The Compelled Read Free

frustration, unleashing all the tension I’d been holding in. My voice echoed off the walls of the tunnel, sending rodents skittering to unknown hiding spots. A few nights before, I would’ve heard the far-off moans and heartbeats of other tunnel dwellers.Tonight, there were none, and I was glad they’d moved on. The sound of blood rushing against veins would be far too tempting. I took a steadying breath. “I can’t control myself,” I continued more calmly. “When Damon feeds, he’s smarter and faster. When I feed, all I want is more blood. I can’t think logically or rationally. All I can think of is how I’ll hunt my next meal. I’m a beast on blood, Cora.”
    Cora opened her mouth as if to say something, then thought the better of it. “All right. But Stefan,” she said, grabbing my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. “This is war, and I won’t have you lose on principle.”
    “What do you mean?” I tugged my wrist away gently and peered at her. “It’s more than principle—it’s survival. I don’t drink human blood.”
    “I know you don’t. All I meant was that I’ll do whatever it takes to stop Samuel from killing more innocent people. And I hope you’ll do the same. Maybe drinking human blood would be different for you now. Maybe you could try .”
    “I can’t,” I said firmly. “You don’t know what blood does to me. And I don’t want you to find out.”
    Cora looked at me indignantly, but I didn’t want to pursue the subject any further. “We should get some sleep,” I said. I settled on the hard ground on the opposite side of the tunnel. I heard her shaky breathing, but I couldn’t tellif she was shivering or crying. I didn’t ask.
    I closed my eyes and pressed my hand to my forehead, a gesture that did nothing to ease the relentless pounding in my skull. Cora’s suggestion echoed in my mind: Drink human blood.
    Could I? I hadn’t in twenty years, not since I was in New Orleans, where I’d sometimes drank the blood of four, five, ten humans a day with little thought to the consequences. I often dreamt of it, the moment when I was bent over a victim, smelling the rushing, liquid iron, knowing it was about to run down my throat. Sometimes the liquid was bitter, like strong, black coffee. Sometimes it was sweet, with traces of honey and oranges. It used to be a private, perverse game of mine: to guess the taste before the blood touched my tongue. But no matter what the flavor, the result was the same: With human blood in me, I was stronger, faster.
    And ruthless.
    In a way, Cora was right. In the short term, blood could be the fuel to power me to rescue Damon. But in the long run, it would destroy me. And as much as I needed to save Damon, I needed to save myself, too.
    I reached into the darkness and allowed my hand to graze Cora’s slim fingers. She took it and gently squeezed.
    “I know you’ll find a way to save Damon,” Cora said. “…with or without blood.”
    It was meant to be reassuring, but I knew from thehesitancy in Cora’s voice that she was simply trying to make me feel better. She didn’t really believe it—which only made me feel worse.
    I turned to face Cora.
    “I promise, if I need to drink blood, I will. You have my word.”
    Relief flickered in her large eyes. “Thank you,” she said.
    I didn’t fall asleep for a long time after that. I could sense from Cora’s slow, deep breathing that the evening of terror had taken its toll. She was resting, exhausted, her face in calm repose. Meanwhile, my brain was reeling.
    Damon , I whispered into the darkness.
    Nothing.

2
    T he next day, I left the tunnel, telling Cora I needed to do some errands. Cora didn’t offer to join me, and I wondered if she thought I was off to hunt human blood. If so, I let her believe it. But instead, all I did was joylessly kill a squirrel, feeling weak even as the blood hit my tongue. Human blood would make me feel sharp, alive. This only made me feel more