The Vampire Diaries 1 - The Awakening | Page 9

then there was a light step in the study doorway. Turning, Stefan had been dazzled by eyes the
color of lapis lazuli, framed with long golden lashes. It was Katherine. Her father, Baron von

Swartzschild, had brought her from the cold lands of the German princes to the Italian countryside,
hoping it would help her recover from a prolonged illness. And since the day she had arrived, everything
had changed for Stefan.
"I beg your pardon. I did not mean to intrude." Her voice was soft and clear. She made a slight motion as
if to leave.
"No, don't go. Stay," Stefan said quickly. He wanted to say more, to catch her hand—but he didn't dare.
Not with his father here. All he could do was gaze into those jewellike blue eyes that were raised to his.
"Yes, stay," Giuseppe said, and Stefan saw that his father's thunderous expression had lightened and that
he had released Damon. He stepped forward, straightening the heavy folds of his long fur-trimmed gown.
"Your father should be returning from his business in the city today, and he will be delighted to see you.
But your cheeks are pale, little Katherine. You are not ill again, I hope?"
"You know I am always pale, sir. I do not use rouge like your bold Italian girls."
"You don't need it," said Stefan before he could stop himself, and Katherine smiled at him. She was so
beautiful. An ache began in his chest.
His father continued, "And I see all too little of you during the day. You seldom give us the pleasure of
your company until twilight."
"I have my studies and devotions in my own rooms, sir," said Katherine quietly, her lashes dropping.
Stefan knew this was not true, but he said nothing; he would never betray Katherine's secret. She looked
up at his father again. "But I am here now, sir."
"Yes, yes, that is true. And I must see that tonight we have a very special meal for your father's return.
Damon… we will speak later." As Giuseppe motioned to a servant and strode out, Stefan turned to
Katherine in delight. It was seldom they could speak to each other without the presence of his father or
of Gudren, her stolid German maid.
But what Stefan saw then was like a blow to his stomach. Katherine was smiling—the little secret smile
that she had often shared with him.
But she was not looking at him. She was looking at Damon.
Stefan hated his brother at that moment, hated Damon's dark beauty and grace and the sensuality that
drew women to him like moths to a flame. He wanted, in that instant, to strike Damon, to smash that
beauty to pieces. Instead he had to stand and watch as Katherine moved slowly toward his brother, step
by step, her golden brocade gown whispering on the tiled floor.
And even as he watched, Damon held out a hand to Katherine, and smiled the cruel smile of triumph…

Stefan turned away from the window sharply.
Why was he reopening old wounds? But, even as he thought it, he drew out the slender gold chain he
wore under his shirt. His thumb and forefinger caressed the ring that hung from it, then he held it up to the
light.
The little circlet was exquisitely worked in gold, and five centuries had not dimmed its luster. It was set
with one stone, a lapis the size of his little fingernail. Stefan looked at it, then at the heavy silver ring, also

set with lapis, on his own hand. In his chest was a familiar tightness.
He could not forget the past, and he didn't really wish to. Despite everything that had happened, he
cherished Katherine's memory. But there was one memory he must truly not disturb, one page of the
journal he must not turn. If he had to relive that horror, that… abomination, he would go mad. As he had
been mad that day, that final day, when he had looked upon his own damnation…
Stefan leaned against the window, his forehead pressed to its coolness. His tutor had had another saying:
Evil will never find peace. It may triumph, but it will never find peace.
Why had he even come to Fell's Church?
He had hoped to find peace here, but that was impossible. He would never be accepted, he would never
rest. Because he was evil. He could not change what he was.

Elena was up even earlier than usual that morning. She could hear Aunt Judith pottering about in her
room, getting ready for her shower. Margaret was still fast asleep, curled up like a little mouse in her bed.
Elena passed her younger sister's half-open door noiselessly and continued down the hallway to let
herself out of the house.
The air was fresh and clear this morning; the quince tree was inhabited only by the usual jays and
sparrows. Elena, who had gone to bed with a throbbing headache, lifted her face to the clean blue sky
and breathed deeply.
She felt much better than she