Vampire Diaries 1. End of the Beginning

**AUTHORS' NOTE**: This _Original Spin-off_ is set in _Mystic Falls_, approximately around the end of S3 and beginning of S4. It stars _all_ the Originals and features popular TVD characters including Caroline Forbes_, _Bonnie Bennett_, _Kat Pierce, etcetera. it also includes our own original characters, such as Klaus's personal assistant and more werewolves, including Derek Hale and his pack from _Teen Wolf_ {who, in this verse, relocated to _Mystic Falls_, followed by the _Argent's_.} The main conflict focuses on the ancient war between vampires and werewolves, as well as various romances between the characters, and is sure to encompass many, many chapters since it is such a large ensemble cast. Keep in mind that this first installment is merely an introduction to our story, meant to reflect the tone and foreshadow what is to come but that we have many, many plot twists in store for you, as well as some epic love stories and characters you will probably be pleasantly surprised to see - and that, our dearest readers, are the only hints you'll be getting.

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**Chapter One**: **End of the Beginning**

There was nothing quite like the sensation of being prey.

Of one's existence, balanced upon such simple factors as the strength and speed of their pursuers, and one's own competence, the scale half left to the chance written in the most basic law of nature.

Kill or be killed.

Fight or flight.

Survival of the fittest; it really didn't matter how you defined it. The end result was still the same. One dead, the other lucky enough to live and for her, the woman behind the mask of eternal youth, the coin flip had landed on the latter side of this equation one too many times for her to be comfortable in the likelihood of it happening again.

How could anyone be so lucky?

"You must have been a whore, lady luck," said she, mostly to herself, as though this was the only thing that explained it, her love affair with good fortune - in other words, her continued survival. Yet as the enigma strolled down the streets of _Mystic Falls_ for the first time since she'd been human, luck was not a sentiment she felt defined her.

Dread, perhaps. Nostalgia, most certainly – but it was the heavy fist of anxiety that won out, the reigning emotion in her heart.

Not over – as it should have been – being caught by that which hunted her, but of the tense conversation that loomed on the horizon. The one submitting her to the pathetic position of begging for help, from the sole person who could; the only one who would.

_Elijah_.

"Elena!"

At first, the voice did not succeed in garnering her attention, but when the bubbly blonde bounded up, a ray of both sunlight and energy, the ancient vampire found herself incapable of interrupting the flow of speech that drifted swiftly from this infantile vampire's mouth, a verbal vomit of utter nonsense.

Heavens, what butchery was this that their language was so lacking?

What social structures had fallen that mankind came to utter such atrocities in lieu of a varied vocabulary of genuine merit? However, rather than titillate over the poor impression this patron of the modern era was leaving, this bitch with articulate sass dawned on the underlying issue.

The doppelganger survived, which meant her lost child had too.

Curiosity rendered hooked, it became imperative to learn more.

Which meant imitating this Elena-character, of which she'd never met. Ah well; a teeny conundrum, but it was the first it of earnestly good news she'd heard in decades – and tragic though it may appear, she was rather relieved to make the acquaintance of such a heart-pounding notion.

"I say! 'Tis a fancy meeting you here." Apparently this failed on par of being the right reaction to serve, for it garnered her naught but the most quizzical of looks, as if blondie here was questioning the level of her intellect! What bollocks was that lewd strain of pondering! Absurd, that was what it was.

Perhaps it would be best to just reflect back partial disinterest, for her enthusiasm had not been so well received. On that note, the imposter shrugged a slender set of shoulders and fixated a compelling pair of eyes on the other, but before she could so much as think a single thought, a strangely familiar voice kept forward.

"Caroline, love."

_Niklaus._

There could be no other. She remembered that voice far too well; it belonged to one of the ghosts who constantly tormented her. Too bad she didn't mean ghost in the literal sense.

"Could you spare a moment?"

Whether this so-called Caroline could or not, this age-old Petrova latched onto this golden opportunity to bid ado and, frankly, flee. ''Well, it's been swell, darling, but I mustn't linger. So don't let me intrude upon your interlude with your romantic admirer." _And he __**did**_ _admire this strange, flighty creature_, she thought with a wry twist of her lips and a wave of a quick hand – his voice betrayed it all. In fact, there once existed a time when he would have saved that tone for her. Oh, but how things changed.

Which was exactly why she had to make haste on her escape, and so it became her objective, practically picking up those imaginary skirts and flying; it was a canny image, given that many viewed her as a witch. So with that she was off, parting farewell in a briskly curt but simply sweet, "Well dearest, cheerio!"

* * *

_That was weird_, Caroline thought, staring at the back of her hastily retreating friend and wondering if she'd encountered another manipulative game of Katherine's. In fact, this vampire barbie was so perturbed about Elena's behavior that she couldn't tear her eyes off the growing smaller back and for once, this wasn't just some scam to avoid looking at Klaus. Who she all but forgot about, until he stilled by her side and startled with his voice, uttered sickly sweet but a fraction from her ear. "Penny for your thoughts, love?" Caroline practically jumped – caught completely off guard.

"My thoughts are worth far more than a penny, but I wouldn't sell them to you for a million." This reprimand was like quicksilver, immediate and sharp as a tongue. It seemed to strike target, because he gave her that puppy-eyed look as if it was supposed to melt her heart. Okay, so it did.

But Caroline was married to the idea of denial and refused to show it – or give in. He, being ever the expressive one, rewarded this earnestness with a mockingly offended look. "Ouch, love. And after I willingly acceded to your demands of keeping my distance." He clucked his tongue disapprovingly, as if greatly disappointed she hadn't intended to hold up her end of the bargain.

Yet, mere moments after the harsh rejection had been dealt, Caroline was relenting with a shrug of common shoulders and stealing a definitively brief glance past her shoulder up at him. "But _that _was just plain weird."

Klaus angled his head at this, hooked like a hawk at her confusion and enough of an opportunist to glean the answers for his calculating mind. So he probed, instantly and shamelessly. "Weird? In _Mystic Falls_? Sweetheart, is that not like calling the kettle black?" He stressed, that devilishly wolfish smirk settling into its near permanent residence on what he'd like to assert were damn kissable lips – if only Caroline was of a mind to agree. _Soon_, the thought was positively oozing with confidence, _she would be changing her tune_.

But Caroline just rolled her eyes and shoved her elbow back against his gut, using those abs (she so _did not_ just notice as the epitome of a washboard) to push away and spin right round, till she faced him with shoulders squared and feet firm in their likewise shoulder width apart; a defensive stance.

"Ugh! You know what I mean," she stated hotly, not realizing how she was playing herself like a pawn, his ability to predict her actions – and reactions – far too on point, as though in sync to her very grain of motivations. What an unnervingly chilling thought. And though it was a conclusion Caroline reached on no more conscious level than that of the sub, it caused a ripple of chills to prickle up her skin in a dusting of goosebumps.

God, she hoped he didn't notice – but with that intent way he watched her, that was like wishing for world hunger not to exist. How unfortunate.

"She was just acting weird," Caroline paused with a meaningful glance back over her shoulder to where her friend's silhouette had already vanished. _That was fast_. "Elena, Kat – whoever the hell that was – was making less sense then Shakespeare."

Instantly, Klaus was frowning, that intimidatingly somber gaze ripped from her face to glare profoundly over her shoulder. _It couldn't be_, he thought, prickled with the unnerving sense that it was.

_Tatia_.

Impossible; the harlot was dead, a thousand years over.

Good fucking riddance, if you asked him, which was exactly why he didn't spare the strumpet a second thought, but latched onto the last thing his current obsession said and smirked hotly down at her all over again.

"He penned the greatest tale of impossible love," Klaus began but Caroline cut him off before he could even think of drawing the parallels between them, like she knew he was going to. "_Exactly. _His work is crazy, nonsense, and just plain weird," She huffed, refusing to admit the dead writer had been a genius and that she'd fawned over his work in AP English. "Highly overrated." This afterthought was tacked on, if only to ease the doubts that surfaced now tauntingly, the ones that husked Klaus was right.

He would – could – never be right.

_Ever._

For that implied he was right about other things, such as about the fact that he firmly and arrogantly believed they were perfectly compatible. Hah. Try impossible. Try never in a freaking billion years. Try she'd rather go lesbo and run off with Elena. Try _anything_ but that.

There was no _they. _It didn't exist. It never would and, more importantly, never could.

"Just give it a rest, _Niklaus. _I don't have time for your mind games today." Arms crossed about her bust, defiant and guarded all at once, she tossed out his full name only because she _knew _he loathed it. Her smirk turned a shade self-satisfied when his lips twitched with anger at its use, a fact further outlined by his derogative response. "How many times must I insist that you not use that name?" He demanded, as though it wasn't his at all.

"Niklaus, Niklaus, _Niklaus_." She enjoyed herself far too much in the saying of this, head nodding from left to right, as though to affirm absolute defiance. Emerald blue cores stretched open wide, challenging him to do something about it, confident he wouldn't, as he never did – with her. "Well, for starters, how about the same amount of times you've made me insist you stop stalking me? But since I keep finding you in my backyard at all hours of the night, clearly my distaste for your company has yet to fully sink in." Those very same eyes were narrowed into a fixating glare then, tarnishing her statement with a gleam of straight-up sass.

He too glared, but for entirely different reasons. "Caroline." his accent (damn it) peaked, carrying thick with the undertones that hinted his boiling vexation over her affinity for constant denial. "Have you already forgotten our deal, pet?" Klaus arched a brow, intimidating in a direct dare for her to negate their arrangement.

"I did as you asked; now I _expect_ to be rewarded." Inclining his head forward a notch, he leveled her with a heady stare that was half angst and half flat-out lust. Unbridled, unrelenting, raw desire. "You wouldn't go against your word now, Sweetheart, would you?" He certainly hoped not; her honesty ranked among one of the finer traits she exhibited, one he admired …

But that didn't mean he was above playing the cheap shot. "I thought you were better than that."

That did it, judging from the annoyed role of darling blue eyes. Wolfish was his smirk.

"Ugh! Couldn't you have just forgotten about that?" It would have been so much easier if he had, but a girl couldn't be so lucky nowadays. Caroline felt like stamping her foot, but forwent the childish act in lieu of planting her hands on aggressively jutting hips, like a woman scorned or a pissed-off mother, determined to remain unaffected by his plea.

So what if she'd promised? He was a serial killer; didn't that automatically negate any deal?

It should have ... but it didn't.

Then again, didn't they have warnings about making deals with the devil?

Not that it mattered either way, for that pang of irksome guilt still stabbed like a bloody stake.

Right in the feels – or rather the heart which pitter-pattered in reaction. She sighed, the sound heavy and thick.

Blasted honesty, why did she have to go and give him her word?!

"Fine." Arms crossed, wrapped tightly enough that her cleavage – pumped up in such a way that it garnered his immediate attention – managed to distract him, much to both her disgust and ultimate satisfaction. "But not today." This firm statement came quick on the heels of her former, with only a dramatic pause for effect placed in-between, the filler behind her catty smirk.

