Лиза Смит - The Return - Midnight

Exactly where his heart was.

Words drifted back to her. Words that someone had once said — although she couldn’t remember who right now. “You can’t kill a vampire so easily. We only die if you stake us through the heart….”

Die? Damon die? This was some kind of mistake…

“Open your eyes!” “Elena, he can’t!”

But she knew, without knowing how, that Damon wasn’t dead. She wasn’t surprised that Stefan didn’t know it; it was a hum on a private frequency between her and Damon.

“Come on, hurry, give me your axe,” she said, so desperately, and with such an air of knowledge that Stefan handed it over wordlessly, and obeyed when she told him to steady the curving spider-leg branch from above and below. Then with a few quick strokes of the axe she cut through the black branch that was thick enough in circumference that she couldn’t have clasped her fingers around it. It was done in a spurt of pure adrenaline, but she knew it awed Stefan and allowed him to let her continue doing it.

When she was finished, she had a loose spider-leg branch that drooped back to the tree, anchored to nothing — and something that looked more like a proper stake in Damon.

It wasn’t until she began pulling upward on the stake that a horrified Stefan made her stop.

“Elena! Elena, I wouldn’t lie to you! This is just what these branches are for. For intruders who are vampires. Look, love — see.” He was showing her another of the spider legs that was anchored in the sand, and the barbs on it. Just like the backward-facing tines of a primitive stone arrowhead.

“These branches are meant to be like this,” Stefan was saying. “And if you pulled up on it hard enough, you’d just — just end up pulling out chunks of — his heart.”

Elena froze. She wasn’t sure she really could understand the words — she couldn’t allow herself to, or she might picture it. But it didn’t matter.

“I’ll destroy it some other way,” she said shortly, looking at Stefan but not able to see the true green of his eyes because of the olive light. “You wait. Just wait and watch. I’ll find a Wings power that will dissolve this — this — damned abomination.”

She could think of many other words to call the stake, but she had to stay in some sort of control.

“Elena.” Stefan whispered her name as if he could barely get it out. Even in the twilight she could see the tears on his cheeks. He continued, nonverbally, Elena, look at his closed eyes. This Tree is a vicious killer, with wood like nothing I’ve ever seen, but I’ve heard about it. It’s…it’s spreading. Inside him.

“Inside him?” Elena repeated stupidly.

Along his arteries and veins — and his nerves — everything connected to his heart. He’s — oh, God, Elena, just look at his eyes!

Elena looked. Stefan had knelt and gently pulled up the lids of Damon’s eyes and Elena began screaming.

Deep in the fathomless pupils that had held endless night skies full of stars, there was a glimmer — not of starlight, but of green. It seemed to glow with its own hellish luminescence.

Stefan looked at her with agony and compassion. And now, with one gentle pass, Stefan was closing those eyes — forever, she knew he was thinking.

Everything had become strange and dreamlike. Nothing made sense anymore.

Stefan was carefully laying Damon’s head down — he was letting Damon go.

Even in her fuzzy world of nonsense Elena knew she could never do that.

And then, a miracle happened. Elena heard a voice in her mind that wasn’t hers.

All this is rather unexpected. I acted, for once, without thinking. And this is my reward. The voice was a hum on their private frequency, Damon’s and hers.

Elena ripped herself away from Stefan, who was trying to restrain her, and fell, grasping Damon’s shoulders with her hands. I knew it! I knew you couldn’t be dead!

It was only then that she realized that her face was dripping wet, and she used her soft leather sleeve to wipe it. Oh, Damon, you gave me such a scare! Don’t you ever, ever do that again!

I think I can give my word on that, Damon sent — in different tones than his usual ones — sober but at the same time whimsical. But you have to give me something in return.

Yes, of course, Elena said. Just let me get some of my hair off my neck. It worked best like this when Stefan was lying down — when we were carrying him out on his pallet from the prisonNot that, Damon told her. For once, angel, I don’t want your blood. I need you to give me your most solemn word that you will try to be brave. If it helps at all, I know that females are better than males at this sort of thing. They’re less cowardly at facing — what you have to face now.

Elena didn’t like the tone of these words. The dizziness that was making her lips numb was traveling all over her body. There was nothing to be brave about. Damon could stand pain. She would find a Wings power that would obliterate all that wood that was poisoning him. It might hurt, but it would save his life.

Don’t talk to me like that! she snapped harshly, before she could remember to be gentle. Everything had begun to float, and she couldn’t even remember why she had to be gentle, but there was a reason. Still, it was difficult, when she was using every ounce of her concentration and strength to search for a Wings power she had never heard of. Purification? Would that take away the wood or would it just leave Damon without his wicked smile? There was no harm in trying it, anyway, and she was getting desperate — because Damon’s face was so pale.

But even the stance for Wings of Purification eluded her.

Suddenly, a huge shudder — a convulsion — went through Damon’s entire body.

Elena heard broken words behind her.

“Love, love — you really have to let him go. He’s living in — in intolerable pain, just because you’re keeping him here,” the voice said, and it was Stefan’s. Stefan, who would never lie to her.

For just an instant Elena wavered, but then a blazing rage came rushing up through her body. It gave her the strength to cry hoarsely, “I…won’t! I won’t ever let him go! Damn you, Damon, you have to fight! Let me help you! My blood — it’s special. It’ll give you strength. You drink it!”

She fumbled for her knife. Her blood was magical. Maybe if she gave enough, it would give Damon the strength to fight off the wooden fibers that were still spreading through his body.

Elena slashed at her throat. Maybe subconsciously she avoided doing more than nicking her carotid artery, but if so it was entirely subconsciously. She simply reached down, found a metal knife, and with one sweep set the blood to gushing out. Bright red arterial blood, that even in the semi-darkness was the color of hope.

“Here, Damon. Here! Drink this. As much as you want — all you need to heal yourself.” She got into the best position that she could, hearing but not hearing Stefan’s horrified gasp behind her at the recklessness of her slashing, not heeding his grip on her.

But — Damon didn’t drink. Not even the heady blood of his Princess of Darkness — and how did the phrase go? It was like rocket fuel compared to the gasoline found in other girls’ veins. Now it just ran out of the sides of his mouth. It flowed onto his pale face, soaking his black shirt and pooling in his leather jacket.

No…

Damon, Elena sent, please. I’m — begging you. Please. I’m begging you for me, for Elena. Please drink. We can do this — together.

Damon didn’t move. Blood spilled into the mouth she’d opened and it filled and spilled out again. It was as if Damon were taunting her, saying, “You wanted me to give up human blood? Well, I have — forever.”