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She didn't need one. Something moved in the darkness, and she saw the person who had plucked
Tyler off her. Stefan Salvatore. But it was a Stefan she had never seen before: that fine-featured face
was white and cold with fury, and there was a killing light in those green eyes. Without even moving,
Stefan emanated such anger and menace that Elena found herself more frightened of him than she had
been of Tyler.
"When I first met you, I knew you'd never learned any manners," said Stefan. His voice was soft and
cold and light, and somehow it made Elena dizzy. She couldn't take her eyes off him as he moved
toward Tyler, who was shaking his head dazedly and starting to get up. Stefan moved like a dancer,
every movement easy and precisely controlled. "But I had no idea that your character was quite so
underdeveloped."
He hit Tyler. The larger boy had been reaching out one beefy hand, and Stefan hit him almost
negligently on the side of the face, before the hand made contact.
Tyler flew against another headstone. He scrambled up and stood panting, his eyes showing white.
Elena saw a trickle of blood from his nose. Then he charged.
"A gentleman doesn't force his company on anyone," said Stefan, and knocked him aside. Tyler went
sprawling again, facedown in the weeds and briars. This time he was slower in getting up, and blood
flowed from both nostrils and from his mouth. He was blowing like a frightened horse as he threw
himself at Stefan.
Stefan grabbed the front of Tyler's jacket, whirling them both around and absorbing the impact of the
murderous rush. He shook Tyler twice, hard, while those big beefy fists windmilled around him,
unable to connect. Then he let Tyler drop.
"He doesn't insult a woman," he said. Tyler's face was contorted, his eyes rolling, but he grabbed
for Stefan's leg. Stefan jerked him to his feet and shook him again, and Tyler went limp as a rag doll,
his eyes rolling up. Stefan went on speaking, holding the heavy body upright and punctuating every
word with a bone-wrenching shake. "And, above all, he does not hurt her…"
"Stefan!" Elena cried. Tyler's head was snapping back and forth with every shake. She was
frightened of what she was seeing; frightened of what Stefan might do. And frightened above all else
of Stefan's voice, that cold voice that was like a rapier dancing, beautiful and deadly and utterly
merciless. "Stefan, stop."
His head jerked toward her, startled, as if he had forgotten her presence. For a moment he looked at
her without recognition, his eyes black in the moonlight, and she thought of some predator, some great
bird or sleek carnivore incapable of human emotion. Then understanding came to his face and some of
the darkness faded from his gaze.
He looked down at Tyler's lolling head, then set him gently against the red marble tombstone.
Tyler's knees buckled and he slid down the face of it, but to Elena's relief his eyes opened – or at
least the left one did. The right was swelling to a slit.
"He'll be all right," said Stefan emptily.
As her fear ebbed, Elena felt empty herself. Shock, she thought. I'm in shock. I'll probably start
screaming hysterically any minute now.
"Is there someone to take you home?" said Stefan, still in that chillingly deadened voice.
Elena thought of Dick and Vickie, doing God knew what beside Thomas Fell's statue. "No," she
said. Her mind was beginning to work again, to take notice of things around her. The violet dress was
ripped all the way down the front; it was ruined. Mechanically, she pulled it together over her slip.
"I'll drive you," said Stefan.