The Dark Reunion (22 page)

“Bonnie—help Stefan,” Meredith was gasping, her voice almost a whisper. “He’s going to need it….” She sagged backward, her breathing stertorous, her slitted eyes looking up at the sky.

Wet. Everything was wet. Bonnie’s hands,
her clothes, the ground. Wet with Meredith’s blood. And Matt was still lying under the tree, unconscious. She couldn’t leave them, especially not with Tyler there. He might wake up.

Dazed, she turned to Caroline, who was shivering and retching, sweat beading her face. Useless, Bonnie thought. But she had no other choice.

“Caroline, listen to me,” she said. She picked up the largest piece of the stick she’d used on Tyler and put it into Caroline’s hands. “You stay with Matt and Meredith. Loosen that tourniquet every twenty minutes or so. And if Tyler starts to wake up, if he even
twitches
, you hit him as hard as you can with this. Understand? Caroline,” she added, “this is your big chance to prove you’re good for something. That you’re not useless. All right?” She caught the furtive green eyes and repeated, “All right?”

“But what are
you
going to do?”

Bonnie looked toward the clearing.

“No, Bonnie.” Caroline’s hand grasped her, and Bonnie noted with some part of her mind the broken nails, the rope burns on the wrists. “Stay here where it’s safe. Don’t go to them.

There’s nothing you can do—”

Bonnie shook her off and made for the clearing before she lost her resolve. In her heart, she knew Caroline was right. There was nothing she could do. But something Matt had said before they left was ringing in her mind. To try at least. She had to try.

Still, in those next few horrible minutes all she could do was look.

So far, Stefan and Klaus had been trading blows with such violence and accuracy that it had been like a beautiful, lethal dance. But it had been an equal, or almost equal, match. Stefan had been holding his own.

Now she saw Stefan bearing down with his white ash lance, pressing Klaus to his knees, forcing him backward, farther and farther back, like a limbo dancer seeing how low he could go. And Bonnie could see Klaus’s face now, mouth slightly open, staring up at Stefan with what looked like astonishment and fear.

Then everything changed.

At the very bottom of his descent, when Klaus had bent back as far as he could go, when it seemed that he must be about to collapse or
break, something happened.

Klaus smiled.

And then he started pushing back.

Bonnie saw Stefan’s muscles knot, saw his arms go rigid, trying to resist. But Klaus, still grinning madly, eyes wide open, just kept coming. He unfolded like some terrible jack-in-the-box, only slowly. Slowly. Inexorably. His grin getting wider until it looked as if it would split his face. Like the Cheshire cat.

A cat, thought Bonnie.

Cat with a mouse.

Now Stefan was the one grunting and straining, teeth clenched, trying to hold Klaus off. But Klaus and his stick bore down, forcing Stefan backward, forcing him to the ground.

Grinning all the time.

Until Stefan was lying on his back, his own stick pressing into his throat with the weight of Klaus’s lance across it. Klaus looked down at him and beamed. “I’m tired of playing, little boy,” he said, and he straightened and threw his own stick down. “Now it’s dying time.”

He took Stefan’s staff away from him as easily as if he were taking it from a child. Picked it
up with a flick of his wrist and broke it over his knee, showing how strong he was, how strong he had always been. How cruelly he had been playing with Stefan.

One of the halves of the white ash stick he tossed over his shoulder across the clearing. The other he jabbed at Stefan. Using not the pointed end but the splintered one, broken into a dozen tiny points. He jabbed down with a force that seemed almost casual, but Stefan screamed. He did it again and again, eliciting a scream each time.

Bonnie cried out, soundlessly.

She had never heard Stefan scream before. She didn’t need to be told what kind of pain must have caused it. She didn’t need to be told that white ash might be the only wood deadly to Klaus, but that any wood was deadly to Stefan. That Stefan was, if not dying now, about to die. That Klaus, with his hand now raised, was going to finish it with one more plunging blow. Klaus’s face was tilted to the moon in a grin of obscene pleasure, showing that
this
was what he liked, where he got his thrills. From killing.