"Caroline." Again he began and again her knees shook, rattled at the intimate way his accent highlighted her name. But just like before, she interrupted before he could get another word in, save he win her over with that tone alone.

"I'm busy." Coquettishly, she tilted her head, curls of gold cascading down as she strove to glare away his adamant stare. "I have plans." This time it was he who interrupted her: "With who?" The jealousy noteworthy, portrayed both in the desperation behind the quickly stated question and the glare he matched it with.

_Mine _said his hooded look.

A dramatically slow eye-roll later, Caroline was uncrossing her arms and running a frustrated hand through those ultra-blonde locks, all but up in arms. "God, you're impossible."

Klaus seemed determined to refute this claim, or at least strove to get the last word in, by interjecting yet _again_, "Arguably so are you, my sweetest Caroline." A brow arched and he dipped his lips down, till they brushed just near her ear. "Yet another trait we seem to share, future mate of mine."

"_Seriously,_ Klaus!" Aghast, she stared at him, one ridiculous comment away from throwing her hands up in defeat, if only to get him to stop delivering such pathetically heart-wrenching lines; cheesy, totally ineffective lines that were not at all gut-dropping. Maybe_,_ she thought, with a sarcastic smile, _that was exactly his diabolical plan_. In the sake of bluntness, frankly, Caroline wouldn't put it past him to annoy her into submission.

She did, however, shove him straight in the chest – without a lick of fear for the consequences and naught but irritation and disgust marring her comely features. A strange notion, this, given that she should fear him with every ounce of her being, seeing as for the last year or so he'd been the badass villain responsible for so much death and torment in the lives of her friends and even her.

As Bonnie said, his was a dark and deadly inferno.

A man who couldn't love, couldn't feel.

So why did she feel so much like a moth to his flame? Helpless to his wicked ways, a goner to his games – such an unwitting pawn victim was she to his selection of her as his eternal Queen; no doubt he intended to play her with the same ruthless strategy.

_Chess? Seriously, Caroline?! You're thinking about chess!? _The mental reprimand did little to ease her fears, and in the time-span of now and then, Caroline could only deny the truth in the matter so far. It was a safe topic, one that lacked any sexual stimulant at all, which under his intently stripping gaze stood exactly as its current appeal.

In layman's terms, if it came down to sex or chess in association with Klaus, she'd a thousand times over pick the latter.

Yeah, _right_. The sun also shined at night.

Speaking of nights, his expression was currently as dark as one. The muscle above his left eye twitched; once, twice, as did the matching corner of thickly set lips. "Caroline" This time her name was growled more in warning then uttered with a lover's intimacy, eyes obscure in their downcast stare. "You _promised_."

_Freaking hell_. Why couldn't he just take the hint and go? As in now, as in _before_ Bonnie arrived and saw them conversing. That would only rouse questions with answers she wasn't ready to face. Yet, as she glowered up into Klaus's (admittedly) handsome features, it was easy to affirm he had no intention of going anywhere without first procuring what he wanted; her.

Why did it have to be her?

Couldn't he just want a free pass to do evil? Maybe even world domination?

_Why me?_

It was a mental question Caroline was unaccustomed to asking. At least not without a definition altering _cant-it-be _cementing those two root words together.

"Fine," she repeated with the same resounding irritation before reaffirming the ever important. "_Later_." Then, as an afterthought, less out of kindness than for the sake of convincing him she tacked on an "I promise."

Klaus didn't seem impressed. "Why do I get the sensation you intend for most of those _laters_ to become _nevers_?" It boggled the brain, how he continued to strive for her affection only to have it thrown in his face. The child was lucky he'd held the patience – _so far_ – to put up with her nonsense.

Anyone else would have had their throats ripped out by now or at least their livers.

Her anxiety growing with every moment that ticked by in which Bonnie could stumble upon them, Caroline shifted her weight around uncomfortably and tossed her head with the swish of melodramatic fear. "Bravo, you figured out my master plan." She shook her head disbelievingly, and then again flashed that signature roll of overtly flirty eyes. "But I'm still not your prize."

"So you say," he claimed, not entirely believing her. Okay, not believing her at all.

She would come to see in time that she belonged to him.

Luckily for Klaus, when it concerned Caroline, he possessed endless patience.

Or so his eyes suggested as he watched her with genteel tact; er, well, as much tact as anyone who wanted to hump the shit out of someone could muster. His eyes certainly ate her up, more than sated to constantly feast on her face and figure. "You owe me now, love. Never forget that."

And owe him she did! Unfortunately for her, he held every intention of taking that check to the bank. If by bank you meant her body, and check the ticket to submission. "You'll be seeing me," he promised before dipping down to steal a telling kiss, ironically gifted to her cheek, drawing back in a tauntingly slow pace. "Until then, sweet Caroline."

With that, he left her, just as she'd wished; only he did so in such a manner that it left her vexingly craving more.

This wasn't his first time up to bat in the game of seduction. He knew how to make a lady's ticker ache.

And so it was with a smirk that he stalked away.

_Damn him! Damn him to hell!_

Caroline was irate, tensed, perplexed and frustratingly aroused. Enough she visualized using that blessed vampire strength to rush up behind him and toss his ass to the street, but alas, while she might have been able to out power _his_ hybrids, Caroline wasn't so foolish as to think she could manage so easily with the Original.

_Damn him again!_

It was her final thought before letting out a tension-displacing "uuuuuuuuugh," dragged on just as long, and pivoting a sharp 180 to get to the Grill before Bonnie, so she'd have the chance to calm down. She needed to, given the way she elbow-shoved her way inside.

_What's her problem?_

The darkly rugged male stared arrogantly after her, irked not so much by the bossy blonde but in the disturbance itself, having had his attention tuned sharply on the horizon, large alert eyes intent on discerning the threat.

The one that had just arrived. He'd sensed it the very second it struck, abandoning his lunch to stroll immediately outside the Grill, and the werewolf growled low in his throat, the sound reverberating down to the core.

He'd felt this before.

And it wasn't good.

It was what had chased him out of _Beacon Hills_.

Derek Hale had one thing in mind, and that was the safety of his pack, which was currently in danger.

They _all _were.

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**AUTHORS' NOTE**: Well, here we are. We finally published a story that has been a long time in coming, and we couldn't be more happy with the results. We hope you guys enjoy it as much as we do. With that said, **review** away, lovelies! We would absolutely love to hear from you.


	2. Boys Will Be Boys

******AUTHORS' NOTE****: **And here we present the second installment to Battle of Blood! To those who graciously reviewed the first chapter, thank you so much for your input! You have no idea what it means to us, especially knowing you enjoyed our introduction to the story. To say that we were pleased by its reception is a vast understatement. It certainly pleases us to know that others are just as interested in reading it as we are in writing it; I have no qualms admitting that. But seriously. You guys are the best!

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**Chapter Two**: **Boys Will Be Boys**

Well, he was persistent, she'd give him that.

Frowning, Bonnie Bennett glanced at her watch, absently making note of the time. She'd promised to meet Caroline at the Grill five minutes ago for some much needed girl time, or as the blonde vampire often liked to refer to it as, the _you-listen-to-every-word-i-say-and-accept-it-as-the-gospel-truth_ time. Briefly considering asking for a rain check, it wasn't long before she was adamantly shaking off that ridiculous whim. She already owed Caroline some cleverly crafted excuse for deliberately being absent through most of her calls as of late. No point in making the situation worse, and by worse, she was — of course — insinuating that she'd rather like to go a few more days without catching a glimpse of the look her friend only saw fit to shoot her way when she felt she was acting on the irresponsible side or exhibiting facets of rudeness in the face of her concern, such as ignoring her calls, for instance; it was a look Bonnie was unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of, given the fact that she was practically the poster-witch for judgmental stares. But the worst part of all was the notion that perhaps Caroline was right. Only a hypocrite would continue to blast disparaging thoughts about a certain hybrid who shall remain nameless while, on the same hand, contemplate meeting said hybrid's brother in the clearing later that night.

Bad call?

Oh, no doubt.

But did she care?

Most days … no.

Shooting another quick glance at her watch confirmed her suspicion. She was running late enough to warrant a proper scolding. Bonnie shook her head at that thought as she made haste for the Grill, determined to keep all thoughts of Mikaelson at bay. Now was certainly not the time to give into the conflict she knew would one day overcome her stubborn will. It was already beginning to seep into those tiny, dark crevices of her life she'd thought to be fully concealed from the prying forces of nature. Being its willing servant had its disadvantages at times.

As she neared the familiar entrance, however, she caught the tail-end of Caroline's grand entrance as she all but barreled into some poor stranger — he didn't look particularly pleased about that; who would? — in her bid to reach their usual table. Not a good sign.

"Hey," Bonnie greeted upon coming to a stop beside the table, flashing a slightly sheepish smile in an effort to soothe over any ire she might be feeling due to her late arrival as she slid onto the seat opposite of hers. Caroline, for the most part, didn't appear too put-out by it and even managed a warm smile in return. But when Bonnie took a moment to actually study the other girl's face, she couldn't help but notice the flustered cast to her features. "Are you okay?" She asked worriedly.

"Me? Yes. Of course! Why wouldn't I be?" Caroline raised her eyebrow in question, hastening to add only after she sensed the witch's desire to reply, "Never mind that. Where have _you_been?"

Ah, the dreaded question.

"Busy — with spells and enchantments, you know, the witchy thing." She gave a small shrug, as though her whereabouts prior to today, or rather this minute, hardly mattered, feigning ignorance in lieu of the answers Caroline truly sought.

Despite possessing blonde hair, she was far from stupid. She'd know something was up just from the way Bonnie had carefully alluded to what she'd long since dubbed her escape hatch; witchcraft. She'd probably known it for awhile, maybe even from the moment she'd missed her first call, especially when before she'd always made it a point to be reachable in case her magic was needed. Which was why she was swift to latch onto a different subject. "How's the whole stalking thing going with you-know-who?"

And just like that, Caroline's entire demeanor altered, not enough for strangers to take heed of, but Bonnie wasn't exactly a stranger now, was she? "How do you know about … Never mind." She absently thrust a hand through the long, thick strands of her silky, blonde hair as thoughts of Klaus Mikaelson began to flicker through her head, a constant threat to her peace of mind. "I've considered building him a doghouse, if you must know," she muttered exasperatedly, then pursed her lips, refusing to say another word on the subject. Mum's the word, or so they claimed. "None of that, Bonnie Bennett." She narrowed her baby blue orbs upon her friend's face, fixing her with a no-nonsense look she fully intended to utilize. "You haven't been answering my calls lately, and I have to say, it's worrisome. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Bonnie answered without hesitation. At Caroline's arched look — she obviously didn't believe her — she heaved a soft sigh of resignation. "Well, fine. There's this … guy. But it's no big deal, really." Not that she would buy that. Still, it was worth a shot. Thankfully, though, at that moment, a movement out of the corner of her eye offered just the distraction needed to turn Caroline's attention elsewhere. "Looks like Rebekah's made this her daily watering hole." She nodded in the direction of the blonde Original who was in the midst of slamming her drink down atop the table of the booth she currently shared with Elijah — the only Mikaelson brother she had yet to truly tangle with, and for that, she was grateful — and expectedly, her comment caught her inquisitive friend off guard, souring her disposition nearly instantly the moment her gaze lit upon the girl.

