Damon and Katherine ran through the vineyards, plants crunching beneath their feet. They hadn't fed yet tonight and had used up too much Power in the fight to shift shape and fly, as Damon would have preferred. The most important thing was to get away.
At last, deep in the woods outside the little town where they'd been staying, they stopped to listen.
"I think we've lost them," Katherine said.
"For now." Damon frowned. "This wasn't a random attack. They must have been tracking us."
Katherine nodded. "Is there anything at the palazzo you can't stand to lose?" she asked.
Damon thought briefly of his favorite jacket, of a bracelet he had bought with the vague intention of sending it to Elena, of sweet Vittoria and her warm, fresh blood. "Nothing that can't be replaced." Hesitantly, he touched Katherine's arm. "I am sorry about Roberto," he said.
Katherine's jaw tightened, and Damon thought he caught the shine of tears in her eyes, but her voice was level. "It happens," she said. "But he was awfully young. I would have liked to have taken him somewhere he'd never seen before."
Damon glanced up at the moon, which hung high in the sky overhead. It wasn't late yet; the trains would still be running. If they made it to the station, they could be across the border before dawn. "I think it's time we left Italy," Damon said softly.
Chapter 6
Elena drove slowly down one of Dalcrest campus's side streets, looking for a parking place. There was an antiquarian bookstore around the corner, and she knew they had a collection of the medieval poetry Stefan liked. It would be nice to give him a little welcome-home present, she thought, smiling in anticipation.
Suddenly and without warning, her throat constricted and a bolt of panic shot through her. Damon. Somewhere, Damon was in trouble.
She involuntarily jerked the wheel aside and just managed to avoid sideswiping a parked car. His emotions ran through her, much stronger than usual, overwhelming her senses. Anger, and a sharp sense of fear, rage, a sort of adrenaline-fueled exhilaration. Was he fighting? What was going on? Panicked tears rose in her eyes-her own, she thought, not Damon's-and she blinked them back.
She needed to go home. She had to get to Stefan, let him know something was wrong. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm down, Elena took a sharp right and headed back toward the highway.
The road was clear ahead of her. Pushing Damon's emotions away, she risked fumbling in her purse for her phone. It was evening right now in Italy, where Damon had been the last time she had heard from him. But he could be anywhere, really. He traveled from country to country the way most people crossed streets.
Just as her hand closed around the phone, another flash of emotion from Damon broke through-fury, followed by a feeling of cold calculation. Whatever was happening to Damon, he was plotting a way to get through it. It made her feel a little better. If Damon was good at anything, it was surviving.
Elena quickly punched Damon's number into the phone, but it went straight to voice mail.
"It's me," she said to the electronic silence, the full distance between her and Damon stretching into infinity. "I felt something from you all of a sudden, something bad. Are you okay? Please call me."
As she ended the call, she pushed down hard on the gas pedal, the tires squealing as the car jumped forward. Stefan would know what to do. Suddenly she was desperate to get home to him, to his comforting arms and his always-practical mind.
She pushed her foot down on the gas again, and this time, the pedal sank unresistingly to the floor of the car. Jerking, the car sped faster, much faster than Elena had expected.
Instinctively, she hit the brake, but nothing happened. Trees and telephone poles whipped past in a blur of green and brown.
Tightening her grip on the wheel until her hands ached, Elena slammed down on the brake again. The car didn't slow, but the wheel began to vibrate in her hands, small tremors at first, becoming faster and faster. Her heart raced, and a tiny panicked whine came from Elena's throat.
The car was beginning to drift across the highway, and another car swerved around her, honking loudly. She yanked on the wheel, trying to get back into her own lane, but it only spun uselessly under her hands.
"Come on, come on," Elena whimpered, pleading with the car, or the universe. "Please, no."
This is it, she thought with a blank feeling of wonder. After everything that had happened, after all she'd survived, she was going to die here, in an out-of-control car on a bright, sunny afternoon.
Something huge and dark rose up in front of her. I'm sorry, Stefan, she thought, and then everything went black.
"Elena? Elena?" A faint, unfamiliar voice was calling to her through the darkness. Elena twitched with irritation. She didn't want to talk to anyone; she wanted to sleep. Her head hurt and her chest ached terribly. Was she sick?
"Elena!" A pounding noise, somebody banging near her head.
With a huge effort, Elena managed to drag open her eyes. Everything was blurry and white, too close, and she pushed at the whiteness, trying to shove it away. It shifted under her hands with a rustling of fabric, and slowly the world came back into focus.
The white stuff was an air bag, she realized, and it filled the space in front of her. I must have hit something, Elena thought dazedly, and raised her hand to the pain in her head. Her fingers came away bright red, wet with blood. There was an aching, bruised feeling in her chest, and she scrabbled at her seat belt, smearing the blood across her shirt.
A wave of panic washed over her. She could have died.
"Elena!" the voice snapped at her again, and she jumped.
A guy a few years older than she was, with short dark hair and heavy brows, stood just outside her window, rattling her door handle. "Elena!" he said sharply. "Hurry! You have to get out of the car."