Stefan scoffed, pouring himself a bourbon from the decanter in the library, green eyes narrowing at his brother's words. "Pot. Kettle, Damon," he told him, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a sip of the amber colored liquid. Stefan wasn't so far gone that he was out of control with his lust for death, he'd learned to be better of it through the decades, to get his rush and be alright for a a week or a month. And besides, he knew Damon's spotty past, all the women he had had before he slowly drained them of warm, sweet blood...
"Elena won't find out. It's not like I'm really leaving any evidence of what happened to these people," he informed his brother with a shrug and a small smile, moving over to one of the antique chairs. "And I'm sure to be incredibly careful around her. She won't catch on. I mean, I'm Stefan Salvatore, star of the football team, A+ student, that guy that drives the Porsche!" He made a movement with his arms to illustrate the vastness of his being, how he looked like just the opposite of some...psycho killer. "And who on my list didn't deserve their untimely end? Who? No one."