Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fan whoop whoops a gentle, but stale, semi-warm breeze. For something which was boasted at having 'magnificent air cooling properties'…it's useless. And after all the effort I took to get it too: scrounging up the cash, convincing Billy to let me use his truck, bribing Jacob away from the thing long enough to let me get it out the garage, and dealing with the cursed sales people…

Forks has, for the length of my paltry existence, never been anything except cold, damp and dull. The fact that I'm wishing for the cold, damp and dullness now is something of a shock to the very fabric of the universe, I'm sure. The heat, dare I say the 'warmth', of the past few weeks of summer have been nothing short of a humid hell.

For the first time ever Shakespeare's "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day," makes a lick of sense. Because, honestly, before this week I never truly understood the concept 'hot'.

I swipe a hand over my forehead and scoff. I could be at the beach right now, could be throwing myself over the edge of a cliff and into the waiting arms of the ocean. Peace and calm comes from the hug of frigid waves, but I've denied myself this, denied myself many escapes from my reality because of Sam. Sam who commands me heart and spirit, both unwillingly.

I know that it is not he who keeps me from this in reality. My own stubbornness and inability to let Sam go digs sharpened claws through my ribs every time I see him smile and realize it will never be mine. So I avoid it, avoid the crashing waves at the beach, the pack lunches at Emily's, and slip away from Billy's full moon rituals. In these moments I howl alone, quiet, and only Raven hears.

As the fan whirs I close my eyes, leaning into it, it does nothing for the sweat beading on my skin, the clammy hollows of my elbows and knees.

"Global warming," I tell the fan, brows pinched. It whup-whups an agreeable response.

The clock on the wall says it's almost two, although it feels more like three years have passed this morning.

By logical deduction Seth should be barging in any moment to pillage the fridge. The glutton. Although, by proxy the whole pack is constructed from gluttons, but pre-wolf Seth ate just as much, only with less skill at burning it off. Realizing your kid brother has a six pack is weird as hell. To say I worried about him before he turned into a starving beast is cute. To say I worried about him now that he is one, is sobering.

It's not that I don't trust him or the others to watch over him. But I really don't. Despite his constant protests and whining, when the pack is together they are stupid. It doesn't help that the Alpha is so incredibly reckless and domineering. My concern for Seth is natural, probably more so than anything in this world. He is my blood, part of the stability and rational roots of my existence.

He also gives me ulcers when he flings himself through the air or runs head-first into danger. I'd ground him for the rest of existence if he would just take me seriously enough to listen.

The Volturi's attack feels like it might have been yesterday. The remembered fear and pain echoing through the whole pack at once, the loudest that of Seth, his mind nothing more than a child trying to hide from the monster under the bed. I would have ripped out every throat that day to cure his terror – perhaps it is good that there was no need to. I do not want to be a murderer, I do not want to be them.

Vampires, the concept is toxic where it floats in my head, colouring thoughts, and feelings in the crimson of blood and death.

"Did you cook?"

My head snaps up and added heat colours my cheeks. I didn't even hear him come in. And just as quickly the embarrassment morphs into annoyance. As if I haven't been feeding his monstrous stomach for three years, I scowl and call out a "Yeah." In a last ditch effort to acquire an escape from the heat, I pile what little hair can reach atop my head with a threadbare elastic. "Don't you dare start without me,"

There's a sounding ring of groans and I freeze, hand reaching for the door knob. For the first time in weeks I feel cold.

I breathe through my nose, eyes closed and hands clenching.

In the kitchen the pack stands around my veritable feast, their grubby paws hovering over food not made for them. Strays, my mind spits, the wolf brushing up under my skin, fire and ice.

Can I not know a moment's peace?

Chapter Text

My kitchen is crowded. The air - how did I not notice it before - stinks of wet dog and thrums with the pounding of at least nine hearts.

Jacob, Embry, Quil, Jarred, Paul...Rodney?

Sam stands next to Seth, shirtless, leaning over baked vegetables and fresh bread. The sun slanting through the window paints him golden. His body ripples as he looks up at me.

For a moment I cannot breathe.

My eyes are ripped away - "It smells amazing," Dale, the newest pup, mutters and flashes a row of sparkling white teeth. He is barely in puberty.

I twitch, "Lunch is served."

With no hesitation. before I could so much as quiver an eyelash, they are ripping the bread to shreds as it passes between eager hands. Seth shoves our mock china into grabby paws and barely restrains himself from scooping potato salad into it with his fingers.

Appetite gone, I watch them for a moment before turning for the door. Being out in the blazing sun doesn't seem as grueling suddenly.

I rub at my chest as I push through the door. A bubble of acid presses against my lungs, crawling up my throat and teasing the back of my tongue. Of everyone, I thought Seth would get it. He's usually not this dense, even if he is kind of an idiot.

I should know better though, shouldn't I? He's a kid, I tell myself, but that doesn't make it any easier to carry the weight of the hurt. He should know and he should care what it does to me when he brings them around. He was there for the tears and rage, so how could he not know?

At one point seeing a gang of pubescent boys tearing through my kitchen would have been fulfilling. Knowing that I was the one feeding them, making them smell of happiness and rewarding them after a long day of patrols...that would have been my role. It could have been real.

But it's not reality.

I'm linked, by myth or magic, to a man who threw me away without a care. I think, maybe, if the stupid mind link didn't exist it would be easier to bare. Perhaps I could comfort myself, say "he does love you, he does care, but he loves her, too." It would have hurt, but I wouldn't have to live with knowing that he doesn't love me - couldn't love me even a fraction of how I love him.

Yet, here I am, stuck. Bitter and falling apart at the edges, burning with betrayal any time Sam gives Seth a comforting hug, or high-fives Jacob, or smiles (sweet, kind, tender, and loving) at Emily's scarred face.

I tell myself I would run if not for Seth. If not for the tribe. If not for my mother, or the bakery, or the stupid patch of lilies out back. If if if-

I could bugger off to another state. Try California perhaps – there are rumours of packs out that way. or go to another continent, because I could never be too far away from this cruel life.

It's hotter outside, much, it feels like being scorched alive, sentenced to Hell. My bare feet slap the ground, heart pounding, twigs and moss beneath me. One leap, two, then into the trees. I'm pulling my top off. My shorts and underwear follow close behind – I'm upset, not stupid.

A fallen tree crosses my path, I jump and when I hit the ground on the other side I landed on four paws, claws digging into compact dirt. I move faster, sleeker, further. The world blurs around me, a mixture of black and white merging into confusing greys. Birds take off from their nests, screeching in protest.

I cannot outrun my problems, but like this the world is sensation rather than feeling. There's wind in my fur and the burn of stretching muscles. Rodents are loud in the underbrush and the sounds of life stretch well beyond a human mind's comprehension.

I run and jump and push my four-legged form until there's salt in my nostrils and the crash of waves in my ears. The trees thin to a rocky ledge and the wide blue sky atop a dancing ocean.

I skid to a stop before the cliff edge. With all four legs planted far apart and my head thrown back, a lamenting howl pierces the air. Here, alone in my head for once, I let go.

I dance across the rocky ledge, tail swishing from side to side, ears pressed back and teeth bared in complaint to the ancestors before me. The birds in the trees retreat to the highest branches, agitated, and the waves down below seem to pick up their own roar in response to mine.

Beneath the sun, with my pelt warm and throat vibrating, I'm whole.

My howl pierces the air, dancing across the sea currents, out past Teahwhit Head's pocked beaches and across the Pacific ocean. It is a cry meant for the distant clouds and depths of the ocean where sunken canoes lie.

Leah...

I freeze. What? the voice is like cool water along the burning refines of my mind. Seth? Did he hear... Of course he did. I trip over my own paws.

We are headed to the Cullens', Jacob wants to see Renesme. Are you coming along?

I stiffen and bare my teeth at the name. Leeches. I want to say no, every molecule says no. However, the idea of leaving this stupid child with those monsters is a fate worse than any other I could imagine. I was less cautious of them once, for Jacob, and Bella almost killed Seth. I snarl at the memory, feel Seth's own shudder at it. It gives me pause. He will go whatever I say, his loyalty to Jacob, his idiotic desire to believe the best of those monsters are worth more to him than my disagreement. In my mind's eye I see the tangled limbs and drained body of a fisherman. To protect him...

Leah, I don't need you to protect me.

Shut up! I make a point to project my annoyance at him, at this life we were forced into.

Bella won't hurt me; last time was an accident.

I said, 'Shut up'. I march in circles, kicking up leaves as my tail swings, snarling at the ground. Fine, I'll go, but only because you need me.

I said-

Seth! I warn.

Geez, calm down, Leah. His grumbling is amplified in my head. We'll be leaving in twenty minutes. Get back and get dressed. You might want to have a shower as well.

Don't want to offend any sensitive blood-drinker's nose? I snipe but he's gone before the last word is thought out in my mind. While I'm aware of how bad the damp fur can smell, it's a matter of principle and reciprocity. It's not like the vampire's smell any better than wet dogs.

I give a wolfish grin. I will wash up, but not the way Seth means. A touch of sea salt and a cleansing bath in the shattering colds of the Pacific seemed to be in order. The change takes all of two seconds and then I'm plunging through the sky, falling - down down down. The wind bites at my skin and when I hit the water it feels like slamming into concrete. The cool, salty water envelops me and sucks me down into the darkness. It's a blissful change from the day's warmth.

How's this for Perfume d'Wolf?

Chapter Text

"Jacob!" A little girl bounds from the Cullens’ home, her bare feet barely touching the floor as she flies down the stairs and into Jacob's arms. Despite appearances, and this makes my head pound, Renesme is only four, although she seems closer to twelve.

I take a step backwards, toward the shadow of the tree line and the safety of the forest, and wait. As expected the next person out the house is Bella, followed closely by Edward then Esme and Carlisle.

The welcome committee. Yippee.

I try not to cringe too obviously.

One would think because of our natural order, that the vampires would have been forced out of town by now. Things were peaceful before they crawled from the depths of hell. Now, every fourth pre-pubescent Quileute boy is turning into an uncoordinated wolf cub and being a general menace and threat to my livelihood.

As if being an unwanted pack member (mentally linked, extremely unwillingly, to a man who threw me away and who still runs our pack) wasn’t enough, there was dad’s heart attack and the knowledge that, despite having Seth, I would always be alone.

Despite all this, the most acceptable of the Cullen clan was Esme. Even bloodsuckers have their one unproblematic member I guess. She is kind and warm in a way her species rarely are. She doesn't feel like a threat. Instead of fury, the wolf within me is calm with her. Her smile now is fond, the crinkles around her eyes real and comforting in their humanity. I don’t want to like her, I don’t want to be accepting, but she is different from them. She does not feel unnatural.

"Jake," Bella crows and joins her daughter in embracing Billy's son.

The group watches on, fond, while I fight to keep my snarl inside.

You saw him earlier this week. He isn’t even good company, I muss, disgusted by the display. As if the vampire and wolf aspect wasn’t enough, Renesmee’s a child. A literal baby. And not one of the people present seems to realize how unnatural this is.

It was not okay when Quil imprinted on Claire, and it’s not okay now with Jacob imprinted on Renesmee. If I were them, I’d probably have castrated him by now. Granted, I’d like to castrate him anyway, Jacob should not be permitted to procreate.

"Come in, please," Esme is looking directly at me, her smile welcoming, it’s the same smile she used earlier in the week, the same kindness and patience she’s been using for years.

Jacob is already halfway up the stairs. He freezes in place, the little Renesme hanging over his shoulder and giggling. Seth is just behind him.

I shake my head, throat still thick with bitterness. "I'll be out back, Seth," I turn and stalk away.

Turning my back to them makes my body ache.

I kick the ground as I walk, keeping my ears pricked for the sound of Seth’s steps on marble floors, a strangely familiar tap-tap. Don't be an idiot, Seth, stay safe.

The forest here feels preserved. A time capsule of the many years passed, so many memories. Weddings, fights, the birth of a tiny abomination. If I focus hard enough, I could almost still smell them. The trees are ancient, but they carry the recent years like back pains and blight. The forest remembers, too, and for some reason still continues to thrive.

There’s an old pine tree just at the edge of the clearing out back, at its base is a grassless patch that I’ve flattened and refined to a perfect seat. I head toward it. The shade of the canopy is cool and dark enough to give me a semblance of privacy - however faux. I lean my head back against the base of the trunk, bark against my back, the whisper of leaves overhead. If there is one thing I would congratulate the vampires on, it would be their home.

I glare at the crystalline mountain, glimmering in the sun much like a vampire’s skin. It would be beautiful if I wasn’t so bitter. "Sure, eat my food then subjugate me to bloodsuckers, how nice of you, Jacob." I mumble and fiddle with a pebble on the ground. One throw and bye-bye glass fortress.

What’s the saying? People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?

"You did not have to come,"

I jerk upright and snarl at the vampire. Alice, more pixie than vampire, her eyes are molten and look right through me, she fits this house. She’s one of the less offensive vampires to be around, but still creepy as hell. "But I did come," which I regret every time, "So now what?"

For a moment she scrutines me, then her face breaks into a brilliant smile, “Would you like some apple slices? Nessy loves them.”

My eye twitches and I rub at my forehead. “Why are you still trying? Can’t you leave me alone?”

She hums and crouches down, head cocked like a bird. “You’re interesting.” I snort and her smile grows bigger, “Did you know that I cannot see you?" Clearly seeing my confusion, she clarifies “Your future. I cannot see the wolves.”

This is news to me, although I doubt its validity just by virtue of it being a vampire who said it. Did Jacob and Seth know? Why has no one told me if it is true? Reluctantly, I’m curious, "Only the wolves?"

"Yes, and Bella, but that’s different." She waves a hand and shuffles on her haunches, “You’re all staticy and...” she moves her hands about while squinting, “like bad cable.”

I watch her, considering her words. Lies can be detected through heart beats with some people, through smell, or breathing patterns in others - for vampires, who don’t have a heartbeat, no sweat glands, or need to breathe...it’s hard to tell what is the truth. I want to believe that this isn’t just an elaborate ruse. What reason would Alice have to lie about this?

"Listen, I don’t know what your future entails. I can make guesses on what I’ve seen from those around me, those you interact with.” I cringe, that doesn’t make me feel much more comfortable. “I do know, however, you won't be sitting out here much longer; a day will come when you will come inside our home."

Although she sounds confident, her eyes are searching. I’ve ‘known’ this girl for seven or so years, at most we’ve exchanged pleasantries (not pleasant on my end). But I’ve seen this before, done it myself when pleading for an answer I’m not sure I’d get.

(“Damnit, Leah, will you let off?” Sam snarls, he crowds me toward the door, trying to force me out. “I’m sick of your whining.”

I open my mouth, looking over his shoulder to the pack’s faces turned away, Emily’s face in open shock. “I-I’m just saying that-”

“Shut up!” he snaps, eyes barely human, teeth poking out as fangs. “Come back when you learn your place.” He closes the door in my face, a solid thunk of wood.)

I despise her, I despise her ilk and everything they’ve done, I remind myself even as my chest aches with familiarity.

"Leah?"

I look at her questioningly. Why hasn’t she left yet?

“Apple slices? Apparently they’re delicious.”

Chapter Text

The hours tick by slowly. The trees are alive with an assortment of buzzing and humming even as the branches creek high up in the air. Fresh and clean air fills me with each breath until I’m weightless.

Evening comes fast, dying the sky and the first few evening clouds indigo and the sky beyond it as dark as the ocean depths. A stray star twinkles in the east, shining like it knows the clouds will consume the sky. Sirius, in all its splendor, a welcoming of the night and symbol of the wolf. With it’s wink, my skin itches. I want to run, to howl at the absent moon.

I blink up at the Cullen house, lit from within it is almost star-like - warm. Somewhere inside Emmet is laughing and Seth is talking about a seal stealing Billy’s fish. Renesmee’s voice is distant and soft, joining smoothly with Esme’s in a humming song. The air hints of parsley and tomato, and an oven hums.

My stomach turns, grumbling at not having eaten all day. It smells good, better than food made by vampires should.

I shift against my tree, the calm of earlier fizzling away as the cold sets in. While not feeling cold myself, it’s a matter of principle. I tell myself I am not lonely, not envious, but I’m marginally too self-aware to completely sell it. It is lonely out here, merely because feet away is laughter I’m not part of, warmth I cannot indulge in, and comfort I cannot receive.

"You’re ridiculous,” I say and twirl a leaf between my fingers. Closing my eyes, I breathe deep, trying to smell beyond /food, Seth, vampires/. The scent of soil is always rich and filling, but tonight it is hard to concentrate on it. I try to focus on the chill of the air, the feel of the tree behind me, the promise of ferns on the tip of my tongue.

Shouts sound from inside and my eyes snap open. Apparently Jacob lost some or other game.

I sigh, why am I even here? Seth is clearly safe. My presence changes nothing if I’m not with him either way. I should just go home. He doesn't need you, they don't need you.

A niggling voice says, no one needs you or wants you.

I cringe from the thought, heart pounding. Not that I haven't thought about it before, because I have. So many, many times. I’ve considered what it means - lying awake in the middle of the night, mind racing, paralyized by the knowledge that I am inconsequential. That if I just...disappeared no one would care.

I think of mom, barely home as she works at the resort, unwilling to spend time in a house where her husband died. Seth, who is grown despite my every attempt to treat him as a child, bitter and frustrated at having to tiptoe around an overly-sensitive sister. The pack - well, it needs no explanation.

I think of what it would be like to stop. No more hurt, no more heartache, no more voice in my head. Just stillness, darkness. It would be peaceful to not face this world each morning.

And just as horrifying as it feels, it makes me fume. Why should I feel this way? Why can I not accept that biology and some messed up magic have chosen me to be the exception? Imprint? Ha! I shouldn’t exist, why would the universe allow me any kind of closure?

Love him completely, wholly, but you cannot have him.

Be powerful and fast, be the protector of the weak, but no one wants your help.

Feel deeply, with every fiber of your being, and then some, but no feeling will ever be one of joy.

I want to run from it, the bone weariness and shadowed thoughts. I can’t run though, not while that means leaving without Seth - the one good thing in this forsaken world. A sneaky thought whispers, you don’t have to run to make it stop, and that thought is dangerously tantalizing. I push it away.

Somehow being this beast means a longer life, more time than I could ever want or know what to do with. The first 26 years of this existence have not been particularly good to me, who is to say it can get better. It feels unlikely, improbable. I know I can stop it, stop the elongated lifespan, wither away and die, human. I would be human, completely, no more howling into the night sky or pushing my body across the land at top speeds.

While others would kill for the youth of the wolf, I rather think losing it would be worth it to not constantly hear Sam’s thoughts of Emily, feel his disdain, the pack’s exasperation at my pain.

Perhaps then I could move on, find a human’s love (lose my heritage, my link to my brother, never feel the the crush of leaves beneath my paws). I could study, travel, be someone new (someone with no roots, the ancestors renouncing me for giving up their gift).

It is an option.

I smile, it’s laughable.

"Yo," I look up at Jacob, his head sticking out a window. "You want some grub? Esme's making spaghetti."

My stomach growls in answer, I shake my head "Not hungry." I look away, berating men and wolves and men-wolf packs in general for the entirety of my life’s suffering. "I think I'll head home, let Seth know, will you?"

He blinks, "Are you... sure, okay, whatever." he opens his mouth but snaps it closed right after. I hear the low murmur of voices behind him. "By the way, the bloodsucker says you should get out of your head.."

“He should get out of my head,” I snarl, mentally I offer feck right off and die.

There’s faint laughter from inside before Jacob disappears.

Pushing off the ground, I stretch my arms. The muscles stretch and ligaments pop, satisfying.

There should be enough time to slap together a sandwich before checking on Billy and taking a late border patrol. If Sam isn’t going to mess with the Cullens’ staying on the fringe of pack territory then fine, but the others should stay away. The coven is lucky to be linked through an imprint. If there’s one thing I agree with Sam on, it’s that.

I jog into the treeline, run a few feet before undressing and folding my clothes. The change comes as naturally as breathing. Immediately I’m stifled by an onslaught of images and smells and overlapping thoughts, it would seem Paul had already started the perimeter check with Quill. My jaws snap down over my clothes and I begin to weave around fallen logs and craggy old bushes.

Leah, Jake is at the Cullens’? Quill more huffs than asks.

With Seth, I add because he is my only real concern. All I really have on my mind though, is how brilliant it is that Sam isn’t on patrol. Score one for bitter ex-girlfriends.

I found new scents at the east border. Vampire.

We're trailing it at the moment, but we'll need you later. Have something to eat first. Paul's suggestion is coloured in the warmth of amusement; his own mind plays out his dinner with Rachel and her parents. The images are warm and flooded with Rachel’s scent.

I shake the image away, I'll check on Billy as well- my thoughts are interrupted by another image in Paul's mind. So that is why Sam isn’t patrolling, it’s ‘bore Billy to death with our love-story’ night. Never mind, I'll be there in ten.

No one protests, so I speed up from my lope.

The rest of the run blurs by and I push the thoughts and banter between Paul and Quill away, white noise. My own mind is a mess of ‘don’t think about Sam and Emily holding hands, don’t think about their kisses, don’t think at all’.

Chapter Text

The scent has picked up.

Through the interwoven connection, I can smell as if it’s my own nose.

We're gaining on them.

Them. More than one?

Yes, two or three, maybe more. It may be a stray group…or Volturi.

Volturi. I tumble over my paws and right myself. Blinking away hazy memories that stunk of fear.

If it is... we'll need to let Jake know, the only reason they'd be here is to mess with Renesme.

What about the small one?

Alice. Might be her too.

I'll meet you south of Coal Creek, I'm coming from Hole-in-the-Wall. We might be able to corner them.

It stopped!

Gone!

What? What happened? You lost them?

Damn, they turned around, headed south.

It’s too close to the airfield-

We've been played for fools!

They're headed towards me? I'll meet them head on, come up on rear.

No, wait! Leah!

Stop it! Leah, this is suicide!

You can't take on more than one alone! Wait for us!

They’re headed towards the camping ground-

Leah! Stop!

Shut up, shutupshutup! I try tuning them out. I’m not weak, I can at least get one of them before they overpower me, it should give the others enough time to show up and get the rest. The worst that would happen is a few broken bones, but that is little to sacrifice in the way of vampire slaying.

So stupid-

I'm going to get Sam. Paul, get to her, now!

Sam...My mind retracts for a moment, dwindling, mourning. A distraction. I don’t need this now, did they want me to die? I need to get my mind out of the gutter.

I shake my large head, the rest of my fur ripples with the movement, shaking off water.

The scent slips past me.

I have them! South toward Mora.

I bound harder, faster. The scent grows, I’m practically on top of them. A howl escapes me and I catch a flash of blonde. I would know that hair anywhere, rage boils under my skin. It’s the Volturi after all, the bastards, to send their rabbits out to face the wolves.

You're sure? It's them?

The question is stupid, I don’t bother answering it, he already knows I’m sure. Two voices join, Sam and Quill.

Immediately my chest begins to pain and my lope staggers, I slam into a tree but regain my balance before I can go down. My next steps are uneven as a low thrumming ache spreads through me. Howls fill the air and more voices materialise in my head. Everyone except Jacob and Seth are here, which doesn't surprise me, Jake's first priority would be his mate.

The blonde flashes again. I’m catching up!

Leah, stop! It’s Sam. He’s my alpha and there’s no choice but to obey him, even if I hate to do so.

Yet he isn’t the reason I fall to the ground. No, the ache expands and every muscle seizes. I crash into a tree, the cells in my body contracting and expanding rapidly, cramping with a stabbing, throbbing sensation that permeates my very ability to think.

I squirm, breathless as the change grips at my bones, my muscles contorting to accept it.

There should be relief that follows, but the change doesn’t release me in supple flesh but plunges me back under the crushing weight of another change and another and another.

Until I’m no longer sure which skin I wear, what shape my mind takes.

The air smells sharply of blood and urine, but I can’t see anything beyond the flashes of conscious images. Not my own. Not my vision or scent or hearing. Someone else’s, everyone else’s.

It tastes like horror.

I’m not entirely sure I’m breathing, and at this point I beg all the forces of the Earth that I’m not. If only it’ll stop. Please god make it stop I can’t do this please please please-

Lea-

Volturi!

-there-

Its-

It’s a strange conglomeration of disassociation, fear, mindless jabber. And hell why hasn’t it stopped yet? The voices in my head only get louder, more persistent in their lack of sense. I’m whacked with the image of red, of smiles and torn limbs. There’s an odd moment where I’m staring at myself, but it’s not me it can’t be me, not like that. And the rancid permeating of urine makes my eyes (is it my eyes?) water.

Someone won’t stop screaming.

Oh.

Me.

It’s me. Or maybe not.

I can’t feel my lungs or my lips, just the all-consuming buzz of electricity as every fibre of my being tries to metamorphose into something it’s not. Can’t possibly be.

Abruptly it ends. Leaving behind a swarm of bees in my head, bees that make my limbs flail around madly and who scream and scream and scream.

A hot pressure falls on my head and I struggle. Don’t trap the bees in here with me, I beg. Please no, but the bees are already stinging at my scalp, tracing the pressure across the expanse of my mind, stinging me with billions of tiny poisonous tails.

"Lea-? -Eah! -ok at me!" the voice doesn’t sound right and only serves to anger the bees who attack me in retaliation.

"Sam!" and suddenly there’s silence, blissful. The bees calm to an angry buzz, but stop trying to kill me.

"Oh, fuck, look at her..." the bees don’t seem to mind this, swarming ‘round and round my head in a chaotic dance smelling of vomit and soil.

"Don't,"

"-get her back, to the res-"

"Billy, we need the doctor,"

I realise suddenly that the flashes of thoughts and images and scents have stopped. That the bees are honey drunk bumping against my skull. When did the screaming stop?

"I don't think-"

"Do it! Make sure to keep Seth away."

Chapter Text

It’s a long time - or at least I think it is - before the voices become fully coherent again, before they’re more than chopped off words and flashes of unintelligible sound. Broken by fits of unconsciousness, where the pain was distant and manageable, there were voices and smells and...other things, and more pain.

The...doctor, his name slips like water through my fingers, is here. Or at least I think it’s him. The smell of chemicals and blood and something softer - the blood might be me. I think I’m bleeding, or maybe I was bleeding and I’ve stopped? I don’t know.

There’s a hive in my head and occasionally bees visit and block my ears and buzz buzz buzz until there’s nothing but honey dripping from my eyes and nose and the pores of my cheeks. And when the bees sleep or fetch nectar or do whatever they do then there are voices and clicking things and the shuffle of clothes - a dog barking, the roar of the ocean, a boat motor sputtering angrily, birds and birds and the whistle of the wind and beesbeesbees-

"-how she’s alive at the moment."

"-fix her?"

"I don't think it is poss-"

There’s an impressive chorus of snarls and yelps that make my skin itch. She. I’m not stupid, I know I’m the ‘she’. What I’m not so sure of is what’s actually wrong with me - other than my current state of blindness and the teeth-grinding pain that doesn’t seem to want to go away, that is. And the bees.

"-caught between her human and wolf form.” There are seagulls somewhere in the room, they’re so noisy and I think they’re trying to eat my head-bees, but they’re doing an awful job. “-can do is give her morphine for the pain- disfiguratio- completely unheard of. So I have nothing to work from. But my training tells me that she won't-”

“-out healing, by rebreaking-”

“Perhaps with your extraordinary healing abilities - with time."

I try shoving at the seagulls and the bees, I’m not sure if I actually wave them away. It’s softer for a moment, even if everything is still too loud. I try not to be too obvious while holding my breath. What? Can the people speak up please? I want to know too.

"May?"

"Yes, personally I don't see how she survived in the first place, this is an extraordinary transformation- suffer- set in between her forms and she'll likely not be able to change- may even retain- There are many possibilities."

"But-"

For a moment the bees get loud and sing sing sing buzz buzz buzz. There’s larvae spawning from my eyes - I can feel them, sticky little legs burning through me and setting me on fire. I try to tell them off, don’t they know I’m busy? Can’t they wait for the doctor to finish speaking?

I come back a while later and breathe in something sweet, I try to turn away. No, no, the bees just stopped, please no.

"I'm sorry. Billy, I've done all I can for now, we need to wait. I've set what bones I could.” The honey pours over my tongue and seeps across the back of my throat, smokey-light. “I'll come back every evening to check on her, but for the time being I'm going to leave this with you. -a dose in the morning, I'll issue her a dose in the evenings. Jacob-"

"Maybe, maybe we should consider-"

"No!"

What? What ‘no’? Why ‘no’? Will it make the pain stop? Will it make the bees go away forever? I’d sell my soul at this point for the pain and bees to stop.

"Seth..."

"She'd rather die than...than be one of them. She hates them, Jake, hates."

Silence fills the air. I try to gasp in a weak breath, which is practically nothing because my chest cramps at the effort, I want to demand what it is. Tell them to speak plainly.

"We don’t even know what effect the venom would have on -er. I’m sorry, but our best option is to wait.” There’s the hiss of someone’s breathing and the fuzzy sound of clothing shifting, there are no bees but there’s still honey and seagulls and the deafening crash of waves. “I'll go now. Sam, I trust you will keep me informed of her condition?"

"-course,"

"Thank you, Carlisle,” Carlisle, Carlisle, Carlisle- “I know it is inconvenient, you were on duty-"

"It’s okay- a part of the family. You've fought by our side and almost died there too, -family."

Chapter Text

It’s strange, being able to see again. Strange because I never thought I’d be afraid of the dark. I’ve never had reason to be until I thought it might be dark permanently. In my life there have always been nightlights, full moons through windows, the enhanced night vision of the wolf, until suddenly none of these things existed in a way that was nearly corresponding to what the world is supposed to be. I always thought fear tasted bitter and like fire ash. I was wrong. Fear is being paralysed by certainty that there is no hope, fear is being trapped in a dark, confined room knowing that there are people and things outside that you cannot reach.

When my sight comes back, granted it reminds me of horrible 30’s cable, all fuzzy, unfocused, and colourless and it looks somewhat like the world has been dragged under a train, I lie in my bed crying. You’d think that the tears mess up my sight even more, but the disorientating blurs and fixtures of shapes can’t possibly get more disfigured than they already are.

Somehow, if anything, my nose can smell the hint of cooking salsa from two miles away, and I can hear the scratching of bugs somewhere out in the preserve. It’s nauseating. Being in wolf form part time was nice, nice because I could choose to let the salt of the ocean stifle me, nice because I could sleep at night without having to listen to three hundred various species of birds doing their night time gossip. Now though… now I’m constantly hungry even if my body protests against something as simple as the vitamin soup being pumped into my veins and the world won’t shut up for one damn second.

Plus my nose is itchy as fuck. Can I move anything except my eyelids though? No. If I could give the word a big fat middle finger right now, I would.

"They'll heal." Carlisle says, softer than a whisper.

While previously I found it hard to be so close to him, now I’m beyond grateful for his presence. Every time one of those goddamned wolves is close by something breaks in another room, there’s shouting and teasing and I can almost taste their laughter. Their joy of family. Unlike the wolves, loud and annoying as all hell, the vampire is quiet. Quiet is good. Quiet keeps me calm, makes me think of lapping streams and gentle breezes. It keeps my mind off of the fact of how lonely this feels, how much more bitter I’m becoming each time I hear Seth breathless with mirth what seems a thousand miles away.
While I lie here in pain, wallowing in self-pity and exhaustion and helplessness.

Bed side charm, or whatever it's called, he's got it in spades.

"I'll need to put you on another drip. The energy expended by shifting forces you eat more, your body temperature and the healing are draining you dry at this point. You’re not getting enough to sustain you. We need to get as much nutrients in you as possible."

I want to hate him. Him and his bloodsucking ways. But the amount of compassion he uses in addressing me, like I’m still human, like I’m not some disfigured monster, etches away at the hard corners of my already damaged heart.

I close my essentially useless eyes, blocking out the pale blob that is the doctor, and try to remember what his face looks like, I can’t. All the thoughts in my head seemed to have merged and what resides in its place is a messy goop of faces, voices, memories where nothing really makes sense and everything is tinged in some or other kind of anger and sorrow.

The only face I have been able to recall is Seth's. Smiling, crying, laughing, and serious. Like a montage of memories overlapping until I can’t tell whether he’s laughing and crying at the same time, but it doesn’t really matter. Because it’s him. I can see him. Even if it’s only in this tiny corner of my mind.

It’s him more than anything that keeps me from trying to fade away. His laughter hurts me now, but at least he is laughing. Call it older sister syndrome or whatever you want really, but it’s the niggling worry that he’ll neglect his homework or trip over his shoelaces or stutter in front of the girl he likes that keeps me breathing.

I hear the doctor stand, the rustle of clothing, he walks away and comes back. I can’t feel the rest of my body in any aspect other than pain but I can smell the chemical compounds, the sheath of plastic encasing it. An injection.

I wanted to thank him, apologize too, but I can’t. Not now. Maybe never.

"Leah, I'm heading out. Jacob wanted to bring Renesme to see you, I hope you're okay with that. She's quite an energetic thing, but Jacob is as determined as they get."

I open my eyes to television static and search for the white blob. I don't say it but I'm sure my face must because the doctor starts chuckling.

"I know, he is more a child than Renesme, what Jacob wants Jacob gets." He moves away from the bed, I hear him putting away his instruments, one clink at a time. "If it will make you feel better, I'll send Seth in as well, he might keep the two of them grounded."

I blink rapidly.

"No? All right then, I'll see you tomorrow, Leah. Rest well," And just like that he’s gone. I hear him speaking to Billy and Charlie, outside, but as clear as if he’s saying the words right into my ear. I try to ignore them, rather searching for the rush of breath through their lungs.

Billy’s breath is laboured, not noticeably, but enough that it’s probably something to be worried about. Charlie’s is even, calm. I imagine him speaking to my mom over the phone with that level gust and something in me twists.

"You might never be able to change," The doctor had said.

Change back? Change into a wolf? And suddenly it’s a daunting reality that I might never get to grow old like a human. Might never be able to have a second chance of life and love and happiness, because I’ll forever be tied to Sam, to the pack.

Chapter Text

"Nessie, you remember Leah?"

The numskull actually came. I wrinkle my nose, or at least I think I do – a large portion of my muscles are unresponsive and the others feel like shredded cheese.

He brought his mate. To see me. Under any other circumstances I would have stalked away, grumbled and barred my teeth. She smells like Pine Cones and toffee, a tinge of blood, and a lot like Jacob. A great part of me wants to rip her throat out, the other wishes she’d rip out mine. After all, we are both monsters.

Coolness settles over my skin, light as a feather, but unmistakably the pressure of fingertips. Human in that there are no claws. Preternatural in their temperature and gentleness despite the hard-crust of her deceptively human skin. Certainly half a vampire. Half is not enough though. Somewhere in my mind’s eye I see the clearing encircled in wolves and vampires. The other Halfling, so strange and deadly, but also our saving grace.

I wish I could pull away from the child’s hand, at the very least under the pretence that I do not enjoy her gentleness. It’s more than I’ve gotten from anyone else.

The little hand moves to my forehead, her fingers are pinpricks, feather light, like goose pimples. "Leah... yes,"

Why? She sounds like any other child on the reservation – young, unsure, excited. The tell-tale innocence of a voice too high, too curious. My gut twists and I’m nearly crying with the vain effort to move away from her. I can’t. It’s impossible.

"Look," she demurs.

I’m outside. Looking, engaged, but separate from myself a few feet away. I’m leaning against a tree, or rather, the other me is. She stares into the trees. Seth comes up to her and she ruffles his hair. Laugher, the sound raw and low, as honest as I’ve ever heard it.

She’s standing beside Jacob, eyes hard, mouth set in a harsh line and fists tucked against her sides. Her knuckles are white, and her heartbeat, steady and slow, can be heard all the way from the house. Daddy takes my hand, “Privacy, little one.” I nod.

She’s screaming and stomping her feet in the woods, scaring butterflies from flowers, forcing insects to buzz away in irritation as tears streak her cheeks. I stay hidden, too scared to move.

Her wolf stares back at me, large and furry, a grey angry mountain next to the curious squirrels in the trees. Her tongue hangs out, her legs shaking from running to keep up with Jacob. I want to sink my hands into her fur, but her glare warns me off. I whisper, “Friend, not food,” and grin in delight when Jacob noses my cheek.

She turns her back on Esme, grandma, and walks away. Grandma catches my frown, “Now now, sweet child, all in their own time.”

Her wolf jumps up and down, trying to capture fireflies in her jaws.

She laughs and clutches her sides as Jacob struggles to untangle himself from sea weed. My own are hidden behind my hand.

"Leah," the child whispers and removes her hand from my cheek.

It’s then that I realise that my cheeks were wet. Crying. I’m crying with the watermark of Jacob's ugly face, the motherly concern in Esme's eyes, branded into the recesses of my mind. Faces and expressions I wasn’t aware I’d forgotten or missed, times I don't remember, things I never did.

A gift. A heart wrenching, painful…but beautiful gift.

"I thought she might be able to cheer you up." Jacob is saying somewhere beyond the blurriness of my world, he pats my head and normally I’d try to bite the hand off but between struggling to breathe and the impossibility of movement I allow it to pass. Just this once damn it. "Nessie has a way of seeing people,"

I turn my eyes bleary towards where they are, two malformed splotches of colour, light and dark, big and small, toffee and coffee.

Colour. My every cell thirsts for it. Greens and blues and browns and pinks. I cling to the fading images like they might save me from drowning, might chase away the fears and insecurities and pain.
My lips move, no sound emerges.

"It is okay, Leah," the girl whispers – birds wings and falling rain – and her hand rests on my cheek again.

Is she going to show me something else? I'd take anything, any colour, any person, any time as long as I could see. I try to strain toward her touch, try to force her gift, her curse, her whatever to activate, to wash over me and colour in all the blanks.

"You'll get better," her hand begins to slip away and I panic, tears gathering in my eyes again and spilling over. "Sure,"

Then there he is, Sam, his arms wrapped around Emily, they are talking to the pack - words and sounds and things I don’t understand. Charlie eating a doughnut, face covered in white powder. All of them, my family. Alive, bright, colourful, my chest aches with the tangibility of it.

She shows me the vampires next. I could hardly care if she spewed back the entire hour of some god awful child’s program. The Cullens stand around a piano, Edward's fingers move over the ivory keys, a light tap-tap-tap that somehow translates into dustmotes and daydreams and stray rays of sunlight. Esme and Carlisle are locked in each other’s arms, statues of affection caught in time. Jacob and Seth crowd close to Bella, tall and dark and large next to her short, fair, and slight, they grin from ear to ear as they joke at Emmet’s expense. Charlie shifts awkwardly when Rose offers him a glass of red wine, her eyes much the same colour.

