that his brother would have listened politely to whatever Alaric planned to read.
Alaric unfolded the paper and began, “Inclina, Domine, aurem tuam ad preces nostras quibus misericordiam tuam supplices deprecamur; ut animam famuli tui …” Incline thy ear, O Lord, to the prayers with which we entreat Thy mercy, and in a place of peace and rest, establish the soul of Thy servant …
Damon felt his lips twist in a bitter smile at the familiar words. Alaric’s accent was terrible. Even in the universities they didn’t teach proper Latin anymore. And Damon was fairly certain that the fierce God he and Stefan had worshipped in their childhood would have no place of peace and rest for vampires. The Guardians had said, he remembered, that when a vampire died, he simply ceased to exist. Still, if the prayer comforted these children, let them have it.
Alaric finished reading the prayer, then carefully trickled a handful of dirt into Stefan’s grave.
They were all looking at Elena now, but she just stood there, her lips pressed firmly together, and didn’t step forward. She was angry, Damon sensed, her rage flowing through the bond that connected them.
Finally she raised her head and stared back at her friends. “No,” she said sharply. “No, I won’t say good-bye. I do not accept this.” She was breathing hard, and Damon felt something flutter wildly through their bond. Elena was grieving and angry and in pain, but most of all, she was terrified, frightened of losing Stefan forever. Instinctively Damon stepped forward to wrap his arms around her, cradling her safely against his chest. Her heart was beating as fast as a bird’s.
“You don’t have to say good-bye, princess,” he said. “Not if you don’t want to. But you should tell him you love him.”
Elena nodded. “Of course I do,” she said dully. “He knows that.” She pulled away from Damon, turning her back on the open grave, and walked down toward the river.
Damon looked to Alaric, Zander, and Matt. “Finish it,” he said. “She’s done.” Obediently, they picked up their shovels and began to fill in the grave. The first shovelful of earth hit the cloth around Stefan’s body with a dry, slithering sound that made Damon wince.
He followed Elena to the riverbank and stood next to her. She was staring silently down into the water, her jaw clenched tight, her hands curled into fists. Meredith, Bonnie, and Matt joined them. Bonnie linked her arm through Elena’s, and Meredith laid one hand on her shoulder, and Elena seemed to take some comfort in this.
Together, they listened to the river rushing past. After a while Bonnie said, in the puzzled voice of a hurt child, “I just don’t understand what happened.”
“Jack was a vampire,” Elena told her, her voice dull. “Why didn’t I know?”
“We should have—” Meredith began, but Damon cut her off.
“Jack was some new kind, made in a lab.” He felt his lip curl in distaste. “He didn’t have all the weaknesses our kind have.” He quickly explained what had happened—the business card, the lab, the research log. “He can disguise his aura, Elena. There’s no way you could have identified him. The vampires who hunted me and Katherine across Europe—he created them. He thinks he’s perfected the species, made the ultimate warriors. And now he wants to get rid of the all the existing vampires. Even Stefan.”
Elena made a small, hurt sound. They were all looking at Damon now, their eyes wide, and he knew what they were thinking.
Damon was next.
#TVD11Goodbye
Chapter 33
The white lights were blinding. Meredith squinted against them and tried to struggle, but she couldn’t move.
Just the dream, she told herself. Just the same dream. Things felt even more real this time: the lights brighter, the room less blurry around her. Her mouth was parched and sore. There was a sharp antiseptic smell in the air. She felt dizzy and nauseous.
It’s only a dream, she reassured herself. I can get through this, and then I’ll wake up safe in my own bed.
The shadowy figure moved at the edge of her vision, coming closer, and this time Meredith could see it more clearly than she ever had before. Gloved hands moving over her abdomen. A doctor in scrubs, looking down at her, face mask concealing his identity. She couldn’t feel the hands moving, but she could see them. She was so numb, as if under a local anesthetic.
Carefully, the figure drew a vial of fluid into a needle, his surgical-gloved hands moving with calm precision.