Sanguine Veritas Page 3

  “I still hurt them. I’m not a sword, I’m a person. I can’t pretend to be an innocent tool.”

  “Intent matters,” I argue. “It changes everything. If I slipped up and killed a human, you would feel terrible for me and for the person, but you wouldn’t hate me. You don’t hate Caroline or Damon.”

  He looks up at me suddenly, those sensitive green eyes seeing the truth of all of this. “You’re leaving me for Damon, aren’t you?”

  I have no idea how he figured it out from this conversation. I haven’t even thought about it in so many words. Until he said that, I didn’t even realize that my decision was made.

  It’s crazy how calm and sure I am. Like taking Damon’s blood twice was the magic cure for all the confusion, for everything that was screwed up in my life. Once to become a vampire and once more to see the truth.

  “No. I’m not.” I reach across the broken glass on the table and take his hand. “I’m in love with Damon, and I’m going to tell him that. But I’m not leaving you for him, or him for you.”

  He’s not going to like a lot of this, but there are things that need to be said between us, and I’m not going to let him go today before I at least try to explain all the wrong things I’ve done for the right reasons.

  “Stefan, we never should have dated. I just always felt right with you, like you were supposed to be part of my life. I figured if we weren’t just friends, we should be dating. Those were the only two choices. Even after I realized that wasn’t necessarily true I stayed with you for a lot of reasons, none of them bad. I was happy to be with you, to share that part of your life, to be close to you.”

  “What is it, Elena? If it’s not romantic love, then what is it? Why can’t we stay away from each other? Why did you try so hard to save me if you don’t love me?” he asks, frustrated.

  “I do love you, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I love you like…family.”

  As soon as I say it aloud, it sounds right. It’s not like being friends. That’s been the problem all along. I knew I felt far more for Stefan than that, but it isn’t the passion I feel with Damon that sucks the air out of my lungs when he’s near. Stefan grounds me, calms me. Being with Damon makes every part of me burn more brightly when I’m with him. Not always in a good way, but in a way that makes me feel alive.

  “I feel like you are a huge part of my life, not because of our history but because you belong there. It’s a kind of acceptance that I don’t have to even think about,” I tell him, my eyes urging him to understand. “Come on, Stefan, you have a brother. You know exactly what I mean. If we’d been born into the same family, it would make perfect sense.”

  “Elena, I respect the theory you’re trying for here,” he says skeptically, “but we had sex. Good sex.”

  Even this isn’t enough to shake my certainty. “Sure we did. Teenagers and vampires are known for overactive hormones, and we aren’t related by blood, Stefan. It was fun, and we loved each other, and I’m not going to apologize for that. But it doesn’t mean we were meant to be together.”

  He’s not buying it, but I can’t tell if it is because he thinks anything but romantic love is inadequate, or if he doesn’t believe I can forgive his sins if he can’t.

  “Look, I can prove it,” I tell him. “Take my blood. It shows what you feel, doesn’t it? Not just who you are. In theory, I can lie to you all day long, but my blood can’t.”

  “Elena, if you really can’t keep down animal blood, you’re not well. I shouldn’t take your blood.”

  That is a pretty weak argument. He wants to, I can tell.

  “I don’t feel great, but I’m okay. I’ll feed soon. This,” I gesture between his chest and mine, “is way more important.”

  He squeezes my hand, his deep green eyes quiet on mine. “Only if you take mine, too.”

  I tilt my head at him in silent question.

  “You could believe the best of anyone, Elena. I’m sick to death of lying to you about who and what I am. At this point, it would be a relief to know that you really know me, even if you hate me for it.”

  I regard him in silence for a long moment, so many things passing between us.

  He held me through finding my true parents, and losing them, showed me how to keep going despite my grief. He’s attacked me and saved me and sacrificed himself over and over again. Shared his family and his past and his fears and sorrows with me. Discovered witches and werewolves and curses that threatened our happiness in dozens of ways. He’s made love to me and watched me die. Some husbands and wives that have lived sixty years together haven’t seen the things that we have.