"I'm surprised she's not chasing after Matt. She never could take no for an answer," Caroline huffed, folding her arms across her chest as she turned to fix Bonnie with an annoyed glare, who merely rolled her eyes in response, having heard this argument many times before.

"Well, I haven't seen her with him lately, and she doesn't seem to care that he's working the bar, so it's safe to assume she's finally accepted that he'll never go for her and moved on."

"But that doesn't mean anything. She's had a thousand years to practice that uncaring, bitch face." Head tilted casually to the side as she wasted little time in tuning into the Originals' conversation, she quickly shushed Bonnie just as Elijah's deep baritone sounded.

"No, I haven't. He has a tendency to make himself scarce when I'm about." There was a thread of humor in Elijah's voice, coupled with faint irritation, as though being avoided was a rare commodity he was adamant would never happen again; if he had anything to say about it, that is. "Do you want my opinion, Rebekah?"

"As if." She scoffed, clearly disgusted by the mere notion that she would willingly heed the opinion or advice of stodgy, old Elijah, but he didn't allow that to deter him from giving it anyway. "Let bygones be bygones. Niklaus has his reasons for doing what he does. It's time you come to terms with that or at the very least learn to live with it." He rather doubted she wanted to, given the enjoyment she derived out of riling his temper. But as far as he saw it, it was time they learned to stop acting like children and start adopting the more mature role of the adult. "Petty revenge is _not_ the way to go about this. To act upon it now would only further incite the situation. Is that what you want?"

But instead of offering a retort as he expected her to, she pointed at the window, lips parting to emit a soft gasp. "Oh, look, Elijah! It's your old girlfriend, Tatia!"

As soon as the name had fallen from her lips, he swiveled his head to follow the direction of her pointed gaze, only to frown, chagrined, when he realized his mistake. There was no Tatia at the window. It was simply Rebekah's way of getting back at him for daring to offer his advice when she'd made a point of denying its necessity. "We agreed never to mention her name again," he murmured, certain to keep the discomfiture out of his voice.

"No, _you_ agreed." A smug smirk grazed her lips as she leaned back against her chair and took a small sip of her soda. "Just as you agreed we'd leave Henrik out of future discussions. Oh, and let's not forget your refusal to let me go out at night unchaperoned. I'll have you know, I'm a big girl now. I don't need you or anyone else looking after me. As if I have anything to be worried about anyway. Honestly, Elijah, we're the most powerful family in the world. What reason have I to fear the night? Bollocks, I _am_ the night!"

"Cut the theatrics, Rebekah. There are still dangers you could fall afoul of. The werewolves, for instance —"

"Oh, don't be so ridiculous, _Father_. I have nothing to fear from a ragtag pack of flea-bitten mutts," she interrupted sulkily, lips puckered into a pout as her gaze returned to his face, choosing to ignore the stoic expression he wore with Mikaelson pride, the one which bespoke of his determination to do what he felt was right for the family, regardless of her own desires. Typical Elijah, taking firm control of circumstances he had no business butting into. But just as she was about to tact a rather tactful, "Don't be such a downer," onto the end of her sentence, the faint jingle of a cellphone ring-tone broke into the conversation, effectively silencing her, for she knew who was on the other end even before Elijah reached into his pocket to retrieve it.

"What do you require?" He answered on the second ring, slanting a warning look in Rebekah's direction as she moved to leave, indicating that their conversation was far from over.

"Have fun being Nikky's lapdog," she snapped out with a haughty toss of her head before making good on the promise of an escape and using the momentary lull in conversation to beat a hasty retreat to the door, but not before giving Caroline a sickly sweet smile on her way by. "Say hello to my brother for me." Then, with one last smirk, she left, leaving Caroline and Bonnie to stare after her retreating back.

"I _really_ can't stand her." Brows furrowed, Caroline bit her lip, looking seconds away from ripping the leg off of the chair she currently occupied, if only for the opportunity to stake Rebekah for being such a bitch. "And neither can the rest of her family, it seems. What a shocker," she groused, lifting her head to pin Bonnie with a sullen frown, her friend's amused gaze only adding fuel to the fire of her growing irritation. "What? You heard them."

"Actually, I didn't. I'm one of the fortunate few who doesn't happen to suffer from supersonic hearing like you do," Bonnie felt the need to point out, grinning all the while.

"Whatever," she said surly, rising from the table as she peered toward the booth the Original siblings had taken up temporary residence at, unsurprised to find that Elijah had already departed. "We should do this again sometime. I say tonight. My house. _No excuses._" She shot Bonnie a look that promised dire retribution should she decide to blow her off again, to which she replied with a hesitant nod. "Good. Good. So I'll see you then." Uttered more as a statement than a question. "Oh, and if you see Elena, don't be surprised if she starts sprouting weird, old-timey words." Once she was satisfied she'd won this round, Caroline smiled and offered a bit of a wave before striding quickly, purposely toward the door, taking off for parts unknown.

Or so it looked from Bonnie's perspective.

Blinking at her swift departure, she drummed her fingertips thoughtfully against the tabletop, confusion spiking at the random and sudden mention of Elena. She couldn't imagine her adopting such a vocabulary, but if she had … Well, all the more power to her. But it wasn't long before the damn conflicted thoughts began to take over once again, causing her to wonder if perhaps this was yet another sign that she should stand firm, strong, against the forbidden attraction simmering between her and Mikaelson. A Servant of Nature belonged with others of her kind; whereas he was considered an abomination. _Stay strong, Bonnie. You're a Bennett witch. You can do this_.

Could she?

Highly doubtful.

* * *

_Mystic Falls_ was much like _Beacon Hills_, Derek Hale conceded as he stood on the edge of the woods, considering his next course of action now that he'd relocated his pack to another town that, unlike his own, just so happened to be crawling with creatures of all types, most of which had seemingly claimed this territory as their own. As it were, impulsiveness was responsible for this travesty of a decision; he'd allowed it to guide his actions this time around and instead of moving them away from the danger the other Alphas had presented, he'd thrust them into an even more dangerous situation altogether, one including a threat even he himself wasn't so certain he could fight.

Strike one for Team Hale.

Lips compressed to form a thin line of distaste for the thought of jeopardizing the lives of his pack at the behest of a paranoid Beta who'd only just reclaimed life thanks to Lydia Martin's witchy mojo, Derek stuffed his hands into his pockets as he trudged along the edge of the woods in search of the elusive scent he'd been tracking for the better part of the hour. It was slightly familiar, in that he knew he'd smelled it before but couldn't exactly place where. Face lined with concentration, he lifted his head once more and took a deep breath, scenting the air.

There it was again.

Without a thought to the consequences, he took off in the direction he assumed it had originated from, nearly desperate to discover its source.

And that was when it hit him.

_No_, the word slammed through his mind, his muscles tensing in recognition as a low, furious growl rumbled deep within his chest. That scent … it couldn't be. As he promptly followed the trail it left behind, at once intoxicating and repulsive — he only took three more steps before he drew to an abrupt halt upon glimpsing the slender profile of a woman he'd thought to be dead. Just like that, all the memories — good and bad — flooded his system, bringing with them the sense of impending doom; even the wolf within reacted violently to her presence, in such an intense way that it raised red flags.

"Kate." Shock threaded through the nuances of his voice, disbelief following close on its heels.

"Hello to you too, sweetheart."

* * *

Klaus leaned against the side of the house he'd decreed their next target, given the family's proclivity toward hunting his kind, lips curved downward as he strove to ignore that which had been plaguing him all afternoon — and it had nothing to do with the tension that now resided between himself and Rebekah and her inability to understand his desire to create hybrids, nor did he particularly care to discern the reason behind the doppelganger's strange behavior, as according to Caroline.

_Caroline_.

Naturally, she was the cause of his sobriety ... and, of course, there were her ridiculous efforts to keep them at a distance. She simply refused to acknowledge the possibility, the _likelihood_, of coming to the realization that they were not so different, after all. Well, soon, she would have no choice but to accept the truth of her nature. The sooner, the better.

"Still pining away for your little blonde darling, brother?" Kol taunted playfully as he came to stand beside Klaus, dark gaze fixated on the front door from whence the enemy resided. "When will you finally allow her to slip the leash around your neck, hm?" He flashed a boyish grin at that, but as quick as his amusement had appeared, dark anticipation was just as quickly to take its place. "Is it time?" Eagerness colored his tone.

Klaus gave Kol a long, measured look, as though gauging his dedication to the cause. "Why do you assume this involves you?"

He scowled in confusion. "Because you wouldn't be so cruel as to leave me out of your fun … would you?"

Rolling his eyes, Klaus delved into his pocket to retrieve his cell and wasted little time in pressing one. Within seconds, the voice of one of his hybrids — frankly, the only one he cared to talk to — sounded across the line, promptly as ordered whenever he sought to reach them. "You rang, boss-man?"

"Gather the troops, Declan," he murmured, glancing at Kol as he made a scoffing sound. He certainly didn't look pleased by the aspect of being upstaged by a few hybrids. Cracking a mockingly amused grin at his expense, he added purely for his benefit, "We have a lovely house to raid."

"Gotcha. Need me to bring anything? Maybe an apple pie? New neighbors expect that, right?"

"Declan."

"Right. Right. Gather the troops. Got it."

"Good." He hung up, satisfied.

Kol, on the other hand, looked slightly disgruntled by this turn of events. Slightly? Hell, feral described him better when he didn't get his way. "Honestly, Klaus, what need have we for an army of hybrids? This is the sort of job I could perform blind-folded."

"You're making assumptions again." Klaus regarded his younger brother with feigned indifference, perfectly aware of how self-centered Kol could be; to him, _not_ being included was much akin to having a stake wedged in a very uncomfortable place. "But fine. If you insist, I advise you not to leave anytime soon." His dimples emerged then, under the guise of contentment. "The fun's just about to begin."

* * *

**AUTHORS' NOTE**: So there you have it, _Mystic Falls_ in a nutshell, where chaos is always bound to ensue. What did you think of Elijah's appearance? Rebekah's? Bonnie's? And let's not forget Derek Hale. And, of course, there's our favorite Mikaelson duo who simply refuse to stay out of trouble. Silly boys. But on a more serious note, stay tuned to see what happens next!

And should you deign to leave a review, we will be most thankful! We do so love reading your thoughts on the installments.


