The Vampire Diaries: Stefan’s Diaries #3: The Craving (9 page)

T
he reception was held in a different grand hall. My brother, Lydia, Bridget, and I formed a receiving line by the entrance to thank and greet our guests. Damon put it on a bit, bowing and pretending to know people he didn’t. Compelling them into thinking he was an old friend, no doubt. While Bridget showed off her ring, Lydia gave everyone warm kisses or handshakes or smiles, whatever their relationship dictated. She even laughed when Bram tried to snatch a “farewell” kiss. Bridget stood by her side, beaming with what looked like genuine joy.

“Thank you for coming today,” I said time and time again, the words tasting like chalk on my tongue. “We’re so glad you could come celebrate with us. My thanks for being here today. Pleased to meet you, thank you so much for being here.”

“Stefan
Salvatore
?” demanded a matron in an almost unmoving thick gray silk dress and pearls, holding on to my hand for longer than was strictly necessary. She pronounced the
e
at the end of my last name and fixed me with an eye as stony as her skirts.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, giving her as warm a smile as I could.

“Of the
Florentine
Salvatores? Prince Alessandro?”

“I’m not rightly sure, ma’am,” I answered, trying to keep my smile. “When my father came to this country he declared himself an American. He didn’t keep up with our old relations.”

Her eyes widened and her grip on my hand became loose. “An
immigrant
. How charming.” She didn’t smile and pulled her hand out of my grasp, moving on.

Several hundred people later we finally got to sit down. The bride and groom’s table was festooned with palm fronds and garlands of huge flowers, and was covered with every expensive delicacy you could want to eat—or show off that you could afford. There was a seafood appetizer of oysters and other delicacies including Scottish smoked salmon and Russian caviar. Then came a main course that consisted of an absolutely staggering number of dead animals: roast beef, quail, venison, pheasant, woodcock, duck, lamb, roast pork, hot and cold, braised and grilled, minced and sautéed, sliced and in pies.

It was all crowned off by a wedding cake, five tiers of the finest fruitcake covered in fondant and decorated with scrolls, swoops, columns, and sugar birds. The black-jacketed waiters poured glass after glass of champagne, and everyone chatted gaily. But my muscles were tied in knots. The “wedding” was officially over. Damon and I were legally married into the Sutherland family. It was only a matter of time before he began the next phase of his plan—whatever that ended up being.

“Darling, get me a glass of water, would you?” Lydia was asking my brother, touching him tenderly on the cheek.

“In
some
ceremonies, it’s the lady’s place to love, honor, and
obey
. Shouldn’t you be getting one for me, little wife?” he smiled, but in a way I didn’t like.

“Of course! Anything for you, dear,” Lydia said. “Water, wine . . .”

“Blood?” Damon prompted.

Lydia laughed. “If you wish, it’s my command.”

Bridget didn’t eat any of the expensive repast, leaping up from the table constantly to talk to her friends, holding out her hand and showing off her ring. I spent most of dinner nervously pushing very expensive food around a very expensive plate with a very expensive, very heavy silver fork, never taking my eyes off Damon.

As dessert came out, Bram took pity on me and sat down in Bridget’s place for a moment.

“Congrats, old chap,” he said, shaking my hand. “You and Damon snagged two of the best New York has to offer.”

I nodded miserably.

“Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland are just terrific. And Margaret . . . well, she’s a spitfire, but I trust you’ll be able to win her over eventually.”

My head snapped up. “Have you noticed anything, er, odd about Margaret?” Bram had known the Sutherlands since he was born. Perhaps he had some insight into what made Margaret able to withstand Damon’s charms.

Bram scratched his floppy black curls. “Odd?”

“Yes, she’s different from the others. Stronger,” I said leadingly.

Bram let out a rueful laugh. “That’s for sure. One time when we were younger, I stole her favorite doll to use it as a nurse in a war game with my brother. I swear, the look she gave me! She didn’t even have to touch me to send a painful shock through my entire body. Needless to say, I never played with her toys again.”

“She was able to hurt you without touching you?” I pressed, trying to put the pieces together.

But just then, Winfield tapped me on the shoulder and nodded toward a back room. Damon came with us, a mock-serious look on his face. As we quietly filed past the guests and down a side corridor, I strained to look out the windows. Through trees and towers I could see the mighty Hudson and the Palisades, a golden sun shining down on the sparkling river, the green forests, boats and barges parading slowly up and down the water. I almost did feel like a king surveying his countryside, since marrying into this family set me into the top of New York’s highest society.

