Blood Will Tell...

Meredith

Meredith had feared, after that kiss, that the next part would be altogether too much for her. But it was a different kind of experience entirely, and Meredith understood that she had been wrong in trying to force a romantic aspect onto the bloodfeast. For these few moments—few hours or days, as far as she could tell—she was not Stefan's sweetheart, she was not even Stefan's friend joined in lovingkindness.
She was prey.
Stefan was the predator and she was his victim.

Of course, Stefan was a thinking predator, and as gentle a soul as had ever had to develop a hard shell in selfdefense, but he was a predator just the same.
He had successfully fought his genes so that he was not simply a graceful, expert killing machine every time hunger drove him to appease it. But just the same—the romance that had made him and Elena a sort of legendary modernday Romeo and Juliet had come from another part of their selves entirely, Meredith thought. Elena had fallen in love with the beast despite the fact that he was, and would forever remain, a beast: a hunter, sniffing the wind, evaluating the odds, looking for the weak members of the herd. He was a different sort of being altogether than a human, and Meredith knew then that she could never do what Elena had done. She could never entirely trust; could never entirely relax with; and she could certainly never fall in love with a being like Stefan Salvatore.

And now it was Meredith's job to submit to this creature: to an intelligent being, a person, but not a human.

To try and distract herself, she wondered what name the scientists might give this variation on humanity, on homo sapiens sapiens. Homo sapiens vampiris? Oh, come on, Meredith, what was the Latin for vampire? Homo sapiens lamius? Maybe they wouldn't bother with tradition and would go for a word that simply denoted what the new beings were: homo sapiens raptor—or homo sapiens superioris. They would undoubtedly take over the world if they could find a way to reproduce fast enough, and to cooperate with each other. For that matter, Meredith wondered that they hadn't already taken over.
There was no question that the creatures were more intelligent than humans, quicker, stronger, higher on the food chain—oh, that was funny if you thought about it.
Anything was funny if you had to think about it in this situation. What was being demanded was perhaps the ultimate submission, that she give her very blood to one of these creatures; that she remain still while skewered like a grub on the toosharp canines of an insectivore.

She could feel the flow of blood, yes, and she could feel a sort of pleasure in being rid of it, as if medieval theories about leaches and cupping were true and she was overbloated with it. The warm flow was almost pleasant, relaxing. But she was far too aware of her own entire powerlessness, as if she were bound hand and foot, unable to have any say in the control of her own body. And she was far too aware of the—inhuman human—who held her. He was drinking her blood, for God's sake! She had been relegated to the ranks of FDA products. They could measure her blood donation in terms of nutritional value—how did you decide what made up a single serving . . . ?
I gave my word, she thought, using the last of her discipline to keep herself from screaming. I gave my word. To save Fell's Church. To save other girls from just this kind of . . . rape of their veins. Tears rolled down the sides of her face and fell into her hair, unheeded. And still she lay in Stefan's arms, unmoving.

There was no rending pain, at least, so she supposed she was not resisting enough to merit that. But the only thing remotely like pleasure was the desperate thought that soon . . . it must be soon . . . this would end.

And then . . . oh God, she would have enough to think about. Starting with how to look Stefan in the face.

Maybe you shouldn't look at him. Maybe you should just pack up your things and run from this town . . .