  We have nothing to hide from each other.

  “How? Do we do it at the same time?” I ask.

  “Take mine first,” he says. Because he still thinks I’m going to reject him.

  “Where?” I ask him. “It’s your choice.”

  He holds out his wrist to me. I take his hand and hold the veins in his wrist against my cheek for a moment.

  “I love you,” I tell him, wishing he understood though I can’t blame him. Today is the first day I’ve felt like I understood.

  I fight the urge to hide my face when my fangs spring free and veins trace a latticework out from my eyes. I’m not ashamed of this. I will not be ashamed of what I am, what he is.

  I bite Stefan.

  Chapter 3: Communion

  ELENA

  If Damon was a contradiction, Stefan is a collision. I don’t flinch, because I’m prepared for that. I didn’t lie. I know who he is.

  It’s clearer this time, not the tumble of sensation it was with Damon because now my mind is ready to recognize all that I’m receiving.

  I’m prepared to feel the hellish darkness of the Ripper within Stefan, but it’s a little different than I expected. It isn’t angry. It’s inviting.

  It is the tempting allure of total freedom through chaos and destruction. The power of answering to nothing and no one. Of shrugging off guilt forever and letting your whims become the weather that defines your world.

  Yet his presence feels exactly the same as it always has to me: peaceful, empathetic, comforting.

  The wonder isn’t that he gets peace out of this whirlwind of potential evil, because he doesn’t. He gives it.

  It comes through him so easily that it seems to sometimes escape his notice entirely. He’s absolutely fascinated by goodness: the divine, altruistic, nurturing side of everything. By righteousness. Forgiveness. But even when he’s being his best self, he doesn’t give himself credit for it.

  But still, he watches for the good in everything, in everyone. It feels like…me.

  It’s such a surprise that I almost pull away, but it’s mesmerizing. It’s me, it’s familiar, but twisted by his perception. Brighter, better than I see myself, totally interwoven with his concept of all that is noble and sweet. It’s embarrassing.

  To him, I’m redemption, forgiveness. His last chance to find a loophole away from what he sees as the inescapable burden of his sins.

  It’s not me he needs at all. It’s God.

  I’m sidetracked from this by Damon, swirling through everything else like he is the air in this particular atmosphere. Jealousy, admiration, exasperation, pride. Stefan hates and adores everything that his brother is, wants to beat the hell out of him and would never let anyone else touch him.

  From there, I’m caught by the dizzying spiral of what he feels about Damon and me together. Jealousy, of course. Anger and self-hatred that he’s not enough for me. Resignation, because he knows everything that is good about Damon and of course, of course I would love him better. How could I not? Embarrassment, about something vaguely sexual, and…looks. Because women always look at Damon first.

  Disgust that my goodness should be tainted by contact with all Damon’s sins. A lurking conviction that he despises, that Damon and I are a perfect match.

  Suddenly, I realize I’ve been lost in Stefan for hours, lifetimes. I pull back and stare at him in horr
or, hurriedly wiping my mouth.

  “Did I take too much? Are you okay? How long have I been feeding? Stefan, are you alright?”

  I have no memory of moving, not a hint, but we’re in the living room, on the couch, wound around each other like vines.

  He opens his eyes sleepily. “I’m fine, Elena. It wasn’t long at all.”

  I lose time again for a while, his eyes on mine. It’s not like staring, or even the result of chemistry, like Damon and I get caught up in all the time. It’s more like having a long conversation without words and I’m happy to be absorbed in him for a little longer. I would have to talk for decades to explain everything I saw in him, and I’m glad he doesn’t ask. I feel like he knows, like he can see it written on me. After that, how can there be any secrets between us?

  That makes me remember that I didn’t actually give him my blood and I offer my wrist wordlessly. He takes it and I can see his automatic struggle with all the things blood means to him, all the things I mean to him.

