But Matt could feel the tingling in his own fist clenched tightly.
Stefan had been talking for a while and Matt's brain helped him catch up by providing echoes of what he'd missed.
"Mer'dith knows a lotta things. Very smart. Bright. Ha. That's a joke, too. Ssee?
Because she's dark. You know? You don't wanna know. She's dark 'but comely.'
Humanss"—again that exaggerated hiss on the sibilant—"have so many prejudishes. Back in . . . not long ago, you know . . . your basic beautiful woman hadda be fair. Blond. All your lingwy—lingwa—language stuff showss how—"
Matt's hand unclenched. His mind trolled blindly.
"You're drunk!"
"Of coursse not." The silhouette straightened and tipped its chin up aggressively.
Stefan spoke with the exaggerated dignity and precision of the truly smashed. "Vampiress don't get drunk. It's just a brief physi—fizzy—fizheo—" The silhouette began shaking with silent laughter.
Amazement and anger gave Matt all the excuses he needed to do what he was already doing. He grabbed Stefan's dim arm and shook him, then bounced him off the dimmer wall.
"What's wrong with you? Are you crazy? You're supposed to be fighting the fight of your life—"
"Stop it."
"How did you even—?"
"Stop it."
"What kind of—"
"Matt. Stop it."
There was something in the voice that spoke directly to the human brainstem, like a dark shadow overhead telling a baby chick to freeze.
Vaguely, Matt looked down at his hands. He had Stefan by the shirt and upper arm and he'd been banging him against the wall. His right hand was gripping Stefan's bicep. It practically went all the way around it. Vampire muscles were flat and lean, their strength was of the slight and wiry sort. It gave the illusion almost of delicacy, sometimes, but now that Stefan had decided not to be bounced against a wall anymore, he was as still as a marble statue and Matt knew that a human would have about as much luck trying to move him.
Hazily, he made his fists unclench and dropped his arms. His brain was trying to process too many things at once, but on the top level was shame that made his face burn.
That was panic, he thought. I just attacked a vampire because I was scared. And while another part of his mind said, "A vampire? Your friend," a bigger part was asking, "Am I dead now?"
"It's a—physiological reaction." Stefan was making an effort, but he still didn't sound quite right. "It hits right after feed
ing, and it goes away, but the energy stays."
Matt stared at the floor. His eyes were adjusting a little.
"It happens more often when different types of blood are mixed. Every human has a different kind of lifeenergy. Sometimes vampires do it deliberately just for the buzz."
"Yeah? Oh. Humans do that with alcohol."
"Yeah."
He's trying to not embarrass me. Matt's teeth were clenched. He still couldn't look up from the floor.
"But I probably should have warned you about it. I wasn't thinking. And it's been . . . a long time since . . . "
Matt looked up, and then down again. A long time—since Elena basically, in other words. Stefan sounded normal now. Normal for Stefan, anyway, especially these days when every sentence echoed as if it were coming from miles away, from somewhere where Stefan was alone in a white room with nothing but his memories.
And he was practically giggling before. How many times have I ever heard him laugh? In my whole life?