Лиза Смит: Bloodlust

I put my lips to the goblet. The brackish liquid tasted nothing like sweet, full-bodied human blood, but it was warm. And it contained something human blood never would: a dull spark of redemption. The more of this I drank, the less human blood would run through me.

I wasn’t naïve, though. Guilt would always flow through my veins. I’d killed too many in my short time as a vampire, destroyed too many lives. Whether or not I drank from her, Callie’s death was on my hands as well. I should have turned my back on her, told her I never wanted to see her. But I’d been weak.

“Good boy,” Lexi murmured as I finished drinking from the cup.

I didn’t feel good. I felt sick and scared and unsure of what to do. Damon was still out in the world, somewhere, and Callie’s blood was running through his veins. My stomach tightened.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, searching Lexi’s eyes for answers. But Lexi was silent.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said finally. “But I do know you’re a good man.”

I sighed, ready to point out that I wasn’t a man at all, I was a monster. But Lexi stood up and gathered the mugs from the night table.

When I woke up, I could tell from the light streaming through the crack in the curtains that it was daylight. I swung my feet onto the hardwood floor and grabbed the neat pile of clothes from the shopping trip with Lexi. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

I put on a new shirt, slicked my hair back, and put the rest of the clothes in a makeshift carrying case formed from my tattered shirt from Mystic Falls—the only item I still had from my old life.

I glanced around the room, my eyes taking in the familiar layers of dust in the corners. I wondered how many vampires had passed through this house and whether Lexi would find another young vampire to take under her wing. I hoped, for his sake as well as hers, that he’d have a better time in this city of sin than I had had.

Lexi was sitting in the living room. In her hands was the portrait of her brother. As soon as I stepped in, she glanced up.

“Stefan,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I cut in. And I was, for all of it. For coming to New Orleans. For disrupting her life. For bringing danger to the tiny spot of security the vampires had managed to carve out.

“I’m not. It was a privilege to have you.” Her gaze turned serious. “I’m sorry about Callie—and about your brother.”

“He’s not my brother anymore,” I said quickly.

Lexi set down the portrait on the coffee table. “Perhaps not anymore. But as you said yourself, he was for your whole human life. Can you remember that and forget the rest?”

I shrugged. I didn’t want to remember Damon. Not now, not ever.

Lexi crossed the room and put her hand on my arm. “Stefan, missing humans and your human life hurts. But it does get easier.”

“When?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

She glanced back at the portrait on the table. “I’m not sure. It happens gradually.” She paused, then laughed, the sound so innocent and lighthearted that I wanted to sit down and stay at the house forever. “Let me guess. You want it to happen now.”

I smiled. “You know me well.”

Lexi frowned. “You need to learn to slow down, Stefan. You have an eternity ahead of you.”

A silence fell between us, the word eternity clanging in my ears.

With a jerk, I pulled Lexi into a hug, inhaled the comforting aroma of our friendship, then sped out of the house without a glance back.

Once outside, I chastised myself for my sentimentality. I had much to atone for, and feeling sorry for myself was self-indulgent. I paused at the spot on the street where Callie had died. There was no bloodstain, nothing to mark the fact that she’d even existed. I knelt down, glancing over my shoulder before I kissed the pavement.

Then I stood up and began to run, faster and faster. It was dawn, and the city was just waking up. Messenger boys zipped by on delivery bikes, and Union soldiers marched through the streets, their rifles nestled in their arms like infants. Vendors were already setting up on the sidewalk, and the air smelled like sugar and smoke.

And, of course, like the tangy scent of blood and iron.

I quickly reached the train station, where the platform was already bustling. Men in morning coats sat on worn wooden benches in the waiting area, reading newspapers, while women nervously clutched their purses. The entire station had an air of festive transience. It was the perfect hunting ground. And before I could help it, my fangs protruded from my gums.

Bowing my face into my hands, I counted to ten, fighting the hunger that raced through me and waiting for my teeth to click back into their human form.

The whistle blew, and the train roared into the station, kicking up a cloud of dust and breaking me out of my reverie.

I followed the soldier on board, wondering if he and his lover would experience a happy ending. I took solace in knowing, at least, that should they not, it would not be because of me.

I entered the coach compartment.

“Ticket, sir?” a conductor asked, holding out his hand.

I locked eyes with him, my stomach turning with disgust at having to rely on my Power.

Let me pass. “I showed it to you,” I said aloud. “You must have forgotten.”

Once I stopped drinking human blood, I became even better at hearing a heartbeat, knowing in an instant, from the speed of a pulse, whether a human was sad or annoyed or in love. Not that I was around humans very much. After I left New Orleans, I truly was a creature of the night, sleeping during the day and venturing into the outside world only when humans were safe in their beds, fast asleep. But occasionally I’d hear a quickening heartbeat and know that someone was climbing from a window or sneaking out a door to meet a lover, stealing a few moments of intimacy.

That was the hardest sound to hear. Whenever I did hear it, I was reminded of Callie, of her fluttering heart and quick smile. Of how alive she was, and how she was not afraid to be in love with me despite my true nature. Now, when I think of our plan to escape, I can’t help but laugh bitterly at myself for ever thinking it could have been a possibility. It had been the same foolish mistake I’d made when I’d fallen in love with Katherine, believing that humans and vampires could love each other, that our differences were just a minor detail that could be easily solved. But I wouldn’t fall into that trap a third time. Whenever vampires and humans dared to love each other, death and destruction were sure to follow. And I had enough blood on my hands to last an eternity.

I would never know the extent of the harm Damon was causing in the world. Sometimes I’d see a newspaper article or hear snatches of conversation about a mysterious death, and my mind would instantly jump to my brother. I’d listen for him, too, always waiting to hear him call “Brother” in his exaggerated drawl.

But mostly I listened to myself. The longer I subsisted on animal blood, killing the odd squirrel or fox in a forest, the more my Power ebbed, until it was simply a faded thrum in the background of my being. Without Power, I lost the electric sense of feeling alive, but the guilt I would carry for the rest of my existence had dulled around the edges. It was a trade-off, one of many I’d learned to make, and one of many more I’d have to make in the eternity that stretched in front of me.

So I made the vow to always keep moving, to never stay in one place too long or grow too close to anyone. That is the only way I’ll do no harm. Because God help us all if I ever fall in love with another human . . .