The Salvation: Unseen Page 0,51

hold her back, but she shook off her friend’s grip. When she reached Andrés, she stood still and looked at him, trying to look past the gore to see her friend one last time.

Tentatively, she reached out to touch his hand, ignoring the sticky, lukewarm blood that coated it. Andrés’s hands had always been in motion, graceful and expressive, reaching out to embrace the world. She remembered the day they’d met, when he had taken her hand in his, warm and strong and reassuring. They sat under a tree together, and he told her the truth about being a Guardian, and she had been less afraid.

Behind her, the others were murmuring together. Spencer had pulled out his phone and was calling someone, probably Zander. They were all tense and eager to hunt, she knew, but Elena wasn’t ready to join them.

Andrés’s eyes were dull now. They’d always been so bright. He’d been in love, for the first time, and somehow that seemed worse than anything, that he’d died here, thousands of miles away from his love.

Elena brushed her hand lightly over her friend’s face, closing his eyes. “Good-bye, Andrés,” she said quietly. It seemed so important to be gentle with him now, even though he wasn’t really here anymore. “I’m so sorry.”

#TVD11SolomonLives

Chapter 21

“Damon, there’s something wrong with you. I know it. I can feel it through our bond.” Damon listened as Elena took a ragged breath, sounding tearful. “Are you okay?”

“Damon, please call me. I’m worried about you.”

“Damon, I don’t even know if you’re getting these messages. If you are, call me. Please.”

Clicking “delete” on the last of the many messages from Elena that had filled up his voice mail, Damon leaned back to rest against one of the small peaked roofs of the Musée d’Orsay. A stiff night breeze lifted his hair, and he huddled into the collar of his jacket. Normally the cold wouldn’t bother him at all, but he hadn’t fed since Katherine died, and he was starting to feel it.

This was a good spot to rest. He hadn’t yet seen any of the vampires that were chasing him shape-shift or fly, so for whatever reason, they must not be able to. And from here Damon had a fine view over the rooftops of Paris, the river Seine at his back. There would be plenty of warning if anyone came after him. Finally, a moment to catch his breath and listen to his messages.

Elena liked Paris, he remembered; she had visited when she was a schoolgirl. Maybe she’d even been to the Musée. He remembered when this building had been a train station, modern in every detail at the beginning of the twentieth century: elevators, underground tracks, and above, a great sunlight-flooded space. It had seemed impossibly new to Damon at the time.

He shook his head, dismissing the memory. He’d been feeling melancholy and sentimental lately, ever since he’d said good-bye to poor Katherine’s empty body, leaving it buried in a churchyard—the least he could do for her. He was angry, and tired of running, and most of all, he was hungry.

But not lonely. He was never lonely, Damon reminded himself. Vampires weren’t meant to travel in packs. Still, it would be nice to hear Elena’s voice again.

When he called, she picked up immediately. “Damon? Are you okay?” Her voice was thick with tears, and he stiffened automatically.

“What’s wrong, princess?” he asked, peering over the side of the museum. Was that a vampire far below, moving purposefully toward him? He sent his Power questing, found nothing. Sometimes they seemed to turn up out of nowhere, and he wasn’t good at sensing this new kind of vampire at all.

“Andrés is dead,” Elena told him, her voice cracking. “We think … the Old One we thought Stefan and Andrés killed, he’s not dead after all. And he murdered Andrés.” She gave a desolate little sob that went straight to Damon’s heart.

“Oh, Elena,” Damon said softly. “I’m sorry. I know you cared for him.” The Guardian had been a friend to Elena, and, for that, Damon found it in himself to feel sorry he was gone.

Wait a minute. The Old One had been strong enough to trick Stefan and murder a Guardian?

Damn Stefan, anyway. He had told Damon that everything was fine.

“Stefan couldn’t kill the Old One?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the walkway below. There were definitely more figures gathering there.

“It wasn’t Stefan’s fault,” Elena argued. Damon sighed. Elena would always defend Stefan.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s okay,”