We entered a dark-paneled smoking room, and Winfield immediately set about pouring some ruby-red sherry. Damon pulled out a silver flask and right there in front of Winfield spiked his drink with blood.
Human
blood.

“To marriage eternal,” Damon said, raising his glass.

Winfield agreed energetically. “To marriage.”

I just nodded and tossed back the drink, hoping the cool liquid would sate my thirst.

“There’s a serious matter I need to talk to you lads about.” Winfield settled his frame into a large desk chair. Damon leaned forward expectantly. I tensed in my seat, ready for whatever would come next.

“The matter of a dowry.”

I squeezed my hands together. Damon grinned, exposing his gleaming canines. He threw himself on to a velvet couch. “Just what I was going to ask you about, Father. You don’t mind me calling you that, do you?”

“Not at all, my boy,” Winfield said, offering Damon a cigar.

My brother took it, carefully trimming and lighting the end in a matter so professional I wondered where
he picked up the habit.

The two sat puffing for a moment, releasing large clouds of smoke into the tiny room. I coughed. Damon, enjoying my discomfort, took the effort to blow a smoke ring my way.

“Now here’s the thing. I want you two boys to be able to stand on your own two feet. My girls deserve real men, and if anything should happen to me, I want to make sure they’re taken care of.”

“Of course,” Damon said, out the corner of his mouth, around the cigar.

“I have several mines in Virginia; one is gold. They could use some managing. And then there are the railway shares I’ve bought into . . .”

My brother widened his eyes. I looked away, unable to bear watching him compel this poor man. “
I would prefer cash
,” he said.

“All right, that seems reasonable,” Winfield said without pause or even blinking. “An annuity, then? A living salary?”

“
Up front. All of it
,” Damon said pleasantly.

“One twentieth of my estate, capital, and holdings, then?” Winfield asked politely.

“
More like a quarter
.”

An automaton, Winfield mindlessly agreed to everything Damon suggested.

But I couldn’t figure it out—would this keep Winfield safe? Would Damon just keep him around, ordering whatever he pleased out of him?

“I’m glad you’re so concerned about taking care of my girls in the manner to which they have been accustomed,” Winfield said, but his voice sounded hollow, as if somewhere some tiny part of his mind knew something was terribly wrong.

The poor man drew out some checks and a pen. In a moment it was done, and Winfield presented me with a check with so many zeroes on it, it was barely readable.

Damon bared his teeth in something that was less a grin than a rictus of victory. He stood up, holding his glass of blood-laced sherry next to me. The smell was intoxicating. It took every ounce of my strength not to leap up and drain the cup.

And then Winfield said the most amazing, banal thing in the world.

“Those checks will take a while to clear,” he apologized, unaware of how those eight words might have just saved his life.

Damon glowered, thunderheads in his eyes. It was a look of angry frustration that was famous in Mystic Falls, and something no one wanted to be responsible for causing. It was a dangerous thing to disappoint my brother. He crumpled the check in his hands
.

“You didn’t mention that before,” he growled, waving the sherry under my nose. I stiffened, my thirst making my fangs burn.

“I’m going to have to sell a great deal of my estate, capital, and holdings to get the cash to back this,” Winfield answered so plaintively it made me sick.

“
So do it!
” Damon ordered. But I was no longer paying attention. I had to get out of the room. My Power reacted to my hunger—to my anger—and I felt the beginnings of a change.

“I have to . . .” I didn’t even bother making up an excuse.

I pushed my way out of the room, past my evil brother and our sad father-in-law, out of the castle, and into the black night where I belonged.

T
here were two hundred blocks between the Richards’ mansion and downtown New York City. Just under ten miles. But moving like a vampire isn’t like running in a normal sense, especially as I had just drained one of the Richards’ goats. If I was a blur to the world, so was the world to me. My head was down as I spent my entire focus on avoiding the obstacles right before me and trying to exhaust myself. Down from the rocky cliffs and heights of Fort Tryon with its cool trees, and through the valley that separated it from the rest of the city. Back into civilization, the unpaved dirt roads that smelled of dust and plants, particularly the tobacco I recognized from my native Virginia.

After enduring a week of waiting and watching and trying to outthink my brother, I just wanted it to all be over.

And now it wasn’t.

