And now she was awake, and something was scratching at the window.
She was just drawing breath to scream when she realized that of course she knew who it was. She could feel him. Slipping out of bed, Elena fumbled her way toward the window, banging her leg against her bureau in the dark.
Damon was sitting on a tree branch outside, his inscrutable black eyes fixed on her. "Invite me in, princess," he said.
"Come in," Elena said, and stumbled back from the window as Damon stepped inside, as graceful as ever. When he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she realized he was shaking.
She didn't need to tell him anything, she realized, somewhat gratefully. He already knew, must have known as soon as he'd felt her anguish. His heartache came steadily through the bond between them, mirroring hers.
"I need ..." he said, his voice broken. "Can I hold you?" She nodded wordlessly.
On top of the covers, he held her loosely, his arms strong and comforting. Elena rested her head against his chest and finally let go, knowing that the link between them made words unnecessary, his pain and her pain blending until it was all one shared emotion. Sobbing, she wiped a hand roughly under her nose. She was gross and covered with snot and tears and she didn't care.
"Stefan would have liked to have seen you again," she told Damon in a thick, tear-choked voice. "He missed you while you were gone."
"I know. I missed him, too," Damon said, and their bond throbbed with an extra ache: loneliness, and regret over time lost. He stroked her hair with a heavy, comforting hand.
Elena pressed her face against his chest. Damon, she realized, was the only person in the world who understood exactly what she had lost. She held onto him fiercely as they grieved together, weeping for Stefan and for themselves.
Chapter 32
The sun was so bright Matt had to shield his eyes as he came up to his apartment building. It had been a long, terrible night. Whenever he started to fall into sleep, he had remembered Stefan, a stave in his chest and a terrible emptiness in his eyes, falling like a broken doll. Remembered Elena's screams. Stefan's blood had dried on his sleeve.
Stefan, his friend. Once his rival for Elena's affection-although it had never been much of a contest-briefly his football teammate, his ally against the darkness. Gone. Matt should have sensed that something was wrong about Jack. He should have protected his friends.
Jasmine was standing outside the front door of his building. Seeing her in the glaring sunshine gave Matt a weird sense of deja vu, as if he had fallen through a wormhole and ended up back at that terrible morning when she had told him good-bye.
"What do you want?" he asked her, his voice flat. He didn't want to be rude-Jasmine had every right to have left him-but he was so tired. He couldn't handle anything more today.
"I miss you," Jasmine said, her words rushed. She looked up at him with big, appealing eyes, a tiny nervous smile tilting up the corners of her mouth. "I miss you so much, Matt. Can't we try again?"
Matt felt as if he was dissolving, falling into a million pieces. He wanted that so badly. Warm, loving, beautiful Jasmine. She healed people, and even though she saw so much that was terrible-every doctor did-she stayed innocent; she was good all the way through.
"I can't," he said roughly. "Nothing's changed, Jasmine. No, things have gotten worse." He brandished his spattered sleeve at her. "See that? It's Stefan's blood; Stefan is dead."
Ignoring her soft, pained gasp, he went on. "Everything's dark and scary and awful, but I still can't turn my back on my friends. I can't ignore the darkness." His eyes burned, and he hunched in on himself. "I'm not someone you can plan a future with," he said softly.
Jasmine reached out for Matt, her warm hands taking hold of his arms, covering the bloodstains. She wasn't turning away, he realized.
"Do you know why I came here today?" she asked, and Matt shrugged miserably. "A couple was brought in last night from a horrible car accident." She squeezed her eyes tightly shut just for a moment, as if she was blocking out the memory.
"Even though they were both so badly hurt and in so much pain," she went on, "they were reaching out for each other's hands. They were so worried about each other." She looked at Matt, na**d pleading in her eyes. "Bad things happen every day, just driving down the highway. And when they happen, I don't want to be miles away from you. I want to be able to reach out for your hand."
Matt started to speak again-God, yes, he wanted that, but how could he expect her to share this life?-and Jasmine put a hand over his mouth to shush him. "What you and your friends do, fighting monsters so that people like me, can live normal, happy lives? It's so important. You kept who you really are a secret from me, and I understand why. But I want to know now. Matt, I want to be part of this. Please give me another chance."
She swallowed hard and looked to him anxiously, her eyes bright with tears. Matt couldn't even think. He just moved instinctively forward, taking Jasmine in his arms, resting his cheek against her head, smelling the sweet scent of her shampoo.
Jasmine had come back to him-and maybe, somehow, they would get through this dark time together.
Alaric and Zander had dug a grave down by the river, not far from the charred remains of the Plantation Museum. It was a lonely looking band who stood around it, Damon thought: Bonnie, his little redbird, clinging hard to the arm of her wolf boy; hunter Meredith looking bruised and wary, her hand tight in the hand of her scholar husband. Sturdy Matt, his head bowed and his eyes red, a girl Damon didn't know standing quietly beside him.