  I remember suddenly, and my hand clenches. He stops and looks at me questioningly.

  “I should warn you,” I realize, feeling uncertainty creep in under the glow from the bloodshare. “Damon took some of my blood. I made him, he didn’t want to. He took just a little bit and sort of threw me away from him like he saw something really terrible. So, I mean, I don’t know if you want to…” My voice trails off. I had forgotten about that in all my worry about Stefan.

  Stefan bends his head in that confiding way he has. “It could have been a lot of things, Elena. I’m sure it wasn’t anything bad. He loves you. Everyone does.”

  I look down. “I’m just saying. It’s up to you.”

  “Well, if you’re comfortable with it, I am,” he says.

  I nod, pushing my wrist into his hand again. It’s only fair, after he bared everything to me, that I do the same.

  I’m sort of in his lap, our legs all tangled together, my shoulders leaning half against him and half against the back of the couch. I settle a little closer, laying my head next to the crook of his neck.

  I can feel it in his body when his fangs sharpen and I have an involuntary flashback to him feeding from me under Klaus’s compulsion. Fear and betrayal smashes through my relaxation, but it fades again in an instant under the weight of my knowledge of him.

  He pierces my flesh and it hurts for a second, and then starts to feel good. My fingertips curl to touch his cheek fondly.

  When Damon took from me, it was over so fast I couldn’t even form an impression. I think I expected it to be electrifying, consuming, like it was when I tasted their blood. Except I’m on the other side of the equation now and it is Stefan. So it feels comforting, like curling up in a velvety pile of blankets and kittens.

  I float in the sensation, wondering what Stefan is seeing. I wonder if I could taste the truth in my own blood. I should ask Damon, but I can’t worry about that right now. I feel too lovely to worry about anything.

  If I ever have to die again, I want it to be like this. Cradled and warm, content.

  Stefan has long since stopped feeding when I become aware of our surroundings again. We’re holding each other, arms and legs all wound together in a way that shouldn’t be comfortable but is. I don’t feel any particular need to move or speak, so I don’t. I hope he found the same peace that I did. I’d give anything for him to feel that.

  Finally I ask, “Why have we been doing anything but that since I turned?”

  Stefan laughs, a rich and untroubled sound and it does my soul good to hear it.

  “I have no idea. Actually, I’ve never done it before.”

  I frown. “Really? Why not?”

  “I didn’t know. Damon was the one who told me about it, after my binge in the twenties. He told me it was better than opium to have your blood taken by another vampire. I am not sure he took blood from them very much, or if he did he didn’t mention it.” Stefan chuckles. “Damon experimented with lots of things in the twentieth century. He loved the sixties. He recommended some things, not others. I didn’t try any of them. Figured if my reaction to blood was any indication, I shouldn’t risk anything else addictive.”

  Stefan toys with my hair while he talks. We’ve never had a conversation like this before. He always has such deep emotional reactions that sometimes we avoid tough topics, but right now we’re both totally blissed out and he speaks easily, lightly. I smile, thinking that he can have my blood every day if it makes him feel better. I wonder if Damon would kill me for offering.

  I still have to try to fix things with Damon. I push that thought away, unwilling to give up this feeling just yet.

  “So you never got to do this at all? Not even with Rebekah?” I ask, nuzzling my head against his shoulder. Nothing about this feels awkward or sexual at all. This is the best way to break up ever. “That’s sad.”

  “When Rebekah and I dated, we weren’t really in a sharing souls kind of relationship,” Stefan says with amused understatement. “I thought about asking Lexi but it was never the right time, and then she met her mate, and it seemed really inappropriate, so I never did.”

  I nod against his shoulder, relaxing.

  When I notice that the angle of light through the windows has changed, I finally lift my head.

  “I should go. Things didn’t end well between Damon and me this morning. I need to talk to him.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. They’re going to need a new door at the Grill, though.” I cringe when I realize they need a new bathroom door. I wish Stefan didn’t have to find out that detail, but town gossip will probably pass it along sooner rather than later.