And Bonnie couldn’t move, couldn’t even
cry. The world swam around her. It had all been a mistake, she wasn’t competent; she was a baby after all. She didn’t want to see that final thrust, but she couldn’t look away. And all this couldn’t be happening, but it was. It was.

Klaus flourished the splintered stake and with a smile of pure ecstasy started to bring it down.

And a spear shot across the clearing and struck him in the middle of the back, landing and quivering like a giant arrow, like half a giant arrow. It made Klaus’s arms fling out, dropping the stake; it shocked the ecstatic grin right off his face. He stood, arms extended, for a second, and then turned, the white ash stick in his back wobbling slightly.

Bonnie’s eyes were too dazzled by waves of gray dots to see, but she heard the voice clearly as it rang out, cold and arrogant and filled with absolute conviction. Just five words, but they changed everything.

“Get away from my brother.”

15

Klaus screamed, a scream that reminded Bonnie of ancient predators, of the sabertooth cat and the bull mammoth. Blood frothed out of his mouth along with the scream, turning that handsome face into a twisted mask of fury.

His hands scrabbled at his back, trying to get a grip on the white ash stake and pull it out. But it was buried too deep. The throw had been a good one.

“Damon,” Bonnie whispered.

He was standing at the edge of the clearing, framed by oak trees. As she watched, he took a step toward Klaus, and then another; lithe stalking steps filled with deadly purpose.

And he was angry. Bonnie would have run from the look on his face if her muscles hadn’t been frozen. She had never seen such menace so barely held in check.

“Get … away … from my brother,” he said,
almost breathing it, with his eyes never leaving Klaus’s as he took another step.

Klaus screamed again, but his hands stopped their frantic scrabbling. “You idiot! We don’t have to fight! I told you that at the house! We can ignore each other!”

Damon’s voice was no louder than before. “Get away from my brother.” Bonnie could feel it inside him, a swell of Power like a tsunami. He continued, so softly that Bonnie had to strain to hear him, “Before I tear your heart out.”

Bonnie could move after all. She stepped backward.

“I told you!” screamed Klaus, frothing. Damon didn’t acknowledge the words in any way. His whole being seemed focused on Klaus’s throat, on his chest, on the beating heart inside that he was going to tear out.

Klaus picked up the unbroken lance and rushed him.

In spite of all the blood, the blond man seemed to have plenty of strength left. The rush was sudden, violent, and almost inescapable. Bonnie saw him thrust the lance at Damon and shut her eyes involuntarily, and then opened them an
instant later as she heard the flurry of wings.

Klaus had plunged right through the spot where Damon had been, and a black crow was soaring upward while a single feather floated down. As Bonnie stared, Klaus’s rush took him into the darkness beyond the clearing and he disappeared.

Dead silence fell in the wood.

Bonnie’s paralysis broke slowly, and she first stepped, and then ran to where Stefan lay. He didn’t open his eyes at her approach; he seemed unconscious. She knelt beside him. And then she felt a sort of horrible calm creep over her, like someone who has been swimming in ice water and at last feels the first undeniable signs of hypothermia. If she hadn’t had so many successive shocks already, she might have fled screaming or dissolved into hysterics. But as it was, this was simply the last step, the last little slide into unreality. Into a world that couldn’t be, but was.

Because it was bad. Very bad. As bad as it could be.

She’d never seen anybody hurt like this. Not even Mr. Tanner, and he had died of his wounds.
Nothing Mary had ever said could help fix this. Even if they’d had Stefan on a stretcher outside an operating room, it wouldn’t have been enough.

In that state of dreadful calm she looked up to see a flutter of wings blur and shimmer in the moonlight. Damon stood beside her, and she spoke quite collectedly and rationally.

“Will giving him blood help?”

He didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were all black, all pupil. That barely leashed violence, that sense of ferocious energy held back, was gone. He knelt and touched the dark head on the ground.

“Stefan?”

Bonnie shut her eyes.

