I lurched upright, pulling at the stake in my shin.
Samuel laughed at my lame attempt at stopping him. “It’s been a pleasure, boys,” he said as he turned to leave.
I glanced over at Damon, crumpled on the floor. Blood was trickling out of his stomach. I yanked again, but the stake in my leg wouldn’t budge. Instead, every attempt to pull it out caused me to fall back in spasms of agony.
Far in the distance, I heard the faint strains of a waltz in the ballroom, and the cheerful chatter of the partygoers, completely unaware of the demon in their midst.
13
A few agonizing minutes later, I managed to yank the stake from my knee and stanched the wound with a stretch of fabric ripped from my robe. I stood up and hobbled across the dark room toward Damon. My leg seemed all right, considering the bone had been broken only minutes before. My body healed fast and already I could tell my knee was on the mend. But Damon … he was still on the ground in agony, blood gushing from his gut even as he tried to stand. This wasn’t an injury he’d be able to walk off. I debated: Should I leave him here and run to Whitechapel? Or was Samuel’s challenge a trap? I couldn’t think clearly, but I could sense the moments counting down. A girl’s blood would be on my hands if I didn’t act fast—and make the right decision—soon.
Cora burst into the room. Her face paled as she took in the sight of us, but she moved forward purposefully.
“What happened?” she asked as she sank to the floor beside Damon. “Is he…”
“Samuel stabbed him. Vervain. He’ll be all right eventually.”
“What can I do?” she asked, looking down at him.
I hesitated. I knew Damon was in bad shape, but without him I would not be able to stop Samuel from killing again tonight. And I knew what Damon needed. I would not force her, but if she did it willingly… “You could give him your blood,” I said.
Cora’s hands flew to her throat. “But where … how?” Cora asked.
“I just need your wrist. Not a lot. Do you trust me?”
Cora nodded silently, took off her vervain charm, and held out her white wrist. Even after living in the Asylum, Cora’s skin smelled like an intoxicating combination of freesia and milk.
I took a step back. I didn’t want to be tempted. Instead, I took the blood-covered knife, wiped it on the sleeve of my robe to remove any vervain left on its surface, and handed it to her.
“Just a small cut will do. Not too much—he has to be able to stop,” I cautioned.
Without hesitation, Cora took the knife and held it against her skin, pushing until she created a long, clean channel of blood.
“Good,” I said. “Now let him drink.”
At first, Damon tentatively licked Cora’s wrist, but then began sucking harder and more insistently. I turned away, part of me jealous that Damon was able to experience Cora’s sweetness in a way that I would never allow myself to.
“That’s enough!” I said desperately. There was such a fine line between life and death.
Damon glanced up at me and raised his eyebrows.
“Did you see him?” he asked Cora after briefly kissing her wrist in thanks.
“Yes.” Cora nodded, eyes wide. “And he took Elizabeth and Cathy! Just walked out the door with them, and no one said a word. I came down here as fast as I could. I knew I couldn’t go after him alone.” Cora’s voice was unnaturally high.
“He’s got them,” Damon said darkly, as if it were a point of fact. He was standing now and looked as strong as ever, except for the large red bloodstain on his robe.
Cora sniffed. “Elizabeth and Cathy drank the vervain. So they’ll be all right, won’t they?” she asked in a small voice.
“Vervain doesn’t work on Samuel,” I said. “He’s been dosing himself. We need to follow them.” I didn’t tell her about Samuel’s demonic wager. I couldn’t.
“We need to find them.” Damon’s mouth was set. “Another Jack the Ripper attack will happen tonight. He knows we’re here. And he won’t stop killing until the trail of blood leads the police to us.”
Damon took a distraught Cora under his arm and led her out of the room.
We left through a back entrance, and the three of us ran through the streets for what felt like an eternity. The wind was howling, and the party seemed ages away. As we pelted toward the rain-soaked alleys of Whitechapel, I felt as if we’d been transported back to Mystic Falls after the vampire siege, when the entire town had smelled of vervain, fire, blood, and death. Except Whitechapel was filled with snaking side streets and tiny courtyards masked by towering boardinghouses. It would be impossible to find Samuel in time. And yet, we had to.
I sniffed the air to pick out Samuel’s direction. The wind carried the unmistakable scent of blood toward us. It was so strong my fangs automatically bulged under my gums.
We were too late.
Rushing toward source of the smell, I saw movement at the center of the square.
“He’s here,” Damon said tersely.
I nodded, freezing in my tracks.
Then another sound captured my attention. I might have chalked it up to the wind, whistling through the narrow alleys, but Damon had heard it, too. He sprang toward the end of the alley. I urged Cora to stay put before following him.
And there, I saw him. Lit by a thin sliver of moonlight was Henry. A knife glittered in his hand, dripping with blood. Below him lay the prone body of Cathy, the Asylum girl who’d befriended Cora.
My stomach lurched. I’d been responsible for dozens of deaths, and I’d seen terrible vampire murders. But I’d never seen a death like this. It brought me back two decades to the Sutherlands’ well-maintained living room. There, the entrails of every member of the Sutherland family were spattered across the walls and the floor, making it impossible to tell which body part originally belonged to whom.