"Stefan, it hurts," Violet said, thrashing against the bed frame and throwing the bedclothes on the floor. She opened her eyes again.
"Shhh - " I said, reaching toward her arm. But she yanked away from me, swung her feet down, and raced toward the door, a tangle of bedclothes mopping the floor behind her.
"Violet!" I sprang up, my chair fal ing behind me with a clatter. Quickly, Violet loosened the latch and fled into the night. The door slammed shut.
I immediately ran after her. I looked this way and that, my senses quickly acclimating to the outdoors. The air was pitch black, and the trees surrounding the cottage, usual y so cozy, made me realize she could be anywhere.
I sniffed the air, suddenly sharp with the smel of blood, and raced toward the source.
"Violet!" I cal ed into the night, aware and not caring that the Abbotts could hear me. I needed to find her. I hopped over the wire fence of the chicken coop.
There, kneeling, her dress, face, and hands spattered with blood, was Violet. A dead chicken was in her lap, its neck snapped, blood oozing from a gash on its throat. Blood was running down Violet's face, and her teeth, stil normal, gleamed in the moonlight.
Suddenly, she leaned over and began to retch. Her entire body was soaked in sweat, and I couldn't tel if she was dying or reviving.
"I'm so sorry!" she said, her face stained with tears. "I didn't mean to do it." Violet's guilt was one I knew al too wel . Wordlessly, I took her by the hand, pul ed her up, and led her back to the cabin. I closed the door and turned toward her. Her body was perched on the edge of the bed, bloodstains in her hair and on the bodice of her dress, her expression miserable.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked in a tiny voice.
I shook my head silently and helped her lie down, tucking her under the crisp white linen sheets and opening the window, hoping that the fal air could provide some solace.
"I was so hungry," she said in a smal voice. "I stil am."
"I know," I said. The chicken blood wouldn't do anything. To turn, a vampire needed human blood. "I know it's hard. And I know you're suffering," I said helplessly. She nodded, a drop of chicken blood stil lingering on the corner of her mouth. "But remember, you're going someplace better. I truly believe that. And I know it wil be painful, but after pain comes peace."
I suppose I also hoped that for my sake as wel . After al , I had created this. My mind kept playing the same tug-of-war over and over again. The logical part of my brain told me that this could have happened whether or not I'd been involved. After al , if Violet and I had never met, she might have been kicked out to the street. She could have been found by anyone.
Or she might be on the brink of a long, happy life.
"Stefan, I . . ." Violet said, breathing heavily with every word.
"It's al right. Go and find peace," I said. It was the good-bye I'd never given Cal ie. Now, I knew that the best thing I could do was let Violet know it was okay to go.
"But . . . I . . ." Violet said, her breath laboring with each word. I leaned in closer to hear, my ear just inches away from her mouth, when al of a sudden, I heard a terrible, otherworldly shriek piercing the night air.
But it wasn't Violet. It was coming from the Manor.
I tore my gaze away from Violet and rushed up to the house, fearing the worst.
Chapter Seventeen
The Manor was pitch-black, and there was no sign of anyone, not even Mrs. Duckworth, who often kept late hours knitting by candlelight. There wasn't even a lantern lighting the porch, and I felt my stomach sink. Something was very, very wrong.
"Hel o?" I cal ed, my voice wavering. "Who's here?" I cal ed again, wishing I'd remembered to grab a gun before I'd run to the house. "Show yourself!" I yel ed, louder than ever, my voice echoing off the stone entranceway.
Silence. Damon must have found us.
Then, I heard a slight cry. It was so faint, I thought I might be imagining things. I cocked my head again. Definitely a noise.
"I'm coming!" I cal ed. If there was sound, it was a sign of life. I quickly sped through the labyrinth of rooms, my eyes adjusting to the dim light, until I came into the parlor.
There, the entire Abbott family was huddled in the corner, Luke as white as a ghost. George was clutching a poker, his eyes wild, and Gertrude had fainted on the floor. Emma, the source of the noise, was crying over her mother. But they were alive.
"I'm here. It's Stefan. You're safe," I said to the family, even though my heart was pounding in terror against my chest. Damon could be anywhere. He was probably right behind me, laughing at me. He'd concocted this scene purely to frighten me, to show me that he wasn't scared of Klaus because he'd become Klaus. He could commit horrific acts of bloodshed without blinking an eye.
"Stefan?" George said incredulously, his voice dripping with fear.
"Yes. You'l be safe. I promise," I said, my eyes darting around the room. The many portraits seemed to be leering down at me. But there was no sign of Damon.
Suddenly, I heard a noise and whirled around. As soon as my back was turned, George sprang up, lunging toward me with the poker. A crazed look was on his florid face.
"Traitor! You stole my son!" George yel ed, swinging the iron poker wildly through the air as if it were a sword. I ducked easily, horror dawning on me as I took in the family. Where was Oliver?
"Sir! No! I was down at the farmhouse! It was my brother, Damon. Where is he? Did you see where he went?" I asked desperately as I continued to duck his blows.
I felt something jump on my back. I spun around and realized Luke had clamped himself to my shoulders and was kicking his legs into my lungs.