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“But is Damon okay?” Alaric asked, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth.
“Damon’s always all right,” Meredith said swiftly. That wasn’t quite true, of course—Damon had died once—but there was so much going on at the steakhouse Alaric had brought her to that she couldn’t concentrate on their conversation. Alaric had thought it would be nice for them to have a real date night, but Meredith wasn’t sure she was going to be able to cope with the crowd.
The waitress set down their sides—potato, creamed spinach, salad—and Meredith flinched. It was one of her favorite meals, but it smelled terrible, cloying, like sweet-rotting vegetation. The waitress herself, though, smelled delicious, warm and salty and ripe. Meredith averted her eyes and took a tiny sip of ice water. She was always thirsty these days, but if she drank too much water, it made her sick. It wasn’t what her body wanted.
She took a deep breath and concentrated. I am stronger than this, she told herself. She hadn’t fed, not even from an animal. If she drank blood, the vampire inside her would get the upper hand, defeat the real Meredith. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, and she took another sip of water. The vampire would never be the real her. There had to be a way to fix this.
Behind her, plates clattered and Meredith jumped. She could hear twenty different conversations, all overlapping one another—why don’t you think it’s a good idea, I’d better call the sitter and let her know, the client isn’t always right, you know what I mean, I don’t think she’s as hot as she thinks she is, we’d been trying and trying, did you see the preview for, not potatoes, rice, well, why did you come, then—on and on, and it was making it really hard to concentrate. There was a sudden, raucous burst of laughter from the table in the corner, and Meredith flinched again. If this was how vampires experienced the world, she didn’t know how they ever managed to focus.
And the smells. Half of them were sickening—the food, someone’s overly floral perfume, the harsh cleanser they’d used on the carpet—but the warm, living smell of the other diners was tantalizing.
It was way too bright in here. Meredith pressed a hand to her temple.
“Are you okay?” Alaric asked, his golden-brown eyes warm with concern. “I thought this would take our minds off everything that’s been going on. ”
Determinedly, Meredith yanked her attention away from a disturbing medical conversation three tables away. “I’m great,” she answered, forcing a smile. “You’re right, this is a nice night away from it all. ”
She couldn’t tell him. Every time she tried to open her mouth and confide in Alaric, the one person she loved most in the world, it felt like a rough hand was squeezing her lungs, leaving her breathless and silent. He’d stood by her through so much. She was a hunter, with all the danger that entailed. She’d had to kill her own brother, and it had scarred her, made her angry and silent for a while. Law school ate up so much of her time and energy. She was uptight and hard to please. They had survived all that, but this—this was different. She was going to fix this, somehow. He would never have to know.
Alaric smiled. “Try your steak,” he suggested. “Rare enough for you?”
Hesitantly, she picked up her fork and knife and cut into it. She did like her steaks rare, she always had. It was red and juicy inside, almost bloody. She was so hungry. And Alaric was watching her, his forehead furrowing into a frown of concern. Meredith cut off a piece of meat and put it into her mouth.
Bile rose in her throat, and Meredith stifled a gag. It was foul, like she’d bitten into something rotten. Pretending to wipe her lips, Meredith spat the bite into her napkin and smiled half-heartedly at Alaric. Her mouth felt coated in rot, and she tried to discreetly scrape her tongue against her teeth.
She’d seen Damon eat human food at least a hundred times. Not very much, but he’d seemed to enjoy it. Even if she was different now, why couldn’t she eat?
Meredith straightened her shoulders, reminding herself that she was strong. She could fight this. If science could cause her to feel this way, then science must be able to fix her.
She had gone back to where Jack had operated on her, but he’d been gone, the operating room just another bland office in a medical center. She hadn’t dared to try the phone number and address on the business card he had given her.
Alaric was saying something, gesturing happily with one hand as he talked, eating more of his own steak. Meredith blinked at him and tried to smile and nod. She couldn’t hear him properly, his voice drowned out by the millions of noises all around them and the welter of scents filling her nose.
Alaric’s smell in particular, warm and fresh. She could hear his heart again, pounding steadily in her ears, her own heart speeding to match it. Her canines slowly began to lengthen, and Meredith clamped her mouth shut. She couldn’t stop staring at the side of his throat, at the tendon and vein there. She imagined leaping across the table and sinking her
fangs into him. She could almost feel how satisfying it would be for Alaric’s flesh to rip beneath her teeth.
Meredith swallowed hard and closed her eyes. I have to fix this, she thought desperately.
The ball slid neatly into the pins, knocking them all down in a perfect strike. “Wooo!” Jasmine whooped. “I am the champion!” Her long dark curls flew out around her as she spun, arms raised in a victory pose.
“Yes, you’re completely awesome,” Matt said, rolling his eyes. “I’m still winning, though. ”
“How can that be possible?” Jasmine said with mock surprise, looking up at the scoreboard over the lane. “Are you cheating?”
Matt laughed. “How could I be cheating?” he asked. “I roll the ball, the ball knocks down the pins, the computer counts how many I knocked down. I’ve gotten five strikes and you’ve gotten one. Don’t be a sore loser. ”
Jasmine raised an eyebrow at him. “Everyone you know is magic. Bonnie or Elena would spell a scoreboard for you any time. ”
“I repeat. Sore. Loser,” Matt said, smiling at her, admiring the flush of her cheeks and her wide, bright eyes. Her curls flew loose and wild around her shoulders, and Matt just wanted to bury his face in them, breathe in the mint-and-citrus scent of her shampoo.
Instead, he stepped closer and brushed his hand against hers. It occurred to him suddenly that, despite every terrible thing that had happened lately, he was happy. He couldn’t help feeling guilty. Stefan had been his friend, his comrade-in-arms, and now he was dead.
What kept him from feeling guiltier, though, was that Stefan would have wanted him to be happy. Stefan had approved of Jasmine. “A very nice girl,” Stefan had called her once, raising a glass and giving Matt that faint, privately amused smile he saved for his more human moments.
And wasn’t it Matt’s turn to find love, finally? He’d spent so long hopelessly infatuated with Elena, and then he’d fallen for poor, doomed Chloe.
After the bleakness of Chloe’s death, Jasmine had been like a gift: funny, smart, and beautiful. And she loved Matt back.