Renesme removes her hand and in its place settles emptiness.

I never thought I'd even contemplate this – I don't want the blood sucker to leave.

Chapter Text

"Wiggle your fingers for me. Good. Now your toes. Brilliant.” Carlisle steps away from me. “You're improving," I’d say. He’s more than a pale blob now, more than a hazy shape whose blank spaces are filled up by borrowed memories. "Let's see if you can sit up. Here, let me help."

He places two steady hands on my waist and does more work than my pathetic shuffling and uncoordinated flailing ever could. Carlisle sets me up against a mound of pillows, allowing me to sink back into them before rearranging the thin sheet over my legs.

"We just need to check a few more things and then we will be done for the day."

I give a jerk of my head, the closest to a nod as I’ll get. Not dignified and nothing verging on a smidge of grace, but much better than no movement at all.

The doctor putters about, going through the motions that take up much of my daily life. Pulse, deep breath, pulse. A cone and light in my ears. The blinding sway of the penlight in front of my eyes.

Increasingly mind-numbing questions about pain levels, can you feel this, how does this feel.

And, yeah, I can choke out a word or two now, too. Carlisle doesn’t comment on the scratch of my voice, just holds out a glass of water with a bendy straw, commenting something about sub vocal tracts and the mix up of wolf-human organs. By now I’m not surprised.

"Things are looking up." He squeezes my shoulder, the cold of his hand seeping through the shirt Seth has blushingly helped me wiggle into.

"Morph’n,"

Carlisle makes that telltale exasperated-doctor sound and shakes his head. "You know I cannot. I had to lower your dosage, we’re already running the risk of an addiction."

"Pl’s," The pain had spiked the last two days, making sleep, when and if it came, fitful and useless. The drugs were burning away in my system too fast to last me more than an hour or two, and I felt its ineffectiveness in every joint and muscle. I thought the doctor might have cut back the medication, because while the morphine didn’t do much to begin with, it at least dragged me under the spell of sleep.

My thoughts must somehow translate visually because he sighs. "I cannot. Leah, you need to face a certain extent of the pain. If you are constantly alleviated from the symptoms your body will not learn to deal with its new state accordingly. When I stop giving you the medication completely the pain might cripple you otherwise."

I look away. The fact that it makes sense doesn’t make it any easier to hear. Reason does not cure pain and pain does not a rational person make. I curl my fingers into my palms. Claws press against soft human flesh and I wince. There’s a morbid humour in this, I’m sure, I just can’t imagine what it is. I’ll have to ask Jacob, he’ll see it.

"’ead,"

"Your head?" I jerk another nod and Carlisle’s cool fingers are suddenly prodding at my temples. “A headache?”

I shrug, sight becoming blurry as I stare morosely at the light spilling through the window.

The doctor sighs and pats at my hair – fur? I haven’t actually gotten the courage to ask anyone the state of my body. I know I’ve got my claws, I know my teeth are a little too sharp and don’t sit right in my mouth. My knees bend backward instead of forward. There’s a hard lump at the base of my spine – the not-quite fully formed tail.

Try not to imagine how I must look to the vampire, to Sam and Seth and Jacob and Renesme. But I’m aware I probably look like the creature that crawls out from under children’s beds. A monster.

"I don't know what to tell you, Leah. I can't give you any more medication than you're already taking."

I close my eyes, breathing in a burning, thick breath. Fleetingly, I wish he’d just put me out of this all together, but I trample the thought down, trying futilely to replace it rather with the wish for a few hours’ sleep instead. Just a respite from the darkness as bright as day, and the room too hot although I can hear snow is falling.

"Date?" I garble at the vampire, forcing my eyes open to examine the pale sunlight.

He hums, already stuffing his instruments back into his back. "Rest for now, I'll have Renesmee bring a newspaper with her tomorrow. She needs to practice her reading and you'll be able to catch up on the time."

I half-grunt in acceptance.

I hear rather than see him cocking his head. "Not going to fight me today?"

I don’t bother replying.

"Do you want me to help you lie down again?" he laughs when I snap my head in his direction, using my teeth to convey my feelings. "No need to glare, at least you're regaining your personality. I have to go, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Ness?"

"Of course, she's always delighted to visit you. She's been pestering Jacob nonstop,"

"Doctor?" The voice floats from the doorway and draws my gaze.

"Sam, how is Emily doing? I trust the ointment helped?"

“Yes,” Sam looks from the doctor to me, I turn my head and close my eyes. If I can't see him, he can't see me. "She's feeling better, thank you for your help."

"No, it is my pleasure, I'm glad. Rest up, Leah, Renesme will demand your full attention tomorrow. Sam, may I speak with you privately?"

"Of course,"

The door clicks closed and I sink further into my mound - allowing my teeth to grind around the stupid whimper drawn from my throat.

I should be used to this by now. All of it, Emily and Sam, the pain, the desperate pull of fear that constricts and chokes.

Emily’s come to visit me regularly – washing my face and sponging cream into my skin. Chatting calm and careful, the kind of soothing meant for children or hurt animals. She means well, she’s always meant well. But even so I can't look at her, or rather I can’t force myself to look at the vague shape of her. She’s beautiful, perfect still even with the claw marks maring her skin. The scar on her face stands out like the scab of lava in a dense forest.

It’s Sam's mark.

And his wife is wiping my body clean with a damp cloth, ignoring my shame at wetting the bed, placing pads beneath me and smiling like this is normal.

I want to ignore it, but I’ve always been more masochistic than normal self-preservation can handle. The agony of her visits are only soothed by Seth’s clockwork ‘good night’s, the heart of it much sweeter than Seth will ever admit.

But it all ends the same. Alone. Alone and waiting. Waiting, waiting, for morning to come and the Cullen's to stop by. Endure the probing and testing like a lab rat and then alone again until someone decides to check that I’m still breathing.

"They'll be sad," Renesme had said the last time she visited, she'd drawn a picture – a horrible scribble really – of a wolf and a little girl that was somehow supposed to be us – her and me, vampire-halfling and wolf-monster. Perhaps her rendering was accurate after all. "If you go away,"

Would they, really?

"I'll be sad," she had patted my cheek, "I want to look just like you."

I’d made a sound of protest, unable to form words just yet. Her declaration didn’t make sense. Perhaps she’s not yet learnt to fear monsters.

"They all think you're pretty, I want to be pretty too. I want to be a wolf," She gnashed her teeth, making a high pitched mewling sound that was probably supposed to pass as a howl.

The child is delusional. I blame Jacob entirely. He’s probably been feeding her lies about how ‘awesome’ being a wolf-shifter is. Lies that she’ll believe because she doesn’t have to suffer through others’ thoughts in her head and her thoughts in theirs. She doesn’t understand the breach in privacy, the clamour and disassociation of having a dozen working noses and eyes and ears. Where reality becomes a little warped and it’s difficult to find where you take up space in the world.

My claws push into my palms, drawing blood and bringing me back to the room, to reality.

She shouldn't come visit me tomorrow, not ever really. There’s no telling my pessimism won’t rub off on her malleable young mind.

Yet I want to hear her voice again. I want her projections and her uncanny ability to insult Jacob unknowingly. I'm selfish.

My eyes snapped open and I squinted at the wall.

"In," I grumble.

He doesn't have to knock, I can smell him, I can hear the rustle of his clothes and a part of my mind, the part that is now permanently wolf, can sense alpha. Leader. Pack.

The door creaks open and his scent floods the room, I hold my breath.

"Carlisle says you're improving,"

I grit my teeth and scowl at my surroundings. Grey. Warped and grey and smelling too much like Sam.

“We need to talk,"

For the sake of all that is good in this world, I turn my head and level him with every ounce of frustration built up over the last few weeks – months? Could he stop beating around the bush and say it already?

"I'm sorry,"

That…that I was not expecting. My jaw may go a little slack even as my chest bubbles with something ugly and twisted. He’s apologizing. I think somewhere in the recesses of my beta brain I assumed he would scorch my ass with a line of 'Are you stupid'. Because that is what I ultimately deserved.

He looks away, "I'm sorry," steps closer, "You and Seth are going to stay at the Makah Reservation until things are cleaned up."

Oh.

Oh, okay. That. Well. I guess that makes sense. More in character and all.

Why would Sam ever apologise for dropping me so out of the blue to marry my cousin? Why would Sam think to offer compassion for my pain? No, no, he’s apologising for sending me away. Throwing out the trash. It makes sense. Perfect sense.

Throw out the trash, save yourself from dealing with its stink.

My lips thin and I’m vaguely aware that my claws are buried in my palms. The world is swimming a little. My chest is burning up with fire. The momentary hope singes and goes up in spectacular flame.

At that moment I want to kill him.

Anger is a stupid word. Anger does not describe the boiling pit of Hades suddenly rising from my chest.

“With the threat of vampires here and having to care for you, the pack is too distracted. We cannot take-”

"Die," I mutter, eyes glued to his sculptured face. "Die," I repeat quietly, not sure if I’m commanding the last of hope, trust, and faith in him as my alpha, or the lingering inflammation of loving him or if it’s just him.

"It can't be helped-"

I snarl, struggling up away from the pillows and making them tumble from the bed. "Die," I cry, my throat throbbing and tearing at the decibel change.

"Leah-"

"You!" I grimace, clenching my eyes closed. “Your…fault.”

His clothes rustle closer and I force my gaze to fall on him. His lips are curled in warning, shoulders thrown back. "Listen,"

There isn’t even a single cell in my body that in that moment thinks this man, this alpha, deserves my submission. I bare my teeth, sharp and clear. The grey of my gaze spirals, unfocused and dizzying.

"Hate…you."

There’s a rush of sound and suddenly we’re not alone, the pack is a mess of twitching muscles, standing half in the room, backing their alpha. They stare between Sam and me, making no move to intercept.

"Sam, I think-" Seth begins, but stops when Sam looks at him, cowering under his gaze.

If anything their presence makes the demonic depths of hell burn brighter in me until tears are gushing down my cheeks and air builds like a balloon in my chest. "Hate…you. Hate-" I reach a clawed and bloody fist to my head, the headache piercing, and throat constricting around breathless whines. "Out!" My voice catches and breaks on the word, mangled by a lamenting howl.

"Leah, you will listen to me." Sam roars.

I whimper, shrinking back and then jerking forward to curl bloody talons in the measly blanket. I glower at him through tears, wet gasps for breath interrupting the gallop of my heart. "I hate-hate y-ou..."
The words tumble over themselves, barely human.

The pack is staring at the ground, tense, smelling like sour obedience. Seth has tears streaking from his eyes.

I can see him.

"I don't care. You'll do what I say, do you understand?"

What is left of my breath rips from my lungs in a yowl that makes the pack flinch. The sound tears at my throat and explodes in my head.

My body arches and my toes curl, legs bending backward and then forward as the snap of bones joins my scream.

The bitter tinge of fear spikes. "Leah..." Seth whimpers and shuffles, unable to move toward me.

My stomach clenches and the little Carlisle had given me to eat rises up my throat. The acid hits my tongue and I curl over, falling from the bed, and throwing up.

The muscles along my spine contract. Arms and legs jerking out wildly to find their form.

It’s happening again. Somewhere deep down I know Jane isn’t in this room, but the pain is equivalent and that seems enough to trigger unintelligible begging.

My vision flickers, claws sharpening and dulling, nose and ears seemingly trading jobs as I seize across the floor. Cheek smearing through vomit and urine and something else, something chemical.

"No," I manage to whimper.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
It must be hours later when something cool wraps around me, liberating me from the fire. Cradling my broken body.

I pray it makes this end.

"Rosalie, don't-"

But the stench of blood drowns me and I lose even that.

Chapter Text

I wake to darkness. (Heart beating too fast. Why can’t I see?) The presence of flickering light across the room breaks it down into dancing shadows.

I draw in a shaky breath. My headache is gone. The crisp air makes me feel more human than I have in…forever. It feels like forever. It’s probably been forever.

Despite the stale, bloody scent of a vampire, I draw in another deep breath. Resplendent in its uncomplicated acceptance of movement.

Last night was a mess. I realise now, somewhat dazed by the sheer magnitude of – not being dead being able to see, quite, blissful quiet – my situation, how close Sam had been to ripping out my throat, how close I had been to inciting him to it (withering on the ground, screaming, just kill me). My wolf curls up, whining at this revelation but I muzzle it. We’re better here, safer.

The bonds of the pack are remarkably listless and empty. (Somehow it helps, not having several teenagers howling in my head. Not too many scents or sights or tactile distortions to interrupt the pain.)

Contrary to how it may seem, I’m not stupid. I know Sam doesn't love me, his tolerance of my presence after he’d imprinted on Emily had been waning for years. But still. I thought perhaps exasperation at being stuck with his ex would shadow in comparison to that I am – was – pack. Family despite there being no blood shared.

The rational part of me, which is not tied to wolves or ex-boyfriends or self-pity, is elated to be free from the confines of the pack. Sam’s pack. It’s better this way. Away from forced dedication and forced interaction, constant reminders of what I can’t ever have, what I never truly had.

That does not expel the ache in my heart though.

The bright white square flickers in the corner of the room, the soft electrical hum of the television reminding me of swarms of flies around a carcass. The vampire shifts, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

I stared at the flickering light. The television is on mute and for the life of me I can’t tell what’s on the screen. It flickers black and white.

I consider for a moment: Buffy or Dracula? My lips twitch.

A vampire is a vampire is a vampire. Garlic, crucifixes, and sunlight aside. Blood is the denominator, and I purposefully ignore the scent of it in the air.

(I can smell her, there, just there. So close I could reach out and pull out her throat. But I can’t move. I can’t make her stop.)

The headache is gone and somehow my memory of yesterday is crystal clear, despite the recollection of the pain being dull and insignificant. Then again, perhaps the good ol’ doctor has hooked me up with some morphine. I shift my legs painstakingly, cringing as the ligaments pull. They bend forward at the knees and I stop to stare at them, hidden as they are under blankets. Trembling, I raise my hands. I’m greeted by short rounded nails and cuticles in a rather shoddy state.

(I can’t control the way my body, it doesn’t feel like my body anymore, shifts and changes and shakes. A mudslide, hurricane, and volcanic eruption all in one. Claws scrape at the ground around me, trying to purchase even as my human arms flail weakly.)

"Oh good, you're awake,"

I tense, pressing my hands over my face. Breathe. Breathe. Damn you, breathe!

Carlisle’s footsteps are hardly audible, but he smells of antiseptic. My skin is smooth and wet beneath my hands – gone are the ridges of my forehead. I try not to shudder too visibly as I drop my hands and look at the man. His eyes are a conglomeration of honey, brandy, and gold chips. "Doc," I choke out, holding out my shaking hands.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes forming crow’s feet as he reaches out to grasp them. "Emmett, Rose needs you,"

The vampire on the couch rises fluidly, clicks off the television and winks at me before making his retreat. Blue.

My chest constricts painfully.

"I hope you don’t mind. Rosalie got to the reservation first and made the executive decision to bring you here. I happen to agree that under the circumstances this is the best place for you, at the moment." He releases my hands to pluck the penlight from his pocket. “We can take you back if you choose.”

I wipe half-heartedly at my tears. “No,” my voice cracks and I’m just glad it sounds like something other than a growl - that my throat doesn’t try to form an inhuman syllable. “Thank you,”

He flashes the light in my eyes, back and forth and hums his appreciation. "We tend to do things we regret when our judgement is replaced by pain. Granted, you had every right to be upset and Sam should have known better. I would like to speak to him about it at some point, with your permission of course."

Upset is as good a word as any. But it’s not what I’m feeling

I examine him, in a crinkle-free button down and black slacks, eyes like firelight. And I marvel at why I ever hated him. Doctor Carlisle Cullen, a chivalrous knight plucked from the pages of a historical novel, here to save me yet again. I twitch with the sudden desire to hug him – to blabber grossly, with snot and tears and heaving breaths against his shoulder, arms meant to protect and comfort against my back.

He pulls back the blanket and prods experimentally at my toes and knees – the touch gentle enough not to hurt but brings about the familiar spasm of being tickled – doing who the hell knows what doctor-thing.

Eventually, I shake my head. "I…” I swallow, “I cn’t talk, or think, ‘bout -now."

He nods, eyelids fluttering with the movement. "That’s something for later."

I shift my legs again – holy hell hound on a cracker, they work – and offer a fearful smile. “Walk?”

"Well, then you are in luck." He smiles at me, straightening the blanket over my legs, bright and honest and hopeful. "The transition in your home allowed for many of your bones and muscles to shift again. I was able to reset many of those deformed from Jane’s attack. With your advanced healing you should be able to walk again within the week."

(The earth is rough against my skin, thicket and branches stabbing at me as if it’s not painful enough already. I need to get away. Run. I need to run.)

My eyelids flutter closed and I breathe deeply through my nose. "Good - good."

"How is your head?"

My smile is tremulous. “Fine,”

"Brilliant,” He gives me a cursory look, “If you are feeling well enough then I'll let Renesmee visit, I did promise you that she would read for you and she's been looking forward to it."

As if summoned, "May I come in?" A small voice calls from behind the door.

Carlisle looks at me and I twitch again – the affirmation locked somewhere behind distant screams and cries of ‘hold me’. "Yes, Leah is waiting for you,"

The girl all but flies through the door and launches herself at me. I find myself locked in the same embrace that I'd seen Jacob receive many times before. My hands shake as I press them to her back, not cold, not warm. But there. The perfect weight.

Carlisle steps back, eyes doing their crinkle thing. "She's rather enthusiastic,"

"Happy birthday!" She sing-screams and kisses my cheek.

My hands stop their unsure petting, no, my birthday is only in a month's time. It hasn’t been this long. I look at Carlisle.

"You were out for a while with the first attack. And lapsed while healing. You have been here for three days now."

(Forever. Forever. It’s never going to stop. Never going to get better.)

"We didn't want you to worry," Renesmee says and jumps up, ripping herself from my fractured hold, to spin in yellow circles beside the bed. She stops to place both hands on her hips, chest pushing out against the sequins of her shirt. "Aunt Alice helped me make a cake, it’s really pretty."

I blink, trying to wrap my head around the time disparity, the empty spot between my arms, the sequins, and the cake. The realisation that I’ve probably lost my job. I briefly despair whether Seth is eating and have to shove the instinctual worry to the back of my mind. He’s fine. He’s always fine. Rather, more importantly: a vampire baked me a cake.

"Don't worry," Carlisle laughs, "It is edible. Alice found the recipe on the internet."

I forced something approximating a smile. "Thanks, Ness,"

Her small face lights with joy. "It was so much fun! I ate some of the icing, and it's really, really yummy. It’s chocolate. Do you want some now?"

A snort escapes me, her earnest excitement must have magical soothing qualities. The awkwardness of being the only person in a house that eats cake might have finished me off. "Yea-, love to."

"Good! There's chocolate sponge, chocolate chips, and chocolate icing. Chocolate is the best. Momma says I shouldn't eat too much though. It makes you sick, but Jacob says I can have as much as I want because I can't get sick. Momma can't eat chocolate though, she does get sick when she eats it, so does Aunty Alice and Aunty Rose. Maybe Momma doesn’t know that I can’t get sick? You don't get sick from chocolate, right? Jacob said you wouldn't, but he lies sometimes. Like when he said I'd like broccoli, which was bad."

“Like chocolate,” I tell her when she stops to take a breath.

"Come," she gestures for me to follow her. And I nearly do.

Carlisle’s hand rests on my ankle. "Why don't you bring the cake here?" Carlisle suggests and the girl is already nodding as she slips away. He turns to me, "How are your eyes, would you like me to switch on the light?"

"Clearer, that- mean, appreciate it,"

"You shouldn't be eating yet, considering the circumstances, I should put you on a drip." He mutters as he heads to the wall.

I dither, mind caught up in Renesmee’s glowing pride. "Chocolate good,"

"Yes, well, as a doctor I do not condone this. As a supernatural creature, I hope you don't mind, but I'm curious to see how your body will react."

Honest to a fault, my chest aches, I may actually start liking him. Like a vampire, the thought is ridiculous, but I’ve already befriended the half breed, so what could stop the dominoes from falling now?
"Of course if you aren't up to it, I can have Jacob eat it with her."

A small part of me shies from this information. I can't remember Jake being there when I snapped but it is also possible he had stood there like the rest and watched. Clear as my memory seems, I was pretty far gone at the time and I won’t count it as reliable. I don't want to know though, if he had been there he should easily have been able to defy Sam and help me, he’s lucky that way.

I shake my head.

"Ready?" A click sounds and bright light floods the room.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The cake tastes like baking powder, but the icing is sweet and Renesmee gets it smeared across the tip of her nose as she giggles.

I breathe.

Chapter Text

Trapped as I am – not trapped, no, because I am a guest here, I could leave at any point – I bide my time doing the only thing I can, watching the vampires. They’re ethereally beautiful and gracefully, something which weeks ago might have made me curl my lips. Undead. Blood-suckers. Monsters. Except not. I don’t doubt for a second that if this coven is good, then they are the exception to the rule – vampires are bad, why would the shifters exist otherwise? They ply me with conversation, even if I don’t engage, their words clear and thick as honey. Their smiles and winks and laughter make them seem human, but the way they do it is so obviously not that it makes me dizzy.

Beauty is just beauty and will hide evil just as well as shadows and lies.

(Rosalie’s gaze is not pitying, she does not talk about having to carry me from my home. Her eyes are hard, her curls perfect, and her lips quirk as she hands me a bowl of soup. “I’ve been with Emmet three times longer than I ever lived, but that does not mean I am content.” She looks at the vampire and meets his eyes, her eyes softening. “I might have ripped out the throats of my killers, but I live each day with the knowledge of everything they took from me. That I could never get back. Emmet does not change that.”)

I’m not ready for it though. Not for forgiveness or acceptance. Not for them, not for Sam, not for myself – but I feel like I am allowed this now, a chance. My bitterness is still bitterness, but it is warranted bitterness, something I acknowledge and am actively aware of.

Even so, companionship is freely offered. Less freely accepted, but this is my life, I will take it as slow as necessary.

Despite their best efforts at being welcoming, and their seemingly genuine desire not to harm or exclude me, the subtle stiffening of shoulders, the hardness in their smiles, the way they wrinkled their noses ever so slightly when I am in the room, it’s obvious that they are just as discomfited as I am.

We are natural enemies. There are shelves dedicated to our struggle, enough stories to indoctrinate a nation. I fed on the tales of our battles, a child enraptured by fireflies and the spark of the spit in the darkness. The voices of my elders were mesmeric as I listened and believed.

I understand this.

I have been on the giving and receiving ends of this impasse many times before. I still am. I cannot fault them for their discomfort while I cringe back from their casual touches and their somewhat pleasant countenance.

In truth, I’m an outsider here. Just as I had been an outsider in the pack. None of them would admit to this, of course, they’re all too sensitive to the workings of loneliness and abandonment. So perhaps I should fit in, but I don’t. They know it, I know it – we’re all just too jagged from old scars to say it aloud.

At one point in my life I’d been the girl that was too tall for the length of my arms. Too loud. Too stubborn. Too enraptured by my relationship to see it crumbling. And so, I was the only woman in a male pack. The only female shifter - too bitter, too annoying, too wrapped in the past. I am and have been many things. It’s not too much of a stretch now to label myself as the monster between nightmares.

And somehow, knowing that they do not want me; that the darkness of our lives does not merge, but rather collides – I am happy. Not truly happy, mind, but happier among these creatures I professed to hate than among the pack that was meant to be my family.

Perhaps now, separate from them as I am, I can allow myself the luxury of dropping the pretence that I care about the pack’s functionality or growth. At first the pack existed for me because Sam was the centre of it, then because I was part of it. If I am not in it then I am alone in my new state of existence. But then I lost Sam and I was lonely even within the thick of ‘pack’ (inside jokes turned truly inside), yet I stayed because no one else could understand, there was nowhere else I could try to belong. That is until Seth was pack, too. Seth, like the lifeblood in my veins, is necessary for existence.

This new freedom is a second – third? Fourth? – chance. It’s now or never to rid myself of my chains.

I cast my eyes around the pristine room the vampires affectionately call ‘the communal’. Like everything else, it’s all sleek lines and sharp precision. Cool, clear, and clean, mustered in pale blue and white, dominated by towering window-walls. The baby grand Renesmee had shown me now sits in one corner, behind the utilitarian white couches. It’s a sore thumb in the uniform room.

A crackling record player croons some jazz in the corner of the room. Earlier, Jasper had been sitting with his eyes closed as he listened, the closest thing to a smile teasing his lips. Alice, either aware and unbothered, or ignorant of his smile, hummed along as she wove wool into the beginnings of a scarf.

The vampires, I’ve noticed, exist in pairs. They are present only in shadows clinging to their masters. It was mostly creepy, but also sweet. It makes me think of wolves and their mates, a desperate bond existing between two separate entities, co-dependent. I can’t say that I’m jealous, not when I am (trying) to revel in this new freedom. But I cannot deny how it stirs something desperate and pleading within my own chest. A craving. To have someone who cares for you, who wants to be with you always and forever – it’s a wet feeling, knowing that I don’t have this, that I might never.

Because it is love that I see in Alice’s eyes, encouragement in Edward’s, teasing affection in Emmett’s. There is no denying that these creatures hold a bond stronger than time or death. It’s nauseating in its simplicity.

Unfortunately, their familiarity and affection only bring to light the errors of the pack. If this is what family is, if this is what caring for someone and wanting the best for them looks like, then I have been grossly dealt a failing hand.

The pack is a bunch of hoodlums crashing through broken windows in comparison. Sam is their unqualified leader and, somehow, illogically, it still breaks my heart to know I am not with them.

Chapter Text

It is still winter when I clear my throat and the vampires in the room turn to face me.

(Atop the telephone wire a line of crows perch, cawing and eyeing the fishing boats in obvious hunger. Dad sings low and rough and horribly out of tune as he cleans the scales from a mackerel. He pauses to tell me to stop shooing at the birds. “They’re just hungry, kaskayap. They’ll eat what we leave behind on the shore.”)

I swallow and tuck my hands into the sleeves of Esme’s cashmere cardigan. The softness helps me to breathe through the sudden attention. “I have to leave,”

Edward nods. They don’t seem surprised or even remotely fazed by my words. Alice, her small frame swallowed up beneath Jasper’s chin, bobs her head causing the man to bob his as well.

“Where would you like to go?” The girl asks, her eyes wide and guileless. I remind myself she cannot see into my soul.

“Not to the reservation.”

“Of course not,” Jasper says and his head tilts in that almost feline way, golden hair reflecting the stray beams of sunlight filtering through the trees outside. “You needn’t go back there, no one will force you.”

My lips twitch, technically Sam could force me, but that is inconsequential. The goal is to put enough space between the alpha and myself that I might get away with never having to return, escaping the way Jacob had done before Bella and Edward were married. Distance should lessen the bond, break the ties. Perhaps I’d even lose the ability to change all together.

“I know,” I direct my eyes to Alice, I know it is a long shot but still I ask: “Have you… seen a place? Seen me?”

The girl’s nearly black eyes soften and her mouth tilts at the corners, the fluttering of dark eye lashes making it hard to know if she is remembering or contemplating how to reply. “No and yes,” she sings eventually, the smile apologetic.

I can’t bring myself to be upset over it, merely inclining my head in a bid for her to continue.

“Alice cannot see a future for you, she cannot see the wolves in general really. I’m not sure if Jacob’s ever told you, her visions become-”

“Static,” the girl pipes up, I nod remembering vaguely such a conversation - months, years, decades ago. “Like a television with poor signal. It’s not unheard of. Some visions of humans do it too, most of the time because the future does not exist for them. I cannot see what doesn’t exist.”

I twitch and shuffle in my seat. “Is there...nothing?”

“No!” She sits up straight and Jasper pulls her back, tucking her under his chin again. For a moment she stares at him, utterly besotted. “No, it’s complicated. I’m sorry, Leah, I wish I could tell you, but I barely understand it myself sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” I say, not feeling it but willing to lie to myself anyway. I don’t want to go back to Sam, I don’t want to live my life the way I’d been living it the last few years. I planned to burn these feelings and I would do it. But I’d prefer to do it far away from here.

Finally, I might be free.

“There is something though,” Edward says. He casts a glance at Alice – questioning in the way only a telepath can.

(“Do you- do you ever get tired of it?” I ask one day as Renesmee snores lightly on the couch. Edward’s fingers are in her hair, working out knots.

He doesn’t bother looking up at me, his face doesn’t twitch, only his fingers move. “I’ve been tired of it since the moment I awoke with it.” He releases a strand of hair and starts on another. “I wonder sometimes if that’s what drew me so completely to Bella. Her silence. It felt like the first breath of autumn, still does.” He finally looks at me, “I’m sorry your own experience of it was so awful.”)

Alice wrinkles her nose. “I had a vision of a town that harbours some wolf packs and a vampire coven or two.” She shakes her head “It wasn’t very clear, possibly because of the presence of the wolves – so I can’t say for sure if it’s suitable. But if you’re willing to try it I can tell you as much as I know. Jasper’s really great at researching vampire lines, so the least we could do is find out whether the Volturi have a liaison there.”

I lick my lips, tasting coffee and jam. Leftover crumbs from the scones at the corners of my mouth. “What’s it called?”

“Mystic Falls,” Alice and Edward say.

Chapter Text

The inherent beauty he’d been chasing eludes him no matter how hard he tries.

The fine lines that make up her face are wrong, not like the smooth, delicacy of the original version. It’s incorrect, inaccurate. Nothing like her, despite how the picture seems to suggest it is. Caroline…but also not.

Scoffing at this, Klaus curls his fingers around the paper, his hand reducing the brilliant bend of her jawline into a crumpled mess. The scrunched ball finds its place on the floor among a growing pile of not-good-enough; each and every sheet holds an image of Caroline, so precise it even shows the freckles on her nose, but still wrong. Not her. Not perfect.

From the very moment he first put pen to paper and had drawn the curve of her cheek, he was aware the detail did not capture the essence of the woman he loved. As much as he struggled, her eyes remained lifeless, or if they held longing it was for someone else. Her gaze would wander off the edge of the page, focused on some other wondrous sight. Never him.

Klaus hates the way it affects him. It’s just a drawing. It’s not a flawless copy. But still. His long dead heart feels it. How though. He knows only betrayal – more than a lifetime’s worth – and he’s vainly eager for something more. Something he’s sure Caroline can give him.

It hadn’t been much of a struggle to keep her from worming into his affections. She’d burst through the walls, grabbed his very sanity and ran. Granted, he hadn’t put up much of a chase. He wanted her, wanted the things she could offer him.

Whether she’s fully aware of it or not, Caroline is what he wants most. His hybrids are important, beyond any doubt – they are his family, but the blonde has placed herself between him and his goal. If he can successfully obtain The Girl there is no doubt in his mind he can obtain his hybrids too.

The brightest point of contention standing in the way of his goals: Elena (read: the bane of Klaus’s very existence and Caroline’s best friend extraordinaire). Contrary to some whisperings he’s heard, he does not take pleasure in pain, he’s merely well acquainted with the knowledge that sometimes to get what you want you need to suffer. And he needs Elena’s blood. If this jeopardises his momentum with Caroline, so be it. She does, after all, currently had a life mate – granted a stupid one, in Klaus’s educated opinion.

Caroline can find a new best friend. Klaus cannot live another century or two alone in his “monolith of manpain” as Rebekah had so dearly put it.

If he has Caroline, he dares to reason, perhaps he will not need the hybrids – the pain and loneliness can be cured. But he does not have her, and she’s making herself rather hard to obtain, so be that as it may Klaus will drain Elena dry if necessary.

For a fleeting instant he lets his mind dwell on that moment. Caroline in his arms, their lips fighting ravenously, her voice filled with laughter and joy as she clutched at his shoulders… Only it isn’t his shoulders. His brief moment in her arms had been a farce, a ruse brought on by the mere chance that he had inhabited her boyfriend’s body. It had been the werewolf’s name that the girl gasped, the werewolf’s touch she sought.

He clenches his hand around his pen and an inky line smears across Caroline’s finely sketched features. He crumples this work too, dropping to the ground. The paper rustles to accommodate its brethren’s weight and scatters a bit further into the study.

Klaus hadn’t been able to resist. Who could? He had taken, hungrily, knowing that although the experience would shatter him later, at that very moment it was his life. Because for once she was his, right there, so close, so warm, his. He was in control of Tyler’s body; it was Klaus’ mind that urged the limbs to run eager hands over her waist – and the sensory memory is as real as it would have been if it were his body. But all the time it had still not been him in her eyes, to her he was the football player and Mayor’s son, not an Original hell-bent on stealing her best friend’s blood.

Lips twitching at the memory, he wonders whether she has those long arms wrapped around said boyfriend at present. Would she think of Klaus? Ridiculously, he comes to the conclusion that she might, but only to wish his rotting corpse to hell or a worse fate.

She was feisty, he would be surprised if she used it as some kind of turn on. He’s not sure if this should provoke his laughter or if he should indeed find a damp hole to hide in. He does neither, if his past had taught him anything it was that no degree of self-satisfaction would ever lessen the final blow.

“Klaus,”

His eyes lift from the clear sheet of paper before him to land on the wolf in the doorway. She is brilliant, he created her. Yet he feels no abundance of pleasure in her company. He lowers his pen to the desk and raises a brow.

“Yes?” Klaus watches her shudder as he speaks; he finds it mildly amusing that her cheeks flush when they stray over his face. He wonders what face he is wearing to gain such a reaction.

“The Salvatore brothers are outside, they want to talk to you.”

“I don’t wish to talk to them, send them away,” He lowers his head and picks up the pen anew, tapping it twice against his finger before he starts with one blonde curl.

“It’s about Elijah,”

Klaus has more self-control than he likes to let on, but a snap sounds and Klaus watches annoyed as ink seeps over Caroline’s single curl of hair like a flood of blood. His hand loosens from the fist it has formed and he examines the black coating of his fingers.

He tries to pretend it is blood and nearly succeeds. -

Chapter Text

Brilliant shades of green wiz dizzyingly past me on either side. Just a long, long stretch of blur that makes me feel like I’m on a rollercoaster.

I feel like I’m still in Forks, for all I know I probably still am. Every time I glance into the rear mirror I’m not entirely sure where I'm going – home or Mystic Falls. The trees are blandly familiar, tall and green, their very tip-tops caressing the cloud cover.

It’s entirely possible that at some point I may have turned back. Just…yanked the steering wheel and decided to stay.

I can survive on another reservation, without Sam close by it should be easy, enjoyable even – in the vaguest sense of the term, let’s not be too hasty. Just me and Seth. That is unless the pup gets it into his head he wants to live with Charlie and mom. Which seems unlikely on quite a few fronts. But then again, I doubt Sam would allow that, to have the young wolf so close to humans everyday – it’s a disaster waiting to happen. We aren’t necessarily known for our stellar control – Emily’ face is testament to that.

We – they - cannot afford to be exposed. It’s a matter of security. And I’d really rather not have to hear of Seth being chased down with pitchforks.

(Stop! I scream, but in their place a growl vibrates the air. Most forest creatures are smart enough to heed the warning, the group of teenagers across from me are not intelligent forest animals though. They laugh.

Seth is crouching on the ground, trying and failing to staunch the blood from his broken nose. He is too dazed to do much more than cup his face. Fur ripples over my spine, the slow onset of the change no longer as painful as it had once been.

Something angry and snarling calls for more blood. Protect. Assert hierarchy. My body bows forward. The rustle and tear of cloth familiar.

“Leah!”

Seth’s warbled cry is my only warning before I’m being mowed into the ground, the air knocked clear out of my chest.

Jacob stands above me, eyes narrowly trained on two retreating boys. Slowly, as if emerging from a trance, he turns his eyes to me, that stupid half-smile on his face. “You all right, Leah?”

I push myself up and shove him out the way to crouch by Seth. Who, surprise-surpise has the same stupid smile on his face as Jacob does.

“That was way cool, Jake!”

Deciding Seth is well enough, I hit him upside the head.)

Damn it, who’s going to look after the kid?

My hands clench and I glare at the rear-view mirror. Almost expecting the pack to burst through the trees.

They don’t.

I continue driving.

~~~~~

My foot has been pressed to the gas for hours to the point of cramping. I’m not in Forks anymore, that’s certain. There’s no possible way. Yet I can almost remember myself turning around, turning away from my destination. Around me there are houses and fields, factories and gymnasia. It’s not Forks, nothing like Forks, but I’m almost convinced I’m heading back.

The pickup truck clacks and clatters around me, threatening death, or, at the very least, some intestinal failure. It’s the only thing I have from home though, so I whisper “just a few miles” every couple of miles.

As a kid I’d spent tons of time here. Hanging out the windows, struggling to climb in the back, puffing air at the windshield and drawing monsters for Seth. Before the vehicle became Bella’s it had been ours – Billy’s actually, but ours by default. Dad and Billy would drive down to La Push with the engine coughing black plumes. Jacob, Seth and I wobbling around in the back. (“Be careful, don’t hang off the side!”)

Charlie would meet us there, still dressed in his uniform – considerably more mussed and disorderly than it probably had been when he went to work in the morning – a rod leaning against his shoulder. Back then these men were my heroes, Seth and Jacob were merely obstacles of annoyance.

It’s bittersweet now. Dad’s dead, he’ll never ruffle my hair again. Billy could run after us and throw us over his shoulder; Jacob used to lead a chubby Seth into the water screeching in the way only toddlers could; we’d get home and mom would be waiting with a pot of jerk chicken and flatbread.

It was a time when there weren’t vampires or wolves. A time when we weren’t looking over our shoulders in anticipation of the next fight or threat.

(Seth giggles wildly as Jacob sprints with him into the water. They fall over, come up gasping as waves crash over their heads, fighting for air and shoving too long hair from their eyes.

From the beach, I watch carefully, rolling a pebble around between my palms.

Seth continues to giggle and stumbles from the water, tripping over beached seaweed and catching himself face-first in the sand. His startled cry has me jumping from my seat among the shells and dashing across the sand. His chubby body is heavy – seems to be gaining pounds by the day – but I heave him up to my hip, singing words of comfort as salty tears make streaks over his sand covered face.

Jacob comes rushing from the water at full speed, his nine year old body shaking from the cold and excitement. I glare at him, “Seth’s a baby, you can’t be so rough in the water,”

The teary-eyed Seth sniffs and wipes at his dirty face, bottom lip protruding indignantly. “I’m not a baby!”

I send Jacob a scathing glare when he laughs, “Was it you who told him that?”

He chuckles and scratches the back of his head, grinning as he backs away. “No,” He spins on his heel, kicking up a shower of sand and shells, and dashes back into the ocean.

Sighing, I place Seth’s wriggling body back on the ground, he tears across the beach after his friend – pain or shock forgotten. I glance up to the rocks where Billy, Charlie and dad are sitting, fishing rods in hand, although there’s little actual fishing happening.

Glorified babysitter.

I should be making friends my own age! Although there are few on the reservation and those that I do know are idiots. Yuma especially, he thinks he’s so cool, but actually he’s stupid. Who cares if his great grandfather killed a bear?

I kick some pebbles and eyes trailing across the beach to where a group of boys gather. They’re tall, taller than even me and mom calls me a beansprout. After a moment I think I recognise one – Sani? Samoset? The kid who tackled Jacy out the way of a car.

I take a step toward the group.

“Leah!” dad yells. Hesitating only a moment, I turn and trot back.

In the cover of darkness as dad is tucking Seth and myself in, I ask.

“Sam,” He says, lips twitching in amusement.)

I scoff at my musings. Pathetic. There’s no point in reminiscing. Nothing is going to change. I will still be a wolf tomorrow morning and I’ll still be alone. Dad is still going to be dead. Sam will still love Emily.

I lost my chance of happiness long ago, maybe when I first turned into a wolf or perhaps even before that. The day I first laid my eyes on Sam perhaps. I can’t give an exact moment when things took a turn for the worse, all I know is that it had and there was no going back.

(“Leah!” Emily calls and I grin. She throws herself at me, small and light as a feather, I easily wrap my arms around her in a hug.

She has been in the Quileute reservation for three hours now, but still her enthusiasm is tangible. I haven’t had anyone be so happy to see me in years. I grin a little brighter.

Tonight, tonight I’ll introduce her to Sam. Two of the most important people in my life. My stomach is in knots, I hope they like each other. Seth said they will, but he also thinks it’s acceptable to eat peanut butter and potatoes together, so he’s judgement is faulty.

“Leah,” She breathes, breaking away from me, face impossibly happy. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her eyes are practically popping from her head..

I blink. “What?” Did she find out about the wolves? Did she see how much muscle Seth’s recently sprouted? Or is this about the welcome dinner Billy’s been fussing over?

“The guys on this reservation are gorgeous!” She tacks on some unintelligible sound, clutching at my face.

I laugh, relieved. “Who is he?”

“You know me too well,” Her cheeks pink, “Sam. His name is Sam.”)