	3. Heart of Darkness

**AUTHOR NOTES**: Warning; this is a dark chapter. Graphic violence is described, and characters' evil sides are portrayed. If that makes you uncomfortable, you may wish to wait for the next update. Any important elements will be reiterated in that chapter for those of you who do not like exploring the dark sides of character. There are, however, some important plot beats that occur that, as you will come to find in later chapters, progress the story quite heavily and it's ripe with foreshadow. But on a lighter note, thank you so much to those of you who reviewed. Reading them made us all the more excited to get this update out. xD.

* * *

**Chapter Three**: **Heart of Darkness**

It wanted out, the beast Kate Argent was now forced to harbor within the hollow of her softly beating heart. It clawed and lashed and scrapped at what little hold she had left on that blasted thing called sanity.

Fucking sanity.

A sense of well-being that the ex-huntress desperately grasped at, like a thread that kept slipping through her hands no matter how hard or tightly her fingers clenched around it.

With this mental anguish ravaging from the inside out, Kate struggled to move, staggering forward with a spine that arched, threatening to curl and stretch, as fingertips burned, the monster's claws barely abstaining from bursting through her perfectly manicured nail beds.

It stung like a goddamn ingrown fingernail in every damn tip.

Skin itched; inflamed with the transformation the Argent barely kept at bay, beating it back down into submission with every stubborn fiber in her body – which yes, meant all of them.

Every last one.

The infamous hunter had become her own damn prey.

Irony at its fucking finest.

A proud bitch, Kate transferred all this pent-up aggression into remaining the dominant force, conscripting the inner wolf to stay as _her_ subordinate.

She would not, could not, allow it to takeover. To do so would be to give up everything she had ever believed in.

It would make her wrong – and worse, _Derek_ right.

That was absolutely unacceptable, not allowed, not ever, because the second she admitted that, Kate would have to face the weight of what she'd done. Done to him, done to his pack. She refused to call it his family – monsters didn't have families, just as she refused to swallow the bitter pill that her actions had not been as justified as Gerard had cunningly compelled her to believe.

Kate could still hear the haunting staccato of his voice that told her over and over again that it had to be done, that the monsters had to die, the anthem to her fucking childhood.

That if she didn't follow through with it, if she couldn't, it would disgrace the family name, tarnish the Argent legacy.

The bloodied irony of it all made her want to howl – no, _scream_.

She was still an Argent; therefore, she would _never _howl.

With that thought firmly enmeshed in her mind, she continued her trek through the woods, desperate not to give into her inner wolf, a task made all the harder as soon as his scent reached her; it slammed her senses with the weight of registered shock, her mind quickly rejecting the common denials, that it couldn't be him or that she had to be mistaken.

She wasn't.

No other man smelt like that. Like raw musk and smoking sex.

_Derek._

Though surprised, Kate knew better then to show it. Her poker face had always been impeccable, one of the best in the business.

If you were talking about wolf hunting, that is.

"Kate." He said, tone flat with shock. Stunned, as he gave her the double – triple – take, as though not trusting any of his senses to currently be accurate; hell, as if hoping it all boiled down to being on the wrong side of a drug-induced bender rather than actually face the fact that his ex-fucking-girlfriend still lived.

_Awe, how cute. The big bad wolf was all confused_. This was the perspective Kate mockingly portrayed, from her hip cocked out stance and arrogant hand braced on the swell of a sensual hip.

"Hello to you too, sweetheart." Condescending as ever, she flashed her most sadistic of smiles, head cocked like a loaded gun, with a bullet sharp stare that was nothing but sinisterly wicked and taunting to the core.

But before Derek knew what he was doing, he was stepping forward in a sort of daze, his dark eyes focused primarily on her face, as though still strangely submissive to her torturous games.

And then he remembered the fire, the one which had taken everything from him.

"You're supposed to be dead," he got out, the sound guttural and torn. Like one hell of a scab had just been ripped off.

"Surprise, Derek." The bitch's features hardened, inwardly refusing to let the bastard see the pain this unexpected encounter caused and lashing out with a lethally sassy vile instead. "I'm not."

That did it. Set him off. The alpha male snarled, his disbelief quickly transforming into an all-out fury that was unrelenting, unsympathetic, and merciless in nature. Teeth stretched, lengthening, becoming the fangs he so enjoyed baring, his eyes flashed a threatening crimson as he hissed, "How the hell did you survive?"

Kate batted an eyelash, once, twice, and then three times just to mock him. Eyes feasting shamelessly on the mutt's body which had – admittedly – filled out quite nicely, she shrugged, the action ripe with indifference, somehow managing to make even that common action come across as flatly insulting. Then that wickedness reached her eyes, taking over as the killer's expression molted into one of pure malice amusement. Twisted be thy nature.

"Sorry darlin'," Mockingly, her lip curled up one corner, sole dimple branded as their eyes locked for the first time in years. "Turns out, I guess I'm just not that easy to kill." Spoken calmly, in the tone of condescending coupled with a psychotic rolling shrug, an indicator of her typical brand of bitchy irritation.

"Either that, or this was your uncle's idea of a sick joke." She shot out, another bulls-eye with the verbal trigger.

That might be true – fuck if they'd ever know it or not – but neither found it funny.

Try horrifying.

Derek certainly thought so. "I should kill you, rip your throat out." He meant it too. The bitch deserved all that and more for what she'd done. He couldn't fathom what logic of insanity had led Peter to spare her. To make her stronger, faster, to be gifted the bite of the wolf.

Kate only cackled at that. "Hmm. Interesting theory you've got there … And might I add that's quite a fascinating use of _should_." She quirked her eyebrows, even more expressive as a werewolf, in tune to every suppressed emotion he kept restrained beneath the surface.

Every beat of heart, every extension of lungs, every flicker of self-doubt and just as expected, she used that to her personal benefit.

Kate strutted forward, her hair a banner on the wind, every stretch of muscle oozing dominating confidence, her blood red smile as smug as they got, and she stopped, striking the match of nostalgia with this position, so tormentingly close.

"Do you _really_ think you can, muffin?" Brows knitted, her words dripped sheer doubt.

Not content to just leave it at that – she was a right demeaning seductress – Kate brandished his chest with the fire of her hand, a hand that suggestively slid down, bulge shamelessly traced, before fingers slowly walked their way back up again. Playful, coy, but still just as much of a bitch as she didn't hesitate to illustrate with a bitter twist to his suppressed feelings and a firm tap of illustration to his sternum. "Or do you still have that little crush on me?" What a twisted smile she bestowed upon him.

"What do you want?" A deep guttural growl; that was how it came out. His pain, his anger, and what was worse, that croak of undeniable desire she mockingly reminded him of, all flamed, incited by her goading.

She'd always been able to crawl under his skin and fester like the worst sort of bacteria.

"You."

It was an answer that had him wheeling as her smirk grew and that taunting hand crept round his neck, tickling the fine hairs. The sexual tension was ripe, alive like electricity.

He almost believed her, but Kate wouldn't be Kate if she didn't take that moment to spoil the sentiment. "On your knees and begging."

* * *

The girl was terrified, and Kol fixed that by cracking her neck, rendering the poor dear dead in an instant, enthralled as he witnessed the life fade from her eyes. Having already had his fill of blood, he didn't so much as bother to catch the limp body as it crashed with a dull thud to the wooden beams in the floor.

Dull, like this massacre had quickly become.

"For guarding some all-powerful ancient weapon, you'd think they would've put up more of a fight," Kol stated, half questioning his brother, as if accusing the hybrid bastard of having something to do with his suddenly bored disposition.

"I tried to warn you, but you'd have none of it," Klaus coldly reminded him, not so much as glancing up from the ransacking of drawers, as though desperately searching for something.

Kol grunted, toeing the disjointed body that stretched out pathetically before him, before stepping over it without another glimmer of thought; disregarded as simply as he had her life.

"What exactly are you after anyway?" Again he questioned, arranging his comely features into an antagonizing foray, blistering with his deadpan stare. "It must be worthwhile, or you would've just left this to your bloody Hybrids," Kol continued, musing aloud as he paced, occupying himself with unraveling his brother's mysterious ways.

"Don't act so petulant Kol. The look doesn't suit you," Klaus shot back, although with half the passion he normally used to threaten, currently distracted with the task of finding that of which he sought.

And yet, all he found was ... nothing. From room to room he went, scanning, searching, with Kol on his heels and making note of his Hybrids' shoddy work. They'd done their job, but without tact or skill.

His features warped to emphasis the dual nature of his beast, Klaus calmly regarded the wrecked interior of the house in which his minions had raided only a few hours earlier, baring a most terrible news.

Lives must be forfeited in order for his species to thrive. It might not be the army he'd hoped for, but it was a start.

Passing a glance around the living room, noting the broken furniture, the drops of blood splattered everywhere, the broken bodies, he tilted his head thoughtfully to the side as he considered creating more like him. He could always use more helping hands, as the case might be.

Though he ignored Kol for the most part, who was still throwing complaints left, right, and center – spewing nonsense about how this hadn't quite been the fancy bit of fun and sport he'd been promised – his incessant nagging began to irritate in the worst possible way, and with only a thought to silence him, Klaus snatched him up by the neckline of his sweater. "For the last time, you incessant cow, I told you to stay out of this," he spat, glowering contempt down into the face of his Satan-help-him-for-this _favorite_ brother. "Believe you me, dearest Kol, this has nothing to do with you."

Kol's vanity was filled with so much hot air Klaus was surprised the psychotic fool didn't float away from the lengths of his own megalomaniac delusions.

With a snarl that made the Original bat-wielder wince, Klaus tossed him backwards and brushed off his hands, attention returning to scan this masterpiece of disaster.

"What a mess," he commented lightly, curling his lip at the puddles of blood surrounding the bodies. "I really should endeavor to teach them manners." How to ravage a throat without getting a single drop of blood on your clothes — now that was a talent in and of itself.

But at least the sired half-breeds had managed to accomplish the task set before them. Perhaps he should resurrect his plans to create more of them.

Then again, Rebekah had a tendency to view his creations in the same light as one might a pile of dung and Alas, Kol seemed to share that jealous opinion. Elijah, naturally, didn't approve, but that dry old bastard never allowed anything.

To make more was to once again make the active choice of deciding in their favor rather than his family's. Stubbornness must run in their genes.

Kol's certainly, as he was _still_ throwing a fuss, much to Klaus's growing impatience; another one of those immature tantrums for attention.

Annoyed beyond belief, Klaus, having had enough of his sibling's whining, thrust his brother forcefully against a wall, hard enough that it cracked and splintered around the Original's back and left quite the dent when he fell away from it.

"I told you to give it a rest, Kol. Make yourself bloody useful or make haste. The choice is yours. But for the love of damnation, quite distracting me," the hybrid snapped, his tolerance close to bursting.

Which was exactly what Kol was really trying to do, incite a reaction out of him, but Klaus was just as equally stubborn in his persistence to ignore him. Otherwise, he would have snapped the questioning twat's tongue out hours ago, or even snapped his neck like he had that pitiful human's.

It wasn't like it would kill him, and so the Alpha contemplated such drastic action and might have gone through with it, as his reasoning was teetering more toward the pros than the cons, when the faintest flicker of a mortal life caught his attention.

