07 The Return_ Midnight - L. J. Smith

true green of his eyes because of the olive light. “You wait. Just wait and watch. I’ll find a Wings
power that will dissolve this—this—damned abomination.” She could think of many other words to
call the stake, but she had to stay in some sort of control.
“Elena.” Stefan whispered her name as if he could barely get it out. Even in the twilight
she could see the tears on his cheeks. He continued, nonverbally, Elena, look at his closed eyes. This
Tree is a vicious killer, with wood like nothing I’ve ever seen, but I’ve heard about it. It’s…it’s
spreading. Inside him.
“Inside him?” Elena repeated stupidly.
Along his arteries and veins—and his nerves—everything connected to his heart. He’s
—oh, God, Elena, just look at his eyes!
Elena looked. Stefan had knelt and gently pulled up the lids of Damon’s eyes and Elena
began screaming.
Deep in the fathomless pupils that had held endless night skies full of stars, there was a
glimmer—not of starlight, but of green. It seemed to glow with its own hellish luminescence.
Stefan looked at her with agony and compassion. And now, with one gentle pass, Stefan
was closing those eyes—forever, she knew he was thinking.
Everything had become strange and dreamlike. Nothing made sense anymore. Stefan was
carefully laying Damon’s head down—he was letting Damon go.
Even in her fuzzy world of nonsense Elena knew she could never do that.
And then, a miracle happened. Elena heard a voice in her mind that wasn’t hers.
All this is rather unexpected. I acted, for once, without thinking. And this is my
reward. The voice was a hum on their private frequency, Damon’s and hers.
Elena ripped herself away from Stefan, who was trying to restrain her, and fell, grasping
Damon’s shoulders with her hands. I knew it! I knew you couldn’t be dead!
It was only then that she realized that her face was dripping wet, and she used her soft
leather sleeve to wipe it. Oh, Damon, you gave me such a scare! Don’t you ever, ever do that again!
I think I can give my word on that, Damon sent—in different tones than his usual ones—
sober but at the same time whimsical. But you have to give me something in return.
Yes, of course, Elena said. Just let me get some of my hair off my neck. It worked best
like this when Stefan was lying down—when we were carrying him out on his pallet from the prison
—
Not that, Damon told her. For once, angel, I don’t want your blood. I need you to give
me your most solemn word that you will try to be brave. If it helps at all, I know that females are
better than males at this sort of thing. They’re less cowardly at facing—what you have to face now.
Elena didn’t like the tone of these words. The dizziness that was making her lips numb
was traveling all over her body. There was nothing to be brave about. Damon could stand pain. She
would find a Wings power that would obliterate all that wood that was poisoning him. It might hurt,
but it would save his life.
Don’t talk to me like that! she snapped harshly, before she could remember to be gentle.
Everything had begun to float, and she couldn’t even remember why she had to be gentle, but there
was a reason. Still, it was difficult, when she was using every ounce of her concentration and strength
to search for a Wings power she had never heard of. Purification? Would that take away the wood or
would it just leave Damon without his wicked smile? There was no harm in trying it, anyway, and she
was getting desperate—because Damon’s face was so pale.
But even the stance for Wings of Purification eluded her.