~~~~~

Kansas is mostly sprawling fields - I don’t know what I expected, I guess I never thought about being so far from the reservation before. It’s fields and fields, until suddenly it’s not. Kansas city jumps up like Washington, a sea of glass and endless concrete.

I check in the rearview mirror and my eyes stare back at me, unassuming. Beneath my skin I still feel unnatural but it hardly shows on my face. I’m just another girl, just another road tripper going cross-country.

My hands hold tight to the steering wheel and my throat stays tight until I leave the city proper. Only then does my pulse begin to soothe.

I pull over in Odessa, just to breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus until the buzz of the city has faded from my ears, the exhaust fumes cleared from the vents. I check the mirror again and my eyes are still brown, my nose straight, teeth markedly human. I touch my collar, just to be sure, and there’s no fur. No tail stub pressing against the seat.

It does not hit me how hungry I was until I’m completely calm again. I drive around the town until I find a grocery store, but the whole town seems to be in the parking lot and I chicken out. Eventually, I work up the courage to find a drive-through. The food is oily and smells old, but it’s warm and stays down after I shove it down my throat. I stay hidden in the truck, under the shade of a young pine tree,
as I let my stomach settle.

(Emily’s buffalo stew is probably the best I’ve ever tasted, better even than Ms Hudson’s and she was the hotel chef. It’s a shame then that I can’t actually eat it.

The moon is full and for once the sky is clear, couple this with the raging fire that Quil keeps feeding, the campground is very well lit. Which makes it so much easier to watch Sam’s hands wandering incessantly across Emily’s neck and shoulders. I feel the ghost of those movements across my own body from a week ago.

Billy, the wizened old fool, has planted himself next to me. His eyes are knowing and full of sympathy. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to draw me from the dazed horror crushing my chest. Unlike Seth’s confused questions and a few pitying looks from the pack, Billy’s presence is at least tolerable.

The stew has gone cold in my hands, barely touched. The broth vibrates and the bowl creaks every time Emily laughs.

“How does it feel to be back in La Push?” Paul asks Emily, he’s on his third (or forth) bowl of stew and has stars in his eyes when he looks at her.

“Well,” she says, blinking up at Sam, her tone honey sweet and her mouth curved, “a real treat so far.”

Sam’s face is split with a grin, “Enough to make you stay?”

“Maybe,”

There’s some laughter from the pack and a few furtive glances at me. I lower my head, hardly seeing the ground below me. I’m vaguely aware of the weight and warmth of Billy’s hand on my back, but my face is on fire and my eyes are pools of lava overflowing and dripping, dripping down to the ground. I’m not entirely sure I’m breathing.)

xxx

It’s almost evening again. My foot cramps from being pressed to the gas, my ass is numb.

It’s too late to go back now.

If only I could go back, not to those days of happiness but to a few hours ago – a day, maybe a week. I didn’t say good-bye in person. I knew that if my eyes landed on Seth I wouldn’t go. Couldn’t. I almost didn’t, merely at the thought of him.

Somehow I managed to scribble a note, a note not fit for how I really felt. Then again I have never been very good at expressing myself – not in the ways that mattered. Seth is the only thing I have left, mom is with Charlie, but Seth. Seth is my responsibility, my last link to sanity. I should have written him a whole page.

I shouldn’t have left him at all.

But he’s old enough. Has been for a while. He never fails to remind me of this.

He’ll be okay without me. Just like everyone else.

(“Spirits, Leah, I’m not a kid!”

“You always say this,” I remind him, “but you still act like a child.”

“Just because I actually want to have a good time doesn’t mean I’m a child.” Seth says, his hands are curled into fists so tight that his knuckles are white. “Unlike you, I actually want to enjoy my life.”

“It’s not like I chose this. It’s not like I want to be this way.”

“Then get over it already! Your self pity is exhausting and pathetic.”

I stare at him for a long moment, lost for words and my throat tightens. His face has started to lose its tension by the time I find my words. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”

Seth flinches and takes a step toward me before stopping, he suddenly looks much younger. “I didn’t- You know I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay.” I say, turning to rearrange the unwashed dishes. “Don’t worry about it. You go without me.”

“Leah,”

“I said it’s okay, Seth.”)

The forest I’ve been driving through abruptly begins to thin, the trees shrinking back from the road. The truck slows, shuddering in relief, and I lean forward, eyes scanned the road ahead. It’s not Forks, the trees are different. The snow is a light dust instead of a heavy coat.

It hits me then. I didn’t turn back. I’m not going home. I’m really truly alone.

Blurred as my vision is, I almost miss the sign. Simple, looping script, in white and black it reads ‘Welcome to Mystic Falls’.

Chapter Text

Klaus swirls his glass back and forth, his eyes focused on Damon Salvatore. What is privacy? Is there no respect for another’s peace anymore? Apparently not. He could throw the vampire out, easily – Klaus has always been underestimated – but he doesn’t.

Because for some ridiculous reason, God forbid, Klaus likes him.

It’s tiresome and really starting to wear on his patience.

They’re too alike. Beyond the ruminating (Rebekah smirks, “It’s called ‘brooding’, brother.”) and the general repletion of hell that is their lives, they seem to have come to a cynical truce based on their alcohol consumption and mutual hatred of bubble-gum pop. Not to mention that Damon has Klaus’s blood in his veins, such things tend to bring people together – this despite Klaus potentially wanting to kill Elena.

Minor details.

Damon’s eyes flicker under the light of strategically placed candles (Hayley’s brow raises, “You know we have perfectly good electrical lighting.” “Does it look like I care?”), it gives his usually leer an edge of danger that almost has Klaus amused.

“Stephan’s gotten Elijah to help him,”

Klaus blinks and crosses one leg over the other. He takes a sip of his drink. “Has he now?” Damon offers him one of those fantastic eye rolls that remind Klaus of Rebekah. “And what do you hope to gain from telling me this?”

Silence falls and Klaus allows himself the luxury of detailing any possibilities of a trap. If there is one, it will not work. Klaus knew Houdini – threatened to tear his throat out, but still – and there is very little that can kill him

“I want Elena to stay a vampire.” Damon says eventually, looking particularly bored. Klaus doesn’t fall for it, he’s been alive too long. “They’re determined to find a cure. I’m sure you’d be interested to know just why Elijah is helping Stefan.”

The Original looks on, “Not particularly,” He sips his drink and watches Damon follow the movement – throat bobbing. The thing about alcoholics, is that they’re always thirsty. “I don’t particularly care whether Elena becomes human again. But you see, if she does, I’ll make quick use of all that fresh blood. An army of hybrids is just what I need.”

This time something flickers in Damon’s eyes, his gaze gone from the glass and now attempts to stare daggers through the Original’s head.

“Sensitive topic?” he almost asks, but swirls his glass around instead.

“I think you may be interested then.” Damon baits, eyes narrowing. “Rumour is, they may find a cure for your hybrids too. What a pity it would be to lose your precious pet so quickly and all for what, letting Elena be human?” Klaus doesn’t so much as twitch. Damon sighs and stands up, his lips curving into a self-satisfied smirk. “Look at yourself, Klaus, are you really willing to risk it? I’ll let you think it over.”

Klaus sits in silence as the vampire leaves, not looking at the door, but knowing Damon is gone just as well. His eyes track the slightest ripple in the amber liquid in his glass.

It’s minutes later, when one candle has gutted itself and Klaus hears Hayley’s stomping around upstairs, that he places the glass down. It clinks against the desk.

The next second it’s smashing into the wall – a shower of glass and brandy. He pitches the bottle after it. He’s never really gotten the taste for it anyway.

His eyes narrow and his fingers curl into his palm. Elijah wants to take my hybrids. Wants to take my…everything. I’ve created creatures like me, finally. A family, people who could care for me – if only for the power I give them.

He leans back in his seat and rubs a hand over his chest. Breathes in. Breathes out. He latches onto the closest thing – his drawing desk – and throws the thing across the room. The wood splinters and crashes against a chair, a mess of ink and paper. He lumbers to his feet and grabs one of the shattered poles and uses it to beat at the misshapen pile.

A moment after he comes across an earlier image of Caroline, crumpled and an inky mess. He plucks it from the desk’s ruins and stares at the face. Slowly, his fingers curl around it, deforming it further.

Klaus keeps the paper in his hand for a moment, eyes blank.

He will keep what is his.

Chapter Text

My heart beats too fast as I pull the truck to the side of the road, the tires crunching over gravel and the motor whining. There’s a line of flowers on the side of the bridge entering the town – dilapidated and worn from rain and snow and sunshine – testament to lives remembered. Death. But this is not what has me holding my breath.

The novelty of my surroundings does not hold any wonder. My skin feels too tight. I might be grinding my teeth, but that could also be from the dying shudders of the truck.

Mystic Falls is a place with its own residents and graveyards, a town with its own upheavals and fears – hopefully different from those of Forks. No Volturi. No divided packs. No Sam.

I stare down at the steering wheel. I’ve walked away from my ancestors, my family, the frantic fight between vampire and wolf; everything that made up home, no matter how dysfunctional it was.

This town, ‘Mystic Falls’, isn't mine. I don’t know if it ever could be. I will never know the depths of its secrets as I had in Forks or how exactly things work. No, here I’m a stranger, an intruder on the land of others.

Did I really think moving to a new town would dissuade my issues? Wasn’t I just running away? A new thought intrudes, one that makes my chest cramp, what if Seth comes after me?

I crank down the window and stick my head through, gulping in breaths of fresh air, needing something to calm the frantic buzz in my head. The night breeze is lovely, sweeter than what I am used to – there is no sea here – but it is calming nonetheless.

Vaguely I remember the faces of the Cullen’s as I departed, it had been night then, the air crisp and the moon full, illuminating over the pale faces before me. As always, the vampires had stood in their small clumps – Carlisle with Esme, Emmet with Rosalie, Alice and Jasper, Edward with Bella and Renesme. I never thought it would be sad to say good-bye to them, but my chest ached and I felt my eyes burn the slightest, especially when they settled on the little Halfling clinging to her mother’s side.

Alice had beamed at me brightly, guaranteeing me that she had given me enough clothes to last two months without being worn twice; Jasper, her partner, had inclined his head and wished me a quiet and deep farewell. Rosalie had been vague and Emmet teasing; Esme had smiled sadly and gently touched my hand; Carlisle had grinned in comfort and placed his hand over Esme’s. Bella and Edward had wished me luck, giving me awkward half-hugs and finally left me at the mercy of little Nessy. The young girl demanded I visit her again sometime, hugged me tightly and pressed her small hand to my
cheek in a parting gift.

(The scenery of Renesme’s mind is spectacular and terrifying in equal measure. Her fingers are cool, but not cold but the images she feeds into my mind are warm.

There’s the dapple of sunlight and the rustle of leaves, tiny hands cradling a beetle. Nessy’s breath creates fog in the air as she calls for her aunt. Rosalie’s smile is strained but she pats the child’s head,

“What a lovely find,” she says around a grimace and the child beams with pride.

She looks up and sees through the window the face of a wolf. She sticks up her hand, waving her tiny bug towards the window. “Look!” She crows and nearly trips over her own feet. But through the pane of glass, meters above her tiny head, Leah smiles back.

I cling to the feeling as Renesme draws her hand away. Her eyes are intelligent and her tiny face is soft, pink in the cheeks. Her smile is wobbly.

“I’ll miss you.”

As I climb into the truck and look back for the last time, I drink her in.)

With one last assurance from Carlisle that my family would receive my parting letter, I was off.

And alone.

The niggling pain in my chest reminds me of this. I am used to loneliness, but being alone is different somehow. Despite struggling to connect the constant presence of the pack in the back of my head or the assurance that Seth was in his room a few feet away or that Billy was down the next road was a boon. The sudden absence of anything tangible, any positive presence leaves me adrift.

I want to curl into a ball and squeeze my eyes shut, pretend I’m lying in my bed at home and when I open my eyes I will see the same old stains on the walls. Hear Seth banging down the hallway.

Yet, I know that is in the past now.

Suddenly sticking my head out the window isn’t enough, I need solid ground. I throw open the door and scramble out into the night, choking on the emotions in my throat. When my feet hit the ground, I fall to my knees, my palms following close behind, until all of me is pressed to the cool damp grass alongside the road.

Run. My skin itches, muscles tensing at the urge. I tense, holding myself together just barely.

I’m unmoored, a tree without roots.

Tiny green blades tickle at my cheeks, smearing dew against my hot skin and forcing my nose to scrunch. It takes some time, but the itch recedes. The ground beneath me is alive and thrums to a universal heartbeat. I am transported back to the west coast, to the soil and stars of my ancestors. It feels like peace.

I’m sure how long I stay like that, simply leaning against the ground in an attempt to seek comfort, but I’m roused by the flashing of headlights as a car passes me by. I shift my bearings on instinct and stand, leaning against the truck as the other vehicle turns away. I breathe deep, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

The air tastes of pine.

I clamour back into the truck, the frame shudders when the door slams shut, loud and jarring in the night. Only then do I become aware of the bright neon lights some distance away, painting the surrounding trees with their yellow glow. The town is so close.

Chapter Text

The luminescence is pulsing from a road construction sign on the other end of the bridge. Caution signs and taped off new tar over what seems to be a newly set pipeline into the river. The river itself gushes, pulling branches and pebbles downstream.

I head further into a town which seems to mostly have settled in for the night despite it being before 10. A convenience store on the right is still well lit, but the cashier seems to be closing up, while on the left a boutique has left on storefront lights to illuminate a glittering silver dress and it’s matching shoes. A few cars are parked along the road, being pelted with a fresh drizzle.

They lead up to a building with a heavy wooden door and a poorly lit sign reading ‘Mystic Grill’. The streetlight glows in dim white luminescence across the building’s façade. Old Christmas lights glitter in the windows while the tree out front looks woefully bare. The thick drizzle makes the lights dance. It doesn’t look like anything too special, somewhat a cross between a pub and one of those hip young-adult restaurants Seth’s taken a liking to.

I hesitate before considering going in. But there’s only three other buildings that look even remotely alive in this road and the decibel levels emanating from the place are low. Also it’s a weeknight and my stomach clenches at the scent of fried chicken and fries wafting from the building. I pull my hood closer and cross the street.

As I pull open the door I’m doused in sound and smells. The place is packed, people at every table, a long line of bar goers along the counter and a few strays hanging to the walls, their eyes glued to mounted televisions. A muted baseball game flickers across the screens, occasionally eliciting shouts from the onlookers. Young, old, and everything in between fill up the gaps. Each clinging to cutlery or a glass.

The scent of melting cheese and frying onions makes up for the lack of space. I watch as a waiter places down a colossal burger topped with onion rings and a mountain of bacon, and then proceeds to hand off a steaming dish of vegetables and salmon to another table.

Forget my stomach, I could growl.

Wolf or not the smells are intoxicating. I lick my lips and can almost taste salt in the air, below the beer and rain tracks. The wild animal in me howls. I bite my inner cheek to focus the pangs elsewhere and quickly slide into a vacant seat at the bar. On my right is a bearded mammoth of a man in a yellow sweater eating a bowl of mash with a spoon and to my left a lanky wrinkled woman with smudged yellow eyeshadow halfway through a plate of pork skins. She smells like cigarettes and coffee.

The tumult rises to an all-time high now that I am in the centre, a throbbing mass of laughter and chatter swelling around me until I can hardly hear my own heart beating. It’s comforting in the way that it reminds me of pack nights, but creates an awareness of the all too fresh wound of longing. There’s nowhere to hide here.

A young waitron flashes me a smile, his eyes tipped at the corners, his mouth tight, and passes me a laminated sheet – the menu – not bothering to try to speak over the crowd as he disappears back down the line of drinkers. I stare down at the page for a minute, overwhelmed at the unknown names, the witty twist of words. My throat constricts.

It shouldn’t be so hard. Eventually I shake my head and randomly place my finger on something from the burger list.

My wait for the drooping server is short. His baby rounded cheeks flash dimples at me and his eyes blink slowly as he leans closer to get my order. He is a combination of scents, a whole menu in itself. Over the sound of the Grill his voice is rough, and he doesn’t seem able to hear me.

Come the forces of hell or the powers of heaven I would get my food. He nods as I press my finger to the menu. As close to any universal language as I’ll get.

It was late when I arrived. By the time ‘Hi, my name is Matt’ brings me my food the swarms are thinned down to a few lonely boozers and a handful of young group’s intent on their conversations over pudding and games of darts.

It’s beautiful – the food, not the boozers and schmoozers – overflowing with some kind of cheese sauce, bacon sticking out of it at every which angle, lettuce crisp and green. I recognize it as the burger I saw earlier by the excessive onion rings. And, wolf nuggets, the patty looks like heaven. Not French cuisine, but hearty – meat, carbs and yum. Perfection on a plate.

I grunt a ‘thanks’ before tucking into the food somewhat like a starved dog. I will admit that I don’t bother with delicacy; I sort of stuff the food into my mouth and hope my digestive system finds a way to protest the bulk mass I was forcing down it. No rest for the weak. Eat or be eaten. Yadda yadda, etcetera.

Matt must find my enthusiasm encouraging, because when I lift my head from the last sweet potato fry – heartbroken that it’s done already – he’s nudging toward me a toasted sandwich to the likes of which I had never seen before. Beautiful. I don’t stare. I just glare it into submission, maybe lick my lips a little – because, damn.

This feast makes its way down my throat with just as much gusto and slightly less speed. This time I allow the flavours to linger on my tongue, the corner of my mouth. As the last bite disappears from the plate I neatly lick off the lingering sauce from my fingers. I lean back on the chair, closing my eyes for a moment before sinking back into the seat and casting my gaze around the room. Matt The Amazing Waiter returns and, now that the noise level has dissipated to the drone of a couple stragglers and background music, his voice is less hoarse.

“Not from around here,” He muses, collecting my plates, his sandy blonde hair stands in tufts. His eyes are inquisitive and friendly despite their droop.

“No,” I say and offer a smile, the least I could do for this wonderful man who fed me.

He grins, some of the fatigue seeming to fall away. He’s younger than I thought. “We don’t get many new faces around here,”

“Small town problems,” I agree, my eyes doing another scan of the bar’s occupants, this time taking in each face. Forks had been similar, if not vastly different in every way. “’Tis the way and all that,”

Matt chuckles, “Are you passing through?”

“Maybe.” I shrug, “I’m looking for a place to…to settle, I guess.” I flap a hand around to encompass the entirety of this town. “Mystic Falls is as good as any other place. The food is great at least.”

“Ha,” Mat snorts and he wipes down the counter expertly. “Not a big place this, things are pretty boring. The Grill’s as good as it gets.”

I try to ignore the way his eyes flicker to the side. “Every small town has its secrets,” I know, I’d been one of them. And now, here, new secrets to be a part of, if I ever stay that long. I rustle up a bill and place it on the counter.

“Truth,” he says and looks over my shoulder, his face twisting for a moment. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, lips pulling down. “Damon,”

A dark haired man settles beside me at the bar and waggles his fingers at Matt. Matt scoffs.

I eye the newcomer – Damon – hackles rising and back tense. The long dark hair reminds me of the reservation, but he also makes my skin crawl. I stare openly, trying to figure out why.

Damon eventually turns to return my stare, a smirk in place, and eyes perhaps a bit on the wild side. He picks up the glass Matt sets down without sparing it a glance. I gather my change much the same.
The alcohol looks like liquid gold in the bar light. Damon salutes me with it, “To your health, Moon Moon.”

My brows shoot up. Moon Moon? I watch as he downs the drink and points to Matt for a refill. Damon’s…odd in the most basic sense of the word. And he moves wrong. I shift in my seat, trying to stifle the desire to outright scent the air or move across the room. I don’t move and I don’t blatantly sniff the air. But I do duck my head, drawing in a deep breath.

My nose wrinkles and the food in my gut makes a fairly brilliant attempt at escaping.

Vampire.

He’s nothing like the Cullen’s, although I had come to the conclusion that the Cullen’s were on the odd side of vampire-ness. I chew my lower lip and narrow my eyes. It’d probably be too obvious to move away now – if I know what he is, he probably knows what I am.

Finally he favours me with his gaze, one dark brow raised and his red lips quirked. “Something I can do for you, lap dog?”

I scowl, well, excuse me. I shake it off, with a bit more trouble than it’s worth. “You’re a vampire.” Clearly not my finest attempt at communication or subtleness, but heck if I cared. ‘Lap dog’ my perfectly non-furry ass (I checked).

His brows seem to do some intricate dance and he laughs, “Obviously,” Despite the humour with which it is said, I’ve been around enough sarcasm to taste it in the air.

Damn vampires and their superiority complexes. I straighten in my seat, lifting my chin a bit so I’m looking down at him. I got enough of this garbage from the guys at home. Screw men. Screw vampires.
Fuck, screw supernatural creatures in general.

“Damon,” Matt snaps – when he got here is beyond me, or perhaps he never left – and leans across the bar. “If you start another ruckus, I’ll-”

“What? Tell Elena?” The vampire’s lips twitch into a broad grimace. “Do whatever you like, Legolas.”

“What’s wrong with you?” I demand after Matt walks off, waving my hand to encompass Damon’s person. “Your scent is wrong.”

The vampire snorts, brows still raised. “Rude.” He leans toward me, scrutinising. Grey, his eyes are grey – I suck in a sharp breath. What the ever loving shit is going on here? “You’re new around here. Clearly, it’s the scent of sexiness, you must never have come across it before. Enjoy it while you can, hybrid, because it’s the only time you’ll ever get a whiff of it.”

The arrogance is amazing. Somehow I’m not surprised though, he is a vampire after all. I unwillingly recall Jacob and Sam and it’s painfully clear that haughtiness isn’t limited to the cold blooded. A right shame.

“Why are you here?” He asks, “Did Klaus send his little pet to check on me?”

Despite my confusion, I growl at the patronising bastard. And of all the things I could ask, “Moon Moon? Lap Dog? Hybrid? Pet? What the hell are you getting at?”

His eyes narrow, “You are what you are, mutt.”

I push to my feet, crowding slightly into his space. “I’m not sure how things work here at Mystic Falls, but be aware that I’m about two seconds away from ripping out your throat. My pack eats blood-suckers for breakfast.” The twinge in my chest aches a little more, I ignore it.

He looks me up and down doubtfully. “Hm, do they?” I sneer. He huffs a laugh. “Not one of Klaus’s pet projects then?”

Bristling at being referred to as a ‘pet project’, I slam my hand down on the bar, “For the love of Dokibatt, who is Klaus?”

The one or two patrons still in the Grill stop their chattering for a moment as Damon and I stare off. After a long moment, he laughs, “Oh, this is rich. I’d love to see his face when he finds out you’re here. Who knew someone else was drinking his cool aid?”

I turn to leave. It’s late, I’ve spent the better part of the last few days behind a steering wheel, and I didn’t come to Mystic Falls to be patronised and treated like a joke. I’m tired, bone weary and emotionally drained. I don’t need this, none of it.

“Hey! Hey, wait now. Not so fast, fluffy. What’s your name?” Damon calls out after me and I pause in my escape to rub a shaking hand over my forehead. The vampire huffs, “All right, I’m Damon Salvatore. Resident asshole at your service. Now, you got a name?”

“Salvatore?” I breathe a sigh. Alice mentioned the Salvatores in passing, nothing concrete as to their stance on interspecies alliance, merely that they were one of the prominent covens in the area. I lick my lips. Thanks for nothing, Alice. I turn to the bloodsucker. “I’m Leah. Maybe you could help me out.”

Chapter Text

Vodka burns the back of my throat. Honestly disgusting and generally without any affect, but I allow the indulgence. Next to me the vampire throws back his shot with vigour, munches on a lemon, humming and smacking his lips after as if confronted with a choice stake rather than liquid hell. I don’t envy him his enjoyment, sometimes the unpleasantness is necessary. This is one of those times.

The blood sucker grins at me, just as unaffected by the alcohol as I am, but clearly in a much better appreciation for the little affect the hellhound piss does have. Somewhere along the line – between the third and ninth shot – he lost his leather jacket, or more accurately threw it across the next chair. He sits next to me now in a black V-neck, hair in disarray and eyes sufficiently crinkled.

If it weren’t for the facts of the matter, we’d look like friends out for a drink.

I wrinkle my nose but throw back the next shot waiting for me, the lemon is as vile as anything. My tongue disapproves. Damon laughs and tries to top up my glass again – I shove it a good foot further
down the counter, away from him and his nefarious plans.

I offer a raised brow at his frown and wag an accusing finger between him and the bottle. “Shouldn’t you only drink blood?” Granted, I've seen Rose sip win like the finest of debutantes, but she clearly didn’t enjoy it and afterward made gagging sounds for a good half hour.

“There are no rules to being a vampire,” As if to prove his somewhat vague and nonsense point, he launches past me to grasp my glass, sloshing it full of vodka before I have time to protest.

I watch a singular drop splat on the counter and run my finger through it to create a not-quite-symmetrical vodka circle on the wooden counter. “What about sunlight?”

“Sunlight?” He asks, his own shot glass full and halfway to his mouth.

His eyes dart down to my full glass and I sigh. I pick up the glass and make a vague gesture toward his person with it. “I’m not blind. I’ve seen the sparkle thing. Weird shit that,” I throw back the shot.

Two dark brows shoot up almost into his hairline, he seems to have forgotten his shot. “Sparkle?” He seems dubious, I’d be too, but he’s a vampire and I’ve spent too much time around them as it is.

I reach out to grasp his abandoned shot, he throws it back before I can claim it. I scowl. “That’s not fair, you’ve had two more than I have.”

Tapping the glass against the counter, Damon grunts, eyes scrutinizing me. “I’m not much of a gentleman, MoonMoon, but even I can tell when you need to stop. The last thing I need is you sprinting around town, waving your furry ass at passing cars – subtlety has never been a were’s priority. I have enough to deal with as it is.”

“I’m not drunk,” I defend.

“Maybe not, but you’re close. F-Y-I vampires don’t sparkle.”

I roll my eyes and when the world seems momentarily unstable, clamp a hand over my mouth. I might be a wolf with an enviable metabolism, but I’m also a lightweight.

“See what I mean?” Damon pokes at my hand and I slap him away, snarling. “Just don’t use me as a barf bag, there’s a bathroom down that corridor.”

I don’t appreciate his humour and narrow my eyes to express it. “You’re an asshole,”

“Nicest thing I’ve heard all day.” He says, back to grinning. He rolls his empty glass across the counter.

“Were you born like this or do you have some complex brought on by a tragic past?”

His gin doesn’t falter, but he stops rolling the glass. After a moment of further scrutiny, he shrugs. “It has its perks,”

Matt has long since settled the tab of the last customers. The Grill is eerily silent and bright with all the house lights on. For some inexplicable reason they haven’t thrown Damon and me out.

I lean back a bit, stretching my legs out until they bump the legs of the vampire’s chair. “This Elena person put up with your garbage?”

If it wasn’t already deathly quiet, I probably would’ve felt more awkward in the ensuing silence. As it is, I watch Damon with petty nosiness as he fights with his mouth and eyebrows for a suitable expression to accompany his answer. He settles on a sneer. “Elena, huh?” It’s bitter although his eyes are bright.

I shift a bit in my seat. I recognise that tone, had to live with it for a few years too many. The answering name sounds in the back of my head, weary and irritated in the way only memories can be.

“Let me ask you something, dog. Is there anything in this world you value more than your life?”

I welcome his question if only for the brief reprieve having to answer it allows me. “Of course,” My mouth twists and I try to remember whether it still matters. Bitter, bitter, Leah. I ask, “Doesn’t everybody?”

“No,” he bites out and places the bottle he’d picked up down with a sharp clack that makes me wince. It does not shatter or crack. “Only the irresponsible value something, someone, more than their own lives,”

“Does that mean you don’t value anything to that extent?” I ask even though I know I should have taken his sharp response as my cue to shut up. I’ve never been the best at keeping my mouth shut. “Even Elena?”

The vampire makes a rather loud and impressive hissing sound, the smirk falling away. “So what if there is? What is it to you?”

I refrain from reminding him that he started this line of questioning, that I’m in no position to judge him on whom or what he values above his own life. My own beliefs and actions are suspect to self-interest and cynicism. It is why I’m here, why I’m drinking something I hate with a creature I despise in a place where I don’t feel welcome or comfortable. No, I’m in no position to judge.

But I can’t tell him that.

The warning in his crystalline blue eyes are enough. Elena is a non-topic. For now at least.

I raise my hands and close my eyes for a second. If ever there was a person who said Leah Clearwater didn’t have a self-preserving bone in her body…well they might be right.

The weariness of my trip drags at me now that I’ve gained respite.

It’d be too late to be admitted into a hotel, although there might be a motel available – the lack of security would rankle, but sleep is as necessary as food. I crack open an eye and see Damon has composed himself. I sigh, giving him my full attention. “There a motel or something around here?”

He clicks his tongue, eyes on the almost empty vodka bottle. “Of course there is,”

He says no more and there’s only so long I can stare at him before I get annoyed at his inattention. I turn to face the bar.

The wall behind the rows of stacked beverages is made up of strips of obscured mirrors. My reflection greets me, fragmented by bottle tops and murky liquid. Two dark eyes, coal lashes, and high cheekbones, flushed with a dusting of gold and pink. I know this is not how I’ve always looked, more rounded and cheerful at once, and somewhat gangly and nervous at another. More recently, torn apart by features that do not belong to a human’s body. More creature than person. This, the me now, is jarring in her normalcy.

I didn’t bother to cut my hair at the Cullen household, Alice would glare at me whenever I mentioned such a suggestion and she usually ended wrestling it into some elaborate hairstyle, never mind that before Jane’s attack it had already started to be a little too long for my tastes. And despite my daily consumption I had truly lost a considerable amount of weight – sickly, mom would have called me, before I’d gained back some of the meat on my bones. I almost look like the Leah from Renesme’s visions and for a moment I wonder if I can actually be considered anything other than a hot mess here in Mystic Falls.

It does not matter though. I will never be as beautiful as Emily, even with that scar on her face.

Bile burns my stomach and my lips curl. Right, because the woman in the mirror, although physically altered, is still the same stupid, simpering second-choice that Sam would never look at.

I turn from the view, sick to my stomach. The room spins the slightest bit, but I continue on. Beside me Damon is still silent and I give up on him somewhat. I pick up my discarded coat and drape it over my arm. My eyes flicker to the vampire for the last time, he hasn’t moved, and I have no reason to thank him for his company. I did not receive the information I required, I did not obtain the promised help.

“Vodka’s on you,” I say. In the answering silence my feet manage to make no sound.

It is only when I reach the door that Damon finally speaks again.

“The motels here suck and are warded up to the gills,” Warded? I don’t turn to face him; I wait patiently with my back in his direction. “The people in this town are suspicious, for a good reason, and if you are as oblivious as you seem to be, it won’t be safe for you.”

Silently, I consider this and click my neck, first one way and then the other. What would he have me do? I ask him as much.

Within a blink he is at my side, he does not spare me the time to look at my face. “I can take you somewhere safe.”

My eyes narrow, we don’t have some sudden profound bond. He is still a vampire and I am still a wolf. There is no love lost in our natural hostility for one another. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because there’s no-one else to,”

The words leave me paralysed in silence and they burn at the backs of my eyes, hitting much deeper than he probably thought they would, or could. I know agreeing to this is still not smart, I can’t rely on emotions for life and death possibilities, but I’m weak and tired. “Where is ‘safe’ exactly?”

“Down the road,” he mutters and starts to walk.

I don’t know why I follow him but I do. There’s no place for weakness, not in this world and not while at a vampire’s side. But I step out after him, eyes trained on his back.

Off to the side, hidden somewhere beyond the shadows, crickets chirp and frogs provide a constant low drone of croaking. The sounds of night makes my awareness peak. The singing of the static in the overhead lamps and the muffle of clothing rustling as we walk is enough to have my skin crawling. The streets are dark and Damon blends almost seamlessly with the shadows, only the pearly parlour of his skin separating him from the night itself. He moves like the swaying shadows of tree branches illuminated by street lamps, his dramatic attire and dark hair like some kind of vampire stereotype. Or a ghost. With the way my every breath leaves a trail of vapour in the air, I wouldn’t be surprised.

I left the truck outside the Grill. However, the old rust bucket’s safety is the least of my concerns at present. It’s less dangerous to walk anyway.

Houses loom up on either side of us, immaculate lawns and varnished porches shrouded in a cloak of frost. My breath fogs the air and I keep watch of the gaps between buildings. The ground is slippery, the friction is lost. I place my feet carefully, keeping a good four feet distance between myself and Damon. Wolf sense demands good defence, human senses tell me to run.

I don’t run, I didn’t come here for nothing.

“Why are the people here suspicious?” I ask, the frigidity of the air making me lick my lips. My feet roll slightly with each step, silent but purposeful. “Of what?”

A sigh greets my question and it’s a moment before he says anything. “This town…it’s messed up.”

For a moment I look back to him, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curl into fists at his side. “How so?” I know ‘messed up’, am intimately acquainted with it, hell, I am it.

“Mystic Falls is overflowing with secrets. The kind of secrets that most people know but no one dares to say out loud,” He chuckles, but I can hear the bitterness of it. “We all know how twisted everything is, but it’s rare for anyone to mention it,”

I huff. He’s talking in riddles. Fat lot of help that is. “Why did you say they have good reason to be? Suspicious, I mean,”

Damon makes a sound that is bordering on annoyance, his steps slow down. “Because in a place where death lurks at your door, you need to be ready for anything and everything,” He turns toward a house.

I stand in the road, gapping after him, eyebrows scrunched up. What the actual hell?

Chapter Text

Our feet are silent over the paved pathway, the occasional crunch of a stray pebble sounding in our mutual silence. Damon is sure in his steps, familiar. Somehow, I doubt he is happy with this, his hands clench ever so slightly at his sides and his jaw tightens as we near the front door. If I knew him longer, if I had spent more time gazing into the coldness of his eyes, perhaps I’d understand. But I haven’t and I don’t.

He takes the two steps up to the porch one at a time, landing lightly on the balls of his feet and easily breaking into step to close the distance to the door. His sure-footedness reminds me of the Cullens, launching through the forest with no fear of falling – so sure that once their feet left the ground, the air would guide them into landing.

I follow him slowly, dragging my feet. My visibility decreases exponentially on the porch, surrounded as I am by decorative shrubbery and Doric columns. There’s the slightest possibility Damon is leading me to a barbeque – wolf a la entree. Somehow I don’t think I’d taste great with a glass of homeless-man’s-blood.

A chilly wind brushes my neck, tugging at stray hairs and making leaves rustle. Night-time gloom worthy of a Stephan King film. It’s anything but silent though, there’s the buzzing of late night bugs swarming toward the lit windows of the house, branches creak and footsteps thud behind closed doors. There are cracks in a floorboard that Damon steps around, a floorboard that would groan under his slight weight.

He pauses barely a second as his hand lifts to knock.

His reluctance has been palpable since we left the Grill, something which was easily overlooked until now. I stand a few feet behind him, at the top of the stairs, and shift my weight.

Now that I’d spent more than a few minutes in Damon’s company, it’s easy to notice that the underlying scent of blood and earthy dryness curls up stronger here. Vampires.

I imagine what Jane’s face would do if she was the one to open the door, indifference or self-satisfaction? I swallow and cock one knee, feeling the press of the wooden porch under the balls of my feet.
It’s not them though, it’s not the Volturi. If there’s anything I’ve learnt since arriving here, it’s that these vampires are different – if only in scent. Nevertheless, the time and effort that would be needed to chase down an errant wolf, that has no essential link to the coven, is ridiculous. I realise that the only reason she attacked me was because I was planning to attack her. She was on pack land, a threat to Renesme. Outside of Forks I’m nothing to the Volturi.

That does not stop my heart from beating faster though.

Damon hasn’t even finished knocking yet when there’s a flurry of sound behind the door. I watch from my position.

The door swings open, squeaking loudly, scattering light over the porch and illuminating Damon’s leer. Even after having known him for only a couple of hours I can see that it is fake, it rankles of sullenness.

In the doorway a new vampire stands, back straight and plucked brows raised. She’s the picture of annoyance. Even so, she leans her weight the smallest amount forward, eyes focused on Damon as much as Damon’s is focused on her. They stare and stare, to a point where I wrinkle my nose and consider leaving.