Now that was curious indeed! Amidst this gory mess, someone was still alive.

Upon picking up that the faint heartbeat of a still living being, Klaus flashed a malicious smile in anticipation of his discovery and slowly made his way toward the kitchen.

"Your will to live must be stronger than theirs, human," he congratulated the quivering, blood-covered woman as he came to a halt before her, gazing into her pain-stricken pale green eyes, the scent of fear so strong it nearly overwhelmed his senses as he dropped to one knee by her side.

"Death is but a door away, pretty morsel." He licked his bottom lip, taking with it the newly dried droplets of blood he had yet to wash away.

"Consider yourself fortunate that I am in a charitable mood." Klaus chuckled, unsurprised to hear her heart skip a beat, regardless of how weakened it had become from loss of blood. "This will only hurt for — oh — a minute."

Panic flared — hers, of course — and with a flash of bared fangs, he attacked without hesitation, slicing into that main artery in her neck that pulsed with what was left of her life-force, thus taking all she had to give until her heart beat no more.

Too quickly it was over, and he was left with a damned irritating desire for more.

Such was the direction most hunts took. With an impatience to move on, he shoved the now lifeless corpse away and rose to his feet in a graceful, precisive move of utter fluidity, the scent of death overpowering all other scents, a delightful addition to the coppery taste of blood on his tongue.

A successful night?

Perhaps.

But as far as he was concerned, he was only just getting started.

A fact the fates confirmed when his gaze just so happened to flickered toward the fridge, or more specifically, what looked like the frame of something quickly stuffed behind it.

He glanced down at the girl whose body now lay limp and cursed himself momentarily for not ravaging the answer out of her mind. Could this mere slip of a mortal have been brave enough to defy death long enough to hide their family's treasure?

Now wasn't that an interesting theory.

"Oh Kol!" He called, his voice suddenly jolly – growing more certain of his guess as he noted the fridge's slightly misaligned position, crooked, with the bulk of its frame not lining up with the clean outline, a dead give-away marked right there on the floor.

He'd been right.

It had been moved recently.

"Kol!" He called again, this time his tone denoting it was an order and less a request. "It would appear our prey had more spunk then we granted."

Kol's reluctant shadow fell into the arch leading into the kitchen, dark eyes flicking from the fridge and back to his brother's curl-covered head – there was a reason beyond the mutt thing that made him call him Fur-ball. "A fridge? Have you gone mad?" He accused, face twisting with a repulsive note of disgust, again insinuating this had been an utter waste of his time.

"No. Behind it, you daft idiot," Klaus hissed, just barely holding back the array of other choice words he felt like labeling his brother with.

Without another word, he flashed himself to the fridge and yanked it away from the wall with such force the electrical cable tore, the sparking wires flying through the air as he tossed the damn thing backward, strangely satisfied as it crushed the kitchen table.

But not nearly as satisfied as he was to see a large, canvas potato sack – it barely managed to cover an elaborate gold frame – carved out of wood.

It wasn't the weapon he'd been hoping for, but as far as he was concerned, it was the next best thing, and he would know. He'd made the damn thing, after all.

At least he recognized the frame, and as he snatched up the bag it took but a peek inside to know that it was in fact the painting he'd assumed it to be. With a smirk, he tossed the piece at Kol, trusting his brother's reflexes enough to catch it without damage.

Kol did, but half contemplated not catching it just to see the bastard's reaction. But in the end, his own curiosity won out and he plucked it effortlessly from the air, only to rip the canvas cover off with an impatient snap of his wrist.

"A painting? All this for a bloody painting!?" Confusion colored his tone a nasty shade of discontentment, feeling as though his precious time – as if he didn't have enough of it – had been wasted on such a fruitless mission. "That was quite the bloodbath for an addition to your freaking art collection," Kol snapped, failing to understand the significance of the scene he held in his hand. So far as he could tell, it was just some damned religious piece; of an old ugly priest at that.

Then again, Kol only had an eye for detail when it came to the art of a woman's body.

"You're insufferable, but I trust you have the competence to get that home intact?" Klaus knew his brother surprisingly well and laid out this challenge merely to ensure his clue to his end goal would get to the mansion in one piece.

"Of course I do. I'm not Rebekah!" Again Kol shot back like quicksilver, bitterly bringing up their sister's name in a way that merely made the hybrid laugh, bemused by his siblings' constant bickering.

Hell, you would think Rebekah and Kol were twins with the way they bitched and ranted.

"For the sake of your liver that I'll otherwise tear out, you'd better hope you can indeed, little brother," Klaus spoke with a cold, slow smile, "Now go, before I make you help with the clean-up."

The last words, as intended, succeeded remarkably in getting Kol to flee, and Klaus could only watch his retreat with a suppressed laugh.

As if he'd clean this masterpiece up.

"Bossman," Gage's voice shattered his reverie and hooked his master's attention with the curious peek of a brow. "Ah, Declan. What news have you to report?" He swiveled to face his favorite minion head on and indicated with this gift of full attention that he was ready and waiting for the update.

"The hunters-that-weren't-hunters-at-all-were-they are all rendered into lifeless meat-bags. So can I send the boys packing?" Gage inquired, attention drifting around to browse the destroyed room and quirking an eyebrow when he saw the state of the table.

"Hey! What did that poor guy do?" The cheeky jokester questioned, quirking both brows in a playful fashion. "What, he not cool enough for yah?"

"Declan!" Klaus warned, constantly tired of the self-proclaimed jester's terrible jokes. "Just get the pack home, and don't forget to stay out of sight."

Gage Declan ducked his head in submissive compliance before giving a curt, "Yes, boss," and rushing to complete the order. But not before he paused in the doorway, curiosity driving this last sudden point. "Will you be leaving with us, O'Great One, or am I correct to assert there is more to this master plan of yours?"

The alpha shook his head, wondering as he often did if he liked how smart this lippy hybrid was, or if he'd do better to make the next batch of dumber stalk. "That's none of your concern, Declan. Now go."

The Kid, who'd been with him for centuries, scrambled immediately out of the room and Klaus snorted – but at least the lout held enough wit to know when to just shut-up and follow orders.

* * *

As the sun began to set, the woman who took better care not to be noticed watched the retreating lines of his back, having followed him from the strangely lit up building supposedly designated the Grill, if one were to believe its preposterously large sign.

Waiting for the perfect moment to approach, one that eluded her as perhaps the sting of fear and doubt held her reservations in check.

One would think, after their illicit history, that he would have noted her trailing immediately, but Tatia had gotten very good at masking the tell-tale signs of her presence from other supernaturals.

A necessity of survival one could say, with the persistence of the wolves so hot on her tail, given that they'd pursued her without rest for so very many years now; it felt like an eternity.

Their scapegoat for the war, or so their cries had come to have Tatia convinced; it was almost as though they believed her death would finally end it, for once and for bloody all.

How, exactly, this maiden of sensuality was less sure, only adamant in the common sense that she did not care to discern their true intent.

For they did not want to merely converse over a hot cup of tea. That much was a given, a fact gleaned by the threats they'd taken a hankering to leave her. Severed heads, hearts in boxes, and notes penned in blood spilt ink – that kind of thing.

Yet it was not the wolves she tried to mask herself from now, but the man who'd once captured half her heart, and as it would seem, kept it.

Whether he would sense her, this man she quietly followed with meticulously calm precision, in no rush as she took him in, was another tale whose telling evaded Tatia, the details spared not by his action, no motion or hint of indication that he had, in fact, perceived her distant trailing, curious as it were in his wake.

That didn't mean it failed his reckoning. After all, Elijah had never been one particularly fond of creating a scene or even contributing to one pre-established as Tatia could all but too well remember from the past; his face so perfectly composed in public, scorched those branding memories even now, firm within the sight of her mind.

However could she forget?

It would be an impossibility, just as it was to erase the memory of their last encounter from her mind. He had been less then pleased with her, uncommonly furious and equally disgusted by her adulterous acts.

It was the fear that he'd react the same, all these centuries later, that kept her at this tactful distance, afraid yet to approach and yet incapable of allowing him to slip her line of sight.

Until he vanished into a little corner bookstore, and Tatia was faced with the fork of a decision, to engage contact or continue to prolong the inevitable.

_Oh fate, you cruel, cruel bitch._

* * *

"God, is it me or is everyone acting strange today?" Caroline stated to no one but herself as she strolled home after a long day, having finally left Bonnie after doing everything in her power save compulsion to get her best friend to spill the beans on that mystery man in her life.

And that was when it hit her, the smell, the craving; a three punch metaphorical combo to insanity.

Blood. Thirst. _Hunger_.

The scent was thick, heavy like a fog in the eerie atmosphere, too thick, spilt from the body of more than one. The instant craving sharp, fierce and the hardest one to fight back yet, she yearned to ignore the call, but it proved too sweet to be denied.

Caroline's head snapped to the right, hardening gaze zeroing in on the Suburban house that, from the outside, looked perfect – complete with the symbolic white picket fence – but inside, a bloody massacre awaited her.

It took her only a second to identify which house and less than one to find herself at the door, unnatural strength applied to rip the irksome barricade straight off its hinges before tossing it aside.

She'd never get sick of that, the super human strength. It gave her heaps of confidence where none had been before.

Crouching by the shredded corpse that lay sprawled in a last ditch pose of panic across the hall, Caroline quickly determined that she – poor darling – was indeed dead. Pulse gone, but still, Caroline's gaze remained glued with desire on the sticky red globs that dripped down the torn arm she held aloft.

Want. Need. _Now_.

Instincts fighting instincts, as morals and nature went toe-to-toe, fangs growing even as her fingers squeezed bone white around the wrist, the monster in her rationalized it as just a taste … What was the harm? She was already dead, wasn't she? Why let such good food go to waste?

_Because it's wrong_, so screamed her conscious, and Caroline hissed, knowing that little angel on her shoulder was right.

She dropped the arm as though it burnt like the sun and lunged away, throwing herself against a china cabinet, the sweetheart in her valiantly fighting the sinful lust for blood as she relished in the temporary stab of pain and how it helped distract from the overwhelming hunger. Eyes turned, veins surfacing only to disappear again, she shoved collector plates aside, finding the tiniest relief as porcelain crashed and shattered.

The distracting symphony of destruction was interrupted, however by a voice, which she immediately honed in on with sensitive ears, a voice she unfortunately recognized.

Klaus.

_I should have guessed_.

This reeked of his twisted signature.

Without thought to what got in her way – or her own well-being – Caroline tracked him to the Kitchen, rounding on his arrogantly waiting form and launched by way of announcing her presence, tackling him recklessly, without thought to the consequences, too enraged to find him at the helm of this nightmare.

She was sick to her stomach over what he'd done and wanting nothing more than to possess the strength to annihilate him. For this, for the heart that flashed in her heart, all the way to her core, and it was only then she realized a part of her had secretly been rooting for him.

Had seen that potential for good and had – she prayed Bonnie never found out – started to hope …

But now ... Now he'd proved himself a monster.

