The Vampire Diaries - The Struggle

THE STRUGGLE
The Vampire Diaries Book 2
By
L. J. Smith

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES

The Struggle
Volume II

L. J. Smith

HarperTorch
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

Books by L. J. SMITH

The Vampire Diaries
Volume I: The Awakening
Volume II: The Struggle
Volume III: The Fury
Volume IV: Dark Reunion

The Secret Circle trilogy
Volume I: The Initiation
Volume II: The Captive
Volume III: The Power

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of
the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.

HARPERTORCH
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
10 East 53rd Street
New York, New York 10022-5299

Copyright © 1991 by Daniel Weiss Associates, Inc. and Lisa Smith
Cover art copyright © 1991 by Daniel Weiss Associates, Inc.

ISBN:0-06-102001-X

Produced by Daniel Weiss Associates, Inc., 33 West 17th Street, New York, New
York 10011.

First HarperTorch paperback printing: August 2002
First HarperPnsm printing: March 1999

A mass market edition of this book was published in 1991 by HarperPaperbacks.

Printed in the United States of America

Visit HarperTorch on the World Wide Web at www.harpercollins.com

To my dear friend and sister, Judy

A special thanks to Anne Smith, Peggy Bokulic, Anne Marie Smith, and Laura
Penny for information about Virginia, and to Jack and Sue Check for all their local
lore.

One
"Damon!"
Icy wind whipped Elena's hair around her face, tearing at her light sweater. Oak
leaves swirled among the rows of granite headstones, and the trees lashed their
branches together in frenzy. Elena's hands were cold, her lips and cheeks were
numb, but she stood facing the screaming wind directly, shouting into it.
"Damon!"
This weather was a show of his Power, meant to frighten her away. It wouldn't
work. The thought of that same Power being turned against Stefan woke a hot fury
inside her that burned against the wind. If Damon had done anything to Stefan, if
Damon had hurt him…
"Damn you, answer me!" she shouted at the oak trees that bordered the
graveyard.
A dead oak leaf like a withered brown hand skittered up to her foot, but there was
no answer. Above, the sky was gray as glass, gray as the tombstones that
surrounded her. Elena felt rage and frustration sting her throat and she sagged. She'd
been wrong. Damon wasn't here after all; she was alone with the screaming wind.
She turned—and gasped.
He was just behind her, so close that her clothes brushed his as she turned. At
that distance, she should have sensed another human being standing there, should
have felt his body warmth or heard him. But Damon, of course, wasn't human.
She reeled back a couple of steps before she could stop herself. Every instinct
that had lain quiet while she shouted into the violence of the wind was now begging
her to run.
She clenched her fists. "Where's Stefan?"
A line appeared between Damon's dark eyebrows. "Stefan who?"
Elena stepped forward and slapped him.
She had no thought of doing it before she did it, and afterward she could scarcely
believe what she had done. But it was a good hard slap, with the full force of her
body behind it, and it snapped Damon's head to one side. Her hand stung. She
stood, trying to calm her breath, and watched him.
He was dressed as she had first seen him, in black. Soft black boots, black jeans,
black sweater, and leather jacket. And he looked like Stefan. She didn't know how
she could have missed that before. He had the same dark hair, the same pale skin,
the same disturbing good looks. But his hair was straight, not wavy, and his eyes
were black as midnight, and his mouth was cruel.

He turned his head slowly back to look at her, and she saw blood rising in the
cheek she'd slapped.
"Don't lie to me," she said, her voice shaking. "I know who you are. I know what
you are. You killed Mr. Tanner last night. And now Stefan's disappeared."
"Has he?"
"You know he has!"
Damon smiled and then turned it off instantly.
"I'm warning you; if you've hurt him—"
"Then, what?" he said. "What will you do, Elena? What can you do, against me?"
Elena fell silent. For the first time, she realized that the wind had died away. The
day had gone deadly quiet around them, as if they stood motionless at the center of
some great circle of power. It seemed as if everything, the leaden sky, the oaks and
purple beeches, the ground itself, was connected to him, as if he drew Power from
all of it. He stood with his head tilted back slightly, his eyes fathomless and full of
strange lights.
"I don't know," she whispered, "but I'll find something. Believe me."
He laughed suddenly, and Elena's heart jerked and began pounding hard. God, he
was beautiful. Handsome was too weak and colorless a word. As usual, the laughter
lasted only a moment, but even when his lips had sobered it left traces in his eyes.
"I do believe you," he said, relaxing, looking around the graveyard. Then