Eventually, before I can leave, she tuts and tilts her head, brows lowering and hands folding loosely across the Wonder Woman pajama shirt. “It’s past eleven, Damon. What do you want?”

Damon throws his head, hair flopping around his forehead, and offers a smirk. His eyes seem to hold new light as he leans forward, hands in pockets, encroaching on the other vampire’s space. His voice, when he speaks, is almost sultry – reminiscent of a cat’s purr. “Why, don’t you look nice tonight, are you having a sleepover? Mind if I join?” He punctuates this with an exaggerated wink.

I cringe. Oh, god. Have I stumbled upon some vampire mating ritual? I try very hard not to wrinkle my nose and fail.

In the girl’s defence she doesn’t bat an eyelash. Her arms drop to her sides and she sighs, lengthening her words. “Damon, what is it?”

Damon’s smirk wavers, but keeps its presence. “I need a favour,”

The girl tenses, her brows slamming down further over her eyes. Her hand twitches up to the door ready to smash it in Damon’s face. “No,”

He scoffs “Elena,” and pauses, smirk falling away, “please.” It doesn’t sound like an entreaty, more like a threat.

Elena. I look to Damon and back to the girl, repeating the course twice before I settle on examining the girl – Elena. The cause of those oh so familiar looks. She’s pretty, in the conventional way – like a student body president and charity gala debutante. But not perfect: her one eye is the slightest bit smaller than the other, her skin clear but not unmarked, and, while her hair is long and straight, fine wisps stand on end, dancing in the breeze.

She’s…normal, in a way the vampires I know are not.

She stands still for several seconds, finally her lashes flutter. She breathes deep, in and out. The tense line of her shoulders melt, giving in to a minor slump to the right. The movement creates space, an opening into the house. Damon too relaxes, but his hand twitches helplessly at his side, neither reaching out nor hiding itself in his pocket.

The effect is obvious, the staring resumes. Is this a lover’s spat resolving? Are they going to kiss and hold hands and whisper sweet apologies? I might just throw up. So what if other people’s blatant flaunting of their happiness makes me sick? I get a free pass as a passenger of the jilted-ex train.

I huff out a breath.

Elena’s eyes flicker to me and the smile disappears, “Hi,”

I lift my hand in silent greeting.

“So?” Elena turns her gaze to Damon, colder than a moment before.

He acknowledges my presence with a tilt of his head. “We could use your help,”

Her eyes narrow, “Did she bite you?”

I gape. Why the hell would I want to bite Damon? I mean, he’s good looking for a vampire, but that doesn’t mean I had any intention of eating him. Is this some dig at me being a wolf? I’m not entirely sure whether I should be offended or not.

She doesn’t seem to need an answer though, ploughing on “Is she pregnant? Is Klaus up to some stupid trick again?”

“Hey!” Damon scrunches up his face, “No! She just needs a place to stay tonight,”

“Oh,” she sounds disappointed.

I’m still reeling. Pregnant? Pregnant! What the fuck? I dart my eyes down toward my stomach. It’s…as flat as it usually is. I squint back at the girl, itching to snarl at her.

Damon makes an effort to roll his eyes as obviously as possible – my eyes hurt just from seeing it. “Would you mind?”

Elena side-eyes me and I glare right back. Okay, offended. What the hell? “Send her back to Klaus. Or if you really want her, keep her at your house.”

Again with the Klaus business. I’m not trying to come off as peeved, but I’m almost shaking. I definitely fail at hiding it as evidenced by the way Elena purses her lips. “No one gets to ‘keep’ me, Barbie.”

After an awkward pause she leans toward Damon and asks, without lowering her voice, “Did she lose her memory?”

Damon snorts, “She’s from out of town; believe it or not, she isn’t one of his hybrids.”

“But,” her brows furrow, “She smells like one. Wrong. It has Klaus written all over it.”

“Not one of his pets,” Damon mutters.

“She could be acting.”

“Then she’s an amazing actor and Klaus has my kudos.”

I snarl, “Well, excuse me. Rude, aren’t we, yáwa?” Having gained their collective attention, I bare my teeth (wishing they were sharper, wishing they were as aggressive as on a wolf). “I’m right fucking here. And I am and I’m sick of all these ‘Klaus’, ‘hybrid’, and ‘pet’ comments. I’ve ripped out vampire throats before and I’ll fucking do it again.”

It’s silent for a long moment, just my huffs breaking the sounds of the night. Elena smiles at me after a moment and steps forward. “Uh, I’m Elena,” she holds out her hand, but when she sees my scowl and my reply never comes she looks at Damon. He supplies her with ‘Leah’ and she turns back to me. “Well, Leah, I’d rather not fight you here on my porch. I don’t doubt that you’d make a good attempt to rip out my throat, so I hope you can understand why I can’t just welcome you into my home.”

“Elena, Caroline’s here and Leah’s harmless,”

“How do you know?” Elena and I ask at the same time.

Damon gives me another eye roll, but he addresses Elena. “Would I ever let anyone hurt you?”

“I don’t need your protection, Damon.” Damon just continues to stare at her, eyes wide, guileless. The female vampire’s face softens, “I know.”

She sighs and looks at me, eyes scrutinising. “You can stay, but I’m warning you, I will not hesitate to disregard the rules of host-guest hospitality if you give me any reason to.”

I twitch, wanting to just walk away. I think of another night curled up on the seat of the old pick-up. The vulnerability of flimsy locks, the cold. “Fine,”

Seemingly placated with my answer, she steps to the side, but before I can be escorted inside Damon grabs my wrist. I turn to him with a frown, a snarl on the tip of my tongue, but he says something, eyes seeming to grow both darker and lighter in the porch light. He releases me, fingers a cool imprint on my skin. Air rushes back to my lips, I wasn’t even aware that I had stopped breathing for that short moment.

I blink rapidly, smiling at the vampire as I reach down to rub at the cold imprint of his fingers along my wrist. (“Hold still, Leah. It’s just a pinprick, I’ve stuck much bigger needles into you.”)

Damon steps away, his eyes land on Elena briefly and he nods his head. Barely a second later he is disappearing into the shadows. From whence he came and all that hokum. My mind churns, stuck on a vague Dracula reference Emmet had made. (“Bats! Bats everywhere, like a plague of locusts. And wham! The guy appears from nothing-”)

I turn back to Elena, listing to the side. Her brows are knitted together (“Don’t frown, kaskayap, your face will get stuck.”)and her lips turned down.

“Thas a floke-foke-folk lorry.” I tell her.

After taking a breath of the chilly night, Elena gestures for me to follow her inside. I follow her, floating. She’s a butterfly. It had taken me years to cross the Cullen threshold, but! But they’re not butterflies! Even then it hadn’t been my own choice. Vampires, they don’t smell right. Butterflies are…weird smelling too. I wrinkle my nose as it shuts the door behind me.

My heart beats slow and sure, I hum and nod, it’s beddy-bye time. The floor is soft under my feet, or maybe I’m not touching the floor. It feels like it. Like flying. A dream.

I’m led up the stairs, past a blur of rooms and doors. Photo frames and trinkets. The scent of popcorn woven deep into the walls and something distinctly floral in the carpets. Peculiar, but not bad. Not Volturi-bad, or Sam-complicated. Not Cullen-sterile. Floaty.

“Sorry for the mess,” Elena - has she been here the whole time?- says, waiting at a door.Her hip presses against the wooden jam, is part of it. Is she part door? I goggle at her. “I wasn’t expecting guests.” She stops and smiles, I wonder if she can feel it, the softness of the air, the lazy hanging of dust. “Well, other guests, anyway. I’ll introduce you to Caroline in the morning, she won’t bother you tonight so don’t worry about that,”

I’m nodding, sitting on the edge of a bed. Yeah, yeah, sleep. “Car-line?” I yawn over the word, I don’t know it, my head is already on a pillow. There are clouds on my fingertips.

“My friend,” Elena straightens from her lean and floats in space, walking up the walls. “I’m really sorry about this, Damon tends to be rather…protective, and you can’t blame him for the compulsion.”

Compul-whatwhat, I hum a reply, my eyes closed and my body settling deeper into the blankets. The darkness shifts, becomes darker and a door, maybe, snicks shut.

XXX

Sunlight burns my cheeks, doing little to dispel the sleep fog. I groan, trying to turn away from the heat, eyes creaking open. Reluctant and dreading being awake for even a second.

Mornings suck. Mornings mean getting dressed and making an effort to look like I wouldn’t rather be asleep. Some mornings it’s not worth it. Most mornings.

Seth is gonna be late for school. And I…I have a meeting with the elders? I screw up my face, trying to remember. No, no, it was a pack meeting. With Sam, yeah.

It takes me two minutes and a whole symphony of groaning to roll onto my side and get my eyes open.

It’s sunny, too sunny. It’s not my room (not Sam’s bungalow) and definitely not Billy’s spare.It’s only then that I realise, with sinking trepidation, that I’m not anywhere in Forks.

It smells wrong, the air is too light, too sweet.

Despite the initial shock and, quite literally, falling on my face, twice, in my haste to get out of the bed, the world manages to steady. No more spinning or fighting the sunlight, I half-crouch at the foot of the bed taking in everything - from the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner to the bare dresser, the quilted bedding, and picture-less walls. Micro-systems of dust bunnies inhabiting every square inch of space.

I can hardly breath around the pressure in my chest.

Stupid, stupid, so fucking goddamn stupid.

My hands tremble in their fists.

The room is remarkably empty, nowhere for a threat to hide, but my ears rush with sound. Because there could have been. There could have been, and I would have been lying there defenceless.
Defenceless and practically begging for someone to kill me. I can hardly breath for the sheer weight of my guilt.

Back to the wall, I settle on my haunches, wracking my mind for how I got here. The long drive, night and nights at stale motels and cramped into the front seat of the truck, they feel like years ago in comparison to dinner and meeting Damon. Damon composed grainy, sound saturated images of dark hair and sarcasm. Even less clear is a dark haired woman silhouetted in a doorway. After that…after that it’s the smell of detergent and popcorn, darkness. My mouth trembles into a hard line as I straighten from my crouch.

The vampire.

Birds create an eerie cacophony outside, morning songs, mating calls, and shrieks at insects trying to get away. Cars growl and leave heat trails of rubber along asphalt. But the world outside isn’t enough to drown out the clanking of pots, airy, laughter below my feet. I tilt my head to the side, focusing on listening to the sounds within the house. Her house, the woman. Vampire. Elena.

Elena, my mind supplies, and someone, who? It doesn’t matter.

I look at the door, it’s been left slightly ajar, the curtains across the room sway in front of an open window. She must have come in here while I was sleeping. I’d slept right through it; she could have drained me dry as I slept. I would not have been able to do anything.

The way my knees shake as I take my first step toward the door has nothing to do with fear.

Getting to the stairs takes too long. I have no memories of them from the night before, but I’m sure they aren’t as far as they seem.

I take them slowly, making sure to keep them silent, my ears trained on the laughter still sounding from below. Perhaps the caution seems unnecessary considering they could have killed me while I slept.
Perhaps it is the laughter that keeps me on edge, the sound of someone so deliriously happy while my head feels like it might explode. Or it’s something else, something much more visceral.
I suck in a breath as I reach the bottom of the steps, the laughter running clearer and louder.

From here the path dissects, right into a tidy lounge with large lumpy looking sofas and an earnest coffee table adorned with textbooks and strewn papers. To the left is the kitchen - bacon, eggs, lingering burnt sugar and coffee like it was built into the house’s very foundation - and the insatiable snickering.

I list left, following my nose and, more pressingly, bracing myself for a coven of bloodsuckers. Ready to turn me into steak, or something equally as bothersome.

It’s mostly sunlight - reflecting off polish and a marble island - bright and exceedingly cheery considering the anxious gallop of my heart. The windows are wide and open up to the cool morning, bird song and smell of damp soil.

I freeze where I stand. Uncertain. (Unable to leap and tear and rend flesh from their bodies- cries of the pack “Leah! Leah!” And the shiver of electricity in my veins, I am nothing but pain-) I swallow.
The two vampires - because really, that smell cannot be hidden under coffee and bacon - are clinging to the island - desperate floaters off the Titanic. Heads bent under the morning light, they glow.

I’m stuck. I should run, but I cannot.

Elena doesn’t look nearly as dull or put-upon as she had the night before. Her hair shimmers a halo of red tinged chocolate, pooled messily atop her head, in what I’ve recently realised is some new bizarre teenage fashion. She’s wearing jeans and a yellow sweater, the sleeves rolled up, face and body crinkling with barely suppressed giggles. The blonde - tall and lithe, curving over her mug in fierce possessiveness - shines equally as bright in the sunlight. Or rather, she looks like she’s made up of it. Bright lines, white and yellow and just the smallest bit of pink. Her body quakes with a loud laugh that shouldn’t be able to come from such a willowy frame.

I want to run. (Her hair is white, like snowfall or seafoam. But when she opens her mouth -red, red.)

The blonde turns her head and sunlight strokes across her cheekbones. She doesn’t sparkle.

Air scrapes itself down my throat to fill my lungs, they shudder with the weight of it.

They look painfully human.

“Leah,” Elena is still chuckling, trying to compose her eye crinkle and mouth twitch, and failing. She waves a utility knife in welcome. So blasé that it makes my jaw ache. “You’re up, good. I’m still busy with breakfast. Take a seat so long.”

I don’t move.

The blonde turns to frown at me, capturing my stare. For a moment she looks like she might bare her teeth, human as they may seem, and the weaker, pettier side of me almost wishes she’d give me the excuse. Instead, she tosses a few strands of golden silk over her shoulder, “I don’t look that bad in the morning, do I?”

You grow up with fairy tales and legends. The Pale Ones, they said, are translucent, ethereal, sculpted so perfect to lure in their prey. Teeth like razors and skin tough as diamond. Predators are colorful as a warning and the vampire cannot hunt in the day in fear of starvation.

You don’t think that these stories are real, even if dad has to check under your bed (“There’s nothing there, ólo? You promise?” “Nothing there, kaskayap, promise.”), even if the fear in the elders’ faces is real. You don’t think the monsters will be real, that you could also be a monster. You don’t think that they could be anything other than bloodthirsty ethereal diamonds.

Too flawless to be real.

Last night Damon’s skin had been flushed from drink, the freckles on his nose stark and human and flawed. This is not the monster I know, that I understand. They could pass as human, which is perhaps so infinitely more terrifying. But their scent gives them away, their movements just a bit too fast, controlled. Graceful as a dancer. Any other person would think nothing of them except to comment on their beauty, the allure of something more.

Their skin has the flush of warmth and breathlessness, holding traces of hours in the sun, lips and eyes crooked and wrinkled from laughter, shoulders slumped.

They look alive.

The twist of my stomach is familiar, but the accompanying burn in my throat is novel. Such a combination… jealousy, fear, biting into rotten crab meat. I know what I am, what I look like, that the monster I control is more than hidden inside me.

I’m painfully aware of what I must look like in comparison to her. I haven’t had a proper shower in days, I’m rumpled and shaking and feel hollow. I don’t reach up to touch my hair (unwashed, split, tangled). My fingers curl into my palms, nearly claws with the effort.

My hair hadn’t been important as a child in the waves, or at school on the field. It hardly mattered when Sam’s fingers were in Emily’s hair - why bother. It shouldn’t matter now either. But I do, if the difficulty in swallowing is any indicator. (Maybe he would have chosen me, if I put in more effort, maybe coconut scented shampoo was the real key to his heart.)

My newfound self awareness burns at the base of my spine. Disgusting. Why is this what you’re focusing on, Clearwater? Get a grip you pathetic failwolf.

My throat works for a moment, brain at a loss for anything less than vaguely offensive. “You don’t sparkle,” I choke out finally. Not the best choice, but it could have been much worse, so there’s that.

The blonde’s brows twitch, confused or annoyed, I want to hide from her, I want to bare my teeth and watch her cower. She looks at Elena, who has finally managed to control her amusement long enough to sense some of the discomfort permeating the air.

The brunette clears her throat and shrugs. “She’s not from around here,”

“Ah,” the taller’s eyes narrow, but she leans over the kitchen island to extend a hand to me. Faux smile on her lips, “I’m Caroline, and no, I don’t sparkle.”

Elena has gone back to butchering a block of cheese.

I hesitate, unsure. “Leah,” My name sounds foreign from my own lips. I stare at her hand, her skin is smooth, a mole on her wrist. I don’t shake the hand. I stick my hands into my back pockets, trying to stave off the tremble, sparks of electricity in my nail beds. For a moment I watch her, awkward with the knowledge I do and do not have. “Why not?”

“Excuse me?”

“The vampires I know, they-they light up like Christmas trees in sunlight, but you…don’t. You look” I cringe, “human. It’s weird.” It is weird, it’s unsettling. I want to leave.

The vampires are staring at me. “Why don’t you sparkle? Why are your eyes…like that?.”

Elena touches the corner of her eye, her gaze unwavering.

Caroline’s face twists and she snorts, “I have no clue what you’re going on about. This is normal? Like, I don’t have much to go on, but the Mikaelson’s are the same, so…” Her gaze shifts, “Elena?”

The brunette blinks and shrugs, there’s a crumb of cheese on her cheek. “I’m not sure. Damon or Stephan might know something. They have been vampires longer than the both of us combined,” she reasons and Caroline supplies her affirmation through a lazy head nod. “But if they don’t know either, the only other I can think of to ask is Klaus,”

I start at that name - again.

Caroline hisses and takes a particularly aggressive swallow of the coffee in her mug. “I’m sure there’s someone else you can ask,” The way she says it is more petulant than the casual dismissal she was clearly aiming for. Abruptly, her face twists into a smile, “Tell us more, Leah. We might figure it out if we can compare stories.” This time she gestures for me to sit.

I lower myself into the seat closest to the door, spine painfully straight.

We sit in awkward silence as Elena finishes with the cheese and replaces it in the fridge. “Do you eat onions?”

I look between the vampires, they both stare at me expectantly, I mutter a ‘yes’ in answer and watch as Elena returns to scoop fried onion from a pan on the stove behind her. “My brother, Jeremy, he isn’t a vampire, so we always have fresh food in the house. Less so now that he is dating Bonny, they go out for dinner quite a lot.”

I grunt in reply, fiddling with the frayed edges of my jacket. The silence stretches and I huff a breath. This is excruciating.I attempt to dig up some of the social skills mom had once tried to teach me, before I ‘turned into a sloppy, four-legged, grump’. “Where is he now?”

“At school,” she pauses and gives a hollow laugh. “Well he should be, but I never know these days. He doesn’t speak to me as much as he used to.”

“Anything to do with your being a monster?” It feels like picking at a scab and I cringe. Goodbye social skills.

“Ah, yes,” she simpers, but the expression is bitter, “Neither of us got to prepare for this.”

I imagine the attack: the dead of night, Elena’s car breaking down on the side of the road, a blood-crazed bloodsucker catching her unaware. And suddenly the venom is consuming her alive, drowning her with thoughts of blood and hunger. I want to ask if it was Damon. If he sired her and adopted her into his coven, or if he found her after - bleeding on the ground, begging for death, writhing in agony. (In the darkness, as a cramp spasms around a deformed bone, “I just want to die already.”)

I don’t ask.

I watch her complete the meal and set it down on the island. She nudges a cup of coffee across the counter before seating herself.

Caroline hums inanely and I think desperately about the quiet of the forest.

I bite a piece of toast, it’s dry and dark and tastes like nothing. I poke the onions and smell it - no poison. “Can you tell me about Klaus?”

The blonde vampire twitches just barely in my periphery; a hand comes up to fiddle with a golden curl. For the longest time I’m sure she will ignore my question, or maybe just tear my throat out by gnawing at her lip, but eventually she sighs and clanks her mug against the marble top. “I have no clue why you’d want to know about that asshole,”

I breathe in, out. Stab my toast at the onions again. “Everyone keeps mentioning him. And calling me his pet.”

Chapter Text

“Klaus is…” Caroline scrunches up her face in a look fairly reminiscent of Seth unwillingly eating carrots. Her eyes flicker to Elena momentarily before giving a shrug.

“Yes?” I prompt, annoyed that it should take the vampire so long to begin the discussion. And I thought I was a useless conversationalist. My skin prickles and I clench my teeth to stave off the urge to growl.

“He is one of the Original Vampires,” she frames her words with air quotes (I suddenly feel so old) and goes back to cradling her coffee. The cup is empty, but she either does not notice or does not care. Elena does not try to help her, neither in finding her words nor refilling her coffee. “An original hybrid, the Original Hybrid,”

I stare and after a moment take an unnecessarily vicious bite of my food. I push loose strands of hair from my face with my shoulder. “Everyone keeps saying that, ‘hybrid’ and ‘Original’. What do they mean?”

Finally, Elena butts in, “The Original Vampires are the first vampires to be created.” She cradles her chin in her palm, her gaze sharp on my face - I wonder if she can tell that I’m lost, I tear another bite of the food and chew spitefully in her direction. “The Mikaelson family make up the Originals, of which Klaus is one of the few children. He is the most feared and hated of the lot according to what Elijah told me, and judging from what I’ve seen myself I just might agree.”

“I think Mikael was probably worse,” Caroline chimes, although she seems reluctant, and pouts. “He did try to kill everyone,”

Klaus, Elijah, Mikael…despite their words, what they say makes little to no sense. Who are these vampires? Surely they cannot be the first actual vampires to exist (long long back would that even date?).

The thought makes my head ache. I swap my food for the bitter and black coffee Elena had provided.

“He didn’t succeed,” Elena says. “Klaus on the other hand…” She’d seemed rather congenial throughout our conversation so far, but now her eyes bleed with red veins and the push of her lips remind me that vampires have fangs. Elena does not look like a young and innocent human girl at this moment.

(Bella’s face, when I see her through the window is hollow, her eyes the gold I’ve come to associate with the other blood-suckers. She can see me…smell me too. Her head tilts, nostrils flaring before she snarls through the glass.

I bare my own teeth in return. My blood is pounding, my tail still, poised for a fight. I can still hear Seth’s cry of pain, taste the rage in my mouth. A stain on the back of my tongue. A snarl vibrates through my throat, making the raised scruff on my back quiver.

The older one, the mother, comes forward and gently draws Bella away from the window. Our eyes stay locked until the vampire is completely from my sights.)

Caroline’s hand twitches across the table and tangles with Elena’s. “It’s over though,”

The brunette twitches and breathes out slowly. The red is still in her eyes, but her jaw unclenches. She says, her voice low as the whisper of dust twirling in the morning light. “It will never be over,”

Well aware that my list of ‘things to know’ keeps growing, I try to shuffle my thoughts into some order. Elena’s seemingly tragic backstory is a problem for another day (if it ever is actually of any importance). Right now, I need more information about the vampires. “How can you be sure that they are the first?”

Caroline shrugs. “I’m not sure, to be honest. The whole vampire thing isn’t exactly pre-recorded on a neatly episodic history podcast titled ‘The Originals: Vampire Folklore’. All I know is what little I’ve been told.”

“Which is?”

“Apparently Esther, that’s Klaus’ mother, was a witch. To protect her family, or something, she turned them into vampires. As far as I know they were the first to be created - whether the coven created any others, I’m not sure.”

Witches? Goddamn it.

“Plus,” Elena says, suddenly coming back from whatever dark memory she’d been immersed in, “the Originals sired their own vampires.” Here she gestured with her free hand at herself and Caroline. “We weren’t created by witches or sired by the Originals, but rather by other sired vampires. How pure that lineage stays, I’ve no idea. I assume, with the amount of vampires in the world, that not every single one has to be related to the Mikaelson family.”

I nod and rub at the spot between my eyes. “Okay, so witches?” Considering I’m a magical being that can shapeshift into a wolf and the two women across from me are vampires…magic wielders should not be as far fetched as it sounds. I’ve seen Harry Potter and reluctantly sat through a sad production of MacBeth, the thought of any of this having a base in reality seemed impossible.

“Yes, witches,”

Caroline’s face is dead pan with an air of superiority that I don’t understand.

“Okay, so witches are a thing. Great. What does any of this have to do with ‘hybrids’?” I pause, reluctant to admit my complete ignorance after the thing about the witches. “What exactly are hybrids?”

In a strict sense of the word I know what a hybrid is, understand how you can propagate two different plants into one. I imagine Nessy, a halfling, would she count as a hybrid, half human and half vampire?

“Wolves,” Elena says.

“And vampires,” Caroline adds, “Wolves and vampires mixed into one honestly ridiculous creature. Like, strong, with pointy teeth and howls at the moon,”

As my mind processes the words, I have the most ghastly image of Jacob and a grown up Renesmee having a child. My skin prickles and the sudden urge to flee and castrate a wolf is strong. First off, who would ever want to procreate with Jacob? I silently hope that Edward will grow a brain and keep a firm hand on the hormonal wolf. Second, as much as I want Renesme to find happiness and love (have a normal family) I certainly do not wish her the ill fortune of becoming a part of the wolf pack in Forks or that of ending up with Jacob Black forever.

Even if I could, I’d loathe to bring a child into this twice-doomed world.

“So Esther was a bit kinky on the side and did the dirty with a werewolf.”

“Caroline!” Elena scolds, but her friend waves off her protests.

“The bastard obviously inherits the wolfy gene and when mommy-dearest turns everyone into a vampire BAM! Hybrid.” She seems much too pleased with herself and taps a manicured nail on the table.
“Not sure if it’s considered beastiality to sleep with a werewolf.”

“Tyler’s a werewolf,” Elena retorts primly, her face showing her embarrassment.

Caroline shrugs, “I’m just saying, it’s definitely something to think about.”

I can feel my eye twitching and have to avert my gaze. I’ve met my fare share of annoying people (read: Paul, Jacob, the stupid cashier at the Ikea who would stop popping his gum), Caroline is something else though.

Whoever this Klaus is, he’s not lacking for spite from this vampire. Her tone throughout the story makes my teeth itch. While I would have spoken of the wolves I know with as much derision as she had, it’s different coming from a vampire. I tell myself, viciously, that this is not the time to get defensive, this is not a safe place to start a fight. I’m no stranger to criticism, not for my skin and heritage, not for my abilities.

I bite my tongue.

After a moment of staring at her friend, Elena continues. “From what I know Klaus is truly as Original in the sense that he was the first of his kind. The circumstances of his creation are kind of unique and, seeing how much he’s struggling to make more hybrids, I guess it’s not easy either. He’s been capturing wolves and trying to give them the vampire…virus? Gene? Whatever, that. The hybrids when they succeed tend to turn into massive jerks, just like Klaus.”

“Tyler isn’t a jerk.” Caroline defends half-heartedly.

Though her mouth twitch clearly says differently, Elena offers, “You know what I mean.”

Caroline clearly knows her friend well enough not to buy it. She examines her nails with pursed lips. “My boyfriend didn’t kill half a village.”

Clearly Done with this line of conversation, Elena scrapes Caroline’s mug over the island’s surface with too much force. “Can we move on?”

The taller vampire smiles, her lip gloss shimmering. She flips golden hair over her shoulder expertly. “What was the question again?”

“Hybrids,”

“Ah,” Caroline looks directly at me for a long while, her eyes scrutinizing and her lips pursed in thought. Eventually she turns away to face Elena, her nose wrinkled, “What do you think?”

The girl shrugs her shoulders. “Well, it’s not like if she is one then we’ll be telling her something she shouldn’t know or doesn’t know already. Klaus has probably ranted about this enough times for it to be public information.” As if on an afterthought, she sends me an apologetic smile, “And you do smell a little like a dog.”

This being one of the least offensive things the vampires have said, I shrug. “You smell like death.”

“Huh,” the blonde states and turns back to me. “Did you notice that last night there was a full moon?”

Having stressed about this myself for a singular day on my first shift, I guess it’s not an entirely stupid question. “It was,”

(Seth’s face is writ with panic, he gasps for breath in my arms as his body trembles. I stare over his head at the empty living space, conscious of the space left by dad, conscious of the sunlight through the window, the boniness of Seth’s elbow against my stomach, the dustmotes in the air.

I want to cry, I want to apologize. But I’m frozen on the remains of our couch, dad’s toppling form playing over and over in my head.

Seth should go. I’m not safe. I could hurt him. My arms stay in place though, curled around my baby brother as he cries. I wonder if he will hate me, be scared of me, when he gets over the shock.

I already hate myself.

Outside the world is bright and alive with spring.)

“Then you are aware that last night you were not chained to a wall withering in agony because every bone in your body was breaking.” Caroline’s face is uncustomarily serious. Her voice and posture are telling. ‘I’ve seen it’ she says with the curve of her spine ‘I’ve heard it’. The true horror of the phase had been lost to me over the decade as it got easier, smoother. It was only brought back to the forefront when Jane stepped into our forests. “There is only one way that is possible for a wolf,”

I cock my head, the vampires have already decided I am one of Klaus’s sired ‘hybrids’. I could correct them, if they know of witches surely they know of shapeshifters. But I decide to wait instead, they’re clearly on a wavelength I’m not. If there’s anything I’ve learned from forcing Seth to watch procedurals with me, it’s to let people talk their fill.

For a long moment we stare at each other, when it becomes clear I won’t respond she continues. “The control afforded to a hybrid allows them to avoid the moon’s call and change at will. You slept like a baby through the night and are clearly a wolf. You sound like a hybrid.”

I concede this fact with an incline of my head.

Caroline narrows her eyes, “Only thing is, Elena hasn’t supplied much blood for the cause and Klaus should be down to only two or three hybrids right now.”

I don’t ask what Elena’s blood could have to do with this, I don’t care. There are more pressing issues, like the implication of the hybrids’ extinction. Considering they are made, and that the process is apparently not easy, if they are relatively susceptible to disease or murderous vampires then the annihilation of the group should be inevitable. If the only one capable or with the knowledge to make them is this Klaus then their dwindling numbers are understandable. Caroline’s boyfriend is apparently one of the hybrids, but considering her disdain for Klaus it’s possible that the hybrids are making themselves extinct by going against their creator.

The Quileute shifters waken if there’s a need for them, generations going dormant until a threat appears. However, I swallow back the knowledge of how close the tribe has come to its own death and subsequently the death of the Pack.

“So, how are you here?” Caroline supplied, eyes narrowing in threat.

I consider not replying, consider hiding my people and their abilities and trying to protect them in this tiny way. I think of the hatred in this country and how hatred for a people can quickly turn to cries of ‘monster’. However, the vampires across from me are monsters themselves. I say, “I’m not a hybrid,” and they wait for me to continue. “But I’m not a werewolf either.”

I understand the disbelief on their faces.

Our legends and history (what little has been translated and made public) are not a secret. The secret is that those legends are true. Even so, I try to work my way around any glaring identifiers. I don’t trust these strangers. “My home,” I pause and lick my lip, “My tribe, they tell stories of how we first came to be. It's a folk legend we’ve learnt through generations, tales from our ancestors. Many of us did not fully believe it was real until recently.”

(Billy’s enigmatic face is reflected with moonlight as he waves around a half eaten cob of corn. There are pieces in his beard and Jacob won’t stop giggling. “The Wolf Spirit lays down the bundle, and from inside comes a cry. Choótsk’!! A blessing from the gods!”

From across the circle Wenona splatters food when she speaks, “That’s not how babies are made. Ms Bernard said babies come from-”

“Okay, everyone!” Dad laughs and stands, “I think it’s time for the little ones to say goodnight.”)

“We were not always able to change but my ancestors could enter the spirit world. They would leave their bodies behind, defenceless. One of the warriors wanted to use this ability to enslave the neighboring tribes and was banished as a result. He wanted revenge so he possessed the chief’s body while he was in the spirit world and killed his own body, leaving the chief with nowhere to return.
“Utlapa, using the chief’s body went on to dominate the tribe and attack their neighbors. The chief sought out a wolf and asked to share its body. But when he got to the village the chief became so mad that he possessed the wolf’s body and took the form of a man.” I stare at my nails, imagining the claws, the fur, the desire to run until my legs give out. “For generations our people have been able to take the form of a wolf when the tribe faces danger. Our phase is not dictated by the moon.”

Elena and Caroline are quiet, their faces carefully focused but openly curious. I recognise the wonder in Elena’s eyes as what I’d worn when I was still a child hearing the tale for the first time.

“But you turn into a wolf,” Caroline says.

“It is my heritage. The chief could have chosen any animal, but he chose a wolf. I cannot begin to fathom turning into any other animal.”

Elena’s face stretched with how far her brows rose. “Turn into something else?”

“We are shapeshifters rather than werewolves.”

“But-”

“Not werewolves, lycanthropy is a virus, I - as well as my tribe - was born with my abilities. It's a gift.” I interrupt and shake my head. It’s a distinction that our elders felt important to denote. No one could make you a wolf, no one could take it from you. You are Wolf because you are Quileute.

“Okay, okay, let’s say I believe you,” Caroline takes much longer to speak next and nearly cringes when she says it. “Phase in front of me.”

“No,” I snap, my muscles tensing and jumping beneath my skin. (A half formed tail digs painfully into the mattress below me, I want to turn over and relieve the pain, can feel sweat on my brow and spasming muscles along my spine. I can’t move, I can’t move and it hurts. I cry silently in the darkness of my unseeing eyes.)

“Caroline!” Elena admonishes again.

The blonde’s face bleaches and she gives me an appraising look-over. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. That’s rude.”

My skin itches, as if the mere mention of phasing is enough to incite the act. I forcefully tamp down the trembling of my fingers, pressing my feet hard into the floor. I breathe. “Your-Tyler, you said? Do you watch his ‘phase’?”

Her smile is wan, she fiddles with her fingers on the countertop. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen or heard. Hours of screaming, the bones breathing. Blood. I’m really sorry I asked you to phase, that was inappropriate and I understand why you wouldn’t want to do it.” She gaze is imploring, “I guess I just hoped…that it would be easier.”

I look down at the table. Even in the beginning the shift lasted no longer than a minute, the first one was always the worst and as time went by it became as easy as breathing. I try to imagine what that would be like, experiencing Jane every time I decided to lope off into the forest for some exercise. Just the once was enough. If I had to do it every month, I’d probably sell my soul to Klaus to be one of his hybrids. “Can I meet him? Tyler. And Klaus, too.”

Caroline cringes but Elena’s gaze is watchful and knowing in a way that feels near intrusive. She nods. “If you really want to, it’s not my place to stop you. Stephan and I will be seeing Klaus later today, if you come with at least I could be sure you’re safe.”

“Thank you.”

Caroline looks wholly uncertain at this idea but doesn’t voice her complaints, merely saying to me, “You’re an adult.”

I offer a strained smile of my own as I tuck into my cold food. After a moment I stop and turn my gaze to where Elena is now washing dishes. “What happened last night?”

“Last night?” She asks and turns to blink at me. Then she hums and turns back to the sink. “Ah, Damon. It’s called compulsion.”

“It’s like mind control,'' Caroline says with derision.

“Mind control?” I squeak.

XXX

By the time I leave the Gilbert house it’s midmorning and I’m exhausted.

My head is heavy with information and my temples pound from thinking too much. Elena and Caroline’s history is pockmarked with death and hatred reminiscent of an overzealous teen fiction movie.

While a lot of the information has loose ends for me, I still wonder if I’ve inadvertently ended up somewhere worse than Forks. Elena’s warning about the town council rings in my ears.

Outside the day is just beginning to warm up - sunlight on the pavements and melting frost on the lawns of the suburbs. The town, with its swarms of teens and soccer moms and the chirpy chirps of the birds seems too good to be true after the information I’ve been given. Less ominous, and yet more so, than the night before. In the light of day, the dark escape roots are trimmed hedges and backyard gardens, the houses don’t loom over me like giant walls and the abundance of sound is enough to make my head buzz.

I keep to the side of the pavement on the way to fetch the truck, vividly aware of small town culture. But no one spares me a glance, no wolves or vampires or witches (how do they smell? Look? Would I even know if one approached me? How do you even identify someone from a town council?). I count it as a small win.

The beaten pick-up stands where I left it. Still ugly and worn but gleaming in the morning light, making a valiant effort to look less pathetic than it really is. For a moment I consider heading back to the Mystic Grill, if only to thank and apologise to the waiter - Matt - about the mess with Damon. The urge fades as soon as it comes and I slip into the truck. My bags are cramped in the passenger foot-space. I wrinkle my nose, the need to find clean clothing weighs heavily with the effort required to dig through the cramped bags and Alice’s clothing contributions.

The vehicle stutters to life, choking on exhaust fumes and jerking in such a violent manner that for a moment I’m sure it’ll die. But it coughs once my foot is on the gas and then I am groaning down the roads of Mystic Falls along with the morning runners.

As tempted as I am to drive this truck right back out of the town, I cannot imagine stepping foot onto the reservation, seeing Seth’s hurt, feeling the weight of stares who know I’m a coward. Despite the deluge of apparent insanity in this town I’ve been granted at least two meetings with people who might know about wolves. Plus the promise of a shower is too good to pass up.

When I park, Elena is there to grab one of my bags. Caroline has apparently left and won’t join us in visiting Klaus - coward. When I ask her why, Elena laughs half-heartedly and informs me that Klaus and Caroline have a ‘strange relationship’. I don’t roll my eyes, but it's a near thing. K’wa’iti, help me, I’m surrounded by children.

The shower is more invigorating than I even thought it could be and it gives me enough courage to search through the clothes Alice shoved in the bag. While on the road, I would hand wash and wear the same two shirts and jeans. Knowing Alice, the chances of finding decent, comfortable clothes in that bag are slim.

I leave the bathroom, still towelling the ends of my hair dry when my eyes first land on Stefan. He’s more of a vampire than any of the others I’ve met in Mystic Falls, angular and kind of starved looking. He smells vaguely of Elena’s perfume and forest under the…death. Earlier Elena had lamented the strained relationship she has with the Salvador brothers, her mouth pulling at the corners. I didn’t tell her that love triangles aren’t worth it, although they aren’t. She seems smart, has a decent head on her shoulders, she’ll figure it out or kill herself trying. Hopefully not the latter, but who am I to dictate anyone’s romantic entanglements?

Still, I’m not prepared for how different Stefan looks from his brother. Unlike the raven, Stefan is made up of muted colours that don’t seem as defined or hard as Damon’s. His blondish head is bent towards Elena’s ear and his pale face is twisted in a fond smile that is the complete contrast to Damon’s condescending smirk. One of the vampire’s pale hands stretches along Elena’s shoulder, gentle in its firmness, the female leaning against the touch as if drinking in his presence.

I wrinkle my nose at the blatant display of affection and have to remind myself I’m in Elena’s home.

Before I can find something else to keep me distracted (a photo, the carpet, my head through the wall), Stefan notices me and pulls away from Elena. His smile is honey dipped. I want to punch him.