  We untangle ourselves reluctantly and stand up. I finger-comb my hair, and we sort of meander to the door. I catch sight of the broken glass in the kitchen and dismiss it as unimportant. Jeremy is staying at Matt’s tonight anyway and I’ll clean up later. I open the front door and pause.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I ask Stefan, making an attempt to be serious.

  “Yeah,” he says easily. “Of course.”

  I look at him, a smile spreading across my face, one eyebrow raised, and he starts to laugh.

  “We’re like a couple of junkies!” I giggle, and that really sets us off, until we’re both leaning against opposite sides of the doorframe, cracking up laughing in a way we haven’t together in…I don’t even remember how long.

  He smiles at me, so lighthearted I want to just wrap him up and keep him like this forever, like a living photograph.

  “No, I don’t know.” He runs his fingers through his hair and looks out the open front door. “I’m going to need some time. I expect when this wears off I’m going to be really angry. After that, I’m not sure. Thank you for today. I feel…different. I know that sounds inadequate, but after you’ve lived as long as I have, any change at all is kind of a miracle.”

  I nod, and hope that means what I think it means. If nothing else, I’m glad he knows I love him, that I really do forgive him. That someone can. That he should, too.

  “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

  “Okay,” he says with his gentle smile and heads down the steps. He stops on the top one and says, without turning around, “I won’t be back to the boarding house until tomorrow. Just so you know.”

  And then he keeps going. But his shoulders aren’t bent, hunched against the world as they usually are.

  I lean against the doorframe and watch him go, the smile slowly fading from my face.

  Chapter 4: The Door

  ELENA

  By the time I show up at the boarding house, all the blissful lassitude from the blood sharing has worn off in the face of my worry about Damon and what on earth I’m going to say to him. I almost convince myself to wait for another day, but if Stefan already knows, that’s not such a good idea.

  I go to the door, but I’m too nervous to let myself in this time. I knock instead.

  Damon opens the door and looks thunderously angry within a q
uarter of a second of recognizing me.

  “What? What else can you possibly be here for?” he spits at me.

  “The truth,” I tell him weakly. It might be too late, but I owe it to him to tell him.

  “You want the truth?” he shouts. “The thing I want to give you is the only thing you don’t want to take from me. That’s the fucking truth!”

  He slams the door in my face, but this one is sturdier than the one at the Grill and it doesn’t break.

  My hands rise and press against the wood as if possessed by desires of their own, as disbelieving as my mind that the period at the end of our sentence is this unyielding door.

  I sink to the ground, curling against the wood because it as close as I’m going to get to him. My eyes are overflowing with tears in an instant, stinging with all the anger in his voice. I hate crying. I hate all of this.

  “Don’t cry on my porch, Elena. That’s low.” I can hear his voice through the door.

  I hear him sigh, the sound closer to my ear now, as if he is sitting on the floor, leaning against the other side of the door.

  “You know, if I thought you were a sadist, I would buy you a leather corset and a whip and tell you to have at me, but this? What the hell is this, Elena?”

  I bite my lips and swallow my tears, taking deep breaths until I can trust my voice.

  “I’m sorry, Damon. It’s just that I didn’t understand about blood sharing and once I did, the truth of everything just sort of slapped me in the face. It’s sort of impossible to ignore when you taste it in someone’s blood.”

  “Taste what?” he asks, with the same voice as someone would use to ask what kind of dead creature you just found in their sock drawer.

  “How I really feel about you and Stefan.”

  “Got that memo. Now get off my porch.”

  “I love you, Damon,” I blurt out.

  The door has no reaction to this.

  “By the time I realized how I felt about you, I was already with Stefan and I couldn’t do anything without hurting one of you. So I did what I always do. I let you play the bad guy because I couldn’t, Damon, and I’m so, so sorry.”