Incapable of change, or so she registered quite stubbornly within her mind that was prone to deny, at least when it came down to him, but now more than ever, she was sure of the fact that it would be a fool's game to fall for him.

It was this thought – not the thirst for blood – that forced the change, fangs popping and eyes blackening, as she pinned the damnably handsome man down.

Aware that yes, beyond being a Mikaelson, he was the original Hybrid.

Meaning she was good as dead.

Too bad Caroline craved blood – his – far too badly to care.

"If this is your way of getting my attention." Her nose wrinkled, ripe with the raw disgust that matched the growled tones. "You can go to hell," Caroline spat, the skin around her eyes distorting with disdain.

She was furious, no doubt disgusted with this violent display of malevolence, affording her yet another reason to think his company repulsive and unwelcome.

_Too bad. _Klaus thought while peering into her fierce gaze … and grinned.

"Think you I would employ such tactics to capture your undivided attention?" He retorted coldly, dark eyes gleaming with his need for more bloodshed.

Insatiability was quite impossible to fight, and even if he was of a mind to — which he wasn't; who would desire to fight something which disallowed for the opportunity for more fun? — he knew the futility of attempting such.

He was who he was, and he would be damned if he apologized for it.

Klaus, apologize?

Now that was about as unlikely as his insatiable thirst for meting out pain diminishing into nothingness.

"I am far more refined than that, dear girl." He taunted, daring her to attack.

"Oh really?" She spat.

Oh how she hated him!

Caroline preferred to be a lover to a hater, but he riled her up in all the right ways, or wrong ones, depending how you looked at it.

"Because judging from this disturbing mess, I'd hardly call you refined."

She was pushing her luck, and she knew it but damn it all to hell, she couldn't help herself. "I think there's no lengths you wouldn't go to in order to get something you wanted," she hissed, daring to insult him despite the risk.

He made the ire in her burn, fiery and hot, and though she knew her time on top was limited, very limited – he was a son of Mikael, and she was but a freshly turned Barbie – Caroline nonetheless made the most of it and glowered down at him hotly with all the contempt in the world wrapped up in that one little look, accusingly horrified and rightly pissed glower all in one.

He just kept grinning, until those frustratingly attractive dimples surfaced.

Oh, if only looks could kill, he'd be toast.

Toaster then toast, burnt to a blackened crisp from the sear of her gaze.

The younger vampire wasn't foolish, though. She might have him pinned beneath her, but she was more than aware of where their power sat on the spectrum.

It would take nothing at all to turn the tables on her.

Which he did.

Without delay.

Growling, Klaus moved quickly, his hand wrapping around her throat as he jerked her to her feet, then all but threw her back, all the way into the living room, until she landed with remarkable aim against the back of the black, leather armchair.

"But now that you're here, I propose we have that talk."

Squeezing eyelids temporarily shut, searching for more of that courage she never used to have, the Barbie Vamp watched tepidly, as he stalked passed, unsure of his prerogative. This was Klaus Mikaelson, the only creature of the night more unpredictable than he was his little brother Kol.

"All this for a little chat, Klaus?" Caroline shook her head, holding onto the anger that rose over what he'd done and using that as her anchor, that humanizing factor, to hold her inner monster back. "You know, you could have just asked."

Except, that was a lie and they both knew it. Caroline had never been very talented in the whole fibbing department. "I _tried_ to ask, sweetheart, or have you already forgotten how quick you were to brush me off earlier?" Klaus clucked his tongue as if scolding her, but mostly he was just enjoying taunting the pretty little thing that drove him mad on a daily basis.

"I had to take matters into my own hands. In fact, you've guessed correctly. All of this was nothing more than an elaborate scheme concocted to ensnare you in a devious trap of my own making. Indeed, I take full credit for creating such a master plan as this." With every word uttered, he drew closer and closer until his lips nearly brushed against hers, his hands on either side of the chair, boxing her in.

"And you fell for it." He chuckled, the sound dark, malicious, enriched with the cravings of his beast. It craved her with a ferocity that was as surprising as it was unnerving. Who was he to deny the creature its pleasures?

But still, Caroline had been correct to assume he'd had an ulterior motive in destroying this pathetic, little human family. Her powers of deduction were clearly on par with her beauty and intelligence — or so Klaus assumed as the strange, golden cast to his malevolent, ruthless gaze swept over her boldly condemning, and dare he admit mesmerizing, features.

He'd wanted to draw her out, see what she would do.

The girl was so damned adamant that she wasn't like him — but he was determined to prove otherwise.

Their past no longer mattered. This was the present — a new year, if you would.

Good things were destined to happen. Of that, he was certain.

"Caroline, Caroline, Caroline," he murmured with a mockingly sad shake of his head, pausing only long enough to cast a laughing glance her way.

"Asshole, Asshole, Asshole," she returned without pause or skipping a beat, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing his name pass from her lips.

Oh, but that stubborn will of hers only made him chuckle, the sound deep and throaty and highlighted by eyes that glowed with mischief equally as cunning.

"We've had our ups and downs, yes, but we needn't permit the past to stand in the way of the present or future." Though it might seem as though he was on the verge of striking an alliance with her, just the opposite was at work here.

"What ups?" She snapped, harshly and without the sentiment of tact.

Apparently, that was the wrong answer.

For just as suddenly as he'd tossed her into the armchair, he moved behind her, his hands dropping to curve around the slender slopes of her shoulders, as he leaned down until his lips brushed against her pretty, blonde hair. "I told you physical contact was a must."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he whirled to claim a dismembered, bloodied arm laying at his feet.

"See this?" He held it aloft in front of her, satisfaction surging through him as he once more passed an absent glance around the room.

He rather liked his handiwork. Yes, his. The hybrids were his creations; therefore their work was his to claim credit for.

"You'll come to find that there is nothing more beautiful than the sound of snapping tendons and muscles and breaking bones when your prey is finally caught." Relish and a sense of rapture coated his voice, as though in fond remembrance of such occasions.

"Should you decide to experience this with me, I promise you will not regret it," he stated, desire thickening his tone.

His proposal – as always – horrified her, but still her fangs did not retract.

Yet it was so impossible to deny, just as he was.

The beast's hunger was too extreme to ignore, wanting, needing, craving this.

All of it, in its disgusting entirety, for the sick truth was that this marked the first time since Stefan had taught her restraint that she'd nearly lost it; completely.

Of cracking with her inexplicable wanting of him, as feverishly as he longed for her, bodies ready to mesh even when hearts and minds had yet to align to the same primal beat. Like the pulse she heard coursing under his skin, calling out her name.

The urge to drink, to take from him what he'd taken so violently from others, became an insatiably need that struck the fear of insanity to her core. Afraid she wouldn't be able to hold back, afraid she wouldn't be able to stop.

Klaus, for his part, was relishing this; he could sense it in her, that bloody internal struggle, in the way she tensed and that heart-beat increased. "You were made for this lifestyle, Caroline," he insisted, expecting to receive a violent slap or at the very least a snarl for his troubles, but instead, in true Caroline form, she gave him raw sass.

"That all sounds lovely, Klaus." The sarcasm couldn't have been any richer. It rested thickly on her tone. "So long as it's all your tendons snapping and bones breaking." She smiled sweetly after this delivery, and then – unexpectedly – launched at him, death be damned, twisting up to push out of the seat even as fingernails clawed at broad shoulders, aiming those sharp pretty white teeth at the sharp curve of his neck with only one thing on her mind.

Blood.

Fresh blood, his – straight from the vein.

Caroline was adamant; if he wanted physical contact, then fine. He'd get it.

Klaus honestly hadn't expected for the girl to suddenly lunge at him, hissing and snapping those beautiful, elongated fangs of hers at his neck.

Blood pumping furiously, vision sharpening, honing in on her, he neatly evaded her attack, hunger blazing in his gaze. My, but she was certainly a marvelous sight, struggling as she was to control the monster within, her pretty, full lips parting to emit the sounds of a huntress on the attack — sounds he knew by heart and often used himself.

Muscles tensing, preparing for the battle she sought to wage against him, Klaus abruptly reached forward to seize her upper arms, yanking her against his chest as he sought to quell the fight within, both with him and herself.

It wasn't nearly as easy as it should have been, but that was mostly due to his refusal to hurt her.

It was strange, fighting with someone he had no intentions of incapacitating in any shape or form; but there was that promise he'd made himself.

Yes, promises were made to be broken, but not this one.

Another strange concept that was proving difficult to grasp.

Morals were something Klaus had never much cared for — hell, he couldn't understand why Elijah was so damned determined to uphold them or why he chose to adhere to a code of honor — and although he often strove to find loopholes in the deals he made with others, with Caroline it was different.

She was different.

The why of it still remained a mystery, however. "Yes," he whispered against her ear, his lips brushing teasingly against the earlobe, catching it between his teeth and giving it a sharp nip. Perhaps it was a good thing he'd retracted his fangs. Tasting her blood would send him into a frenzy no doubt.

"This is what she wants, what she needs. To deny her is to deny yourself." As if to drive his point home, he settled her more firmly against him, aligning his groin with hers as he held her within the tight circle of his arms, a nigh unbreakable hold.

"Bite me," he growled roughly, speaking to the beast which resided deeply in her heart, buried beneath all that condemnation and fear.

This was the one and only time he would ever invite another creature to feast upon his blood, but he wanted to share that connection with her, his sweet Caroline, needed to feel her nearly as much as he needed to strike out at those foolish enough to get in his way.

Standing tensely amid the carnage he'd wrought, he added impishly after a moment of silence, "I dare you."

* * *

Bored.

Again.

God, he hated this emotion.

You think being released from an eternity in a coffin would have been enough. But it wasn't. Not even close. Since being back, he hadn't been able to get enough.

Of anything.

Especially tormenting his siblings, which he'd spent the better part of the afternoon doing, specifically Klaus - but now that evening had blessed them on this hour with the darkening cast to the sky, and that blasted painting was safely stored, Kol knew he had to get out.

Find some _real_ entertainment.

Without a set destination, he embarked into the night, following nothing more than instinct as it brought him to the edge of the woods, which didn't exactly seem like the best setting to accomplish his limited goals for the night, seeing as they included primarily getting wasted and finding yet another beautiful conquest.

But something stopped him, something that caught onto his intrigue on the most primitive levels.

Power. Pulsating, Undeniable.

It was both addicting and enough of the draw he needed.

Following it without regard to the consequences, or what exactly such raw strength could imply, he moved with a slow, tactful grace, every muscle working in harmony, carrying him forth with the swagger of a predator and reached out with all his senses. As an Original, they were more sensitive than most.

But even Kol in all his self-conceited arrogance didn't expect to see what he discovered on the edge of the clearing.

* * *

**AUTHORS' NOTE**: So there you have it, a taste of darkness, and a hint of many conflicts and sub plots to come. Remember, this story is our Epic and will contain a variety of characters and plots and will touch on a whole tone of themes and genres, so forgive us for the lack of your typical sweet romance in this chapter, but believe us when we say that what just occurred will be a huge chunk of development both for character and plot. So, that said, what did you all think?