Elena turns in his arms and flushes slightly. “Leah, this is Stefan,”

The vampire steps forward and extends his hand. Having heard too much about him this morning, I struggle to return a smile and shake the preferred hand. “Stefan Salvatore, I’ve heard about you from Damon and Elena. Getting popular pretty fast.”

I don’t deign his comment with a response. Small towns do be like That sometimes and it doesn’t help that the supernatural community seems so intertwined. He seems genuine enough and, although I’m not sure how much it’s worth, Elena’s clear comfort helps to ease my own tension. “Leah Clearwater,”

“I hear you want to meet Klaus,”

I continue patting my hair, watching Stefan from the corner of my eye. “For some reason everyone seems to think I should have some relation to him. I doubt I’m that important, but it’d be nice to see what all the fuss is about.” And maybe find out why a psychic vampire sent me to this arguably just-as-crazy-as-Forks town.

“Well, you’re in luck.” He turns to Elena and presses a quick kiss to the top of her head. “We’re leaving in five minutes, so be ready.” He departs down the stairs, moving too fast for what should be considered safe.

Alone again, Elena grins at me and waves an arm toward my hair. “I have a hair drier if you want to use it.”

“No, thanks,” I throw the towel over my shoulder and move to bunch my hair in a harsh clump at the back of my head.

Elena makes a noise and hurries forward, placing a hand on my arm to stop me. “You should really leave it loose, you’ll damage it.”

“Huh?” I freeze, amused. Did she not see it this morning? It’s beyond salvageable.

“Hair ties can be really damaging. I watched a video on it. Plus, I think it would look pretty down.”

Her eagerness could maybe be considered adorable, but the emphasis on my looks chaffs. My self-awareness is not ready for this.

I’ve received compliments before, the generic ones, in special circumstances I still believed them. I’m not totally useless, despite what my relationship or lack thereof with Sam and the resulting fallouts might say about me. Dad used to call me strong, mom would pat my cheek “my beautiful baby”, and Jake… Jake would race me down the beach and pant “so fast!” Seth would make unintelligible noises anytime I baked a bread and I knew it was as close to a compliment as I would ever get from him.

(“I like that face,” Sam smiles against my neck and I need to blink repeatedly to get a measure of focus.

“Wah?”

“That one,” he traces a finger from my ear to the corner of my lips and chuckles when I kiss the finger tip. “Like you’re flying. Free.”

I frown and look at the slant of his brow, the bead of sweat at his hairline. I can’t find the words to explain how it feels to run through the forest on all fours, I guess flying is pretty close. I give up on words and yawn. “You’re being weird. Stop looking at me.” He does stop looking, but only because I pull him down into a kiss.)

I think: I’m too old for this. I should be way past worrying about hair damage. I say, “Okay,”

Hair drying should not be considered an art, but Elena fusses with it enough that I think we should put my hair up in a gallery. My bangs are grown out, but Elena curls them to frame my face and sprays some kind of awful smelling stuff on it to make sure it stays.

Although I want to, and my neck itches with the tickling of loose hair, I don’t reach for my elastic. Elena’s smile in the mirror reminds me of Renesmee and her chocolate cake. A more callous part of me does not care about her pride, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

So I bear with the discomfort, determined to ignore it and hope it will stop bothering me.

Stefan makes no comment on how long this venture took as we meet him at the door. He threads his fingers through Elena’s and leads us out the door and starts down the road. The pavement is smooth and our steps are near soundless. I follow behind the couple with my hands in my jacket pockets.

Walking again, which is fine, I like walking, but I’m pretty sure the town isn’t that small. The wind tangles the stands of dark tresses around my ear. I worry for a moment about Elena’s hard work but then decide that the feeling is kind of nice and dismiss my worries. The breeze is cool and I’m reminded of launching myself over the cliff, the whoop Seth gives as he joins me.

I can hardly remember the walk, the path, the time, it takes us to reach a considerably larger house. Personally I’d call it a mansion. I arch my brows at the arched windows, the wrapped driveway dotted with carefully shaped shrubbery. I feel suddenly tiny in front of the behemoth of a structure and wholly under dressed.

I touch my hair nervously before I realize what I’m doing and yank my hand back down.

The door is opened by a woman with deep eyes and a pointed jaw, and with a startlingly familiar scent.

Wolf.

All my muscles contract, protest. I can hardly breathe. As back as the Quileute legends go I’m the only known female wolf, but before me stands another.

It’s obvious she is not the same kind of wolf, but it’s too close. My whole body aches, needing to lean closer, to somehow know her in the way packs do. She smells vaguely of vampire, but much more of wolf. A hybrid.

I’m breathless and lost for words and practically vibrating with excitement. So this is what they look like, smell like. I want to attack her with my questions. Words building up and overflowing in my chest, a dam about to explode.

I never get the chance though - which later I will think is best, considering. She leads us inside without a word, looking put-upon and annoyed at having to cater to visitors. She all but ignores me.

We are led to a large wooden door, just beyond the foyer and a spiralled staircase.

The woman looks at us with some kind of warning in her eyes, but I’m still stuck on her scent. My head is filled with ashy bubbles. She opens the door and the scent on her is amplified in this space. My skin prickles as I breathe, overwhelmed on so many fronts.

Vaguely, from what feels like miles away, I heard her speak, clearly hearing the name ‘Klaus’. But I’m lost in the sensations bombarding me.

She swings open the door and waves us in. The urge to roll in the scent is terrifying, the quality of my cognitive abilities clearing having tanked in the minute since we entered this place. Some self-preservation instinct tries to warn me away from the room.

The woman makes an annoyed hand gesture and I follow the vampires reluctantly. My skull pounds.

It takes me a moment to notice him. The room is busy with bookshelves and half-painted canvas, the air swelling with that ‘something’ and the sour of ink. Amidst the warm interior, he is cool, a pale slash through the middle of the room. Casually leaning against a desk with the air of someone who knows their worth. My mind tries to make sense of him for a split second, the stretch of his jumper, the lazy pout of his lips. Eyes like an ocean.

He looks at us with some emotion I cannot name.

I breathe and the air in my lungs swells and swells, infusing every cell until I am weightless.

Somehow, despite being air itself, I find myself on my knees gasping.

There’s something to be said about falling in love, how it happens slowly and creeps up on you until one day you realise you’re in too deep. This is nothing like that. This explodes in my chest and crushes at my skull, filling me to the brim with fire and such joyous abandon that I can’t help but cry.

It’s sunlight on my cheek and the burn of exertion after a run, the caress of fingers along my arm, the tickle of laughter under blankets. It’s like finding out you’ve never breathed a day in your life before this very moment.

Chapter Text

The room is warmer than is usual for a late winter day; so much so that Klaus forgoes lighting the hearth in the corner of the study. Instead, the curtains are drawn, allowing glistening bright morning light to filter into the room. It glints off the desk he had bought only the evening before, the previous desk stacked in neat piles ready for the fire to be rekindled. The window is ajar and a breeze rustles the papers scattered along the gleaming surface, pages which have his fingers itching to sketch. To create.

He isn’t too surprised that Elena has come to see him; in fact he has predicted and expected it after Damon’s visit the day before. As always, he is correct in his expectation.

The last few months were as turbulent as the rest of his thousand years. As if slaughtering the hybrids was not enough, now he’s got to deal with the Salvadore’s relationship woes and Elena’s inability to accept that she’s a vampire.

Hayley pushes the door open, her face setting off a nerve in his cheek. A few short weeks ago he was ready to kill her, too. But now, he supposes, he’s glad he didn’t. He is, however, not keen on greeting his guest and shows this by baring his teeth. She’s not impressed, but she’s never really impressed with him.

Klaus pushes to his feet and silently stretches his fingers.

“Stefan and Elena are here,” Hayley informs him, her usually cool expression flashes with uncertainty. “Klaus, there’s a wolf with them.”

Wolf? Klaus pauses in his journey around the desk, momentarily off balance. The wolf he had not sensed. He tilts his head, taking a cautious breath through his nose. There’s nothing in the air to give the wolf away – not under the lingering smoulder of fire smoke and a hint of the perfume Elena wears (It’s the same as Caroline’s). He shakes his head, though unexpected, he won’t let the development affect him. He has more pressing measures to attend to.

With a wave of his hand the hybrid disappears through the door once more.

Klaus rounds the desk and settles into a comfortable lean against the hard wood surface, his arms creep up to fold over his chest – elusive memories of the Salvatore’s trying to repeatedly stab him make him cautious despite that they cannot actually kill him. As if they could, Klaus had already destroyed most of the white oak stakes.

The next moment, he catches it. A curl of scent hidden under mundane cleaning products and motor oil. It’s vaguely reminiscent of a wolf’s scent, close enough to almost be considered hybrid, but yet not. It’s an interesting combination and reminds him of pre-phase wolves, a calm before a storm. He tilts his head, curious.

He’s met many creatures, had the pleasure of killing some of them, but this is a new smell. He’s not sure whether it’s unsettling or intriguing.

The door swings open and in waltzes the vampires, their chins lifted in a way that makes Klaus roll his eyes.

He raises his brow at the show of confidence and looks them over. Vampirism suits Elena well, Klaus decides, Stefan on the other hand is looking particularly gaunt. Klaus offers them a toothy smile that he’s well aware apparently makes him look deranged. Elena’s face twitches in response while her boyfriend looks as pained as always.

Behind them, a tall woman shuffles into the room. She’s staring out the door still as she moves and the dark of her hair and complexion ring a vaguely familiar bell. When she turns, her gaze is sharp and as dark as her hair.

There’s something almost knowing about the tilt of her shoulders, the way her lashes flicker as she looks him over.

He returns the scrutiny, trying to find the distinct otherness that supernatural creatures wear as a cape. She seems human, but her eyes give her away, Klaus thinks. He has met many hunted creatures whose eyes are that sharp, their movements so finely controlled. He can see through her casual stance to the power beneath her skin, thrumming like a live wire.

Klaus has been called many things in his time, but power hungry is probably one of the most accurate.

The woman before him is copper and shadow and her body screams of the hunt. Klaus thinks she’s beautiful.

He opens his mouth to welcome his guests, however, the wolf makes a wounded sound and crumbles to her knees. The sound shatters the illusion of grace and power, if Klaus’ hair could raise it would have. He’s abruptly reminded of prey, hunt, kill, eat. But her gaze is on him still and her eyes are anything but terrified.

He stares back, caught between annoyed and surprised. She’s looking at him as if- as if-

Elena crouches beside the woman, “Leah?”

Klaus rips his eyes from her to frown at Elena. The vampire has an awkward hand on the wolf’s shoulder, she pats for a moment before giving the girl a shake. “What’s wrong?”

He wants to know too, wants to close the distance and demand answers. His fingers curl into his palm to offer restraint.

Instead, he turns to Stefan and offers the vampire a sneer. This at least is familiar, this is rote. “You’ve come looking for help again?” He does not allow Stefan to respond, does not look to Elena or…Leah.
“Is this creature an offering for my assistance? Will you try to buy my time now?”

“She’s not yours?” Stefanasks.

Klaus bares his teeth. “You’re asking me? You brought her here. Should you not already know? Either way, there’s clearly something the matter with it. What use do I have for broken wolves?”

The vampire frowns and takes a step forward - Klaus is well acquainted with Stefan’s protectiveness over Elena and is astounded to see it apparently used for someone else. “Just say it. is she one of your pet projects?”

“One of my…?” Klaus is amazed at the word choice, somewhat amused that the protectiveness on display did not translate through speech. If he were any less amused he might have attacked the vampire. To even refer to his hybrids in such a way, disgraceful. “Oh, you mean hybrids. Creatures of unimaginable fortitude, capable of shifting at will, stronger and faster than vampires, capable of healing themselves and walking in the sun without a stupid enchanted ring.” Klaus hums, “I guess you could call something better than you will ever be a ‘pet project’.”

He stares at Stefan, drinking in the obvious distress on his face, revelling in the other’s discomfort. “She is not a hybrid. She doesn’t look or smell like one, have your senses been lost in your old age? She’s not even a complete werewolf.”

Stefan’s jaw twitches and the desire for a fight rises in Klaus’ chest. He’s already leaning forward, ready to close the space between them when Elena speaks.

“Get over yourselves and help me.” Stefan instantly turns his attention to the vamperess and the fury writ across her face.

Klaus is trying to decide if he wants to shoo them away or demand more answers, when Stefan hurries forward to help Elena pull the woman back to her feet.

Apparently this is not the correct thing to do as the woman gasps and instantly starts to struggle from their hold. They pause but do not let her go, hanging her suspended between them as she struggles with her feet.

Klaus has seen newborn cows with more coordination.

He sighs at the unnecessary drama of it all and reaches up to rub his temple. Perhaps he needs a vacation, would the drama follow him out of this godforsaken town? To think of it…it probably would.

“You’re-” She chokes out, eyes wide and lips trembling, there are tears on her cheeks but she does not reach up to wipe them away. “It’s you.”

Klaus isn’t sure he wants to be the ‘you’ the woman is referring to, not if she’ll keep looking at him like that.

Many years have passed since someone last touched his cheek, smiling, their eyes telegraphing their happiness at just being in his space. From his experience, such gazes usually end in tragedy and leave him feeling more hollow than before.

I really am living in a badly written Shakespearean play, he thinks.

He does not give in to the urge to cower from her gaze, he grits his teeth and pulls his shoulders back instead. He tells himself she is sick, that she is hallucinating some long dead friend or relative, that what she is seeing is not him.

Elena has turned to stare at him as well, clearly mystified as to why the wolf would be so very happy to see Klaus. Touché. He’s hardly happy to see himself most mornings in the mirror.

However, this is happening even if it makes no sense. Klaus and Elena are both too flabbergasted to do much, Stefan is the one to steady Leah and help her regain ehr balance. Klaus watches with barely concealed annoyance as the woman does not remove her eyes from him, her gaze disgustingly sincere and happy.

Despite her initial shock, Elena jumps into action and slides her arm around Leah’s other side.

Leah is trembling in the vampire’s hold, her lips moving soundlessly and her body scorching heat. Klaus can feel it from across the room. He wants to step away from it, feeling hounded. He turns away and takes a breath he doesn’t need. Once composed he turns back, “Are you quite done now? I’m tired of this petty show.”

Stefan growls at him and Klaus sneers in response. “Something’s clearly wrong with her,”

He does not throw his hands up despite how much he wants to. “Didn’t I say so earlier?”

Elena flushes red and Klaus can’t help but feel mildly amused despite his unsteadiness of his thoughts. “Don’t you have a heart?”

“Of course not,” he says and returns to leaning against the desk. Casualness is an act he has perfected over time. “Hearts are for the living.”

“Only the beating ones,” Leah says and despite her having spoken earlier, Klaus feels shocked by her vocalisation.

He shifts but does not relax his pose, his sight hyper focused on the woman before him. She’s no longer crying at least, but her eyes have the glassy sheen that comes with tears, her face is flushed and her eyelashes clumped.

He remembers Rebekah looking at him like this once, he remembers brushing her hair from her face, whispering comfort as his sister shook in his arms. “I’ll protect you, always.” He said.

Leah’s swallow is audible.

After a moment Klaus scoffs, he says, “And what good are beating hearts?”

“Not much,”

“Beating hearts get you killed,” Klaus states as if lecturing a child.

Leah lets out a shallow sigh and smiles. It’s the most pitiful yet becoming Klaus had ever laid his eyes on. “But if you protect them properly, whether they beat or not isn’t important.”

EXTRA

Against her side, she feels how the wolf’s body trembles, slow and constant shudders. But it’s too warm for the woman to be cold and, besides her physical state, Leah is still gazing at Klaus with a look that reminds Elena momentarily of how Damon looks at her when he thinks she isn’t aware. It seems almost…loving, adoring even. For some strange reason it makes Elena feel desperately miserable.

Klaus doesn’t deserve such a look, Elena reasons, her lips dipping down at the corners. The pain he has caused me, caused everyone, is too great for him to receive such admiration.

When the vampire looks back up at Klaus, she wants to punch him. The man has turned away from the scene, clearly bored with the whole ordeal, one hand massaging his left temple. And still Leah wears that stupid expression and it makes Elena grind her teeth together.

“Are you quite done now?” Klaus asks and when he turns to them his eyes are narrowed. There’s a familiar black shadow burning the corners of his eyes. “I’m tired of this petty show.”

Stefan growls next to her and Elena can feel the sound in her bones, “Something’s clearly wrong with her,”

“Didn’t I say so earlier?”

Elena is fuming, she wants to punch his stupid face. “Don’t you have a heart?”

“Of course not,” the Original comments and returns to leaning against the desk. “Hearts are for the living.”

“Only the beating ones,”

Elena turns her gaze back to the wolf. Despite her earlier state, she seems to have regained her abilities. She’s still shaking though and she’s flushed a worrying red.. She swallows thickly, her gaze still on the man before them.

After a moment Klaus scoffs, he says, “And what good are beating hearts?”

“Not much,”

“Beating hearts get you killed,” Klaus says, tone sharp.

Elena can’t help but agree even though she desperately wishes her heart would beat again.

The woman sighs and Elena clutches her arm tighter. “But if you protect them properly, whether they beat or not isn’t important.”

Ah, that’s pretty cringe.

Chapter Text

(To say I’m furious is an understatement. Seth and I came as soon as we could, a small niggling part of me worried about Jacob’s safety, about what might happen after he disappeared and I yelled at Bella.

We get to the Cullen house and the air is heavy with blood and the unique sour of sweat.

Instantly, I reach out to stop Seth from entering the house - my fangs sinking into the scruff of his neck. He hisses and the resounding ‘I’m not a pup’ echoes in my head, but does not fight me this once, I’m grateful.

Death isn’t anything new, people die all the time. Boating accidents, heart attacks, diabetes, among many. I watched a man die once, saw him rolling on the floor, could smell the charr of his skin, could taste the smoke in my own mouth as the forest blazed. I wasn’t supposed to be there, wasn’t supposed to watch the firefighters yelling, their faces ashen. But Dougy had run away in all the commotion. The sheriff had run in after me and pulled me back, Dougy sat neatly in his car panting his little shepherd heart out.

I know without a doubt that Bella is no longer alive.

The house is mostly silent, save soft cooing and the crackle of a fireplace. I can feel Jacob’s heart like it’s my own, beating rapidly in my chest fit to burst out and maul the first vampire I see.

When nothing changes, I release Seth and approach the door, belly lowered almost to the ground, ears perked. No vampires come to stop us from entering but that doesn’t mean much.

The air is oppressive and the house unlit. I tilt my head and follow my nose to Jacob - finding Bella or whatever is left of her and her unborn child can come later. Jake is still alive, the thought of him being next almost chokes me.

We find him a room lit only by fire, kneeling on the ground in front of the blonde vampire.

The fur on my spine stands straight and I bare my teeth, ready to jump, tear, kill and protect.

“Stop,” Jake says and I whine but cannot help but relent.

Seth is behind me, I can hear his stream of questions, the buzz of anxiety in his internal voice. His nose brushes my tail.

I yap at Jacob, unwilling to move closer when he has already forbid attacking.

He laughs, like he can understand me, like he can read the stress in the line of our bodies without even facing us. The sound is disturbing when coupled with Bella’s blood. “Don’t, she’s mine.”

I don’t want to understand what he means, but I do. I do and every fibre of me aches.

Was it not just a few days ago that we sat together, that he told me he never wants to imprint?

Was it not me who said I’d kill to keep a child safe?

I stare at the two - three - of them together at the fire and within me my blood burns with the betrayal of it all.

Seth has moved past me to examine the child I can hear cooing but cannot see. I can't join him, can’t.

Is it so bad for me to have met someone that could be a friend? Who could understand my pain, besides Jacob? In an instant this too is ripped away and I’m drowning in my head, choking on the kind of hate I haven’t felt in years since becoming so numb.

I want to kill that child, want to rip it to shreds and set Jacob free from the hold of the imprint.

I back away slowly, limbs jerking. When I reach the door I blur into the forest, trying to breathe but drowning, burning alive.)

I’m not sure what I’m saying, not sure why the words from my mouth feel like a prayer. A plead.

I begged dad for takeout once, fingers sticky from sea water as we drove home. He laughed and took us home to grill fish. I’ve begged before, kneeling in the forest with hot tears on my face and hands in the soil. The ancestors did not answer me. I begged to die, a deformed and tired monster lying between sterile sheets. No one granted me death. I’ve begged and what I’ve learnt is that begging does not give you the answers you want.

So I stand here, wobbling on my own legs, a smile stretched thin and I beg. I beg through my eyes and the soles of my feet and through words that mean nothing. And I hope for once someone will hear me and answer me.

All the vampires in the room stare at me, moved to silence. Their gazes are piercing and the purse of their mouths unaffected. I don’t have the right words, I choke on what little confidence I have and it fizzles away, fire under rain.

How do you tell a perfect stranger that they are the sunlight plants use to grow, that they are the moon that pulls the waves and the wind that pollinates the fields? How do you tell a stranger that they are everything you ever needed despite not knowing them?

Despite not loving them.

I wonder, briefly, how the rest did it. Did Sam break down in tears the first time he lay his eyes on Emily? Did Paul babble nonsensically? I think of Jacob’s “stop, she’s mine” and his joy despite Bella’s death.

I imagine the returned joy of someone knowing and understanding and returning the excitement…and I watch as the man the fates paired me with looks indifferently back.

Perhaps there is order to this. Sam used to theorize the imprint was to facilitate future generations, which is laughable. Perhaps the imprint is here only to destroy me, to take away everything. Perhaps I messed up so royally somewhere along the line that the universe is conspiring against me. Why else would I still be alive?

As if it was not enough already, now my Fated One is a vampire. An Original Hybrid. A creature, so fearsome and horrible, that it does not deserve love either, according to Caroline.

Either the Hybrid agrees with her or he does not care for others, his clear disgust at my rapturous outpour says a lot.

His face is a mask of sharp angles and deep set eyes, the kind of face for movie villains or unattainable male leads. It does not divulge more than surface emotions, does not let me know or understand the broad line of his shoulders or the casual lean of his body.

I don’t know him.

But, apparently, he is the center of my universe.

And he doesn’t know, could not possibly ever understand what it’s like to be this infatuated. To be told for so long that your fate is to be alone, to see that echoed by the ones around you, and yet to have a stranger, your mortal enemy, suddenly thrust into your life, is this not a joke? Any moment now this too will be ripped away from me.

I told Elena earlier that the Wolf is a gift, I’ve not believed it for a long time.

Somehow, despite the fear of rejection and the anger at myself for daring to hope, despite the ice of his gaze, I feel whole and warm.

A large chunk of my monkey brain - the Wolf lurking beneath my skin - wants to bow down and grovel for his affection. She knows that validation from this person, any kind, would be enough. A subservient little cub hungry for attention and any kind of positive feedback.

So eager to please, I would do anything, anything if he would smile at me, say my name, tell me I’ve done well.

It’s a bitter realization that this is how I’ll lose what little of myself I have left. In finding my imprint, I’ve lost what lasting ties to freewill I have left.

I know the infatuation of the imprint is not all bad - I’ve seen it blossom between Paul and Rachel after all. But what adversity did he have to face? What pain did Sam suffer when Emily was so willing and I so weak? Jacob, in spite of Edward’s and Bella’s resentment, was welcomed into the Cullen family and that little girl (that precious child, with the heart of a steady lake) did not mind the attention she was lavished with.

Klaus will not.

I want to be anything I can be, any small nugget of importance he will allow.

Though, Klaus, I know already, does not need me, does not want me, does not care about some strange shapeshifter’s magical imprint. I will be discarded again and this time it will kill me for real.

Elena makes a comment and I turn my head to her, blinking as I shake off the fuzzy daze of my thoughts. All I could manage past the gnawing of my stomach is a grunt. “Huh?”

The female vampire gives me a concerned look; “Are you alright?” The way her lips purse ever so slightly suggests that she is questioning my sanity and, honestly, I can’t fault her. “You-you were saying strange things.”

I nod, eyes turning back to Klaus, unable to answer truthfully. I doubt I could ever be truly okay again. Not like this, I decide.

He is the air in my lungs, but I am nothing, which is worse than what I was to Sam. No wonder, I think, Sam could not love me, not if Emily is half what Klaus is to me.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” I say even as my chest squeezes and squeezes until the breath is gone from my lungs. Klaus stole it, but he doesn’t know and he cannot. I force a tremulous smile, not sure when the last one fell. “I’m fine.”

The vampires around me clearly do not believe me, it’s in their brows and the pinch of their lips. No one says anything contrary though.

Clearly having reached the limit of his patience, Klaus pushes himself straight and pull’s the vampire’s attention back to him with a snort. “Now that that show’s over. Let’s get on with why you came,”

“I think you know.” Elena says and her voice is colder than I’d heard it yet.

“Amuse me.”

Next to me Stephan shifts. “The cure, we could use your help.”

“We need it.” Elena corrects, earnest. “We can’t go up against this alone-”

“Yes, yes, I know. Do you really think I don’t understand what’s going on?” One of his long-fingered hands waves delicate, lazy circles in the air toward us. “Why would I help you?” he asks, his tone frosty. “I don’t necessarily like you, mind me, Elena, and I don’t trust Stefan enough to blindly follow you into the unknown.”

Next to me Elena snarls, looking more like a vampire than I had seen from her so far. “What, so you’d help us if we had one of your lackeys tag along?”

“And Damon won’t help?” Klaus sneers.

Elena is stiff as a board next to me.

My gaze is still on Klaus and so I see his eyes narrow minutely, I watch his eyes sparkle with a deadly threat that settles in the air, near tangible. I recognise that gaze as that of a predator, a creature used to staking out its prey and attacking where they’re most vulnerable. A brief flash of pride shakes me, my Wolf ecstatic to have such a strong mate.

I’m not sure what they’re asking for or why it’s so important. I can see the desperation battering up against Klaus’s wall of indifference and feel shame despite my wolf’s joy.

“He’s a bit unpredictable, however, I do like him more than I like the two of you.” He pretends to think for a moment, hand resting on his chin, “You’re aware that Damon has no interest in making Elena human again, correct?”

Stefan stiffens, “He’ll be happy for Elena, whatever she decides to do.”

It takes me a while before I understand what they’re talking about. I know a few vampires who’d do many things to be human again, if there were a cure for shapeshifting and all it has entailed for my life…I’d probably grovel at Klaus’s feet too.

“That’s what it all comes down to isn’t it? Elena, Elena. Everything is always about Elena. Stefan loses his humanity for Elena.” The vampires recoil at the words. “Caroline turns into a vampire, because of Elena.” My eyes dart to the side to affix on the girl’s contorted face. “Bonny’s grandmother dies, because of Elena. I make hybrids with Elena’s blood. Katherine is jealous of Elena. Both Salvatore brothers love Elena. Elena’s aunt is a sacrifice. Elena tries to have me killed. Elena chooses Stephan over Damon. Elena gets killed. Elena is a vampire. Elena doesn’t want to be one. Elena is all I ever hear about.”

We are silent, only my lonesome breaths fill the air. I’m reminded vividly of thinking the same thing about Bella years ago, when Jake was still madly in love with her.

“You see, Elena, I’m sick of everything always revolving around you. For some time it was amusing, but now I’m bored. You are not the only doppelganger, it might take me some time to find, but I’m sure there is another out there. I need you less than you expect. And how were you going to get me to agree? It’s clear that this wolf wasn’t an offering after all and how do I assume that as soon as you have the cure you’ll give me some of your blood? I find it hard to believe that you’d do that, and even less that Stephan or Damon would allow you to.”

“They don’t allow me to do anything,” Elena growls, “I’ll do as I wish.”

“And if your wish threatens Damon and Stefan’s position in your life?”

“We’ll do what Elena wants,” Stephan says with hard eyes.

“No, correction,” Klaus stalks across half the room to stare the vampires down. “You’ll do what Elena wants, Stefan. Damon will do what he pleases and finds appropriate to carry out his selfish ways.” He stares at Stefan, lips twisting into something vicious and knowing.

As if by saying this he had finished off his court case, Klaus turns away and strolls back to the desk, three sets of eyes following him.

He leaves in his wake that scent I first caught when entering the house. It curls around me, coaxing false peace. I want to follow it all the way to the scowling man across the room from me.

I expect Elena to continue fighting for what she wants, but she half-turns to Stefan and mutters a barely there, “Let’s go,”

They turn, with me still between them. But I can’t leave. Not now, not ever. Even if he doesn't want me, where else can I go? Should I not just endure this for as long as I can?
I have a reason to stay and quite frankly I want to stay. After all, there is nothing waiting for me beyond these walls anymore.

“Leah?” Elena asks when I don’t move.

I turn to her and give a small shrug. “I’m going to stay.”

“Stay?” Stephan says incredulously.

With a nod, my eyes flicker to Klaus, I watch his brief flicker of confusion that gets swallowed by a dark scowl. “Stay?” the Original copies.

“Yes,” I don’t have any valid or believable reasons to give him. I don’t know whether I will be able to stay, but I should still try. “I want to stay. Here.” My hands shake as I rake my brain for something, anything, that might work. “Klaus wants wolves, I need a pack, and you need a peace offering,” or a mediator, “It works out for the time being,”

“Who said you could stay?” Klaus growls.

I look at him, breathe deep. He smells like comfort, but his gaze promises anything but. This is all so hopelessly stupid. “I was hoping you would,”

I know from the short time I’ve been in the room, in his life, Klaus isn’t one to be gentle or forgiving. In fact, if I managed to get him to allow me to stay here, I might consider it a miracle in itself. My reasoning is clearly flawed, he does not know me, has no reason to accept my offer (my begging).

“You were now, were you?” His eyes sparkle with a meaning I cannot read, but I don’t bother to decipher it. He will say yes or he will say not, what comes after that…I’m not sure but I’ll have to make it work.

He stares at me for a long moment and I hold his gaze the best I can, barely breathing.

He seems to come to some conclusion and offers a smirk. “Very well, you may stay for now. I’ll have Hayley sort everything out for you.”

The female wolf slips into the room as soon as her name is mentioned. She gazes at Klaus with a question in her eyes. “Yes?”

Elena turns to me, “Leah, you don’t need to-”

“She wants to stay, let her.” Klaus interrupts and the female vampire’s face manages to go slightly green before she gives a curt nod and escapes the room with Stefan in tow. “Peace and quiet,” Klaus sighs and turns to look at me, “Hayley, show her a room and then bring her to me in the dining hall.”

“Of course,” the girl mutters and her mouth juts out in clear displeasure. “Follow me,” the woman frog marches me out of the room and for the second time that day I’m too confused and weary to do anything but obey.

Chapter Text

Hayley leads me up a set of grand curving stairs to the second floor. Our footsteps echo in the silence of the mansion.

I want to ask her...so many things, but this place has my hackles raised. I try not to look too twitchy following her. Now that I cannot see him - Klaus, my soulmate - the sheer absurdity of this situation has me feeling nauseous. This is the stupid shit that horror movies are made from, the decisions that have us yelling at our TV screens in dread.

She leads me down a hall and pushes open a door.

The room is big. I wince. No, that’s an understatement, the room is bigger than my home on the reservation. The ceiling is high and the floors a warm, varnished wood. Honest to god chandeliers drip their crystals from above me, glittering as the light from the windows shift.

I don’t move to go past her.

There’s something viscerally wrong about this, all of it. My body sings with the want to leave, run, go back. This is not how people live, I think to myself, not how people should live. This is a museum, not a home.

Hayley cocks an eyebrow at me. I swallow and shuffle past her in the doorway. Her shoulder brushes mine and there’s no comfort in it, no familiarity.

In the chamber, because it is a chamber - something plucked from historical novels or essays on colonial living - there’s a wine-red carpet laced with faded blue and cream patterns (I’m not sure what it’s called but I’ve watched enough television to know this is the fancy shit). The bed is too large for two people and decked with trimmed pillows.

I stand awkwardly at the edge of the carpet, too afraid to walk on it and get it dirty, and not sure what to do with myself now that I’m here. I can feel Hayley’s eyes on the back of my head, watching for something or maybe she doesn’t care. I peek at her, momentarily thrown by how in place she looks there in the doorway to this extravagant room.

My mind blinks back to that morning - the vampires framed in morning light, the twist of my stomach at the sudden self-consciousness. I want to shrug off the feeling that creeps right back up through my ribcage, but it’s persistent and Hayley continues to watch me, face carefully blank.

She’s his beta.

It goes without saying a man like him would only want the best.

I wonder as we stare at each other whether this will always be it. Him and her, with me skulking in the background - if they let me stay. I’m no stranger to being a background character, but for a moment I had hoped… no. It’s stupid. And I ache to think that if they don’t like me - gritty nails, uneven hair, bad conversationalist - they could throw me out. Just like that. Whoosh out the door.

And it would be Sam all over again - but this time so much more and less and everything. Everything.

“Impressive,” I offer weakly, hardly gesturing toward the claw footed dresser and wide, drape framed, windows.

Hayley offers a silent snarl in response. She either does not find it impressive or is unimpressed with my response to it. I decide to accept it as general discontent and not ponder the possible ramifications of an invasion on what clearly falls within her territory.

I realise then, with sinking hope, that any ideas I had about us being kindred spirits (female wolves! Can you imagine?) or at least passably amicable house mates was too long a stretch. She doesn't like me - understandable. I’m in her space, demanding to be part of her pack - okay, wow, pushy. I bombarded into her life, not considering before this moment whether she and Klaus were anything more than members of the same pack - fucking rude.

And whether she is his mate or not, whether she claims any right to his space or time or anything, she was here first. By rules of the jungle either we fight it out or I am accepted into a subservient position until I prove myself.

I’m so tired of fighting. So fucking tired of holding on with the ends of my nails, clawing to be accepted and worthy and seen. I doubt I could fight her, not like I am now, not when I have the knowledge that she is his in a way I may never be.

If I’m accepted into the pack, even temporarily, then I cannot afford to fight for her position. It might have been so much easier - no, it would have been - if he were not the alpha, if he were a mid-tear pack member. But he isn’t, so I’m bottom of the barrel all over again. This time though it would be so easy for him to kick me out. Hayley need just say the word.

Will he believe me? When I tell him…

Most days I could hardly believe the imprint was real and I’d spent a good long time surrounded by those afflicted. As the seconds tick by I become more unwilling to face that I must tell him and that he may not believe or may disregard it. Like I had tried so vainly to do on that beach so long ago.

“You’ll be staying here, for now,” the hybrid bites out, looking none too pleased at this. She waves a hand toward the large, thickly quilted bed and an adjoining bay window, half-hidden by ruby drapes. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she snipes.

I bite back a snarl of my own, trying to remind myself of the fragility of my position in this place. I turn my face away rather, drinking in the room once again. It’s...so red. Opulent and crimson, like the fanciful retelling of a bloody revolution. I sigh even as the hairs on my arms raise - guess I’ll just have to get used to it for now.

(The truck is awful to sleep in. Not that I’m sleeping much. But the windows are frosted, the radiator smells more of burning oil than any other feasible thing. I run hot, but that doesn’t make this cold comfortable.

I curl against the driver’s window, staring out into the trailer park. There’s a party happening a few vans down - lots of yelling and singing and the occasional smash of glass bottles. No one batted an eye at my truck earlier and it’s been dark enough tonight that no eyes trailed toward me in it.

High above, in the inky sky a few brighter stars peek through the trailing wisps of night vapor. There’s no moon tonight and the edges of the horizon are smudged orange from the distant city. I crack open the window, just a bit, and instantly smell a hint of rain, the ripeness of cow patties, and the sour of burning gas.

I close my eyes and try to imagine the stroke of mom’s fingers through my hair.)

“Are you coming?” Hayley asks, her eyes betray her annoyance even if her face is suddenly blank. She shoves herself from the doorway and turns. “Klaus doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

As if some switch has been flipped, the room seems brighter. His name acts as a call to the heavens, light seems to stream through the windows, glinting off crystal and softening the harsh edges of the lavish room into something warm and welcoming.

He’s not even here, I muss. He’s a stranger, but...is the mere mention of him (now that I’ve met him, seen his face, heard his voice) so impactful? Will this be how it always is? I thought, after the initial imprinting, that maybe the buzzing of my skin and the swell of longing in my ribs would dissipate. It’s still here though.

I cringe, maybe it’s still too early.

The gooeyness of this whole thing feels too eerily like those perfect months pre-Emily. Absolutely nothing good could stem from starry eyes and a fluttering heart – Sam proved that to me the hard way.
Hayley walks like a woman on a mission back through the passageway and to the stairs. Since I’ve noticed the grandiose of the place I can’t seem to stop. This floor seems to be mostly carpeted; our footsteps lost to the world. Portraits of stuffy, rigidly posed people wearing dated formal attire line one wall, interspersed with hanging ornaments. By contrast the stairway is minimalist, but no less a design feat.

Hayley glides down it in the way of romance novels and princess films. I shuffle my way behind her, eyes darting across the expansive entrance. Truly taking it in for the first time.

……

Klaus is seated at a surprisingly small, paint-chipped table; a blatant contrast to the rest of the house and the room it was in. He is leaning over a page when we come in, but as soon as we set foot through the archway, he neatly folds it in half and pushes it across the table. To replace the abandoned paper, he reaches for a decanter and pours himself some of the scarlet liquid.

I loathe to let my mind wonder at it and so keep my eyes on the hybrid instead of the glass he’s cradling. He doesn’t look up, merely waves a free hand in our general direction and smoothly supplies Hayley with an order to leave us alone. I would gloat at the sour expression that crosses her face, but our earlier frustration at each other seems to vanish in Klaus’ presence.

Alone with the Original I’m nervous. The fear from earlier simmers in my belly, warring with the undiluted yearning that comes with seeing him.

Go to him - run away,

hold him - you’re not safe,

be at peace - I’ll never know peace.

I wait silently on my spot, torn, waiting for an order? Permission? A threat? I don’t know. I don’t know.

“Leah, was it?” he asks eventually and his voice has the buzzing rise to a cacophony of dizzying euphoria.

I shake my head, nod, shake my head again. It’s like I can feel his voice, a clandestine ringing of distant bells - persistent and beautiful and whywon’titstop. “Yes,” I sort of half-breathe, trying to focus on his words rather than the effect of them. I clear my throat, it doesn’t do much to help, “Leah Clearwater,”

Klaus falls silent for a moment. His gaze is assessing, and every inch of my body warms with it. He makes a low humming sound and sips from his glass, staining his lips red for a moment. “You’re native?”

