Лиза Смит - The Return - Midnight

Then he said, “Fire.”

“First,” Meredith asked, “is Damon right? If you go back to animal blood, will you be seriously weakened?”

Stefan smiled. “I’ll be the way I was when I first met you,” he said. “Strong enough to do this.” He bent toward the fire irons right below Damon’s elbow, murmuring absently, “Scusilo per favore” and removed the poker.

Damon rolled his eyes. But when Stefan, in one fluid motion, bent the poker into a shape and then straightened it immediately back and replaced it, Matt could swear that there was ice-cold envy in Damon’s usual poker-player expression.

“And that was iron, which is resistant to all eldritch forces,” Meredith said evenly, as Stefan stepped away from the fireplace.

“But of course he’s been imbibing from you three charming girls for the past few days — not to mention the nuclear powerhouse that dear Elena has become,” Damon said, clapping his hands three times slowly. “Oh…Mutt. Sono spiacente — I mean, I didn’t mean to add you in with the girls. No offense meant.”

“None taken,” Matt said through his teeth. If he could, just once, wipe that flashing, there-and-gone smile off Damon’s face, he would die happy, he thought.

“But, the truth is that you have become a very…willing…donor for Dear Brother, haven’t you?” Damon added, his lips twitching slightly, as if only the strictest control kept him from smiling.

Matt took two steps toward Damon. It was all he could do not to get right up in Damon’s face, even though something in his brain always screamed suicide when he had thoughts like that.

“You’re right,” he said as evenly as possible. “I’ve been donating blood to Stefan just like the girls. He’s my friend, and a couple of days ago he looked like he’d just gotten out of a concentration camp.”

“Of course,” Damon murmured, as if chastened, but then he went on in even softer tones, “My little brother has always been popular with both — well, with ladies present, I will say genders. Even with male kitsune; which of course is why I am in this mess.”

Matt literally saw red as if he were looking through a haze of blood at Damon.

“Speaking of which, what happened to Sage, Damon? He was a vampire. If we could find him, your problem would be over, right?” Meredith asked.

It was a good riposte, just as all Meredith’s cool responses were. But Damon spoke with his fathomless black eyes fixed on Meredith’s face. “The less you know and say about Sage, the better. I wouldn’t speak of him lightly — he has friends in low places. But to answer your question: No, I would not let Sage make me into a vampire. It would just complicate things.”

“Shinichi said good luck on finding out who he is,” Meredith said, still calm. “Do you know what he meant by that?”

Damon shrugged fluidly. “What I know is my own business. He spends time in the lowest and darkest of the Dark Dimensions.”

Bonnie burst out, “Why did Sage go? Oh, Damon, did he go because of us? Why did he leave Talon and Saber to watch over us, then? And, oh — oh — oh, Damon, I’m so sorry! So, so sorry!” She slid off the love seat and bent her head so that only strawberry curls were visible. With her small pale hands on the floor to brace her, she looked as if she were about to bow her head to the ground at his feet.

“This is all my fault and everyone’s angry — but it was just so horrible I had to believe the worst things I could think of!”

It was a tension-breaker. Nearly everyone laughed. It was so Bonnie, and so true of all of them. So human.

Matt wanted to pick her up and put her back on the love seat. Meredith was always the best medicine for Bonnie. But as Matt found himself reaching for her, he was confounded by two other pairs of hands doing the same thing. One was Meredith’s own long, slender olive-skinned hands, and the other pair were male, with even longer tapering fingers.

Matt’s hand clenched into a fist. Let Meredith take her, he thought, and his clumsy fist — somehow — got in the way of Damon’s reaching fingers. Meredith lifted Bonnie easily and sat back on the love seat. Damon lifted his dark eyes to Matt’s and Matt saw perfect comprehension there.

“You really ought to forgive her, Damon,” Meredith, ever the impartial referee, said bluntly. “I don’t think she’ll be able to sleep tonight otherwise.”

Damon shrugged, cold as an iceberg. “Maybe…someday.”

Matt could feel his muscles clench. What kind of bastard said that to little Bonnie? Because of course she was listening.

“Damn you,” Matt said under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Damon’s voice was no longer languid and falsely polite, but suddenly a whiplash.

“You heard me,” Matt growled. “And if you didn’t, maybe we’d better go outside so I can say it louder,” he added, soaring on the wings of bravado.

He left behind a wail of “No!” from Bonnie, and a gentle “Sh,” from Meredith.

Stefan said, “Both of you—” in a commanding voice, but then he faltered and coughed, which both Matt and Damon took as a chance to sprint for the door.

It was still very warm outside on the boardinghouse porch. “Is this the killing ground?” Damon asked lazily when they had descended the steps and stood beside the gravel path.

“It’s fine by me,” Matt said briefly, knowing in his bones that Damon would fight dirty.

“Yes, this is definitely close enough,” Damon said, flashing an unnecessarily brilliant smile in Matt’s direction. “You can yell for help while little brother is in the parlor, and he’ll have plenty of time to rescue you. And now we’re going to solve the problems of what you’re doing in my business and why you are—” Matt punched him in the nose.

He had no idea what Damon was trying to do. If you asked a guy to step outside, then you asked him to step outside. Then you went for the guy. You didn’t stand around talking. If you tried that, you’d be stuck with the label of “coward” or worse.

Damon didn’t seem like the type who needed to be told that.

But then, Damon had always been able to repel any attack on him while he got as many insults as he liked…before.

Before, he’d have just broken every bone in my hand and gone on baiting me, Matt guessed. But now…I’m almost as fast as him, and he simply got taken by surprise.

Matt flexed his hand gingerly. It always hurt, of course, but if Meredith could do it to Caroline, then he could do it to…

Damon?

Damn, did I just take down Damon?

Run, Honeycutt, he seemed to hear the voice of his old coach telling him. Run.

Get out of town. Change your name.

Tried that. Didn’t work. Never even got a T-shirt, Matt thought sourly.

But Damon wasn’t leaping up like a flaming demon from hell, with the eyes of a dragon and the strength of a raging bull to annihilate Matt. It looked and sounded more as if he were shocked and indignant from his disheveled hair to his earthstained boots.

“You…ignorant…childish…” He lapsed into Italian.

“Look,” Matt said. “I’m here to fight, okay? And the smartest guy I ever knew said: ‘If you’re gonna fight, don’t talk. If you’re gonna talk, don’t fight.’” Damon tried to snarl as he knelt up and pulled spiny teasel and prickly sida out of his distressed black jeans. But the snarl didn’t come out quite right. Maybe it was the new shape of his canines. Maybe it just didn’t have enough conviction behind it.

Matt had seen enough defeated guys to know that this fight was over. A strange exaltation came over him. He was going to keep all his limbs and organs! It was a precious, precious moment.

All right, then, should I offer him a hand? Matt wondered, to be answered instantaneously by, Sure, if you’d offer a hand to a temporarily stunned crocodile.