The Vampire Diaries: The Return: Nightfall Read Free Page B

startled, when she showed him the picture in her mind. “These?” He dropped the clothes on the floor of the closet hastily.
    “What about this one?” Stefan handed her a different shirt.
    Elena studied it soberly, held it to her cheek. No sweating, frantically sewing women.
    “Okay?” Stefan said. But Elena had frozen. She went to the window and peered out.
    “What’s wrong?”
    This time, she sent him only one picture. He recognized it immediately.
    Damon.
    Stefan felt a tightening in his chest. His older brother had been making Stefan’s existence as miserable as possible for nearly half a millennium. Every time that Stefan had managed to get away from him, Damon had tracked him down, looking for…what? Revenge? Some final satisfaction? They had killed each other at the same instant, back in Renaissance Italy. Their fencing swords had pierced each other’s hearts almost simultaneously, ina duel over a vampire girl. Things had only gone downhill from there.
    But he’s saved your life a few times, too, Stefan thought, suddenly discomfited. And you promised you’d watch out for each other, take care of each other….
    Stefan looked sharply at Elena. She was the one who’d made both of them take the same oath—when she was dying. Elena looked back with eyes that were limpid, deep blue pools of innocence.
    In any case, he had to deal with Damon, who was now parking his Ferrari beside Stefan’s Porsche in front of the boardinghouse.
    “Stay in here and—and keep away from the window. Please ,” Stefan hastily told Elena. He dashed out of the room, shut the door, and almost ran down the steps.
    He found Damon standing by the Ferrari, examining the dilapidated boardinghouse’s exterior—first with sunglasses on, then with them off. Damon’s expression said that it didn’t make a great deal of difference whichever way you looked at it.
    But that wasn’t Stefan’s first concern. It was Damon’s aura and the variety of different scents lingering on him—which no human nose would ever be able to detect, much less untangle.
    “What have you been doing ?” Stefan said, too shocked for even a perfunctory greeting.
    Damon gave him a 250-watt smile. “Antiquing,” he said, and sighed. “Oh, and I did some shopping.” He fingered a new leather belt, touched the pocket with the video camera, and pushed back his Ray-Bans. “Would you believe it, this little dust speck of a town has some pretty decent shopping. I like shopping.”
    “You like stealing, you mean. And that doesn’t account for half of what I can smell on you. Are you dying or have you just gone crazy?” Sometimes, when a vampire had been poisoned or had succumbed to one of the few mysterious curses or illnesses that afflict their kind, they would feed feverishly, uncontrollably, on whatever—whomever—was at hand.
    “Just hungry,” Damon replied urbanely, still surveying the boardinghouse. “And what happened to basic civility, by the way? I drive all the way out here and do I get a ‘Hello, Damon,’ or ‘Nice to see you, Damon’? No. Instead I hear ‘What have you been doing, Damon?’” He gave the imitation a whining, mocking twist. “I wonder what Signore Marino would think of that, little brother?”
    “Signore Marino,” Stefan said through his teeth, wondering how Damon was able to get under his skin every time—today with a reference to their old tutor of etiquette and dancing—“has been dust for hundreds of years by now—as we should be, too. Which has nothing to do with this conversation, brother . I asked you what you weredoing, and you know what I meant by it—you must have bled half the girls in town.”
    “Girls and women,” Damon reproved, holding up a finger facetiously. “We must be politically correct, after all. And maybe you should be taking a closer look at your own diet. If you drank more, you might begin to fill out. Who knows?”
    “If I drank more—?” There were a number of ways to finish this