Instantly I’m not spellbound but bristling. The question makes me want to snarl and yell and demand what he means by that. But his tone is monotonous, not judging or even curious. It’s just a question, I tell myself, he doesn’t mean anything by it. My lips twitch anyway, and I run a hand through my hair, wishing I had tied it up. Wishing I could go and keep going until whatever this is stops and leaves me and lets me breathe and I just don’t want to be here. “If you mean American, then yes, I’m Native American,” Pure with three bloodlines running through my veins, best you’ll get from anyone running away from any reservation.

His lips tighten minutely. “Attitude,” the one word is punctuated by the clear allure of his eyes; cold, hard and unfeeling, also grudgingly admiring. “You’re not Pamunkey or Mattaponi,” Before I can respond or even think of demanding how he knows this, he continues. “Newcomers are rather uncommon here; the only ones who come and go are those who wish to kill or be killed. And you do seem rather keen on aligning yourself with beasts. I could sense the dread on you the moment you set foot in my study. You must not understand what you’ve gotten yourself into, Ms Clearwater.”

“That’s a rather wide assumption,” he raises one perfect brow and I grunt in displeasure, “Okay, so you’re right. I’m not from here, I don’t know what the fuck is going on. But here I am.”

Klaus looks me over with an intense glower, it’s meant to be intimidating and it is. “I don’t understand why you came. This town is hardly a place for escapism. There is nothing to appease you here, if it's excitement you seek. Mystic Falls is a tedious place, barring the seasonal balls, those are quite splendid.” He pauses for a second and amends, “Quarrelling with Salvadors has its perks, too.”

He does not sound particularly contrite; in fact, he sounds amused. The sheer TV marketing feel of this conversation has me relaxing and tensing in equal measure. “I’m not looking to escape or for excitement. I’d like to make up my own mind about Mystic Falls, too.”

“You would, would you?” The question is dry, it makes me squirm across the room. He places his glass down with a soft thunk. “Do you care to enlighten me as to why you came here?”

The air feels thinner for a moment – hope or dread? – and I decide to try my luck, I look into his intense sapphire eyes, my breath bated. “May I sit down?”

A moment pauses in which he seems to think before he extends his arm towards the other side of the small table where there is a solitary chair. “Please, be my guest,”

The phrase doesn’t sound at all welcoming from him, more of a challenge really, but still manages to sound frigidly polite. If Klaus wanted to hurt me, table or not, he would do it, that was a certainty. So, I take the seat with more feigned confidence than I have ever felt, shift around for a moment on the velvet cushion before leaning forward to place my hands on the wooden surface of his desk. From here I can gaze directly into his eyes. They are…colourful and tired.

The buzz from before starts once again. I discover that I want to please him, tell him everything he wants to know. “Where do you want me to start?” I choke out.

“The beginning preferably,” his accent strengthens along with the tone of aggravation. Klaus leans back in his chair and brings the crystal glass to his lips, takes a sip and when the glass is set down again his mouth is stained crimson.

I sigh at the queasy flip of my stomach and tamp my fingers against the table in thought; this is going to be a long story. I skim my mind as to what could be considered the beginning. I guess the beginning of the wolves, of me, was as good a start as any. “Many decades ago, my ancestors-”

“Oh, please, no,” he grouses, his full, bloodied lips turning down at the corners in displeasure, “I don’t want to hear from that far back. You’re here because I thought it might amuse me to keep you around. If your only goal is to bore me to my demise, then I have no need for you.” He waves his free hand at me with a distinguished flourish, “Start somewhere sooner… your story,”

My cheeks puff out at the sheer unbelievable, thick-headed man and I drop my head on the table with a thud. I’m exhausted. I’d already had to explain some of my backstory to Elena and Caroline earlier this morning and here I am again. Well at least I get to skip over the sketchy details of being a shapeshifter. I breathe deep, raise my head and I tell him about my pack – my old pack – how we started phasing when the vampires came back to town and how the wolves were male, all except me. As I retell the story I’m careful to leave out the name of our reserve, our town, our people, and any names actually. Names can be traced, and Klaus has already shown his deductive skills in light of very little information.

He might be my Fated One, that does not mean I’ll trust him with the lives of my family.

I explain my relationship with Sam shortly, officially his is the only name I end up using, funny how that works. I stutter over how he fell in love with my cousin due to something called an imprint, an event I don’t bother to describe in detail. All Klaus needs to know is that it, whatever it was, happened. I carry on, explaining how one of our pack members imprints on a young vampire and because of the child we are forced to stand with the vampires in battle against the Voltouri.

Here is where he stops me, brows raised and clearly confused, “Again with this ‘imprint’. I don’t understand it. It is like falling in love, yes? And if so, your friend fell in love with a child, a baby.”

His crude phrasing makes me cringe and I scrub a hand over my face. I loathe to contest him on this when it makes me sick myself, but…“Well technically she’s a half vampire, so she won’t be a child forever. But yes, the imprint is similar to the concept of falling in love, except more intense, like the bond between soulmates. A tie between people that supposedly gives their lives meaning.”

He falls silent for a moment, his lashes fluttering, “Soulmates,” he looks up again and sighs, “A complete waste of able bodies. Love is a hassle; this imprint is no better.” I wither slightly at his words and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from protesting when all I’ve done so far was call it senseless myself. “The Voltouri, they are vampires,” He carries on smoothly as if he hadn’t just made me want to drown myself in quicksand, granted he didn’t know that these were my sentiments.

I blink a few times to orientate myself before slowly nodding my head, either Klaus knows of the red-caped bloodsuckers or he is simply very observant. Either way, his words aren’t a question. “Yes, they’re supposedly the ‘leaders’, the strongest vampires or coven, I guess. I never bothered to learn too much about them.” I cringe at my lack of knowledge, feeling like a scolded schoolchild.

Klaus seems none too impressed with this explanation and leans his head back slightly as if offended at the mere possibility of anyone being stronger than him. The angle shows off his jaw and the slightest shadow of stubble along his cheeks. “Continue from the battle.” he instructs resolutely.

Biting off my interest for this reaction, I do as I’m told. I pick up when the Voltouri leave and no one is harmed, our packs reassemble. Thereafter, I make vague mention of our mental connection and how I can hear Sam thinking about my cousin – I leave out how unpleasant an experience it was, how every change felt of torture. I skip to the part where we sense a vampire on our territory, and how I foolishly decide to take it on alone. I am injured by the vampire and am confined to bed. One of the vampires happens to be a doctor and he assists my recovery. The vampires take me in and take care of me until I am well again and one of them helps me plan my leave. She makes specific mention of a place called ‘Mystic Falls’ and a coven of vampires called ‘Salvatore’ that may just help me. It is with her help I leave for this place.

“And here I am.” I gesture around me, Klaus doesn’t react much, I almost hope that it means he has no more questions. It’s been an awfully long day, my throat is dry, I’m getting hungry again.

“How did you come to meet Elena and find the Salvatores?” The slight interest that was in his eyes seconds ago vanishes, replaced by something darker.

“Oh, that,” I frown at this non-detail. Is he testing me to see if any of the vampires had put me up to a scheme? If they had used the compulsion-whatwhat? “Damon, he showed up at the Mystic Grill and, after insulting me, tried to get me tipsy on shots. He introduced me to Elena and Caroline. Stefan came by this morning.”

Klaus remains quiet, staring at his empty crystal glass. After a while he nods, “What amusing things did they tell you about me?”

Amusing? Sarcasm so early in our relationship, I feel honoured. I shrug, “Not much, just some stuff about Hybrids and Originals and you wanting Elena’s blood for some reason and them generally not being your biggest fans.” And talking circles and circles around the topic of Klaus.

“That sounds pleasant enough,” he comments disbelievingly.

“Enough,” I nod, paying careful attention to the tense areas around his eyes, sarcasm can’t hide pain. “May I ask you something?”

“If you absolutely must,” he’s as eager for questions as I am.

“How is it that you’re here all alone, with only Hayley as company?”

“A rather presumptuous question, you don’t know enough about me to ask that yet, Miss Clearwater.” His brows lift to show mild amusement, a welcome sign after all the glowering.

“You said I could ask,” I remind futilely. How does he expect me to anything if he won’t speak? Though, that’s a decent way to keep me out of whatever loop he’s moving through.

“And I did not say I would answer,”

“Touché,” He has a point there, but there is something else bothering me. I lean forward, closer. “You called me ‘Miss Clearwater’, no one has ever called me that in my life and quite honestly it’s weird.”

My nose wrinkles, thinking of the familiarity of growing up on a reservation. “But if you’re going to continue doing so, I just need to know if this mean I need to call you Mr Mikaelson.”

Klaus blinks slowly then smirks, the slightest upturn of his lips that manages to look menacing, “I don’t fancy the sound of that. ‘Klaus’ will do for now,”

“Okay then, Klaus,” ‘For now’, it holds the promise of more time spent here. I feel somewhat dizzy with the possibility.

He watches me, gaze searing and yet cold, he does not blink. I try to match him in whatever stare down we’re engaged in, but ultimately the awkwardness of it gets to me.

“So... food?”

“Oh yes,” he taps his fingers against the table in a tattoo that’s strangely melodic. “You won’t drink blood,” He sighs heavily, sounding burdened by my clear need for real sustenance, “Hayley can make you something, I’m sure.”

“No offense, but I don’t trust her not to poison it the moment no one’s looking,”

“None taken,” he states, that smirk growing; the look in his eyes either categorising me as perfectly insane or awfully smart for not trusting the hybrid. “You may use the kitchen if you have to,”

“Thank you,” I say and stay sitting. My eyes trace the fall of his hair, hand-rumpled and the curls hanging limp. I consider telling him. How though? My hands are sweating despite clouds having stolen any sunlight from the room and suddenly I can’t breathe all too well, not now. I can’t do it just yet… I move to stand, but pause, a very rational part of my brain warns me that Klaus can be unpredictably controlling. “May I go?”

“Yes, have Hayley show you the way to the kitchen.” When he says nothing more I stand and move to the archway, disappointed and feeling entirely too stupid. “But, I must warn you, you cannot kill me, it is impossible. Many have tried and failed, there will be more, I hope for your sake you are not one of them. If you even attempt to shove a stake, a dagger, or whatever extraordinary trinket you find, through my heart…I will abandon the rules of host-guest hospitality and kill you. Painfully. I believe you would like to skip the torture that comes before death.”

My lips purse involuntarily. Well, I guess if someone tried to stab me and I lived, I’d be pretty pissed too. (I don’t see her, but Jane’s presence is more psychological than anything at this point. In the edges of my dream there are glimmers of blonde hair and the low breathy snarl of a vampire. Electricity courses across my skin and I hunker down, trying to hide in the wide open space of my mind.)

My gut churns. “Got it, no assassination attempts,”

“And one more thing, Leah Clearwater,” I pause again, wondering if there can be any more threats to be said, “if you go into any of the rooms that you have not been shown or invited into, I will rip out your heart and feed it to you. I do not appreciate anyone meddling with my things or spying on me. If your life is worth anything to you, and I assure you it isn’t worth much to me, I suggest you keep this in mind.”

This time I scowl openly at him, offended. Okay sure, territory yada yada. But ripping out my heart was a little extreme for wandering to a room. I shove down the annoyance and manage a nod.

It’s only as I’m leaving the room that it seems to sink in. He’s letting me stay.

Chapter Text

Emily nudges my side and sends me one of those infuriating secret smiles, which at any other point in our lives I would have returned with enthusiasm. I can’t now. Not now. My lack of response does not deter her though. She rolls her eyes and links her arm with mine, forcing me to lean closer and look in the same direction in which she is gazing.

Sam, the object of her adamant observation, is helping Seth lift driftwood onto the back of that stupid red pickup truck. Shirtless, why the hell is he shirtless? In all the years we had dated Sam had never expressed the need to show off his body, not that he was shy with it. This is different though, it’s deliberate. Why does today have to be different? Why did Emily have to look at that bare chest in interest? Why?

The ache from earlier has not waned. This morning feels light years away. How can it have been this morning? It can’t possibly still be today. I swallow, forcing bile back down my throat.

“Come on!” Emily whines, pleading and frustrated at my lack of response, she shakes my arm. “You can’t possibly tell me you don’t find him attractive,”

I want to yell at her that I know. I know he’s good looking and funny and his eyes are intense. I know what his lips taste like in the morning. I know that he prefers to wear green socks. I know his voice past midnight, whispering in the forest as both our chests heave. I know so well how attractive he is, how the ladies at the supermarket waggle their brows and giggle and how mom will nudge me with a gleam in her eye.

I wanted to shove away my cousin, run screeching into the ocean hopefully to be swallowed by frigid waves and never allowed to resurface. But I don’t, I can’t, because Seth looks our way and waves bright and unfailingly oblivious. He is a beacon of light in the dull fog that is clouding my mind. I won’t cry in front of him. Never in front of Seth, when I’m sure he is all I have now.

I can’t be weak, not with Sam right there.

The world is spinning, my stomach cramping, and someone has unfairly sucked all the oxygen from the air. It’s so difficult to breathe. Emily doesn’t seem to notice that the air is thinner or that maybe our breakfast was poisoned. She is smiling and her eyes flitter excitedly over Sam’s back when he bends to pick up more wood. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and I’m reminded of a teenage Emily, all blushes and giggles. I didn’t think I’d see that girl again, not now, not when it was Sam.

But it is Sam. Oh fuck, it’s Sam.

Emotion chokes me and I have to break from Emily’s hold to walk away from the whole thing. I clutch my sides, my fingers digging against my skin, and I stare at the damp sand, willing the blurry film to disappear from my eyes. I’m trembling, I can’t make myself believe it is from the cold. I try to breathe and it's like drowning.

I just want to stop thinking, stop feeling, stop existing.

My legs carry me to the edge of the water where my toes start to numb from the cold. It is there that I stop; simply staring into the waves and watching the water create white foam. The liquid sucks at me, dragging the sand from beneath my feet, trying to drag me back into the ocean with it. I want to let it, but my knees are locked and they stay rooted, slowly letting me sink down and down.

Wind roars in my ears, whipping hair against my cheeks, creating stinging streaks of fire along my skin. It forces my eyes to water some, not enough to unleash the cries, but enough to make my lips part and gasp for breath. The sea is salty on my lips, as if the ocean breeze is weeping in my stead. Its clammy air dampens my face.

“Le-le?” My body stiffens and I blink away the moisture in my eyes, licking my lips as I draw in deep breaths. Emily comes up beside me, her sweet face scrunched in concern. She places a hand on my cheek, gently stroking the unusually pallid skin. “Are you getting ill?” She frowns, “You’re cold. Come on. Seth and Sam are finished with the wood, let’s go get you warmed up,”

I look at her with downturned lips, feeling tired and burning and fragile as a butterfly wing, “No,” I step away from her kind hands; they make me feel worse. I want to hate her. I want to wallow in self-pity. I can’t accept her sincerity. I can’t be made happy by her gentle words. It’s spiteful, I think distantly, and I don’t want to be made happy right now. So I shake my head and firm my lips around my words. “I don’t want to go back yet, just leave me.”

Emily blinks in surprise and steps toward me, her feet finally entering the surf. The sand has sucked me down to her height. She cringes at the cold and glances uncertainty from me to the icy water, “Really, Leah? I think you need to get out of this and get warmed up. We don’t need to have my stupid secret welcome party. I can make you some soup.”

“I don’t want your help,” I rasp, my brows dropping lower over my eyes, my face scrunching. “Please, just leave me alone.”

“Le-le, I -”

“Go!” I say and lurch from the sand to push at her, my breaths are laboured. She is blurry, but the look of shock on her face is too much. I curl back in on myself, focusing my eyes out to sea. “I can’t look at you right now. I don’t want you to do anything, please leave me alone. Can’t-can’t you at least give me that? Let me be alone. Please.”

She blanches but does not reach for me again, “Leah, I don’t understand. What did I do?”

My breath hitches and a tear escapes the corner of my eye, I dash it away angrily and glare at her bare feet. Of course she doesn’t know, Emily would never think someone was capable of hurting me. Emily with her compassion and her innocent joy; Emily, beautiful and smart and graceful; Emily could never understand something as ugly as this. Something as nasty as my need to feel the pain and bare it alone, no, it wasn’t something she could ever hope to understand.

(I do not account for the day Sam reveals the imprint, I do not account for when she realises the extent of my and Sam’s relationship. How one day her eyes will fill with pity but she will stay standing at his side.)

“Nothing, nothing,” I squeeze my eyes closed and sigh, “Please, just give me some time. I’ll come home in a short while… I just need to think and breathe.”

She hesitates, “Okay, but if you take longer than a half hour I’m sending a search party to bring you back.”

I nod and keep my eyes closed. I wait. Several minutes pass before I open my eyes and survey the absence of people. It fills me with bitter satisfaction and a dark hole in my chest radiates loathing. My feet burn with the cold as I trek back to the sand; leaving the sucking water behind me, bereft of a body to drag into its glacial depths.

The damp ground makes a compelling sitting place and I settle here to watch the ocean churn back and forth across the beach. It engraves a lulling numbness to where before there were jagged edges. After a while I can almost forget that there was ever hurt to begin with and soon my chest feels hollow and my mind empty. The numbness is so thorough that I can hardly tell if my heart is beating or if I’m breathing.

It doesn’t last long though.

When I blink again the sun is starting to set over the ocean and just a ways up the beach there are two figures coming towards me. I push to my feet and meet them halfway.

Sam moves fast.

The numbness makes way for a dull throbbing that brings back the nausea.

They both move fast, I note.

Emily and Sam walk so close that their hands brush. Sam’s eyes are trained to the top of Emily’s head, gaze openly burning with...something. A something that despite our years together, I never saw on his face when looking at me.

“Leah,” Emily says, concerned but quietly happy.

My throat clenches and all I can manage is a silent nod in their direction.

In my head, raw static overtakes the calm repetitive crash of waves. I’ve never felt so broken.

Chapter Text

Despite my initial misgivings at the opulence of Klaus’s mansion, in the end it’s a boon. When lying in the bed, the door firmly shut but curtains wide open, with my body encased in weighted blankets, the pillows shoved to the floor, I can breathe.

This is nothing like the Cullen’s house, there is nothing sterile or impersonal about the moonlight reflecting off the crystals of the chandelier. There’s nothing that screams of recovery and pain when surrounded by so much…muchness. Sleeping here is like being a child again, where everything is so big and yet so curious.

I sleep well, curled with soft sheets between my fingers.

However, that comfort is short-lived. Living with Klaus is...decidedly unpleasant.

I remember what it was like with Seth as a toddler. The tantrums, the mood swings - living with Klaus is much the same. He vacillates wildly from deranged smashing of anything he can get his hands on to serene sipping of a glass of blood at the fireplace. And he draws, paints, whatever, a lot. I’ve not figured out what tips him from one to the next yet - granted the Salvadors certainly have somewhat of a hand in his manic episodes.

Other than railing against the world and contemplating the arts staring into a dead fireplace, I’m not sure what he does. What they do. Hayley is just as much a mystery as Klaus. She’s always here, a shadow, leaving the house as far as I know only when Klaus does. Not that they grace me with their presence long enough for me to be sure what they are doing most of the time.

Living is incredibly boring.

As far back as I can remember every moment was one of purpose, even times of leisure never felt empty. There was always something to do, even if the doing wasn’t of much significance. Now the minutes drag by, encumbered by uncertainty of my place and the weariness of my hosts.

I wonder if this is what it feels like to be trapped. Animals in traps will panic at first, struggle to get out, after a time they’ll huddle and wait, anxious, shaking - too scared to sleep, too ready for flight to eat or find any sort of pleasure. If they know the trapper perhaps they won’t bite.

At least in Forks, stuck as I was with the pack, there was the comfort of familiar sights and scents. They were a large part of every day but they were not everything - not everything in the way Klaus was since the moment I first saw him. Klaus is not a benevolent trapper checking a microchip. Klaus is an unpredictable element, he could clip my wings or take my fur.

I can’t - won’t - leave him though.

He would not have let me stay without a reason, but so far I’ve not learnt of it. I could be invisible for how much interaction I receive.

If they have jobs they’re well disguised and if they have any other tasks they’re quiet enough that I do not know of it. Hayley is almost always there when I see Klaus, a venomous shadow glaring at me, until I leave. I’ve only seen them actually leaving the mansion a few times and once I tried to follow.

(We are barely at the road before Klaus turns and snarls. I do not flinch from my hiding spot behind a decorative hedge. “What are you doing?”

I peek my head out with a grimace, “Following?”

His eyes bleed black for a second and it makes every muscle in my body seize. “Don’t.”

Then, before I can even blink, they’re gone. No sound of gravel crunching, no leftover scent in the air. I’m physically unable to take another step after them. I crumple into the hedge with a moan Seth would call dramatic.

Fucking vampires and their weird mind control magic.)

One thing is for sure, Klaus didn’t lie about Mystic Falls being dull, but then again I blame the boredom on him. The one day I’d tried to venture out to scope out the town, unconsciously at the same time as him (different from the day where I actively tried to follow), Klaus all but locked me inside to keep me from wandering after him. I’m not sure what he feared exactly, as he had said, my life doesn’t mean much to him after all.

I do my own exploring, mostly of Klaus’ home, trying to memorise all the nooks and crannies, careful to leave closed doors as they were. I come across portraits of stately gentlemen and extravagantly haired ladies, portraits of people long passed, and some breath-taking landscapes, a bust of a narrow nosed man, and a detailed vase depicting bright yellow roses. His study interests me most of all; books line the walls, old and new, surrounding a hearth and in the middle of the room his desk and an overly plush chair. It is physically the warmest room in the house, despite the pyre never being lit when I enter, and Klaus’ scent clings to everything in it.

Despite him never formally inviting me into the room, I assume that since I’ve already been in it before, it’s okay to go there again. (Besides he never once confronts me.) Even so I am careful.

My feet rustle along the floor, eyes searching the shelves until I find my prize. Previously, I’d found an old shaving kit meticulously looked after but obviously too old and blunt to still be in use, a jar of random coins, and a warped vinyl covered in retro club stickers.

(For a moment I can’t breathe for the carved starfish left in my drawer in La Push. For the unwearable wristband that Seth made using kelp one fall. The crinkled and torn copy of a flyer for the Elwha Ecosystem Restoration Project taped to my door.)

This time, a book. The book, its cover faded brown leather, the pages yellowed and stained, sits amongst a host of others, inconspicuous. The cover is soft and worn leather, buttery and made thin by many caressing fingers. I flip it open, to a page at random, the spine bends unhindered at the movement. Despite how I strain my eyes and tilt the sheet, I cannot understand the words written there. They are letters I’m familiar with, but the words were a messy jumble – a different language. But so beautifully slanting and concise in their script that it’s hard to look away from.

Tracing fingers over the hurried scribbles, I soak in the smooth edges of each letter; the curve of ‘c’ and the stretched dot of ‘i’. Unconsciously, I turn the page, again and again, until I reach a change. Instead of writing, the yellowing page is covered in a sketch, a very accurate one at that. My breath catches as it traces the fine features, lingering on the model’s painfully human face. A young girl, with light hair and eyes, a face shining with joy; each feature lovingly sketched with ink, even without knowing her, I can see no inaccuracies. It’s simple in its care and yet so well-drawn that it could be a photograph.

For the longest while I stare at her, even though her ink has bled somewhat and faded with time it’s still some of the best free-hand sketching I’ve ever seen. So good in fact that I wonder how often Klaus must have stared at her and appreciated her laughter, been wholly enraptured by her to create such a visage. The hastily scrawled word Rebekah is my only clue. A sister? A friend? Either way I feel a prickle of envy at her every line.

With one last look at the book – Klaus’ personal scribbling, it must be – I replace it carefully and step away. The book seems to be the oldest or at least the most used considering its condition. Every fibre is interwoven with Klaus’s scent, it could only be his. I think of his age (a time undefined in my head, but clearly much older than I could imagine) and the things he must have seen and felt throughout his long life. Could this be a journal? I shake my head, I doubt Klaus would leave anything quite so private lying around for anyone to pick up and indulge in, the past contains everyone’s darkest secrets.

I glance around the room, my eyes snagging on a few new sheets of paper crumpled at the foot of Klaus’ desk. The waste basket is usually overflowing and I’ve never bothered to look into it. Now, with the invitation to look so accessible, I itch. It isn’t right of me to snoop around his things, he’d been pretty harsh about this, but my curiosity wins over and my fingers reach for one page. To say I’m surprised at what I find is an understatement; I very nearly choke on the air in my lungs. The smoothed out page has my eyes making contact with no one other than Caroline. His depiction of her is perfect, a masterpiece in and of itself.

My lips twist as I stare into the eyes of Elena’s friend, Klaus truly put everything he had into the image – the girl might have been more beautiful on paper than the real object. If the sketch of Rebekah woke my envy, this one… it lights my chest on fire. My breath whistles out between teeth and my eyes sting when I don't blink. I crumple the picture anew and reach for another page. I squeeze my eyes closed: more Caroline.

I haven’t known the girl long enough to like or dislike her yet. She seemed alright, but a strong part of me is simmering in fury now. The Wolf brushes at the edges of my mind seeking to escape and put bestial jaws around Caroline’s neck. It is a bad idea; one I’m sure would cost me my life if what I see in these drawings is correct. Klaus, I conclude, is in love, there is no way to deny it with the way he filled her eyes with adoration and her lips with mirth.

(La Push is warming with the onset of spring, but the ocean breeze is frigid. The wind is coming from the north and if you squint just right you could maybe pretend to see the snowy peaks of Canada. It whips my hair from my pathetic attempt at holding it away from my face and slaps them at my cheeks consistently.

Across the beach Emily screeches as Sam throws her over his shoulder and charges into the churning water. The pack is splashing in the waves and laughing as Sam and Emily crash in their midsts, sending up a spray of glittering droplets.

It’s cold and the sunlight is tepid and my stomach is cramping around emptiness. I curl into my jacket, rubbing my fingers over the abrasive surface of an abalone shell.)

It’s not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair.

In my hands Caroline’s face morphs into Emily’s and my breath freezes in my throat. I want to cry, but my body croons something different. No… I crumple the page and let it fall to the floor, my skin tight and itchy as I hurry from the study. No. The world tilts just a smidge sideways, blurring, as I stumble for the steps. No! I breach two stairs at a time, not caring about the way the ground shifts unnaturally beneath my soles.

Breathing hard, I lurch into the room and shove the door closed a split second before the first scream parts my lips. I slump to the floor, trembling and shaking uncontrollably. The force of the screams grate my throat, my back arches and my neck strains banging against the door. Knock knock knock-

Familiar in a way that is decidedly not welcome.

Tendons rear up and protest the cage of my skin, undulating against sinew and bone. I pull taunt, a curved bow, as cramps overtake and the ache of muscles reforming fire red hot pulses into my brain. Pressure behind my eyes warns of the oncoming of tears, streaking down my face and falling to the floor near silent under my cries.

They ring in my ears, under the sound of blood rushing and a galloping pulse, quieting the birds from the trees and the soft drone of cars outside.

I can feel my body rejecting itself, trying to snuff me out. A consistent tug at consciousness and being.

It’s Jane all over again, and this time there’s no one to save me.

I feel more than hear the first bone snapping, the force reverberates through the rest of my body and makes my screaming falter for a moment. My mind swims. I gasp for air .

Then it starts anew, louder, a high pitched siren’s cry. The next few breaks are preceded by screams. Everything, every neuron and cell of my being shifts off course.

It must be hours.

Days.

Months.

The pain dissipates eventually and I lie gasping desperately as the shudders subside. When my eyes finally crack open, the world is in a nauseatingly familiar muted grey-scale. My chest seizes as I try stumbling to my feet. As if somehow I could outrun the inside of my own head, the fractured light in my eyes. The burning need to run, get away, not again, please no-

Instead of facing it, I hide my head, eyes squeezed firmly shut.

Long moments pass and there is no pain. The panic starts to ebb away and awareness sets in increments. There are four paws on the ground beneath me, my body rests with the weight and itch of fur. Atop my head my ears flick at the sound of the outside world.

It is with both relief and trepidation that I uncurl and open my eyes.

The opulent room of reds is a peltry greyish brown, there are dust motes in the curtains, and stray fibres in the carpet. My arms are two giant paws coated in coarse silver.

Around me is the detritus of the change: clothing scraps, claw marks, and trace amounts of blood. I eye these markers wearily, eyes darting across the room as the reality of it settles in. There was no joy in the change, not this time (not the last time either) but laying here, body reformed, there’s a curl of excitement thrumming under the anxious twist of my stomach.

The house is mostly quiet, the kind of quiet that would unsettle a human. But the house is also loud, the bones of civilization aching with age and wear. There’s a lamp downstairs buzzing faintly with electricity. And outside...outside the world is a cacophony of sound. The disparity makes me whine and wobble to my feet.

I venture across the room, the beam of sunlight from the window highlights my fur and sinks into me. The warmth curling across every nerve ending, making my spine curl, my tail bob side to side.

It’s still day.

The mirror across the room reflects back a hulking mass of fur, two twitching ears, a pointed snoot, and a long swaying tail. For a moment the tail pauses as I stare at myself.

(I make sure Seth is well and truly gone before I shut the door and windows. I pull my clothes off and fold them meticulously to buy time. Yet soon that task is complete, too, and I’m standing bare in the center of my room. I try not to think of the last time I changed indoors, try not to think about dad’s body in the hospital, his gasping breaths.

Breathing deep, I pull at the string of my wolf and she comes as fast and forceful as a crashing wave. Within a second I’m crouched on all fours in the middle of the room, blinking away the perspective change with practiced patience. I do an experimental stretch, luxuriating in the feeling of pleasure as the muscles pull.

After a while I approach the mirror which I’d set out with caution.

Staring back at me is a wolf - which, I knew it would be, but it’s still jarring and for the first few seconds I bare my teeth and snarl at the creature before I can calm down enough to properly look.

I’m big, which considering the size of the other wolves makes sense, just slightly bigger than a natural wolf but not a mammoth like Jake or Sam. The fur along my body is long and thick, like the bear and wolf pelts in the museum, it shifts in the dreary sunlight from the window. A shimmering waterfall of silver and black, stripes of fur curling around my head with white highlighting the soft of my belly.

As I stare at myself, deep eyes roam and rounded ears twitch - if I had not known it was me, I’d think the wolf was beautiful, maybe cute. My head tilts and the mane along my chest moves. I yip at my own image and the wolf barks back. The urge to play grabs me before I can think it through and I launch myself at the mirror for an attack.)

The wolf in the mirror is familiar in the way that she is no different than the last time I saw her - that is, through Renesmee’s memories. There are no overt signs of the trauma Jane inflicted, every facet of the wolf in front of me is as it should be.

My ears are pinned back and my tail holds still, uncertain.

I pull myself from the mirror and pad my way to the stream of sunlight. The circle of warmth is welcome as I curl myself down into a ball, mind racing.

There should be a jubilant celebration, but instead I’m just relieved. At least if I cannot change back then my wolf is still whole and hale enough to survive in for the foreseeable future.

The agony of the phase is a buzzing reminder in the back of my primal mind. My body twitches in its ball at the reminder of those months past. The uncertainty of my condition, my livelihood, and the future has been constant for a long time now, this does not change that. This is, if anything, a reminder of the possibilities.

After a while the restlessness takes root and I stretch, pushing up to my paws to wander around the room. Nose pointed, I explore the corners and crooks, the torn edges of old carpets.

Despite the noise of the world, it feels so incredibly quiet in my head.

There’s no lingering conversations, no images, or the feeling of being connected to a wider group. And while I had wanted to rid myself of the voices and feelings of the Uley Pack, now the quiet of my mind is almost overwhelming. As a human the quiet is expected, however, as a wolf it’s debilitating to be so very alone in my own head.

I whine at the birds outside the window, they ignore me and continue to collect sticks for their nests, chirping at each other in greeting.

Somewhere out there, my pack (my family) is running through the woods, together; a misshapen, odd pack. Their minds are full of laughter and the exhilaration of a hunt.

My family is out there.

I can't protect them from here.

Unable to contain the sudden wash of self-pity, I whine again and totter around in a circle, tail tucked. My land, everything I’d lived to protect for so long was lost to me. It was my own fault, I know. My own selfish need to escape has brought me here, broken the ties with people I’ve considered family for so long. Despite the pain I’ve gone through with them, surely it is preferable to this loneliness.

Klaus is my reason for being here, in this foreign land with unfamiliar people. Had I already lost him though? Was my chance at creating a new life destroyed before I even started to seek it? I should have known, I had suspected already with Hayley, but I hadn’t truly believed until now. He had someone, didn’t he? Caroline clearly loved Tyler, but that did nothing to release Klaus from his love for her.

I knew as well as anyone that unrequited love doesn’t die easily, in fact, I still love Sam. If I didn’t love him it wouldn’t hurt me as much as it still does. Even though Sam is taken, even though I’ve found my soulmate, the love remains. All those times we spent together had been real, all my emotions were real, it wouldn’t vanish with a snap of my fingers. No matter how determined to burn these feelings I am, it isn’t easy, especially when so many things remind me of them.

So, I understand, I get it. It makes sense why his foulest moods come when he is left alone in his study, left to himself to think of the woman he loves who is with another. It makes so much sense now that I've seen those drawings.

As someone with little myself, I’d known Klaus didn’t have much (there are pictures on the walls, faces serious, there is no family, no smiles), but now I know for certain. What is money when there’s no one to enjoy it with? What was an adoring hybrid if she had to be made? I cannot pretend to understand his past or claim to know exactly what he feels. But I understand being empty, being lonely and hurt. Finding something precious and world changing but having it taken from you, withheld by the universe and your own inadequacies. That I understand.

Caroline is not Klaus’s. Just like Sam cannot be mine.

We’re more similar than I’d realised and it weighs on me. I didn’t want this. Klaus is my soulmate, your soulmate can be a best friend, a lover, a family member; it doesn’t really matter. But I didn’t want this, this constant loss, the knowledge that I’d never have anything, because he didn’t have anything. We were just two empty people seeking someone to fill the holes in our hearts. He has the ability to mend the damage in me, I have no doubt, but I know it would cost him dearly. He would never love me; never truly care for me, not like the imprint was urging me to do every time I think of him.

He might be my soulmate…but I’m not his.

I would be fine with being his friend, but Klaus doesn’t have friends; that’s the conclusion I’ve come to. Even if Klaus wants friends and even if that friend happens to be me, Klaus has nothing left to give, he’s desolate and the little he does have left is focused on something he can never have.

Just as I will never share my mind and thoughts again. Not unless I go back to Forks and subject myself to the same pain as before with the added knowledge that I’ve left Klaus behind.

I pity us both, our hopelessness.

This is perfect, because it will never work. It’s somewhat amusing, even though it wounds me more than it should. Maybe that’s why it is amusing.

I curl in on myself, wrapping my tail around my paws and laying my head next to it, staring at nothing. My thoughts are haunted by the ghosts of wolves and the pitfalls of wanting to belong.

A while passes before I move, my body groaning when I open my eyes to see the world awash in colour once more. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, my mind slogging through the hours passed. I fall asleep and wake up again, human. I can almost believe the phase was a dream, yet the cry of my muscles and my bare body tell a different story.

I’m mostly grateful that the change happened in my sleep. The change to wolf had been hard enough. I try not to think about it too much, not to drag myself back into despair.

I push myself onto my feet, unsteady but better than it had been as a wolf. My gaze lingers on my shredded clothing and ruined sneakers, leaving me wondering how much of the clothes Alice had packed for me is as appropriate and comfortable as the pair I have just ruined.

The bag lies mostly still packed at the foot of the bed and I have to shove half its contents out to find something to wear. In the end, I conclude that I will have to go buy my own clothing, which means I need money. Ultimately, it is time I get a job.

“Leah!”

My head snaps up and I drop some stray garment. Klaus is back… my first thought is to hide, the second to bound down the stairs to welcome him - puppy-style. The uncertainty of the situation is what stays me. Can I tell him? About...everything? Could I tell him now that I’ve changed? Would that make a lick of difference?

“Leah!”

The call and tone of it snaps me into movement. Almost blindly, I shut the door to my wrecked room and fly down the stairs. The tight bite of Klaus’ voice has my hackles raised. ( Sam’s face is more wolf than human as he snarls across the clearing, I’m already on the ground but I try to make myself smaller to avoid his fury. Seth, looking equally terrified, whines and tries to inch his way behind Jake.)

What happened to make him so livid? I reach the landing, cringing slightly at the sudden burst of activity, and come to a stop literally nose-to-nose with Klaus. He looks about ready to rip out my throat. I yelp and stumble: two steps back up the staircase.

“Who did you let in my house?” He growls, following me up the steps and getting in my face, bloodlust tinting his face dark and wild.

I want to run.

“No one,” I try, but squeak instead.

His hand flashes forward and his fingers lock around my upper arm in a painful, iron grip, I whimper and want to slap myself for sounding so pathetic. “Who. Came. Into. My house?” He looks like the creature he professes to be, a rabid wolf.

My mouth is dry and I place one hand over the wrist of the hand he’s gripping me with. “I’ve been here alone, the whole day.” I try to reassure. Images of Emily’s mangled face (the blood and bruising and screams as the ambulance tips her up into the van) flashes through my head. “I promise, no one came in here,” I pause, recalling my nap, how long had that been? “None that I know of,” I correct and force myself to look him in the eye, although it feels strangely like how Sam would dominate us in the pack.

His lips curl and he yanks his hand out from under mine, his eyes ferocious and not seeming to notice my careful gaze, “Who was it? Don’t lie to me, you reek,”

I recoil, my eyes widening and my mouth falling open.

It’s…

It was me. How do I tell him that it was me now that I’ve seen his anger? Instead I do the only thing I can, something I’d learned to do, been forced to do, since my first change. I submit. My knees buckle slightly, I’m not used to doing this as a human, it’s easier as a wolf, but I bend them as far as I can, shrinking into myself and lowering my head.

I’m agonizingly aware of the way Klaus’ breathing stalls for a moment, how silence falls between us. He knows what I’m doing and I don’t think he’s used to this show of obedience and surrender. The kind of action you only give your alpha.

There’s recognition in his eyes, an understanding words could not reach.

Then he turns and walks away, his back stiff. I sign and I straighten slowly, watching him retreat to his study.

The emptiness remains.

Chapter Text

I’m not sure what to do with myself after Klaus’s dismissal. I thought…I don’t know, that something might change. That he would say something, that I would say something, or perhaps the idea of revealing the imprint would not be so terrifying.

He doesn’t, I don’t, it isn’t.

The submission burns in the back of my mind. A repeat of every time Sam growled, the fear and anger at the uncertainty of my position in the pack. Is this any better? I ask myself, is he any better?

I don’t know. I don’t know and it eats at me, burrowing through my chest. Maybe I left for nothing, if Mystic Falls is only going to pose the same problems as La Push.

