The Ripper (Page 36)

I knew she wanted to feed. I remembered the agonizing hunger I’d felt when I’d woken up in transition. She was breathing in loud, staccato gasps as she rose to her knees, then her feet. I moved forward to help her.

"Shhh," I said, wrapping my arms around her body. "Shhh," I repeated, running my hands through her tangled hair, wet with sweat and blood.

"You’re safe," I lied. Of course she wasn’t.

A few yards away, on a neighboring dock, I saw a smal skiff, most likely used to transport cargo from one side of London to the other, bobbing in the gentle waves of the Thames. I had the wild thought to take it, to head as far as we could down the river, to just get away.

"What’s happening to me?" Violet gasped each word, clutching her throat.

"You’l be okay, Violet. But please, tel me, who did this to you?" I asked.

"I don’t know," she said, her face crumpling. Blood was running from her neck, drying into a pattern on the side of her dress that would have been almost pretty if one hadn’t known how it was formed. Her face was white and chalky, and she kept licking her lips. "I was going to the bar. And then he pul ed me to him for a dance, and . . . that’s al I can remember," Violet said, wringing her hands together and gazing imploringly at me.

"Who’s ‘he’?" I asked urgently.

"Damon," she said, hardly able to stifle her cries. A scene flitted into my mind: Violet, so excited to have Damon pay attention to her. Violet, al owing Damon to escort her to the bar and order her a drink. Violet, nervous and coquettish, waiting to hear what Damon had to say. And then Damon licking his lips, lunging, and drinking, leaving Violet behind for me to find.

You always help a damsel in distress. Damon’s mocking phrase rang in my ears. He’d left her for me to find, just as if we were children playing hide-and-seek.

"I’m so thirsty," Violet said, leaning over the edge of the dock and cupping her hands to capture some of the dirty water flowing in the Thames. I watched as she put her hands to her mouth, and saw an expression of disgust cross her face. She knew something was terribly wrong. "Stefan . . . I don’t feel wel . I think I need a doctor," she said, cradling her head in her hands and rocking silently back and forth.

"Come with me," I said, pul ing Violet into a hug. I could feel shivers wracking her body, and saw tears were fal ing from her large eyes. I knew she was confused and disoriented, and this filthy dock was no place to explain to her what was happening.

I hoisted her up and walked us to the skiff that was resting in the water. I gently placed her on its floor. She blinked a few times and let out a shuddery sigh.

"Am I dead?" she asked, her hand reaching out toward mine. I closed my fingers over hers. I tried to remember back to my own death. I’d felt hazy and confused as wel , coupled with the grief and guilt of losing Katherine. Then, when I’d made the ful transition, I’d felt fast, sharp. Inhuman.

"Yes," I said. "You’re dead."

Violet flopped back down and closed her eyes.

"It hurts so much," she whimpered as she slumped against the side of the boat in exhaustion. Her body couldn’t take the transition.

I felt anger slice through my stomach. Damon needed to pay for this.

I took a piece of muslin, most likely used to repair sails, from the side of the boat and pul ed it over her body like a blanket. She was sleeping now, and I knew she didn’t have the strength to run off. She sighed and burrowed into the cloth while I jumped off the skiff and tore back into the party.

As soon as I walked back into the smoky warehouse, I could hear my brother’s voice above the din, laughing and making fun of the ridiculous expedition Lord Ainsley had planned in India. Not caring who saw me, I used my vampire speed to reach him. He was laughing with Samuel and Henry. Cora clung to his every word.

"You ought to go to India, too, Damon. You’re always complaining you’ve had enough of London society," Henry said, raising his champagne toward Damon. "Maybe an adventure would do you good."

"Yes, you could try your luck at snake charming," Samuel suggested. "You already have proven your talent for charming women." At this, Damon laughed appreciatively. Fury rose up inside me. How dare he laugh and joke only minutes after he’d attacked Violet and set her on the path we’d both regretted taking.

"You," I growled, dragging my brother out by the arm and toward the al ey that led down to the docks, empty except for a far-off vagrant sleeping with a bottle of whiskey clutched against his chest.

"Ah, a moonlit conversation by the waterfront. How picturesque. What’s the special occasion?" Damon asked, arching a dark eyebrow.

I recoiled. I hated everything about him. I hated his affected Virginia drawl that he put on in my presence as if to make fun of our polite upbringing, the way he twisted words even if he was the only one who’d get the joke, and the way he made a mockery out of everything, including human life.

"You are dead to me," I growled, grabbing him with al my might and throwing him toward the opposite wal , satisfied to hear his skul cracking against the concrete. He slumped, ragdol -like, before standing up, his eyes flashing in the darkness. He took a quick step toward me, then stopped and laughed softly.

"Someone’s found his strength again," Damon said, stil rubbing his temple. The wound had closed almost instantaneously, leaving nothing but smooth, pale flesh. "Why so upset? Didn’t find the murderer you were looking for?" Damon mocked in a low voice.

"No more games. You’re the kil er!" I spat, rage boiling in my veins. I wanted to hurt him. But the trouble was, nothing would.

"I am, am I?" Damon asked nonchalantly. "Tel me, how did you reach that conclusion, Detective Salvatore?" So this was how he’d decided to torment me now. No more blows or fights or battles, just psychological torture. Wel , he’d succeeded.