The Struggle by L. J. Smith Page B

self and shooting her mouth off about the murder. So what? Why do you care?”
    “Because,” said Stefan simply, brutally, “she might be right. Not about the murder but about you. About you and me. I should have realized this would happen. It’s not just her, is it? I’ve been sensing hostility and fear all day, but I wastoo tired to try and analyze it. They think I’m the killer and they’re taking it out on you.”
    “What they think doesn’t matter! They’re wrong, and they’ll realize that eventually. Then everything will be the way it was again.”
    A wistful smile tugged at the corner of Stefan’s mouth. “You really believe that, don’t you?” He looked away, and his face hardened. “And what if they don’t? What if it only gets worse?”
    “What are you saying?”
    “It might be better …” Stefan took a deep breath and continued, carefully. “It might be better if we didn’t see each other for a while. If they think we’re not together, they’ll leave you alone.”
    She stared at him. “And you think you could do that? Not see me or talk to me for however long?”
    “If it’s necessary—yes. We could pretend we’ve broken up.” His jaw was set.
    Elena stared another moment. Then she circled him and moved in closer, so close that they were almost touching. He had to look down at her, his eyes only a few inches from her own.
    “There is,” she said, “only one way I’m goingto announce to the rest of the school that we’ve broken up. And that’s if you tell me that you don’t love me and you don’t want to see me. Tell me that, Stefan, right now. Tell me that you don’t want to be with me anymore.”
    He’d stopped breathing. He stared down at her, those green eyes striated like a cat’s in shades of emerald and malachite and holly green.
    “Say it,” she told him. “Tell me how you can get along without me, Stefan. Tell me—”
    She never got to finish the sentence. It was cut off as his mouth descended on hers.

6
    Stefan sat in the Gilbert living room, agreeing politely with whatever it was Aunt Judith was saying. The older woman was uncomfortable having him here; you didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that. But she was trying, and so Stefan was trying, too. He wanted Elena to be happy.
    Elena. Even when he wasn’t looking at her, he was aware of her more than of anything else in the room. Her living presence beat against his skin like sunlight against closed eyelids. When he actually let himself turn to face her, it was a sweet shock to all his senses.
    He loved her so much. He never saw her as Katherine anymore; he had almost forgotten how much she looked like the dead girl. In any case there were so many differences. Elena had the same pale gold hair and creamy skin, the same delicate features as Katherine, but therethe resemblance ended. Her eyes, looking violet in the firelight just now but normally a blue as dark as lapis lazuli, were neither timid nor childlike as Katherine’s had been. On the contrary, they were windows to her soul, which shone like an eager flame behind them. Elena was Elena, and her image had replaced Katherine’s gentle ghost in his heart.
    But her very strength made their love dangerous. He hadn’t been able to resist her last week when she’d offered him her blood. Granted, he might have died without it, but it had been far too soon for Elena’s own safety. For the hundredth time, his eyes moved over Elena’s face, searching for the telltale signs of change. Was that creamy skin a little paler? Was her expression slightly more remote?
    They would have to be careful from now on.
He
would have to be more careful. Make sure to feed often, satisfy himself with animals, so he wouldn’t be tempted. Never let the need get too strong. Now that he thought of it, he was hungry right now. The dry ache, the burning, was spreading along his upper jaw, whispering through his veins and capillaries. He shouldbe out in the woods—senses alert