Suddenly, a creature darted past our feet. It was a rat, almost the size of a small cat. Instead of scrambling away in surprise, Cora grabbed a large stone from the tunnel floor and threw it at the creature. The scuffling stopped.
“You need to eat,” she urged.
“Thank you.” I reached down, grabbed the still-warm carcass, and placed my mouth to its fur, piercing the thin skin with my fangs. The whole time, I was aware of Cora’s unflinching gaze. But what did it matter? It wasn’t like my drinking blood was a surprise to her. She’d seen me bare my fangs to feed, and she’d seen me battle Henry and Samuel. I felt the rat’s blood calm my body as it ran through my veins.
Once I’d drunk all I could, I threw the carcass to the ground, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and smiled tersely at Cora. Our friendship was unlike any I’d ever experienced with a human since becoming a vampire. Even when Callie had discovered my identity back in New Orleans, I had never fed in front of her. I had concealed my fangs and masked my yearnings, wanting her to only see the best in me. But Cora was different.
“Was that enough?” she asked, sliding into a seated position and crossing her legs under her gray dress, now spattered with dirt and blood. Dark shadows surrounded her eyes, and the smudges of grime on her cheeks blended with the smattering of freckles on her skin. Her teeth were chattering. A cold snap had hit London in the past few days, and it was especially frigid in the tunnel, where the walls were beaded with condensation and a misty gray fog swirled around the darkness.
“It was, thank you. How are you?” I asked, feeling stupid as soon as the words escaped my lips. How was she? She was in the tunnel of an all-but-abandoned construction site. She’d just killed a rat and watched it be drained of its blood. She’d been betrayed by her vampire sister. She’d witnessed vampires torturing one another, seen a body burned to ashes. And although she did so willingly, she’d been used as a pawn in our war against Samuel. But he’d escaped, and had brutally killed two of Cora’s friends, then left their corpses in Mitre Square. How did I expect her to feel?
“I’m alive,” Cora said. “I believe that counts for something.” She attempted a laugh, but it came out as a sputtering cough. I patted her on the back and was surprised when she leaned in and gave me a hug.
“I’m sorry I put you in danger,” I said hollowly. “I should have known that we couldn’t reason with Violet. I should never have brought you to see her.” We’d gone to see Ephraim, a witch, and had him cast a locator spell to help us find Violet and persuade her to leave Samuel. But when we’d found her, she hadn’t listened to anything we’d said and had kidnapped Cora, which is how she’d ended up back at the Asylum the same day Damon and I had snuck in to ambush Samuel.
“You wouldn’t have been able to keep me away from Violet,” Cora said firmly. “You told me she wouldn’t be the same. But deep down, I believed she’d still be my sister. Now I know I was wrong.” Cora shuddered. I nodded, sad that my prediction had been true.
“I was so stupid,” Cora said, her face twisting in anger. “I thought I could get through to her. I thought she could change. But there was nothing of Violet left in her. She fed on me, Stefan. Then she brought me to the Asylum and asked that groundskeeper, Seaver, to lock me in that room. I tried to escape, but Seaver started chanting and all of a sudden, I was completely trapped.” Cora’s lower lip wobbled as tears spilled down her cheek
s. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and set her mouth in a firm line.
“He must have used some sort of spell,” I said slowly. I remembered how small and helpless Cora had looked in that room in the Magdalene Asylum. She must have been terrified.
“We need to see Ephraim,” I decided. The only thing I knew for certain was that if Samuel had witches under his control, we’d need a way to counter their spells.
“No!” Cora yelled. “Not Ephraim. I had a bad feeling about him. His locator spell may have taken us to Violet, but what if that was a trap he set up with Samuel? What if he’s been working for Samuel all along? We know Ephraim used to do jobs for the highest bidder—who’s to say he ever stopped? We can’t trust him,” Cora said, setting her jaw. “We need to come up with another plan.”
“Well, we need someone on our side who can perform magic. Otherwise, Samuel will always have that advantage over us,” I said. I stood up and paced back and forth, willing my mind to come up with a clever way to ensnare Samuel and free my brother. But I still felt weak and shaky and utterly unable to concentrate. The rat’s blood had only taken the edge off my hunger.
“I think you should drink real blood,” Cora said quietly, as if she could read my mind. “Like your brother. Like Samuel. It would make you strong enough to fight him, right? It would make the fight even, like you said.” Her eyes glittered like diamonds in the darkness.
“I can’t!” I exploded in 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 tell if 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 the hesitancy 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.