Ethan gasped, sucking in a long breath of air, and coughed his way awake, his whole body shaking.
Everything hurt.
Gingerly, he patted himself down, finding that he was sticky with half-dried blood, covered with a score of smal injuries. Reaching up, he felt the already healing indentation in his back with delicate fingers. The stave the girl had thrust into him had brushed his heart, but it hadn't pierced it.
A half centimeter to one side, and he would have been dead. Real y dead, this time, not undead.
Grabbing hold of a velvet-covered chair with one hand, Ethan pul ed himself to his feet and looked around. His lieutenants in the Vitale Society, his friends, lay dead on the floor. The Salvatore brothers, and the girls who were with them, had escaped.
Nervously, he felt in one pocket and sighed in relief as his hand closed on a smal vial. Pul ing it out, he looked at the thick red liquid within. Stefan Salvatore's blood. He fished in the same pocket and drew out a cloth bearing a long reddish-brown stain. Damon Salvatore's blood.
He had what he needed.
Klaus would rise again.