Damon’s scared, she thought. Damon’s scared—
Damon!
—and oh, God, I don’t know what to do. There’s
nothing
to do—and it’s all over and we’re all lost and
Damon
is scared for Stefan. He isn’t going to take care of things and he hasn’t got a solution and somebody’s got to fix this. And oh, God, please help me because I’m so frightened and Stefan’s dying and Meredith and Matt are hurt and Klaus
is going to come back.

She opened her eyes to look at Damon. He was white, his face looking terrifyingly young at that moment, with those dilated black eyes.

“Klaus is coming back,” Bonnie said quietly. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. They weren’t a centuries-old hunter and a seventeen-year-old human girl, sitting here at the edge of the world. They were just two people, Damon and Bonnie, who had to do the best they could.

“I know,” Damon said. He was holding Stefan’s hand, looking completely unembarrassed about it, and it seemed quite logical and sensible. Bonnie could feel him sending Power into Stefan, could also feel that it wasn’t enough.

“Would blood help him?”

“Not much. A little, maybe.”

“Anything that helps at all we’ve got to try.”

Stefan whispered, “No.”

Bonnie was surprised. She’d thought he was unconscious. But his eyes were open now, open and alert and smoldering green. They were the only alive thing about him.

“Don’t be stupid,” Damon said, his voice
hardening. He was gripping Stefan’s hand until his knuckles whitened. “You’re badly hurt.”

“I won’t break my promise.” That immovable stubbornness was in Stefan’s voice, in his pale face. And when Damon opened his mouth again, undoubtedly to say that Stefan would break it and like it or Damon would break his neck, Stefan added, “Especially when it won’t do any good.”

There was a silence while Bonnie fought with the raw truth of this. Where they were now, in this terrible place beyond all ordinary things, pretense or false reassurance seemed wrong. Only the truth would do. And Stefan was telling the truth.

He was still looking at his brother, who was looking back, all that fierce, furious attention focused on Stefan as it had been focused on Klaus earlier. As if somehow that would help.

“I’m not badly hurt, I’m dead,” Stefan said brutally, his eyes locked on Damon’s. Their last and greatest struggle of wills, Bonnie thought. “And you need to get Bonnie and the others out of here.”

“We won’t leave you,” Bonnie intervened.
That was the truth; she could say that.

“You
have
to!” Stefan didn’t glance aside, didn’t look away from his brother. “Damon, you know I’m right. Klaus will be here any minute. Don’t throw your life away. Don’t throw
their
lives away.”

“I don’t give a damn about their lives,” Damon hissed. The truth also, Bonnie thought, curiously unoffended. There was only one life Damon cared about here, and it wasn’t his own.

“Yes, you do!” Stefan flared back. He was hanging on to Damon’s hand with just as fierce a grip, as if this was a contest and he could force Damon to concede that way. “Elena had a last request; well, this is mine. You have Power, Damon. I want you to use it to help them.”

“Stefan …” Bonnie whispered helplessly.

“Promise me,”
Stefan said to Damon, and then a spasm of pain twisted his face.

For uncountable seconds Damon simply looked down at him. Then he said, “I promise,” quick and sharp as the stroke of a dagger. He let go of Stefan’s hand and stood, turning to Bonnie. “Come on.”

“We can’t
leave
him….”

“Yes, we can.” There was nothing young about Damon’s face now. Nothing vulnerable. “You and your human friends are leaving here, permanently.
I
am coming back.”

Bonnie shook her head. She knew, dimly, that Damon wasn’t betraying Stefan, that it was some case of Damon putting Stefan’s ideals above Stefan’s life, but it was all too abstruse and incomprehensible to her. She didn’t understand it and she didn’t want to. All she knew was that Stefan couldn’t be left lying there.

“You’re coming
now,”
Damon said, reaching for her, the steely ring back in his voice. Bonnie prepared herself for a fight, and then something happened that made all their debating meaningless. There was a crack like a giant whip and a flash like daylight, and Bonnie was blinded. When she could see through the afterimage, her eyes flew to the flames that were licking up from a newly blackened hole at the base of a tree.