ice wasn’t really that bad. She started to lie down, and then the cries came to her again.

She heard them, not with her ears, but with her mind. Cries of anger and of pain. Someone was very unhappy.

She sat quite still, trying to sort it all out.

There was a quiver of movement at the edge of her vision. A squirrel. She could smell it, which was strange because she’d never smelled a squirrel before. It stared at her with one bright black eye and then it scampered up the willow tree. Elena realized she’d made a grab for it only when she came up empty with her fingernails digging into bark.

Now that was ridiculous. What onearth did she want a squirrel for? She puzzled over it for a minute, then lay back down, exhausted.

The cries were still going on.

She tried to cover her ears, but that did nothing to block them out. Someone was hurt, and unhappy, and fighting. That was it. There was a fight going on.

All right. She’d figured it out. Now she could sleep.

She couldn’t, though. The cries beckoned to her, drew her toward them. She felt an irresistible need to follow them to their source.

Andthen she could go to sleep. After she saw… him.

Oh, yes, it was coming back now. She rememberedhim. He was the one who understood her, who

loved her. He was the one she wanted to be with forever.

His face appeared out of the mists in her mind. She considered it lovingly. All right, then. Forhim she would get up and walk through this ridiculous sleet until she found the proper clearing. Until she could join him. Then they’d be together.

The very thought of him seemed to warm her. There was a fire inside him that few people could see. She saw it, though. It was like the fire inside her.

He seemed to be having some sort of trouble at the moment. At least, there was a lot of shouting. She was close enough to hear it with her ears as well as her mind now.