The thought of facing the world beyond the safe cocoon of my room is nauseating but the change took too much energy from my reserves.

It’s when I settle down to eat my peanut butter sandwich that I see him again.

In the kitchen, with its warm lighting and industrial yet unused oven, I feel small, tiny. The island is a dark wood and the stools were covered with dust the first day I came down here. There is a singular fridge shelf filled with yogurt and creamer and a cupboard full of cereals. The wine cellar is cold and dark and full, it’s door leads into the kitchen.

The bread and peanut butter I’d gotten from a quaint cafe down the street, where the trellises were draped with ivy and the owner was both the cook and server. She’d scoffed at my purchase of sourdough bread and homemade marmalade and pressed an unlabeled jar of peanut butter into my hands as well. The bread, peanut butter, and marmalade are all delicious.

It tastes like ash in my mouth though when Klaus pulls out a stool and sits two seats away from me. He is quiet in the way I’ve found him to be when he is not consciously trying to make sound. His presence seems dark in the yellow fluorescence. I don’t bother offering him a sandwich of his own, I don’t know if he could even eat it.

I don’t bother to look up, if he wants to talk, he will.

Solemnly, I tear the crust from my bread, nibbling on it, unable to swallow with him so close, with the weight of today heavy on my chest. Eventually the crust is gone and I’m left with fluffy dough and the sweet grainy texture of the peanut butter. I can’t bring myself to eat it, so I put it down on the plate and press my face into shaking hands.

I’m not sure what he wants, but I can guess.

The air is silent, filled with only the familiar creaking of pipes - Hayley must be showering.

“It was you” He says eventually, his voice is soft, careful in a way I would not have thought him capable. I peek at him, swallowing hard. He’s frowning, fingertips pressed tightly together where they rest on the countertop. “The wolf, that scent,”

It is not a question, he knows the answer. I consider it anyway, lying would get me nowhere, and where would be the harm in it? Did I not want change? There was no way to escape the inevitable. I brush back my hair, fingers catching on tangles. “Yes, it was me.”

I watch him closely for any sort of outward reaction, there is none. He’s still as stone.

“I didn’t realize how much I…stank.”

He looks at me for the first time, unamused. “You phased, how?” The depths of his gaze leaves me unmoored, I cling to the lack of hostility, the curiosity as if it will save me - from him, from myself, from the truths that are so hard to tell him specifically.

I’m not sure how to approach my answer, he had not wanted to hear the story of my ancestors. How do you frame a truth so simple yet so intricately part of you? I shrug and glare at my abandoned sandwich. “It’s just how it works.”

Klaus’ lips curl and, for a moment, it seems he is about to launch a verbal attack on me, his eyes glitter and his sharp cheekbones flush. Instead he takes a deep breath and drums his fingers against the table, harsh and loud. “You’re not a normal werewolf, clearly.” I repeat ‘clearly’ and his lip twitches. “It was during the day and we are not even remotely close to the full moon yet.In my experience only the hybrids have been able to control their phasing, yet even they face difficulties welcoming something this brutal.”

I study his furrowed brows, his eyes are bright and the stubble on his cheeks rough - he’s beautiful but it’s hard not to miss the lines of strain at the corners of his eyes. I rub my thumbs into my eyes before blinking away the spots of dark. Let’s try this again. “I’m not a werewolf,” I tell him.

For several moments he doesn’t respond, merely looks me up and down as if examining a furniture catalogue. Then suddenly his lips part in a small telltale smirk (appreciative, knowing), a shocking expression on his face that fades quickly, “You can’t possibly be a hybrid,” his eyes narrow and he shakes his head, “I created them.” He looks up at me and pierces me with intense scrutiny, searching for the reason I exist in his world.

“I’m a shape shifter,” I interrupt before any strange ideas can start forming, lest he start believing that there’s another creature out there spewing out hybrids for fun. I could only imagine the consequences of stealing that ability from Klaus.

The denial doesn’t come, he nods, accepting this information without explanation or prejudice. I voice my disbelief at his belief and that familiar smirk is back. “I’ve heard of shifters, although I’ve never met any. When you live as long as I have, seen as much as I have, there aren’t many things that surprise you.” He waves a lazy hand in my direction. “From the moment you walked through my doors I knew you were different, but I did not know how. People can manipulate how they look, how they act, but scent rarely lies. I knew you were a wolf, yet you are also nothing that I’ve encountered before.” He continues with the kind of quiet enthusiasm of someone who’s studied something no one else cares to know about. “Wolves, vampires, hybrids, any number of creatures carry a certain underlying scent that distinguishes them from others. No one else has manufactured a hybrid, they cannot - not when the ingredients are all in my hands. I know the intricacies of a hybrid’s underlying scent, how it differs from a werewolf. You are close enough to be in the same range, yet vastly different.”

I’m not sure whether this is a compliment or an insult so I tilt my head. I understand the theory behind it, the education system despite protests does cover evolution, does indicate some kind of biological link between members of the same and different species going back millions of years. The Quileute wolves are in essence wolves, the shifter aspect lost during that first merge of souls. I smelled the wolf in Hayley when we first met, could tell she was not the same as me, but close enough for it to be jarring.

“In your tales, the wolves had too many differences from what I know to be true. Things like the mind-link, the imprint, are not innate in werewolves and are certainly not a part of being a hybrid. I consulted Kol and he assured me that he hasn’t heard of either. The imprint is a fantastical and frankly unbelievable concept. On the other hand, it is possible that the sire bond could be an infantile version of this mind-link, it’s not something any known wolf has experienced to the extent you mentioned.” He leans back and pins me with that unnerving stare, I hold it (and my breath). “There are two resulting possibilities: either you are lying, or this ability is entirely specific to your pack.”

I’ve enjoyed a good detective show as much as the next person, but the deduction of it has always left me jarred. I allow myself a breath. “Our pack is spiritually linked, through generations and bloodline; it’s not a special ability.” (Still, somehow, I’m disappointed that he did not ask, that he did not care enough to know). I did not expect him to do any research into what I’d said previously, which is stupid because of course he would, he’s Klaus. There’s an inkling of pride at his dive into investigation, Wolf puffing up ‘my mate, my mate is smart, resourceful’. Even if I cannot be completely honest, even if he does not know, he’d made some kind of effort. It’s more than I could ever ask of him.

“Despite no one knowing about this, I presumed your stories are true or at least that you believed them to be so. You have not been untruthful, I would be able to tell. There are obvious ways to check, witches, compulsion - but that’s wasted effort. You would tell me,” he says with an intensity I feel in my bones, “if something you know posed a danger to me.”

I swallow under his watchful gaze, he’s not wrong. How he knows that I’m not sure, but he is right and he knows it. The confidence is writ in the lines around his mouth, the slow sweep of his lashes.

I’d thought once how wonderful of a leader Sam was, how his voice carried command so easily, how the width of his shoulders could protect us without effort. This was before, obviously. I did not know then how that command would be misused, how the protection was reserved for only a few. Sitting here now, across from Klaus, I don’t know if the slant of his brows makes him any better than Sam, or if the strength of his hands is a recipe for help or destruction. I don’t know what makes a good leader, I don’t know if he’s worth the title.

Everything in me wants to believe though. So, so desperately, I want to know what it feels like to be wanted and cared for - as a member of the pack, as a lover, as a person. I ache, I can taste it on my tongue.

He taps at the tabletop. “You handled it well, I assume. I’ve yet to find any victims or infinite destruction.”

A bubble of nervous laughter rises in my throat and I shake my head, “I don’t eat people, that’s not what we do.” The ‘unlike vampires’ is implied, Klaus hears it and huffs. I’m not harmless though, I’ll at least have to admit that. “I’ve ripped apart a few vampires though.” It’s meant to be a joke, albeit a twisted one, but as soon as it leaves my lips I cringe. “That’s-”

“You’re not as good as you think you are,” Klaus says and I look at him sharply, tense. His eyes are light with humour, the simplicity of it softens his features and leaves me vulnerable to his next words - “You told me yourself, the blonde vampire overcame you,”

The smile that had been forming on my faces stiffens for a moment. His face is still open, still warm, I breathe out and allow the tension to retreat. He’s joking. It’s…a bit soon for me, but he’s actively trying to make light, to join me in my own joke.

This is how friendship starts, I think and I could nearly cry with the thought.

“What did you say her name was?” He asks smoothly and I blink.

“Jane,” I blurt the name then bite my lip and squint at him, realising that I hadn’t told him her name the first time around. Smooth. I could not care less about him knowing who the Volturi is, their names, their stupid little powers. “She was with the Volturi,” May they all rot where they stand.

“A strong vampire coven,” he says in my earlier words with less conviction and slightly more distaste. “I don’t like the sound of them. In my experience, those who lord themselves above all are doomed to failure.”

The weirdest image of Jane withering in pain on the floor crosses my mind and I chew the inside of my cheek, not sure whether I should feel as much pleasure at the idea as I do. I have no doubt in my mind that Klaus could take the Volturi if he wanted to. Take everything, actually. He is forceful and determined, a little off his rocker but still insanely possessive. Perhaps that would be his advantage.

“Tell me again, this Jane, what was the power she wielded?” Klaus asks.

“Pain,” I state simply and look him in the eyes, “Excruciating agony that paralyzes you and turns anything you’ve ever felt into child’s play.”

One of his brows pops up and he looks at me carefully with his crystalline gaze. “You don’t say,” he falls silent for a moment. “Do all your vampires have this ability?”

I cringe at the word usage - they are in essence my vampires purely due to the fact that they differ from those in Mystic Falls, which could be called Klaus’s in this conversation. As much as I had started to get along with the vampires in Forks, accepting their hospitality and help, this has not gotten rid of the inherent animosity. I’d like to believe myself bigger, but I’m not. I don’t want to think of any vampires as mine, not when ownership implies responsibility - not when ‘my vampires’ would in this case include the Volturi. “Some of them have abilities: mind reading, seeing the future, causing paralysis. There are more, I don’t remember them all.” (The ability to show you something wonderful through a single touch, like walking into a movie scene as one of the actors, able to touch and taste and feel as if it were real.) Despite the animosity, did I not find peace? With little Nessy’s fingers on my cheek, her memories like gems glittering in my eyes, this I could own.

“Not all of them have these abilities?” I shake my head, “And those who do, how do they get the abilities? Can you take it from them?”

My spine stiffens and I imagine little Nessy under probing needles. “No,” I inform him louder than is strictly necessary and sigh, running a hand over my face. “They cannot be taken,” I don’t necessarily know if that’s the truth, but any alternative is unthinkable. Any reality where she has to suffer cannot be.

“You don’t like vampires do you?”

I look at him suspiciously, wondering why he had to ask this. “Not all of them, not most of them.”

“But there are some you trust.”

“Yes,” I nod.

“The child, you liked her,”

Every instinct I have fires to life and I want to hurtle out the room, seek a dark corner to be alone in. I don’t answer; merely stare at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“Your face softened when you spoke of the young vampire.” Klaus explains, looking undeniably amused. “I've been alive long enough to notice affection on even the hardest of faces.”
I catalogue the shadows in his gaze anew, compare them to those I’ve seen in the mirror.

Not every word is indicative of a past, but Klaus wears his past in the depths of his eyes. He does not show his feelings like Jake would - open and for all to see - but it’s there, hidden, just not well enough. I wonder if he feels as broken as I do, if the face he wears is a carefully practiced mask. How deeply does he feel the lack of affection I’ve seen directed at him in my short time here? When last were the halls of this mansion filled with life and happiness?

Who was the last person to wear their affection for him openly?

My mind whispers Rebekah. An insidious little snarl filled with jealousy. Her face is a replacement for the empty gazes of the portraits in the passageways, alive with chatter that might at some point linger in Klaus’ ear.

My breath parts my lips and I allow myself to blink away the sudden fear, shoving it down below the ache of the past, sour. Instead, something different awakes in me and I look at Klaus’ lowered eyes with interest. “You have a sister.”

His gaze snaps to mine and any softness that had been there before melts into anger. “I have no one,” he pushes to his feet and the chair squeals across the floor, almost toppling over. “You’ll come with me tomorrow, be ready to leave at dawn.” With that, he strides away, back stiff.

“Wait!” I cry and leap to my feet, “Go where?” but he is already gone and if he bothers to listen to me, he has no response. I scowl at the empty doorway, feeling petulant and scolded. After a silent moment I sink back into the chair and rest my forehead on the table.

I close my eyes.

Klaus is a mystery, one that feels pretty obvious but with too many missing points to make sense just yet. The uncertainty of him, of his company and of where his limits lie, makes my head pound. He is a fill-in-the-blank test where no context has been given.

I groan and shake my head, my skin pressing painfully against the wooden table top. Hair scatters around my face, creating a dark curtain. I frown.

……..

The next morning is chilly, a solid wall of mist blankets the lawn in front of Klaus’ house and if my core temperature wasn’t so high I might have been shivering. I stare out the window in my room, observing the roof and tree tops peeking from the thick white air. The world looks different so early in the day, nothing like the busy town it would become when the sun stretches across the sky.

The air on my nape is cool, unused to being exposed after having let my hair grow out for so long. After the shift, it had felt like a right of passage - becoming Wolf all over again. I wind my hair tie around my wrist, feeling the pull of the elastic, enjoying the reminder of this small thing I could have control over.

Curiosity had woken me earlier than I’d planned, my mind buzzing with both excitement and dread as to where Klaus would be taking me. Or maybe I was just glad to be leaving the house. The wolf brushes up against my mind, seeking a release from these confines - yesterday’s freedom seeming insignificant now. For the first time since Jane, I don’t cower from the wolf’s presence, I let her comforting strength flood through me. My skin itches and from the top of my head down to my toes my muscles tremble. I shush her, it is not the time to phase. Yet.

The varying echo of growls swamp my mind, freedom in a language human ears don’t understand. I close my eyes and focus inward, to the shimmering grey mass hidden beneath my skin. A minute passes as I soothe my burning need for liberty.

“You ready, mutt?”

My eyes crack open and I turn to Hayley lips pursed, frustrated. Hayley was aware that she turned into a canid too, right? I decide not to point out the obvious and instead give her my best pinched smile. “Ready when you are, lapdog.” Since we are exchanging nicknames…

Hayley’s eyes flash and she growls. I fight down a smile. Doesn’t like her own medicine, does she? She glares for a moment before storming away. I follow slower, taking time to prepare myself for whatever awaits me in Klaus’ presence. Hayley makes it down the stairs, into the foyer and has the chance to hover in Klaus’s space like a helicopter mom before I can join them.

Her hand is on his arm, I want to snarl.

Klaus looks as good as always despite the obvious weariness of his gaze. I sweep my eyes over him, from neat polished shoes to the messy curls on his head. The morning light highlights him in gold, deepens the shadows of his collar, the tense yet casually relaxed stance. He is a walking contrast. His gaze burns when it flicks over me.

I feel warm despite the morning chill.

I’m not a child anymore, I fully understand what attraction feels like. Can remember vividly what Sam’s lips taste like in the morning with his warm body hovering over mine. Right now though, Sam is not the focus. I feel my wolf’s hunger, her appreciation for our mate reverberating through my bones.

The creature had welcomed Klaus as its mate much easier than the girl.

“’Morning,” I mutter when I reach them and Hayley scowls over her shoulder.

There’s something of understanding in her eyes but it’s hidden under the instinct - get back, she says with the tilt of her lips.

“Good morning, Leah,” Klaus responds, familiar; his gaze seems different from last night. His eyes linger a moment longer, some unknown question in their hazel depths. I don’t know how to address it and am left fumbling as he turns away, walking toward the door.

Slowly I raise my hand to touch my hair. Does it look bad? Is that why he had stared? I cringe at the thought and shove my hands to my side, annoyed at my own obsessive behaviour. Klaus doesn’t care how I look, and I shouldn’t be bothering to make him.

We emerge into the mist and a wave of moisture instantly coats my face and neck. Hayley stays close to Klaus’ side, a near shadow of his height and I nearly lose them to the sucking white walls of air.

I hurry to keep up and before I know it we’re pacing down the road and the sun is starting to pierce through the mist. I have no doubt that Klaus would be faster if I wasn’t with them and it makes me feel some twisted pride to know that he is taking me into consideration, if only not to lose me in his tracks.

I’m surprised when I find myself outside the Grill, but Klaus and Hayley enter without a backward glance and I follow their lead. The place is as I remembered it, warm and inviting. Only this time the tables are clear and the man behind the bar isn’t Baby-faced Matt. I pause as Klaus and Hayley move further in, sniffing the air to catch the faint smell of oil heating. My stomach comes alive and I scowl, realising that I’d never gotten around to finishing my sandwich the night before.

The promising scent of food leads me after the Original. Klaus has slowed his pace since entering the Grill and I reach them before they get to the bar. As I come up beside my mate, I notice that there is another man by the bar, back turned to them.

Klaus glares at him with startling intensity. I blink and survey him in turn.

His scent is that of a vampire, I know this without effort, but who? After a moment the man chuckles and turns. “You not going to join me, Nick?”

My eyes widen and for a time-loopy moment I can’t wrap my head around the nickname. My gaze flashes to Klaus and I watch his lips twist into an annoyed grimace.

“You actually came, I’m surprised.”

The man laughs and his dark brows rise toward an even darker hairline. “You asked me to, didn’t you?”

Klaus shrugs and takes the seat next to the man. “I suppose,” the dark haired man pushes a glass filled with amber liquid to Klaus and my mate lifts a brow. “Drinking rather early aren’t you?”

“Never known you to complain before,” the man grins and downs his own glass. He waits, staring pointedly at Klaus until the man accepts the beverage with a small sigh. “Damn shame to waste a good drink because of the hour.”

Silence ensures when neither man bothers to release their empty glass and simply observe each other. Calculating. I cringe and look at Hayley who is focused wholly on Klaus. Her attentive stare does nothing to ease the sudden pricking of unease and my stomach protests again at its emptiness. With an annoyed groan I stalk off to the other side of Klaus, plopping unceremoniously into the seat, and wave my hand at the lonesome bartender.

Whatever Klaus’ business was with the dark haired vampire, it wouldn’t curb me from filling my aching body with delightful food. I frown slightly as I rattle off an order of ‘anything that’s warm and I can have now’. It’s starting to become apparent that soon I would run out of money, which means I’d have to pursue that idea of getting work. Where to start was the problem. This town was foreign to me and my qualifications weren’t anything to get excited about either. At home, life had been simple, easy when you excluded all the vampire and wolf nonsense.

I’d had a job, nothing fancy or special, a shift at the bakery in La Push and sometimes giving Billy a hand with fishing sales. It was good, enough to get Seth and myself by. We had food to eat, a home to stay in and just the right amount of gas to take us up the coast every few weeks. Of course mom and dad had been there, all before the phasing started. Dad had brought in a reasonable sum and mom worked hard enough. It was enough then, and it was enough after dad’s death. We made do.

There are a million things that made living in La Push perfect, but there were also ones that made it not. There’s no going back in time.

Life in Mystic Falls may not be as clear cut or simple, but as always I’d have to make do.

“I take it this is Leah?”

I jerk my head up and I take a long look at the dark haired man, his jaw is stubborn and his eyes amused, eyes so very familiar. He looked surprisingly pleasant for a vampire, but I don’t trust the soft curl of his lips, the slightest tilt of his head. Behind the grins and gentle, inquiring voice lurks a predator. Involuntarily my lips twitched into an answering smile. “I’m Leah,”

The man’s grin grows further and he deliberately reaches across Klaus to grab my hand. Although shocked at the action, I refuse to let myself flinch away. The smile does fade though and I watch him closer, trying to figure out what he’s playing at.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet such exquisite creatures,” his eyes sparkle with genuine mirth and I frown. “Nick, has told me so much about you.”

Has he now? My brows rise before my eyes narrow and I lean forward, we are boxing Klaus between us, my hand trapped in the other’s. Whatever game he is playing, I could play, too. “That leaves me at a disadvantage. I’ve heard nothing of you,”

His grin grows so large it could split his face in two. “A shame really. I’m Nick’s better-looking younger brother.”

“Indeed,” Is all the encouragement I offer and hear the slightest growl from Hayley. “Does Klaus’ ‘better-looking younger brother’ have a name?”

“You can call me Kol, darling,”

Chapter Text

“Kol?” I ask my mind recalling my conversation with Klaus the day before. He’d mentioned asking Kol about my wolf abilities. My stomach makes a valiant effort to turn itself inside out and my mouth dries. I stare at the man in silence. Could he…? What were the chances that he would know? Klaus hardly knew enough to explain it; to a complete stranger the dots wouldn’t connect. Right? My fingers tremble in his grip, fear riding me hard.

“Now, now, no need to fret. What horrible stories has my brother told you?” But despite the soft cadence of his voice, the sudden gentle caress of his thumb against the back of my hand, his eyes are
gleaming much too brightly. I don’t know how he knows, but he does, I’m sure of it.

“None,” I start out weakly and become aware of how pathetic I’m being. I shake my head and draw a deep breath, steeling myself, “Unfortunately nothing, as I mentioned, I haven’t heard anything about you.” I narrow my eyes, keeping my chin up.

“How rude, Nick.” Kol sighed, his eyes never leaving mine. I can feel the quiet strength in his touch, aware of the reason for it. My heart beats against my ribs painfully.
“Are you quite done yet?” Klaus asks with a growl.

“Oh,” Kol releases my hand slowly, his eyes holding all his mirth, his fingers lingering a moment too long on the back of my hand. He straightens and gives Klaus a lopsided smile. “I almost forgot you were here, brother.”

“I see so,” Klaus replies calmly and moves his shoulders as if to get comfortable. “Now back to why we’re here in the first place,”

Kol waves a hand to ward off Klaus’ subject and winks at me. I’m still frozen, with my hand lying like lead on the bar top. “Business is boring, I’m itching for some fun. What do you say, how does a little morning massacre sound?”

Klaus growls again, “I don’t care what you do with your time, but don’t waste mine.”

“So fussy so early in the day. Are you ill?”

“No,” Klaus snarls and clears the gap between his brother and himself. “Did you get what I need or not?”

“Impatient as always, did someone try to stake you again? Was it this pretty thing?” again he turns his attention toward me and I can barely breathe past the itching need to punch the man.

“Kol,” Klaus mutters, clearly a warning but the dark haired vampire grins and leans back.

“You’re no fun,” he pursues his lips, “I did what you asked.”

“And?” Klaus demands. My eyes skirt between the brothers.

“Nothing out East or South,”

“Absolutely nothing, are you sure?”

“Yes, but there were faint murmurs up by Iceland and a few scattered close to Vatican City, and those are just for the strange vampires. They’re just rumours about diamond-like skin and a coven called the Volturi. No hints on any wolves along the coast. If they exist as you seem to believe, then they’re damn good at keeping hidden.”

A flurry of pride unfurls in my stomach and I fight back a sudden smile. Our tribe isn’t necessarily secretive, but we know how to protect ourselves. I lower my gaze to the bar top and close my eyes hoping this will hide the emotion.

“Witches in the North seem to know about something called the imprint.” I jerk at the word, eyes darting up at Kol. A lopsided grin steals over his face as he notices my gaze. “Nothing much truly, just whispers of a bond between soulmates that exist among a few species.”

Klaus nods, “Which species?”

“Mostly fabled shape shifters, but apparently something that can occur in vampires as well, although it’s apparently much rarer.”

My mind was still whirring at this information. Does-does that mean Klaus could imprint? My breath stalls in my throat, has he already imprinted? On Caroline?

Kol lifts his brows dramatically and spears me with his gaze. “Have you imprinted, Leah?”

I press a hand over my mouth and find the grain of the wooden bar top fascinating. I don’t know how to respond to this, not with the new information about vampires - about, maybe, possibly, Klaus having the potential to imprint.

Kol obviously knows though, there is no doubt in my mind, not with the way he’s spoken, and he is trying to make things difficult. For Klaus or me? It doesn’t matter. All that I can think of is Klaus gazing at Caroline, believing she is his everything. Klaus feeling like that pretty blonde is his gravity, his air, his life source…I can’t. How could I possibly take that away from him - ruin his chances by exposing my imprint.

Not that he would care, why would he? The burden would be unappreciated though - for him and her.

(Could I stand to follow them around as I had Emily and Sam? Would I survive it, if he knew and didn’t care?)

A soft click makes me lift my head and the waiter offers me a patent customer-care smile before leaving the food in front of me. I stare at it for a moment, a freshly poached egg with a scattering of mozzarella on a bed of salmon and hash brown. My stomach doesn’t even bother growling, I feel too sick. I tilt my head back, ignoring the delicious aroma in favour of wallowing.

I’m going to look like sickly, pre-vampire Bella if I continue this no-eating thing.

“Leah?” My eyes find Klaus’ in the dim lighting and I can almost pretend that there is some sympathy in them. I blink away the moisture on my lashes. “Was it Sam?”

If I could laugh, I would. His question is natural enough, I’d probably assume it too if I were him, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. I look back to the mirrors behind the counter, taking in my dark eyes, the slight curve from when I broke my nose falling from a tree at seven years old. The traces of Jane’s attack are long gone, but I can see the churning of malformed, disgusting bones beneath my skin - the curling embrace of the hatred I felt toward myself as Sam tried to send me away.

I’m destined for failure. If the entirety of my existence has taught me anything, it’s this.

Kol makes a clicking noise reminiscent of a clock at the minute mark and his disappointed stare burns through my skin. “Nick, apparently once one imprints they will protect the imprint with their life.”
It’s another opening, one that will let me benefit from the revealing, but the possibility of Klaus having imprinted on Caroline, of him imprinting on anyone… makes me hold my tongue. I glare at Kol, a warning.

“Seems like an awful lot of effort for another person.” Klaus mutters and Kol snorts.

“Yes, because you don’t care about anything enough to risk your life, do you Nick?”

Klaus glares, answering the question with one of his own. “And what would you know about risking your life?”

Kol stiffens, “I at least, didn’t stake my family when it seemed convenient to do so.”

“Ha! You are not the golden boy, that’s Elijah. I had my reasons as you well know.” Klaus growls.

“Everyone has bloody reasons, brother, but most of us don’t think to temporarily bury our families for them.”

“As if you haven’t attempted to kill me.”

I watch the brothers wearily while they snipe (glad, so glad not to be their focus), drinking in the sharp edge of their words even as the tense lines of their bodies suggest a coming fight. They are eerily beautiful in the grill’s dim lights, their mouths twisted, eyes dark. Macabre string puppets in a haunted house, waiting to jump out at the next unsuspecting victim. But their appearance does not distract me from their words. I’d like to be concerned with their conversation, but I’m just glad it isn’t focused on me anymore.

Kol stiffens, “There was a time when I looked up to you, but you are no longer the brother I cared for.”

“Of course I’m not! Did mother or father try to kill you in your sleep? Did our family look at you with disgust? Are you a half-breed bastard?” Kol doesn’t answer and so Klaus continues. “You try living a decent life when there’s no one to sugar coat growing up.”

“My life was as hard as yours when mother turned us.” Kol defends with glittering eyes.

“Was it?” Klaus demands, “You found yourself some pretty little witches to keep you company, to teach you magic. I had to deal with my wolf on my own; there was no one here for me, Kol. No one! Mother didn’t hate you, father actually looked at you, even when Elijah and Rebekah promised to stay at my side they betrayed me.”

Kol pushes to his feet, his gaze menacing and his lips curled, “I didn’t come here to bicker with you, Klaus. This is why our family cannot stand to be around each other; even Elijah is sickened by us. I’ve done what you asked. Debt paid. Don’t call on me again.”

“Running away isn’t going to fix anything.”

“No,” the shorter snarls and shoots Klaus a venomous glare, “It might not, but it’s better than trying to kill your problems.”

“As if you haven’t murdered for the sake of your own gain-”

“I do what needs to be done,” Kol snaps and turns away. His hands shaking, Klaus pushes to his feet as well and he stands in silence for a moment before either of them move.

For a split second I think they’re going to attack one another. They don’t. They sway apart, the tension draining away, leaving them looking like drooping flowers.

“I will continue looking,” Slowly, Klaus tilts his head and Kol looks at me. “Let’s meet again, Leah,”

“Sure,” I mumble and offer a bewildered wave as he leaves.

I look at Klaus’ pinched features for a moment, my mind struggling to interpret their conversation, to process all the information. I’m not sure what just happened, lost in the layers of their argument, drawing in more and more questions. I do know, however, that Klaus looks defeated. I turn back to my abandoned food to glare at it. Klaus settles down beside me and I hear Hayley take Kol’s seat.

My fingers wrap around the polished fork and I stab at the egg without thinking. “You’ve staked your brother?”

Klaus’ sighs; I can almost hear his eyes roll. “Granted, I’ve unstaked him many times as well.”

I purse my lips, trying to tell myself that he lives a different life. Living for hundreds - thousands?- of years must give you different rules in the game of life.

(Emmet’s fist goes through the stone without much force, chunks of rock and dust fall around us in the clearing - a twisted snowfall. “Done.”

Edward, standing nearby with Renesmee tucked under one arm, sighs. There’s dust in his perfectly coiffed hair and Nessy sneezes. “You could have just moved it.”

“I’ll move your face,” Emmet says, dropping into a comically bad fighting stance. His eyes glitter in the evening light and he’s barely got a hold on his smile.

Nessy breaks away from her father to imitate her uncle’s stance. “I see you have chosen violence. No one threatens my old man.” Emmet crooks a finger and Renesmee launches herself at him with a shriek that has me covering my ears.

Edward slinks to my side as we watch Renesmee be tickled down to the ground screeching. “I’ve seen him rip bears apart.” Before I can open my mouth, he continues, “It was deliberate.”

I stare at the mock-fight, watch as Emmet let’s Nessy overpower him and shove her fingers into his ears. “Aren’t you scared of her being hurt?”

“I don’t think there’s anyone in this world I’d trust completely with her safety. But I know he’d never choose to hurt her.”)

Klaus had told me stabbing him would be pointless, was it the same for his whole family? “Can he not die or something?”

“Oh he can die,” Klaus informs me, casual and with obvious derision, “but dying doesn’t come easily to an Original,”

“So,” I glance at him, “I can’t just tear you apart when you frustrate me?” I ask, a part of me wanting to lighten the mood, another part wanting to crawl into a hole and wonder why I was here in the first place.

Klaus’ lips twitch and he seems like he’s about to smile, but his face falls into an emotionless mask instead. “No, death isn’t something anyone can give us, you wouldn’t be able to kill me. Perhaps you might harm Kol, in fact you have my permission to. You could definitely kill the Salvatores. Me? It’s not possible.”

“Everything is possible, nothing is impossible.” I tell him and Hayley snorts, I bite back an ugly comment and instead focus on the man at my side, “Why do you think that?”

“Really?” He questions amused and when I shrug he removes the fork from my disemboweled egg and places it back on the counter. “You can’t, let’s leave it at that.”

My brows lower in a scowl and I try to snatch the fork back, but he gets to it before me. “Okay, so I can’t kill you.” He holds the fork up and each silver tooth gleams in the dim lights. “But I can put you to sleep,”

“Sleep?” he asks softly, giving me a curious glance.

“Sleep, Kol said ‘temporarily buried’ I doubt you’re awake during that otherwise you’d escape. That’s how you had your family in coffins. You stake them and they sleep, right?”

He raises a brow at me, “Interesting, You are right. You put the stake in and leave it there, but it works for the rest of them, not for me.”

I scowl, “Okay, you’re special.” His brows quirk and I wave a hand at him to dispose of the unspoken question. “You can’t be stopped, so you’re as powerful and terrifying as Elena said.”

Klaus makes a noncommittal noise and replaces the fork. “Truly, I am,”

“There’s no one who can rival you?”

He glowers at me, “I tend to wonder why you have so many inane questions. Who are you, Clearwater? Why are you so annoying?”

I shrug and offer a bland smile, “I’m just curious.” And I doubt the annoyance I inspire is anything particularly special. Klaus seems annoyed, yes, but also partly amused, as if he’s dealing with a basket case. Not to say he doesn’t want to murder me, I can’t speak for the inner workings of a man like him - but, I’ve seen his eyes do the freaky black vein thing, trembled beneath his snarl (like yesterday).

This isn’t one of the latter times.

“’Curiosity kills the cat’, if I remember correctly.” He taunts.

“Good thing I’m a dog, huh?”

For several seconds he remains still before he closes his eyes and gives an annoyed groan, “You’re as awful as Hayley. Why are you both so awfully maddening?

Hayley snorts on Klaus’ other side, “Beats me,”

While I hate to be in agreement with Hayley, I have to nod. “I never was this annoying back home.”

Hayley hides a laugh in her hand and Klaus narrows his eyes at the hidden insult. “Please, find the old you,” he says and waves over the bartender. “Place the lady’s food on my name,”

“Yes, Mr Mikaelson,”

I shake my head and place a hand on Klaus’ arm, grabbing it back just as quickly. “You don’t need to, I have money,” Money that’s steadily dwindling, but I’ll get a job.

“I don’t fancy being a gentleman, Clearwater, I’m not doing this to appease you. So leave my decision be.”

“He’s made up his mind, you won’t change it.” Hayley says.

I roll my eyes, biting back my protests. Klaus begins to stand and Hayley eagerly jumps to his side. I wave down the tender and he rushes forward, “You guys looking for any hands around here?”

The man frowns before giving a nod, “We could use some help. Do you have any experience as a waiter?”

“I’ve worked as a kitchen assistant and helped as a cashier.” I cringe, “ I’m a fast learner,”

“You have a CV?”

“I can compile one?” I offer slowly and the man chuckles.

“That’s fine, why don’t you do that and bring it in, I’ll give it to the manager myself.”

“Thank you,” I offer a smile and stand, glancing to see how far Klaus had already gotten. He and Hayley are already by the door and don’t seem keen to be waiting for me. “By the way, sorry for that,” I indicate the untouched food with the slaughtered egg.

The man’s face twists, “You really don’t like eggs, huh?”

I shrug and hurry after Klaus and Hayley, the gesture while not taken for me still makes me feel squishy inside. It’s a strange feeling, one I’m not used to and one I’m sure won’t stick around for long.

Everything is…too much. I thought vainly that moving away from Forks would be good, if not relaxing. Yet separating me from Sam has not made the problems disappear. Baring the obvious emotional turmoil, living in Mystic Falls has awoken a swelling tide of confusion, tendrils of joy and self flagellation whipping about, seaweed pulled by the current. I’m going to get whiplash if this keeps up.

There’s, unfortunately, not much to do about it. I was bad at regulating human emotion in Forks, what could have possessed me to think I’d suddenly grow a reasonable EQ? If the last few weeks (holed up inside a mansion, living off the graciousness of a woman I cannot stand and a man who cannot stand me) have taught me anything, it’s that I probably need some therapy.

But! Klaus and Hayley probably need therapy, too. So, there’s that.

At least in Forks I knew my place. In Mystic Falls I’m free falling from a cliff into raging waters. I don’t know where the sharp rocks lie beneath the surface of Klaus’ facade. I don’t know if the sharp edges of Hayley’s glares will cut me as I crash down. At least in Forks I knew where to aim to avoid the razor edges of the salt sharpened outcropping.

I don’t know if, when I reach the water, I’ll be forced to drown or if somehow the current will pull me away from certain death.

I nearly slam into Klaus when I exit the Grill, he stands frozen with his back to me, Hayley off to his side with a vicious scowl on her face. I follow the wolf’s gaze and spot Caroline in the distance, her hair falling in perfect, golden curls and her face carefully make-uped to accentuate her eyes.

She sparkles.

I glance at Klaus; his face is stretched in a smile, a real smile. I might even dare to say he looks happy. My breath catches.

“Good morning, Caroline,” Klaus murmurs, voice honey thick and dripping warmth, and inclines his head. When he lifts it, his hazel eyes are bright and focused, intense on Caroline’s pretty face.

“Klaus,” She says, her eyes flicker over him, pause. She clears her throat and gives Hayley a nose wrinkle before her gaze settles on me. “Hi, Leah!”

My cheeks hurt, waring between smile and snarl. I settle on something that is probably a grimace. It’s not her fault. It isn’t. “Hey,”

She closes the space between us, her shoulder glancing off of Klaus’ as she narrows in to drag me into a hug. Her hair smells like coconut and sunshine and I hate it. She sways me with her inhuman strength before pulling away, my arms are still limp at my sides. Her eyes are cool as she assesses me, for what I don’t know. “Oh,” she says, there’s a sharpness to her smile that wasn’t there before and it’s near unbearable under her scrutiny. “Looking a bit grumpy today, wolfie. You good?”

“It’s nothing,” I mutter and take a step back, out of her hold. Her arms lower to her side and my gaze finds Klaus. He still hasn’t lost that disarming smile, even though Caroline had virtually ignored him in favour of me. “You’re awfully happy this morning.” I say hoping that somehow this doesn’t turn into a mess, that Caroline’s face does not sour, that Klaus’ eyes do not blacken.

He hardly seems to notice the yawning awkward gap between him and Caroline. Just stands there, beaming, happy to be sharing the same space as her.

My skin itches.

Hayley is standing still as a statue, the tension of a cat ready to attack.

Caroline chuckles, bright and airy, the sharpness of her gaze suddenly gone. “Nothing like a new day to cheer me up.” She makes a show of looking me up and down. “How are you doing? Elena mentioned you were staying by Klaus and I meant to check on you, but I never got around to it.”

I shift and dart another look at Klaus. It takes some effort to force out the words in as level a tone as possible. “I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

Caroline blinks and her eyes do that sharpening thing again before it melts away behind what is seeming to be a very fake sparkle. Her grin reveals teeth and the wolf inside me wants to rise to the challenge. “No reason,” She looks to the side, her throat working near unperceivable as her eyes find Klaus. Her lashes flutter and she focuses back on me. “I’m sure things by Klaus’ house can be just a little difficult. You seem good though, we were getting worried when you didn’t show up around town.”

“That’s my own fault,” I defend. Again I sneak a look at Klaus but he is looking away now, his head turned from us.

She hums an affirmative and smiles at me, her eyes twinkling. I want to snap at her to stop, for the love of all that is holy, just stop. “You cut your hair, it looks lovely,”

“Thank you.” I don’t touch my hair, I don’t compare it to hers. I don’t. My face feels tight. “Caroline?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe we can talk later?” My focus is on Klaus, the minute lean of his body - how it is matched by Caroline’s. “How about you give me your number? I could actually use your help with something,”

“Sure,” she grins and extends her hand, “I can put it in your phone.”