How did you like our introduction to Kate? She's not quite what she seems, but that's the only hint you're getting.

Did you enjoy this peak of darkness, or would you prefer we keep things more fluffy? Well, as fluffy as you can make any story that relates to the concept of war.

Please review if you can. We'd love to know what you think!


	4. Until It Breaks

**AUTHORS' NOTES**: Phew. Another one bites the dust! Now, before you lovelies become distracted by reading this newest installment, allow me to apologize for taking so long in getting this update out to you guys. We spent so many days writing it and perfecting it for our readers, because we refused to throw something together in hopes of it turning out somewhat decent. We want everything to be perfect, of course. Now, this chapter is riddled with various scenes we feel are important to character and plot development. Frankly, we're pretty damned excited for it. Just as we're excited for you to read it. With that said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. We worked really hard on it. And before I forget, thank you so much for the reviews! It really does mean a lot to us, given that we write not only for ourselves but for you beautiful readers as well. So again, thank you. You guys are lovely. We couldn't ask for better readers.

* * *

**Chapter Four**: **Until It Breaks**

The scent of smoked peat surrounded him, calling forth the adoring heart of his wolf as he casually lounged upon the thick log situated in the center of camp, dark hazel orbs focused primarily on the roasting rabbit as he considered, at length, the main reason for their arrival in _Mystic Falls_.

Revenge.

A self-deprecating smirk grazed Bold Varela's lips as he caught the eye of his nearest pack-mate and gestured with a nod of his head toward the woods. Without hesitation, the wolf dipped his head in acknowledgment, then took off for the perimeter from whence they'd marked their territory, silent in his retreat. Given the numerous threats he could sense all around him, it was only natural that they remain cautious in lieu of the enemies he knew were out there, just waiting for the opportunity to take them out of the equation. Unfortunately for the Original vampires, Bo had no intentions of leaving until their pact had been fulfilled — and by pact, he was referring to the one he'd made with his cousin and best friend, Vane, months ago upon discovering that the bitch responsible for the near desecration of their bloodline had journeyed to _Mystic Falls _in search of assistance, no doubt weary of running. Too bad for her, the only assistance she would be receiving was a small nudge toward Death's door.

She deserved that and more.

"The time to act is nearly upon us," Vane murmured as he moved to claim the seat beside Bo, an odd, almost bittersweet quirk to his lips.

"Yes," Bo agreed but said no more, for to debate the point was futile. They'd waited long enough to enact their revenge. "Soon."

"How soon is soon?"

Almost simultaneously, the Varela cousins turned to regard the intruder with vague curiosity, exchanging frowns as they contemplated the ramifications of allowing this particular female near their pack. She was not to be trusted. "Why are you here?" Bo asked calmly, his dislike for her clear in the tenor of his voice. She held a canny resemblance to their enemy, after all.

Katherine Pierce smirked, staying well beyond their reach should they decide to renege on their agreement. "Oh, I'm just here to make sure you little wolfies follow through with your promise. Can't have you doing the male thing and betraying me now, can I?"

Bo lazily folded his arms across his chest and cocked an eyebrow at her gall. "We don't make a habit of breaking promises." It was a reassurance and a warning all rolled into one.

Her smirk widened. "Clever mutt. So I see you've finally accepted your place in the world." At his low, threatening growl, she slowly backed away until the shadows swallowed her whole—but not before leaving them with one last parting shot: "Your bite better be worse than your bark, dog." Then she was gone, leaving the werewolves to snarl amongst themselves in the wake of her heated condescension. Silly mutts and their short tempers.

* * *

Striding purposely along the narrow, slightly overgrown pathway toward her destination, Bonnie took a deep breath of fresh air and sighed, finding happiness where too few would. Naturally, as one would expect given her status as its servant, nature proved more often than not her security blanket, offering her a bit of a reprieve from the confusion that often tainted her thoughts since Mikaelson had decided to barrel into her life, refusing to leave her be even when she threatened to give him aneurysms for his troubles. A small smile pulling at the corners of her lips despite her determination not to find him at all charming—or tolerable—Bonnie passed a cursory glance around the meadow and nodded, pleased. This was perhaps the only time she truly felt at home, with the world and herself. No one understood how she could willingly embrace magic, but what they failed to fully comprehend was that magic was simply part of her. It existed, whether they wanted to believe it or not.

Light.

Dark.

It hardly mattered, seeing as one couldn't possibly survive without the other. Such was the way of magic.

Brows furrowed in concentration, Bonnie moved to place the candles around the imaginary circle she'd etched into the ground with her eyes, then blew out a breath of … unease? Maybe. Resignation? Most definitely, for she could sense just a hint of danger on the wind, an indication of the horrors to come if she failed to take the necessary precautions against the threat dogging the heels of _Mystic Falls. _Unlike her mother, she would not—could not—turn her back on the only home she'd ever known, one she was just as likely never to leave regardless of how often the thought of doing so crossed her mind. Only a coward would seek to run from that which she was born to fight, and as she liked to remind everyone, herself included, she was most definitely _not _a coward.

Irritation a hard obstacle to overcome, she gazed intensely at the candles, striving to light them with nothing more than the power of her mind. Much to her proud acknowledgment, it wasn't long before proof of her status emerged, and fire erupted from the candle wicks, captivating her as nothing had before. She watched, intrigued, as the flames danced to the tune of her angry determination. Just the thought of harm befalling people she'd known her entire life was enough to send her magic into a frenzy.

"Careful, darling."

Lips parting to emit a startled gasp at the sudden intrusion, her head swiveled to fix Kol with a fierce glare. "Mikaelson," she muttered, anxiety spiking as a certain realization hit her. She was alone with the vampire who had made no secret of his desire to have her. Or perhaps he merely yearned to possess her magic. It wouldn't be the first time someone sought to take advantage of her powers.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with fire?" He taunted, deriving amusement from the brief flash of fury he glimpsed in her eyes. Then, with a smirk that positively exuded cockiness,, he bent to retrieve one of the lit candles closest to him and held it between his finger and thumb as he used the time to casually study it, aware that he'd broken her precious circle—and yet he was still unable to find it within himself to care or even regret his actions. As far as he saw it, he never would have been granted the opportunity to approach her if he'd left well enough alone. A damned shame, really, given the progress he'd made with her thus far. Besides, she obviously didn't care enough to _punish_ him for it—because if she had, he would have no doubt found himself flat on his back, knocked askew for daring to taint her circle with his presence—so why should he worry over the little, insignificant things in life?

Slowly circling around her, as though to size her up for the role of prey, Kol paused just behind her right shoulder, his gaze honing in on the slender, bare arch of her neck. It was delicate, elegant, a call to the beast within. A perfect fit for his teeth.

_Later_.

"I see you decided to start the party without me. Not very sporting of you, little Bennett," he tsked, giving her nose a slight tweak for good measure.

"What do you want?" She snapped out in a rush, fisting her hands as she spun to face him, uncomfortable with the thought of him at her back. She might have considered meeting him earlier, but now that he stood before her in all his arrogant glory, she recognized the folly of giving into her desires for the fatal mistake it could very well prove to be. "Go away, Kol." She narrowed her eyes. "I don't have time for this." _Or you_, went unsaid, but he heard it all the same.

Kol shrugged, not at all bothered by her attempt to get rid of him, as he slid his hand along the nape of her neck to twirl a long, silky strand of raven-black hair around his finger, silently mulling over her request while at the same time giving off the false impression of accession even as he moved forward to invade her personal space. "Oh, I want many things, Bonnie, darling. But you don't seem particularly willing to fulfill my deepest, darkest desires. _Yet_." He arched an arrogant eyebrow in mocking question. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

She gave a hasty shake of her head, refusing to entertain such a foolhardy notion now that she'd finally come to her senses. For a minute there, she'd thought herself a goner. No more.

"Why don't you fear me?" He drawled, the intimate vibrato of his husky timbre floating around her like a seductive velvet. "Your heart is racing." Angling his head sideways to catch a better glimpse of the swell of her lips, the depression where they parted oddly intoxicating, Kol focused on the rhythm of her breathing, noting the unnatural lilt of desire which enriched the unbalanced gasps, satisfaction coercing a slyly uttered "Ever wonder what it feels like to be kissed by a vampire, witch?" from him. After a long, silent moment of staring at her, he leaned in, lips descending to hang suspended just above hers, foreheads practically touching as his searing gaze locked her in a battle of wills, his breath falling out in uneven, strangely hot waves that teased against her neck, meant to incite a reaction. "Come on, admit it. You're desperate to experience what your dull doppelganger friend enjoys on a regular basis. Ask me nicely, and I might provide you a service."

Bonnie bit her lip, willing the frantic pace of her heart rate to slow down before it alerted the megalomaniac to her susceptibility of him. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd already caught on. He wasn't nearly as oblivious as others might mistake him for, nor was he too self-involved to note the obvious. "I'm not stupid," she hastened to say, referring to his inquiry regarding her seemingly fearless stature. "I know you could kill me if you set your mind to it, but I'm not without a little power." A little? Even she knew that for the lie it was. Her grandmother had often said that there hadn't been a witch born to their line in half a decade with power as intense and as strong as hers. _You were right, grandma_. Right about so many things. "Now if you would be so kind as to _go away._ I have work to do."

"Going to pretend you don't feel it then?" Kol whispered against her ear, giving the lobe a sharp, little nip to emphasis his point. "You don't fool me, Bonnie. I can sense your desire. The scent of it perfumes the air."

"Is that why you're here, Kol?" She demanded, taking a step away from him in an attempt to put some much needed distance between her and the truth she was loathe to admit aloud. "And here I thought you were simply looking to t_ake advantage _of my powers."

"You don't know the half of your power," he returned, the words condescending but the tone not. Being here, with her, so close, it wound and bred frustration as desire flared thickly under the mask of poise, his facade a perfectly cast depiction of what he wanted to feel, more than what he actually felt deep beneath that false surface. "But I could show you if you like." Oh, the things he wanted to show her. No doubt they were considered illegal in some states.

"What could _you_ possibly know about magic?" She rolled her eyes, wondering if she was coming across as bitchy as she sounded. Normally, she would've attempted to tone it down for the sake of the other person's feelings, but Kol was a big boy. He could handle it. "A big fat nothing, I'm sure."

"Believe what you will, but you're hardly the first witch I've encountered," he abolished stiffly, too irked to put up with her nonsense. "So I know far more than you're prepared to give me credit for."

Bonnie eyed him warily. "You don't say." Then she smiled—and it was a smile that was at odds with the nervous cast to her features. "Prove it."