Damon couldn’t kill Winfield until the cash was available, and who knew how long that was going to be. In the meantime I had to stay with Bridget, keep tabs on the Sutherlands, pretend to be happily married, and continue to try and figure out Damon’s endgame.

I was caught in a web of guilt; every move of mine stuck another limb deeper. I just wanted to break free.

I wish I could live in solitude. If I had to live out eternity as a vampire, at the very least I could leave no evidence of it. No deaths, no injury, no hurt, no evidence of my unnatural existence at all. I was running from myself, my new self, and could never escape, just as I ran from Damon, my shadow in this endless afterlife.

The scent of nature soon gave way to the reek of sewage and rot that clung to even rich neighborhoods. In the alleyways behind the giant houses, servants dumped slop out into back streets and milk carts left fresh dairy products on back steps. All they would notice was a strange rush of wind, a vacuum that had been created in my passing, a momentary darkening against a brick wall like a cloud had passed over the sun.

In the Garment District my nose was assailed by the harsh tang of chemicals and the singeing of fibers as young women cut, sewed, and dyed cloth in the factories that were beginning to replace the farms in New York City. Leaning against the fire escape with their sleeves pushed up, small clusters of these young women smoked cigarettes on their precious breaks.

As I tore by one girl, cutting it very close, my tail wind snuffed out her match. I looked back to see her staring, confused, at the feather of smoke.

Soon I was overcome by the smell of human flesh and waste. Of horse manure and flickering gas lamps. Of industry, print and ink and black smog, of the river, briny fish, and finally a fresh breeze. These were the only details of the city I took in, all sounds and sights muted to a roaring black and white. Expensive perfume and flowers. Butchered meat and smoky bacon. Lemon and ginger . . .

I stopped suddenly, in the middle of Washington Square. That was Katherine’s perfume.

A hand clasped my shoulder, and I spun around expectantly.

But instead of seeing the dark curls of the woman who had made me, I found myself face-to-face with Damon, who stood there, one eyebrow raised in condescending amusement.

My face fell and I slumped, exhaustion and despair overtaking me. I didn’t even bother shaking off his hand. Where was I going to go, really? My brother had followed me all the way up the East Coast. So long as I refused to drink human blood, he would always be stronger, faster than I was. I was only delaying the inevitable by trying to escape whatever he had planned next.

“It’s our wedding night, brother. Where are you off to?” Damon’s voice was sharp.

Exhausted from my marathon of pain and escape, I just stood there. “I was going to come back.”

Damon rolled his eyes. “I’ll get us a cab,” he said, snapping his fingers. One came over immediately.

“Seventy-third and Fifth,” he ordered, through the trap door.

“We’re going to the Sutherlands’?” I asked, confused. “Not the Richards’?”

“We’re going home
,”
Damon corrected. “And yes, the reception’s over. You ran out at the very end.”

“What did you tell Bridget?” I couldn’t help asking. While I didn’t love her, I felt bad about abandoning her at her own wedding. In some ways, it was the worst thing that I could do to a girl like her.

Damon rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. They don’t even realize you’ve gone missing.”

“So you haven’t killed them yet?”

“Whoever said I was going to kill them?” he asked innocently. “Do you think I’m some kind of monster?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, I am what you made me,” Damon said with a tip of his hat.

“You’re not making this any easier,” I muttered.

“You must have me mistaken for someone who cares about making your life easier,” Damon said, suddenly cold, his eyes flashing.

“You know, you’ve taken a lot of effort to make sure you stay in my life,” I pointed out. “Are you sure it’s
just
to make me miserable?”

He stared at me. “What are you getting at?”

“I think you need me, Damon,” I growled. “I think that under your anger, you’re scared and horrified of what you’ve become. I am the last link to your human self, the only person who knows who you are. And I’m the only person
for the rest of eternity
who will.”

Damon narrowed his eyes at me.

“Brother,
you don’t know anything about me
,” he hissed.

He threw the door of the cab open and swung himself up and out. A soft
thunk
indicated he had landed on the roof. I stuck my head out the window and looked up.

I watched with horror as Damon picked up the driver and ripped his neck open, sucking only a mouthful or two before throwing him off the cab and on to the street.

“Damon! Stop!” I yelled, but it was too late. I tried to dive out the door, to go after the injured man, but Damon threw an arm out and pushed me back into the carriage as he sped around a corner.

Perched on top of the cab, mouth covered in blood, Damon whipped the horse into a frothing frenzy. And so we two brothers hurled northward, one driving and one being driven, like Satan compelling the damned.