* * *

Paper towel in hand, Gage stepped out of the restroom and took a moment to gather his bearings of the situation. The gas station he'd chosen to wipe clean the evidence of his eager obedience sat on the outskirts of _Mystic Falls_, situated in an abandoned lot with overgrown vegetation, too out of the way to cause much of a problem where witnesses were concerned. Just as he preferred it. A pleasant expression settling over hard, taut features that practically radiated danger in the way he continued to scan the unsurprisingly vacant parking lot, he flashed a grin, infinitely satisfied with his handiwork. Boss-man should be pleased. Humming with satisfaction, he crumbled the paper towel in his hand and was about to toss it into the trashcan when he noticed the slender silhouette of a woman leaning nonchalantly against the lamppost but feet away. It was the disdainful curl to her lips he recognized first, followed shortly by the thick-lashed, sultry dark brown eyes she cast his way.

So the little kitty wanted to play, did she?

"Still doing his bidding, I see," Kat taunted with an arrogant toss of her head, mocking amusement flickering across her face as she crossed her arms and nodded in the direction of the gas station. "No explosion?"

Gage narrowed his eyes, but not in anger as one might expect. He was far too intrigued by the catty Petrova to let her mocking nature get the better of his temper. "Not necessary." He shrugged, regarding her with interest; albeit he was still suspicious of her arrival in town. As far as he knew, the chit avoided crossing town limits when Klaus was around to take notice of her appearance. Something to do with a complicated past. Boss-man wasn't one to go into all the gritty details, that just wasn't Klaus Mikaelson's way. But Gage made it his business to know about any loose canon that could prove a threat to his lord almighty. "Were you hoping for a show?" He chuckled at the look of pique she was quick to conceal beneath a condescending smile. "Tell me, kitten," he murmured after a moment, seriousness lining his face. "What scheme's running through that pretty, little head of yours?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Shoving away from the lamppost, she sauntered toward Gage, her gait positively brimming with confidence. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Declan," she whispered conspiratorially as she came to a stop before him, lifting her hand to trace the hard line of his pectoral with the pad of her finger, appreciating the way his shirt stretched across his chest and stomach, displaying the muscular contours and rigid planes to her boldly appraising eyes. "I'm currently scheme-less."

He stared in silent contemplation at her, aware of her penchant for plotting. "I find that hard to believe."

She gave his chest a pat. "I don't see how that's my problem, little minion." Then she took a step back, holding his gaze with her own, a testament to the enjoyment she often derived from playing these games. "Better keep an ear to the ground—you never know just what you'll find."

"Oh, I have my suspicions," he countered smoothly as he made to follow her slow retreat—only to find she'd disappeared. She was certainly good at that, if he recalled correctly. Yet that made the promise of victory all the more sweeter. "Game on, kitten," he murmured to himself, more than looking forward to the chase. It was sure to be interesting. She would make certain of that.

* * *

_Prove it_. With those two words, the gauntlet had been thrown. Eyelids flickering, they masked eyes that glanced down at her, half-cast yet smouldering in their intensity. "Light your circle again," Kol murmured, his hands easily finding her hips and sliding into a comfortable position as he slowly turned her around, if only so he could fit her back against his chest, thus giving his lips better access to her ear, to which he instantly took full advantage of. "What are you waiting for, witch?" He nuzzled his nose behind her ear. "An engraved invitation?"

"S-stop that." The little hitch in her throat disgusted her, for it was a reminder of her attraction to the forbidden. She shifted forward in an effort to escape the onslaught of sensation his lips and nose provided, but found that she couldn't.

"Stop what, little Bennett?" He slid a hand up her side, and then down her arm until his fingers, one by one, entwined with hers. "I'm merely being helpful. Would you rather I make a meal of you instead?"

Grounding her molars together as she determinedly struggled to ignore the effect his touch had upon her, Bonnie reclaimed the candle he'd seized upon entering the meadow, still peeved over his remorselessness in disrupting her circle, and returned it to its rightful place, then closed her eyes, reaching out with her senses to gauge the strength of the energy. An echo of power bounded around the meadow, the only indication that the area she'd discovered when she'd first begun practicing her craft was an attraction for beings of indescribable power. She tilted her head back slightly and inhaled the crisp night air, gathering the energy to her, doing as her instincts demanded. Yet something blocked them, a barrier she sensed was far too strong to break on her own.

It wasn't long before she made the discovery on her own.

It was _him—_Kol Mikaelson. He was the reason she couldn't concentrate. He was at fault for her failure in manipulating the energy as she was meant to. He was the reason there was a schism between nature and her magic, just large enough to prevent her from doing as her heritage demanded. "I can't do this," she whispered, ashamed to admit she was allowing her fear to control her. But after a brief pause, she hastened to add, "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

Desperate to escape, fueled by the need to distance herself from the feelings that had emerged at his arrival, intensifying with every passing minute, Bonnie took advantage of his momentary surprise and loosening hold to yank her hand out of his — although he might have endeavored to reclaim it had she stuck around long enough to see what he would do. But no. Between that instant and the next, she was dashing across the meadow, too intent on escape to realize how strange this must look to him. Not that it mattered, because she was determined to make certain that such a situation never arose again.

_Ever_.

* * *

Trapped behind a wall of indecision she had no chance or hope of overcoming, Tatia peered into the slightly dusty display window of the bookstore Elijah had entered but moments ago, his appreciation for the written word one of the various traits she idolized about him. Lips pursed as she stood there, debating over whether or not finally making her presence known would reap the reward of gaining his complete, undivided attention—or would he scoff at her plea for assistance and demand her swift departure?—she inwardly sighed, fearing her presence would do naught but incite his disgust. He had no reason to aid her, after all. Given how they'd last parted, she suspected he was just as likely to choose the latter option as he was to hear her out.

But still she prayed.

For a miracle, for his forgiveness … for the chance to start anew.

If only such a thing were possible.

Steeling herself for what she must do, Tatia quietly opened the door and slipped into the store. And there he stood with his back to her, his attention elsewhere. Like a cat driven by the motivation to stay unseen, she watched him, fixated, from behind the aisle of books, as he begun to move along the cluttered aisle, seemingly without purpose and yet with calm determination guiding his hand that progressed slowly in a steady line along spine after spine, as though seeking a certain copy. He looked so regal, like a king, but it was his gentleness that drew her to him, for while she knew the threat he could be, the potential for pain behind his anger, she knew in her subconscious that despite their checkered past, she could trust him to rein it in, to maintain the ever dignified leader.

It was, perhaps, his most compelling trait.

"Elijah." Her voice rang out in that softly crisp accent, unanimously as a flirtatious hand brushed across the back of his elbow, knuckles tracing there in friendly, compassionate greeting. But as he stiffened, not even bothering to direct that calm, cool gaze she found positively mesmerizing her way, Tatia bit her lip, at odds with her natural proclivity toward confidence. How did one go about requesting the aid of a scorned ex-lover?

"Would it be terribly impudent of me to assume you would not mind the company?"

Well, that was a start.

* * *

She was alive. Alive and well and just as insane as before, only worse. Derek stood on the back porch of the cabin he'd managed to commandeer on the night of his arrival. Surrounded by nature, situated in the middle of the woods, an old, abandoned home that must have belonged to a family who had either moved on or passed away, leaving it with no official owner—their scent was faint, an indication of its abandonment—it proved the perfect hiding place from those seeking to destroy his pack. But he'd never once counted on seeing Kate Argent again. What the hell was she doing here of all places anyway? The urge to hunt her down and shake the answers out of her was nearly overwhelming in its intensity, but he managed to stave it off in favor of mentally reiterating their last encounter.

Her survival shouldn't have been in the cards. In fact, he'd seen Peter rip out her throat, a fatal injury that should have resulted in her demise—or so he'd desperately wanted to believe, but obviously just the opposite had occurred, and now he had a vengeful ex from hell to deal with.

Perfect. Just perfect.

_Fate, you bitch._

Make that two vengeful bitches out to screw with his life.

How very … proactive of them.

* * *

Klaus was wrong. He had to be wrong. There was no way in hell she was anything like him. She might be a vampire, but she was still good inside, still her!

"You don't know me at all!" Caroline snarled, vexed, and lunged for him, unwilling to sit back and take his wrath of torture, instead going straight for his neck. Perhaps the beast in her knew of his feelings for her, of his obsession, knew that death would not greet her by the course of his hand, but whatever gave little formerly self-conscious Caroline the willed confidence to strike was perhaps not as important as the fact that the vampire within begged to feed. The scent of blood was too ripe in the air, her anger too locked within that flare, and so as he pinned her between his arm and chest, she writhed not only for freedom, but to land a bite. Klaus, however, was strong, and overpowered her with ease, until she was but a panting mess gasping back her breath, only now becoming aware of the other bodily desires she craved just as thickly as the blood, one such as the tightening groin he held her against, captive to his yearnings—wanting of him, as feverishly as he longed for her, bodies ready to mesh together even while hearts and minds had yet to align to the same primal beat.

Like the pulse she heard coursing under his skin, calling out her name.

"Oh, but I do," he murmured insistingly as he stared into her beautiful, blue eyes, still refusing to relinquish his hold upon her—now that he had her in his arms, he was loathe to release her. "Deny it if you want, but the truth still stands."

"You don't know what you're talking about," she said bitingly, fingers curling as though imagining them wrapped tightly around his admittedly handsome neck.

"Look at you, love." He shook his head, lips curving even as he resisted the urge to trail his fingers through her glorious, blonde locks. "You struggle daily just to keep her from taking over. Well, bugger that! Give her the freedom she so richly deserves." Speaking from personal experience — he understood how difficult it was to transition from innocent to monster — Klaus slid his hand under the hem of her blouse and lightly drew a pattern against her bare skin, reveling in its softness even as he calmly debated pulverizing her shirt in his desire to taste her flesh.

"And you can start by allowing her to feed from me." Voice darkening, he gripped her tightly, watching as various expressions flitted across her face; anger, unease, regret, fear, but above all _longing_.

The urge to drink, to take from him what he'd taken so violently from others, became an insatiable need that struck the fear of insanity to her core. Then just as she assumed she'd won the battle, this ravenous hunger she struggled to overcome on a daily basis laid siege to her resistance, crumbling it into dust—and before she knew what she was about, she had her hand in his hair, clenching a fistful of the surprisingly soft, dark blonde strands and yanking his neck to the side to bare his throat to her voracious gaze. Her body's want for blood surpassed the moral need to refrain as her fangs elongated further and in one swift, sharp latch bit in. They cut cleanly through flesh and directly struck the vein, fingers clenching tighter as her body leaned in, lapping up the deliriously hot substance that was astoundingly savory, his Original blood more potent, more exotic to her tongue then what she was accustomed "God, Klaus…" Caroline groaned against his neck. It wasn't the drinking that proved difficult; it was the _disengaging_, greedy now that she'd allowed herself this initial taste.

Cold IV bags had _nothing_ _on_ him.

* * *

**AUTHORS' NOTES**: We again thank you for taking the time to read this latest installment. But we'd love it even more to hear your thoughts on it, so don't be afraid of hitting that _post review_ button. We welcome all feedback! All we ask is that you bear that in mind. And remember; we really do love you guys!


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