I wince. “I don’t have a cell phone,” I want to hurry away, hide in the forest, muzzle beneath my tail, as Caroline blinks slowly, the only sign of her own racing thoughts. “Ah, you can just say it…my-my memory is pretty good.” I’m too hot, boiling under her gaze, feeling the itch to explain, to rationalize my lack of technology in the modern day. I beat the urge down violently, reminding it that I don’t need to explain myself to anyone.

“No phone.” She says, eyes doing another once over, no doubt taking in my every fault, cataloguing my scuffed sneakers, the torn edges of my jeans, my overall lacking. She shakes her head, “Well okay,”

My face is still red, “I’ll have to phone you from Klaus’ place.”

Caroline looks at Klaus again, this time her face is carefully neutral. “Don’t be embarrassed, Leah. There are many people who don’t have phones. There are studies showing the overall detrimental effects of cell phones-” She cuts herself off and shakes herself before offering another of those bright smiles. “Hm, you phone me and we can meet up. It’s better to talk in person anyway, too much static over the line.”

My eyes shoot off to the side, Klaus has tensed. I cringe; I shouldn’t do this to Klaus. But this was one fight I couldn’t (wouldn’t) win for him. If he really loved Caroline and wanted her to trust him more, he’d have to earn it on his own. I couldn’t let his love commitment issues hamper me. I give Caroline a nod and she recites her number, telling me to meet her at the end of the week.

We’re halfway down the road when Klaus speaks. “She seems to like you.” His shoulders are rigid and his back straight where he walks in front of me. Hayley is at his side, her sleeve brushing his occasionally.

I know the bitterness, the biting hook of trying to fish for elusive game.

( Emily sits across from me, her frown deep and her knee bouncing. She stares at her feet and occasionally mutters the first syllable of a sentence she can’t seem to form.

“You seem happy.” I say with my eyes glued to the top of her head, drilling holes down and down. She flinches like she can feel it - the weight of what I have not said.

“I-” she starts and then stops. Her hands come up to cover her face.

Good, the bitter voice in the back of my head, which has been getting more insistent as of late, says. She should feel bad.)

I understand where he’s coming from, but I don’t know how to say that he is wrong. She’s shown me common courtesy, yes, but her kindness is just as barbed as it is genuine. I have no doubt that Caroline meant it, her help and her concern, but she was fishing too. Searching for a reason - to do what, could be anything.

No one is purely altruistic and people are not single faceted.

As much as I want to hate her for rejecting Klaus (hate her for existing rent free in his head and not taking responsibility for what that does to him) it’s not why she angers me. Her not being with him leaves space for me - and I know, I know it’s awful, but I’d fight to the death for even a fragment of his attention, for his mind to be filled with me instead. So I hate her, however, I hate her for being what I cannot be.

She’s not daft, at least not daft enough to be blind to Klaus’ obvious obsession with her. She’s clearly attracted to him. Whether she accepts his affection or not, Caroline has already accepted that she has some sort of hold on him. Klaus has treated her with nothing but reverence, despite her being in a relationship already he does not push her. He waits and he hopes and she dismisses him and I can’t be mad about it.

“She’s very…nice,” I say eventually. I wonder if he knows that I know, he cannot possibly be that blind to how much his face expresses. Yet, it is Klaus. “She reminds me of my cousin. Care-free.” I drift off and watch the shift of his shoulders, the curl of the hair at his nape. “You know, when Sam imprinted on Emily, she didn’t know we were together. She cheerily told me she met a ‘Sam’. How many Sams could there be on one reservation you might ask? The answer is one. Just one Sam and he’d been mine until she came.”

Klaus gives no indication that he’s listening to me, Hayley’s head is tilted, her hands curled into fists. I carry on. Despite everything I’ve told him, I never truly felt that I conveyed the true scope of what made me come here. I’m not a good story teller, emotions are difficult. Vulnerability is difficult. To a man, tattered from a hard life, my sob stories would seem insignificant, but to me they are the crumbling earth and whirlpools of existence and I wanted him to understand.

There’s so much more than this, I want to tell him.

“When she finally found out she was overcome. She tried to leave him, twice if I remember correctly. She had that look in her eyes, you know the one.” I wave vaguely at the air, eyes caught on the fibres of Klaus’ coat as they accumulate dew. “I hated it. She used to look up to me, but then I was a kicked dog in her eyes. I thought I could not be more angry after Sam’s betrayal, but this, this was so much worse. Pity, charity,” I say the words with the beginning of a snarl and force myself to breathe through it.

Hayley’s steps almost stutter in my silence, but Klaus has shown no reaction. I peer down at the ground, we’re moving so much slower than earlier.

“One day, there was some kind of disagreement in the pack - it doesn’t matter what - and the phase took him suddenly, violently. His wolf clawed half her face off.” I pause, tasting the screams, feeling the heat of blood on my fingers. “When I first saw her afterward, I was giddy at her pain, at the disfigurement. I thought ‘now Sam will want me again’.” I clench my hands in the fabric of my sleeves. “I’ve never hated someone as much as I hated myself in that moment, because she smiled at me. Covered in bandages, hooked to an IV in a hospital bed , she smiled and reassured me that everything was going to be okay. It was the first time I understood what spite could do to a person.”

We’ve stopped moving, Klaus still has his back turned but Hayley is staring at me, her eyes unfathomable. I force myself to continue after a deep breath, “The whole thing still hurt, I couldn’t escape from that, but I tried to look at it from her eyes. What could I do but accept it? Sam imprinted on her, she did not know and still she tried to fix it, for me. In the end all I’ve done is turn my anger from her to Sam. It’s so easy to step away from something when you realize you can never have it, that having it will hurt someone you care about.”

“Is that the morale of your story?” Klaus says, turning to grace me with a glare. “Put all the blame on Caroline and I’ll be able to move on? How quaint.”

He is admitting it to me, his love for Caroline. My head shakes and I reach for Klaus’ arm, barely touching him, my hand hovers between us. “No. Moving on is…difficult and you don’t have to.” I look down at my hand between us and regret wells in my stomach. “You don’t need to run away like I did, because you actually stand a chance.” I look up at him, drowning and grasping for a missing lifeline in the face of his heartbreak. “Nothing good can come from loving someone who is already in love with someone else. But, you - she, she would be so lucky to have you. Plus, you’re so much stronger than I am.”

“Why do you say that?” He asks, his face unmoved by my declaration.

“Because you’re not a love sick girl trapped in the mind of the man she lost. You are decades, centuries old and have likely faced challenges far beyond most people’s understanding. You stand up for yourself, you work towards what you want, you-you’re a problem solver. You don’t need to escape your problems, you face them head on.” I drop my arm. “I know you can win her over if you show her that you are worth loving.”

Klaus shakes his head, “What makes you so sure that there’s anything worth loving left in me?”

What do I know of love? What valuable experience can I glean my wisdom from? What is love other than pain and disappointment?

Perhaps, I think, one day I can love Klaus and know the unique pleasure of being left behind by him, too. Because you’re a complete stranger, yet here I am. I give him a smile despite the weight in my throat, “You are more than your suffering, more than your faults. I barely know you, but I know you deserve love too.”

“I’ve never been loved before, Clearwater,” he says, and I’m terribly aware that this is the first time he has clearly disclosed something of himself to me. “I doubt anyone can love me, I’m a hybrid bastard, who never knew his father and whose mother hated him.”

There are so many words trapped in my chest, so many things fighting to be said, none of them sound right. Did mother or father try to kill you in your sleep? What does a person say to that? I want desperately to think I can help him, if only a little. Yet the chance of my being the person to help him is infinitesimal. All I can do is hope that somehow he will do it on his own. “You shouldn’t be so quick to call yourself unloved,” I say, “even the worst of us get a chance. You just need to not give up.”

I’m a fool. I’m a fool and a hypocrite. Klaus does not need to know this.

“You sound hopeful,” Klaus says and drags a hand through his hair. He turns to resume walking, it takes me a moment to force myself to follow. Hayley trails silently behind us and I dare to glance back at her.

She watches the back of Klaus’ head with singular focus, mouth a thin line.

“What makes you smile?”

“Smile?” he asks and frowns at me. “I smile all the time,”

I laugh, it sounds fake. “No, you glower and pout, and sometimes you’ll smirk.”

“I don’t pout,” he says affronted and my own smile grows wide and genuine, “smirking is the same thing surely.”

“It isn’t,” I insist, “smiles are happiness. Smirks are just-”I make another meaningness hand wavy gesture “smug.”

He snorts, “I don’t see why I can’t be smugly smiling.”

I dare to bump him with my elbow, emboldened by the banter. “That sounds like something a vampire would do. But…smiling is…when your little brother says you’re cool and when you finally get the chicken casserole to come out just right.” I pause to feel the ache, let it settle between my ribs before I continue. “You smile when you look at Caroline,”

He frowns, “I do not,”

“Huh, denial,” I say and when he turns to glare at me his lips twist into the smallest of smiles. It’s beautiful.

Chapter Text

The morning is crisp and surprisingly busy away from Klaus’ mansion. Sleep last night was light but there’s a persistent crick in my neck which throbs when I look over my shoulder to gauge the traffic.

I dreamt of swirling smoke, the rich charcoal of corn roasted over the fire, a lulling song that seemed to drift over the sea. Water dampening my shoes and Klaus kneeling down to examine a crab. He smiled, like sunshine and the sweet burst of cherries on my tongue. When I awoke my chest ached and I had to blink away the lingering of salt water.

Klaus and Hayley were already gone, staying inside without them suddenly a stifling weight.

My feet pound a comforting rhythm, like the steady crash of waves or the beat of a resting heart. Mystic Falls is a nice town to run in, but it’s not the forest, not the seashore. I breathe and taste exhaust fumes and the sweet onset of spring.

It’s strange how time moves, how it was only yesterday that I piggybacked dad across the rising tide with starfish trapped in my little sand bucket. It’s already the end of another season and I think of the sour grapefruit Seth and I would race to finish off first, the flowers Sam tucked behind my ear on my eighteenth birthday. It’s the end of another period and I think about the measly letters I left my family - how no one knows if I’m safe or alive. (I wonder if they would care to know.)

There’s sweat itching my scalp and a sheen of moisture on my arms. I push myself down streets and across parks, not slowing for the old couple who smile or the dog that yaps in excitement. My lungs burn and for a moment I forget what it feels like to be hungry, to have needs beyond speed and the quivering ache of my thighs.

The traffic has all but vanished by the time I wind back past the high school.

I slow my stride as a teenager stumbles from their car, hair in disarray and dragging a backpack, they curse vehemently when a bell sounds from inside the building.

I watch for a moment as the teen fumbles their way past the school doors.

Off to the side I notice Damon obscured in the shadow of a tree, gaze fixed on the school’s walls unblinking. For a moment I stall, wondering whether interference would be worth the trouble, if there’s enough left in me right now to care. In the end curiosity wins and I trudge to his side. “Damon,” I call out mildly, not wanting to bother anyone close by.

The vampire unfurls like a cat rising from slumber and straightens, turning toward me with a slow grin. For a moment I’m taken aback as the sun hits face, there is no sparkle save what’s in his eye. “Leah,” The greeting is pleasant enough considering he's a vampire. “You’re ripe this morning.”

I ignore him. “Loitering isn’t a crime here?”

There’s an edge to his grin, manic, and he tilts his head just-so. “Not loitering, love, keeping an eye on things.”

“By the high school? Don’t tell me those damn delinquents are up to no good again.”

“In a manner of speaking.” He turns from me to look at the school, I follow his gaze but see nothing but brick and a singular window two floors up. “I’m keeping my eye on Elena, if you must know.”

“Bodyguard duty, nice,” The neatly manicured lawn, the barren oak trees where youngsters must have lazed between classes in the summer, the place is standard for a public building. It’s much bigger than the one the kids on the reservation went to.

“Kol’s in town and that blonde bitch was here too, so we can’t be too careful.”

I need to blink a couple of times to activate the information processing units of my brain. When I focus back on Damon, the sharpness of his gaze is suddenly so much darker. The blonde bitch is supposed to be…Caroline? But doesn’t Damon know she’s friends with Elena? I frown and ask instead, “Kol?” My mouth is dry as I watch the muscles of his jaw tense and quiver. “What does Kol have to do with Elena?”

“You’ve met him, huh?”

I force my shoulders to loosen and shrug. “I guess. How’d you know?”

He waves a lazy hand and smirks. “Must have been the flash of fear in your eyes. Kol is pretty harmless if you stay on his good side, but when he has his hands on your secrets he can be as dangerous as any other Mikaelson. And the whole lot of them are pretty good villain material.” I’ve heard of hunger telegraphed in eyes, and had always thought it was mostly novel hogwash. If such a look exists Damon is wearing it now. “So what secret does he have of yours?”

My first instinct is to deny it, deny everything, but he’s already on the money. What would be the point? “Wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, now would it?”

“Touche.” He turns back toward the school. “Kol went after Jeremy, tried to rip his arms off.”

“Jeremy is her brother, right?”

“Lucky and ungrateful, he’s still got his arms, not that I got a thanks.”

I try not to cringe too obviously. There’s clearly a lot that I’m missing from this situation. The events I’ve witnessed since coming here have been confusing and the very brief life-story Elena had given me when we first met doesn't do much to explain.

There’s clearly so much more to understand and I feel like I’ve missed the first three seasons of a show and been made to watch a random episode from the fourth.

By now my questions should have started being answered but they just keep piling up. Soon I’ll be eclipsed by a wall of unanswered questions, the shadow forcing me into the ground.

Why did Kol want to hurt Jeremy? Why is a human child any kind of threat to an Original? How did Kol know about the imprint? What the fuck is up with the Sephan-Elena-Damon thing? Why did Elena need Klaus’ help so desperately? Was Klaus actually able to imprint? Why was Tyler a hybrid yet an enemy of Klaus?

My head, my everything, aches.

I don’t want to think about it, but I can’t not. Apparently something much bigger is happening under the surface and I’ve just been swept along with no direction. Again and again like a metronome.

Mystic Falls indeed, there’s too much mystery. Universe please reconsider!

I message my forehead and try to rally my thoughts. “Why would he do that? Did Jeremy attempt to stab him or something? Apparently people do that a lot here.”

Damon lets out a short humourless laugh and shakes his head. “Not necessarily. No one tells you much about what’s going on here do they?”

I offer him a glare, “No, but I really wish someone would.”

Damon ‘hm’s for a moment before nodding. “Jeremy is a hunter,”

“Okay? So he has a collection of deer heads and bear skins? Not that special.” I scowl, “What does that have to do with Kol?”

“No, love, a vampire hunter,”

So that’s a thing, too. I sigh. Granted technically I could have been called a vampire hunter, too, but I can also turn into a giant fluffy dog. What business does this human have hunting vampires for? Why would he go after the (apparently) most powerful group of vampires? “He’s human right?” Damon nods. “How old is the kid?”

“I don’t know, sixteen… seventeen?” Damon shrugs. “Young enough to be living at home, I guess.”

I try desperately not to think of Seth, human, going to school, hunting vampires, almost getting his arms ripped off…actually, many of those things pretty much happened. Is there no divine power that cares about letting kids just be kids?

“You don’t seem to like him,”

“I don’t like many people,” he flashes me a grin and I incline my head, completely reasonable. “He’s just annoying, damn, I remember Stephan as a brat, sassy ass thing. Charmed all the girls, still does, and annoyed the daylights out of me.”

“I doubt he was worse than you though,”

He grins, “Stephan was the bad boy back then, believe it or not, I was the quieter, ‘good’ brother. Granted, I wasn’t particularly special, still had a few stones to throw, a few things up my sleeve.”

I pause, “ Exactly how long ago was ‘back then’?”

“Ah, I don’t remember anymore. A hundred, two hundred years maybe?”

My brows shoot up. I know vampires can be pretty old, most of the Cullens were around a hundred, but it never gets less surprising. “That’s a pretty long existence.”

“I look pretty good for an old man, yeah?”

I check him over thoughtfully, as always taken aback by how well preserved vampires are. I say, “Pretty good,” and turn my attention to the building. In theory, a Wolf could live pretty long, maybe not as long as a vampire, we are not immortal after all. But the possibility of extended life is still rather daunting. If the first thirty years of life were already this awful, what could possibly possess someone to live for another hundred, or thousand, of years? Does it get any better? Judging from the torment I’ve seen on countless vampire faces, apparently not.

“How’d Stephan go from the bad boy to the good guy? And still get the girl? Because no offense to Stephan, but you’re better looking,”

He hears me, I know he does, but he stays silent, his gaze focused on nothing but the school, assessing something I couldn’t see. Can he hear Elena’s breaths? Does she have a heartbeat? I shake my head, Damon doesn’t. “Kathrine, Rebekah, all of them liked pretty, bad-boy Stephan, the human Stephan. As a vampire he was worse and he made me worse too, but he got straight, I didn’t.” He snorts, “Typical. I met Elena first, you know? But he meets her and somehow she doesn’t care about how bad he used to be, just that he is better now. Apparently, that does not work for me. But why should I be good? Why should I care when the world is so fucking awful?” His hands curl into fists and he doesn’t breathe but it feels like his breath would tremble if it could.

I think vaguely of Sam’s “Lee-Lee, let’s get married next year.” I think about Emily’s coy smile and the ring on her finger. I think of crying into my pillow, “Why couldn’t it be me?” Am I not good enough? Was I never good enough?

“I don’t do what she wants; I don’t coo and drink animal blood. I could, but I don’t and so I’m not the man she loves. I’m selfish, Leah, I want it all.”

I think of the pain of having our minds meet daily. I think of the bitterness and fights I would instigate. If selfishness had a picture it would be me standing just far away enough not to be seen by the engagement party, seething, considering scaring the guests away by chasing a bear into the clearing.

“If you’re so selfish, why haven’t you taken the girl yet? You wouldn’t be worried about what Stephan or Elena wanted if you’re as selfish as you say.”

“Not sure if that counts, moon-moon. You think I don’t make things hard for them? That I don’t think about killing my brother to steal his girlfriend?”

I consider this, consider my own jealousy and rage. Is it so bad to be wanted by someone? Perhaps I never thought of killing Emily, but did my glee at her disfigurement make me any better? I think of how I just gave Klaus advice for winning Caroline over, is this not also jealousy? Did I not hope he would fail?

“At least you have a chance,” I say, “I’m pretty sure she does love you.”

“But she loves Stephan more,”

I wish I could be angry at him. I want to yell at him for not taking a chance when he has it. Such opportunities are not common.

Instead I huff, “I’ve dealt with too many love triangles for my short lifetime. You figure it out. I’m not a love Guru. I feel like all I’m doing here in Mystic Falls is trying to fix people’s love lives.” I straighten, “I’m done, I’m not taking any responsibilities for broken hearts. You want her, that’s your problem.”

Damon laughs and looks at me quickly, “Fiery,”

“I try,”

“How’s your triangle going?”

“My triangle?” I am amused, “There is none.”

“Maybe we should hook up.”

We stare at each other for a long moment, then I snort. Damon’s smirk grows.

I decide not to comment, merely giving him a parting pat on the back and before leaving him to his devices.

XXXXX

(The floor is cold and my hands are shaking. The public bathroom smells…rancid, I try not to think of how dirty the tiles are, when last, if ever, this corner of the wall has been cleaned.

The three tests are sitting on the seat lid, the white plastic and little blank face seeming impossibly far away.

I’m shaking. I want to go back to bed and not wake up, pretend this week, month, year never happened. I want to tell the Leah from four months ago, still grieving over her dad’s death, not to find comfort in Sam’s arms. “He’s distant for a reason.” I’d tell her, “Cut your losses.”

The main restroom door slams open and a woman’s laughter rings out. “You should have seen their faces, I thought RIchard would would choke on his oysters.”

I cringe into the back of my stall, short of breath, wanting to choke to death on the stench of piss and lemon scented cleaner.

Negative, the tests say. All three of them.

I blink.

I continue to shake.)

XXXXX

I meet Caroline for dinner at the Grill. The place is just as busy as the two previous time’s I’ve been there, and someone’s had the idea to remove the Christmas lights from the windows. There are still space heaters turned on although the nights are not nearly as cold as when I first arrived in Mystic Falls. There’s some kind of wrestling match on TV and the patrons are uninterested.

The manager accepts my CV with a smile and a promise to give it a look.

Elena and Stephan, not sure if they were invited by Caroline or merely just happened to be there at the same time, greet me and chat with Caroline about some school project or other while we wait. The food comes and the two disappear while Caroline drives a conversation I struggle to take part in.

Mere moments later Tyler arrives.

I’m not sure what I expected of him, not sure why I imagined him being much more…unfriendly. He seems nice enough and utterly in love with Caroline. He sits at our table and picks at Caroline’s fries, she does not seem phased by this and leans into his side.

It’s easier to be on the back burner as they chat. Occasionally trying to draw me in asking for opinions or asking to settle a debate on which ketchup is best.

I try not to be impressed by how cute they are, how very much Klaus is losing at this competition.

Once our food is done I’m roped into a drinking game that attracts a few other patrons. I decide to bow out when it looks like there might be an all out brawl over who the winner is. It’s surprisingly fun and I find myself smiling as Caroline regales me with tales of Tyler’s attempts at wooing. Tyler retaliates with a story of a disaster date wherein Caroline punched a store clerk by accident.

The Grill is starting to quiet, but Caroline convinces me to try my hand at pool. It’s not a sport I’ve really tried my hand at and Tyler directs me to bend my elbow, squint my eye. I don’t win any rounds, but I get in a few balls and feel near intoxicated with the feeling. Caroline laughs and indulges me in a few more rounds.

“Agh, it’s a school night, we best head out.” Tyler says after checking his watch. Tyler offers to walk me back to the mansion, his face relaxed and his hands in his pockets.

I want to say I can walk myself, I want to say “Shouldn’t you walk Caroline home? Don’t you have school, too?” But my brain blips and for a moment I’m lost before I remember that these are children, that I am an adult and I’ve just been drinking with children. In one sense, I know they are not human, but it still leaves me feeling dizzy and not in the fun way.

(You’d think with a Wolf’s metabolism that it would make no difference. How many pills does it take to numb the pain? How many shots to loosen the tongue? The answer is the entirety of Paul’s not-so-secret stash of illicit cannabis.

This is what being a fish is like, I decide as I swim through a sea of stars, the nebulous sharks circling me for dinner.)

Maybe I drank too much.

I’m somewhat dazed. Shouldn’t there be restrictions at the bar? Shouldn’t Tyler and Caroline have curfews? How did I forget that they’re teenagers? I’m an adult! If anything I should be walking them home!

I’m led to the Mikaelson mansion, trapped in my daze, head sloshing and fingers trembling.

It’s only when we arrive at Klaus’ home that it hits me. Tyler smiles and waves good-bye, giving me a lasting pat on the back. I stand frozen for some time, my mind finally righting itself, catching up and struggling from its fog.

I shake myself, “Stupid. Stupid, you’re imagining things. Nothings going on.”

I’m wrong, I discover upon entering the house to find Hayley pacing back and forth, her hands wringing the hem of her shirt.

“Hayley?” I ask, uncertain with her destress, still buzzing with my own nerves. I try to blink away the lasting thoughts from the night, I need to focus. Need to ask what’s wrong. I’m wading through mud, reaching blindly through the rising anxiety.

I wait, twitching, as she takes another turn and pins me with dark eyes, her lips having been worried into red lines on her face.

“Are you fucking stupid?” She demands and storms toward me. She pauses a step away and cringes, her nose wrinkling. “God, you smell like him. You are senseless,”

“Smell like him?” I blink and my slushing mind is screaming, howling because even if I can’t catch up, my Wolf can.

I want to deny it, they were so nice. The night was good - I smiled! I learnt to play pool! Tyler and Caroline were funny! Tyler walked me home, he-he patted my shoulder and righted my elbow, and he…he didn’t drink, just handed me glass after glass, eyes wrinkling. He brushed up against my side to point out a fault in my stance.

I close my eyes, breathe in deep.

My hands are still shaking and I want to cry.

I smell like him. His cologne and the undertones of wolf, that special Hybrid cocktail trailing over my skin.

I look at the hybrid, pleading, but I’m not sure what for.

Hayley continues to stare at me, her gaze disgusted. ( I don’t know then, I won’t know for a long time still, about Hayley’s own actions, about how she had helped Tyler. One day when she tells me, she’ll wear the same disgust on her face.) She spins away and continues her pacing.

As the air becomes thicker and my throat closes around fresh air, I croak, “Where’s Klaus?”

The wolf flashes me a row of pearly teeth, whether it’s a warning or a smug reminder that she knows him better than I do, I don’t know. “In his study,” she snarls and storms off in the opposite direction.

I take my time going toward the room, trying to decide whether approaching Klaus when I smelled like Tyler was a good idea. I mean, it clearly isn’t, but the same dark pulsing urge that made me chase after Jane on my own has me blinking at the doorknob to Klaus’ study. I know it’s stupid, but I let myself in anyway.

What I’m greeted with is silence. Klaus does not look up from whatever he is writing, does not stop the movement of his hand. The room is lit with the dull glow of a candle on the desk, the lights are off. While not a new sight it forms lead in my stomach and I curl my toes in my sneakers, feeling adrift..

“Klaus?” I call, taking a step forward. Can he tell from this distance?

His hand moves steadily back and forth, I can almost hear the sound of the tip on paper.

“Klaus?” my voice dips into an unsteady whisper. I’m not sure what part of the night would be the worst for him. Is it the knowledge of Caroline and Tyler together? Is it the betrayal of my spending time with them? Is it Tyler’s presence so close to his home? I suck in a deep breath, “Please-”

“Did you know that I sired Tyler? I turned him into a hybrid.” I freeze and stare at his bent head in confusion. “He managed to break the sire bond with Hayley’s help and then he decided to assist the others in doing the same. They planned to immobilize me and bury my body in cement.” He lifts his head, his face eerily calm, he places the pen down, “I freed them from the change and all I wanted in return was people like me, people who would be loyal to me. But I guess even that’s too much for the bastard Mikaelson to ask for, isn’t it? All I wanted was not to be lonely, but they forced my hand. They wanted to escape me, harm me, and imprison me, the one who gave them the chance to escape that monthly week of suffering.” He frowns, his eyes seeming to look right through me.

I swallow.

“I tore them to pieces. With my hands, with my sword, I ripped off their heads. I saw every face that I spent time learning to trust; I watched the blood of my pack pool at my feet. Their screams as they tried to escape still rings in my ears.” He blinks, and his eyes narrow. “Tyler wasn’t even there to see what he had done. Granted, he found their remains later, I made sure of that.”

I’ve tried forgiving his actions before, after all, what do I know of what he’s been through? But his words make my gut twist. I’m supposed to love someone capable of this? So blase about murder and hatred, I don’t want to comfort him through it. Is the vengeance of the act really an acceptable reason? Does he realise how wrong it is? The story of Klaus’ life is so vastly different from my own. I cannot begin to imagine the pain his family and those he trusted inflicted on him. That doesn’t make it okay though.

I bite my tongue - did I not plan to rip out Jane’s throat, tear her to pieces and set her corpse on fire? I’m self aware enough not to justify my actions. She’s a monster, she tried to hurt my family. Would I attempt to kill her again if offered the opportunity? Yes. Does this make me a hypocrite for judging Klaus? I don’t know, maybe. Maybe this makes us both monsters, but I already knew I was a monster.

Does he realise that he is one, too?

Whether Klaus’ actions are just or not, it doesn’t change the fact of what I am and, thus, what he is to me. I might not like it, I certainly don’t condone it, but he is still my everything. Would he kill me one day like he did them? I probably wouldn’t be able to stop him. All I know is prevention - I will be better, I will not betray him, I will not run away.

At least this is what I promise a second before Klaus’ desk is flying through the air.

I barely just dodge the wooden contraption. It shatters on the door behind me.

I jerk around to stare at the devastation of wood and the scratter of stationary around it.

“Why doesn’t anyone understand?”

I jerk back around, dizzy, adrenaline buzzing along my veins and setting off a familiar and hated racket of beez. I can hardly draw in a breath, my body is frozen even as my eyes glue to Klaus.

He stands in the empty space his desk had been, chin lifted, eyes black as coal on the roof. He is highlighted by the fallen candle, which has set flame to the scattered drawings of Caroline I know are littering the floor. His breath makes a familiar hitch and his tone drops, “Does no one understand loyalty? No one…”

The first wisps of smoke dance across the room, cheerily eating up the kindling and flickering light over the Original’s face. The flames are dangerously close to the curtains. “Klaus-” I choke out, not sure what I’m trying to convey.

I’m scared. I’ve been scared before, but this is too much. I’m not sure what I’m scared of right now.

“Not even the stray little shifter understands what it means to be loyal. Again Tyler, I should have known he’d try for revenge.” He turns those lifeless eyes to me and if I could move maybe I would have flinched back. “Everyone can’t get enough of taking what’s mine.”

Uncaring of Klaus’ fury or perhaps in spite of it, the fire crackles and jumps for the curtain. Within a second there’s an orange blaze that dyes Klaus’ pale skin in a sunset of hues. With the way his body heaves even without the need for air, I doubt he’s noticed it.

I moan, my eyes flickering from Klaus to the growing wall of flame. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I breathe and the smoke burns in my throat. “Hayley!”

The Original starts moving toward me, slowly, deliberately, a predator stalking his prey. The Wolf shakes beneath my skin, wanting to protect itself but also confused. Mate, it whispers questioningly. I stumble back a step, hands shaking as I raise them. “Klaus,” I try, “Klaus, stop!” but he keeps moving, “Please, don’t do this. We need to leave.”

I don’t want to hurt you, please don’t hurt me.

My legs are locked, but the rest of me trembles, I can’t breathe. By the time he reaches me my ears are filled with bees and seagulls and the crash of waves, and when he bends toward me something snaps.

My hand extends of it’s own violation intending to shove him away. There’s fire behind him though and in it I can see the corpses of slain vampires, their diamond skin torn to shreds. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and yank.

Neither of us expect this and we tumble back into the debris of his desk. My head knocks on a splinter of wood and Klaus’ weight drives me down to the floor. He catches himself before he can join me completely on the ground. He’s hovering over me, a shard of wood dangerously close to his face.

The shock of it, or something, has his gaze wavering and for a moment I don’t feel like I will die immediately. My hand is still curled in his shirt and I don’t loosen it, not when he starts to pull away nor when our gazes meet. “I don’t understand,” I choke through emotions and smoke. “But I’m still here and I want to understand.”

Our eyes are locked. I can’t breathe. Klaus doesn't pull away when I raise my free hand to touch the corner of one black eye. “He could never take me from you. You’re everything.”

He jerks but I hold tight. In the background the flames continue to cast shadows, Klaus’ eyes are so dark here.

“I’m not leaving you.” I say, even as my eyes burn and water from the smoke. “I’m not a hybrid, I probably cannot give you what you want. But-but I’m staying whether you want me to or not.” I cough and use the opportunity to hide my face, curling up until my forehead almost touches his collar. “You’re my imprint. Klaus, you’re everything.”

When my voice dies down, all I can hear is the roar of the fire chewing away the curtain, but I’m focused on Klaus. I peek and his eyes are losing the dark veins, it eases some of the tightness in my chest. Now, I can see the light flecks of silvery-white swimming amidst greens and browns. They make my nerves settle, the wolf gently nudging now rather than shoving. He doesn’t blink, just looks down at me for a startling several moments in which I can hear the fire growing.

He has a mole on his neck, I realise when he swallows.

“Hayley,” he says quietly and I jerk. My heart slams against my chest, eyes wide, it hurts.

“Klaus?” the hybrid calls and I snap my head to the side to see Hayley standing in the doorway with a fire extinguisher at the ready. We lock eyes and I immediately drop my hand from Klaus’ face and release my deathgrip on his shirt. My face turns red, my fingers curl around air.

“Stop the fire,” he says just as softly and Hayley complies without a word, easily having heard him over the flames twice.

I flush even further, had she heard me? Had she heard all those feelings and thoughts that I never even expected to let Klaus hear? It feels like someone has shoved their fist in my gut. I draw in a shuddery breath and squeeze my eyes closed. At least I’m still alive.

“Clearwater,” I open my eyes cautiously and Klaus is frowning. “That was some speech,”

That’s all? “Yeah,” I utter lacklustre and my brows draw together. It sure was.

Hayley’s put out the worst of the fire and all that’s left is charred fabric and the debris of ash. Somehow the fire hadn’t damaged too much, not reaching the book shelves or the cabinets. This in itself feels supernaturally lucky.

He pushes to his feet and offers me his hand. I accept it and he pulls me up. I let go as fast as possible. “Go take a shower, you’re going to smell like Tyler on fire and I don’t want to get used to the idea.”

Ignoring the very obvious threat to Tylers life (as a joke?), I scram.

After a 10 minute shower, I stumble dazed into the passageway and plop down onto the floor. I’ve been staring unseeing at a landscape of an English countryside for at least 15 minutes when Hayley approaches me. She’s quiet when she moves and I stiffen at her sudden presence.

“Hey,” She mutters and slips to the floor next to me, leaning up against the wall and stretching her legs out along the carpet. Hayley joins me in staring at the painting. “You good?”

No, I don’t say. I close my eyes instead and breathe deep, Hayley still lingers with smoke or maybe that’s the house itself. I’d scrubbed my skin near raw with a scented gel, however,I can still smell faint traces of the night on my skin. “I guess,” I fiddle with the edge of my shirt. “Tonight was wild.”I blink my eyes open and look at the painting properly for the first time. The artist had used splattered white paint across the canvas, it looks like old film. Idyllic. “What’s the damage?”

“Not too bad, there’s some scorch marks on the wall, the curtain’s a goner and the desk is history again, some books are cooked.”

I nod my head, “Does he do that often…the desk thing?”

Hayley makes a sound that’s probably supposed to be a laugh but sounds more like someone’s kicked her shin, “More than I think is healthy, it probably takes up the majority of the money he spends.” We fall into a companionable silence that is rather pleasant and civil considering it’s Hayley and me sitting together talking about Klaus. After a moment she sighs and leans her head back, all earlier indications of amusement gone. “Don’t think too badly of him because of the ‘Tyler’ thing. Klaus has been through a lot and unfortunately Tyler has been the instigator of some of it.”

“And you?” I ask softly, not wanting to start a fight just yet, “He said you helped Tyler rid himself of the sire bond.”

“Yeah. I knew Tyler when I was still just a wolf, before I’d met Klaus. When you’re a magical creature without much support, you tend to settle.” Her knee nudges mine and she pulls her legs up to her chest. “I was also the one to tell Klaus that Tyler and the rest were planning to betray him. I organised for them to meet that day so Klaus could get to them.”

I turn my gaze to her and drink in the small frown, the closed eyes, the tension of her jaw. For the first time since we’ve met, I realize she’s as lost as I am.

“I killed them,”

“You probably couldn’t have stopped them from trying to harm Klaus,” I offer.

“No, but I didn’t have to get them killed.” She lowers her head and looks at me, her eyes are focused elsewhere, somewhere I cannot see. “I just wanted Shane to bring my parents back. They needed 12 lives for the ritual. How lucky, how fortunate, that there were twelve lives I was willing to give up. In the end I didn’t get my parents anyway.” Hayley’s smile is flat and does not reach her eyes. “I should have known that even that would be too easy.”

Hesitantly, I reach out and touch her hand, light as air. After tonight’s events I want to curl away and never touch another living being again. Instead, I curl my fingers and catch one of her’s, her own hand spasms and accepts the touch. “I can’t blame you for holding on to hope. Anyone would try to bring back someone they love if they could. If I were in that situation I probably would have done the same.”

She chuckles, “Not sure about that,”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

She hms a reply and we sit with our hands entwined. I expect her to ask or at least give some kind of criticism. She doesn’t and I’m grateful. I’m not sure I could tell her anything right now.

Eventually, when the tension seems to have bled away, I ask, “Why’d you help Tyler?”

Hayley’s lips twitch, “I liked him, which in hindsight was pretty ridiculous. I didn’t know he had Caroline, you know?” She makes an interesting groaning sound and buries her face in her knees. “All I could imagine was the horror of being forced to do whatever someone else said. Tyler’s opinion of Klaus did not help. But then I met him.”

I watch closely as her face softens, she looks at me while the first real smile I’ve seen.

“He changed me, he helped me escape the full moon. I know how to break the sire bond, but there’s a kind of connection there that’s so much more than following orders. Tyler hates Klaus, while I understand why, I can’t help but be thankful that I’ve got some kind of connection again. Klaus hasn’t given me reason to hate him, he’s helped me and given me something I thought I’d lost forever.” She pulls her hands away to pick at the cuffs of her jeans. “But Tyler is an ungrateful little bitch.” Hayley snaps and then visibly calms herself again. “ He’s persistent and hateful. He will use anyone when it comes to hurting Klaus. That’s what happened tonight, I knew as soon as I spotted him outside the window.”

My hands begin to shake again and I try to focus my breaths. The Wolf brushes up against my skin for release, pushing and pushing. She’s mad. She wants to taste his blood for trying to hurt what is Ours.

The hybrid nudges me with her elbow, “Don’t let it bother you, he probably didn’t mean to get you hurt, he is just looking for a means to rub Klaus up the wrong way.”

“That’s what makes me mad.” I grumble and pull up my own knees.

Hayley hums and I look at her with a scowl, she snickers, “You’re pretty protective. It’s kind of adorable.”

I roll my eyes, “And you don’t fuss over him?”

She grins, “It’s not nearly as embarrassing when I do it.” Hayley pauses, “I think he likes having you here. He’s a very…lonely man, he thrives under TLC. Under all that Klaus-ness he’s kind of a marshmallow. Like a cat.”

“I doubt it,” I snort, “but I’m not going to argue with you on this. You like him don’t you?”

Her eyebrows hike up and Hayley gives me a lopsided smile, “I like him, but not in the way you think. Don’t get me wrong, he’s hot, but he’s also kind of like a grumpy older brother. Besides, fighting for attention isn’t my thing.”

I raise a brow at that, “Then what’s with all the growly faces?”

She gives a sheepish shrug, “Klaus sired me, he still looks after me; firstly, I can’t let you steal my place as his right hand and secondly, I can’t let you hurt him like the rest did.”

“I won’t,” I assure in all seriousness.

She chuckles, “I know, I heard you. So maybe it’ll be okay if I’m not the only person who trusts him, maybe I can take a few days off as his right hand woman.” She winks at me, “There might be someone around here who can fill the role, who can almost play it as good as me. If there were such a person in our lives, I might just be grateful for their bleeding heart.”

“And maybe such a person would be happy to help out.” I reply smiling.

“Maybe,” Hayley says and pushes to her feet, she starts to head down the passage, but stops to give me some parting words. “I know what you said wasn’t easy, Leah, and I’m sure Klaus knows that, but don’t let it bother you if he doesn’t acknowledge it. He tends to ignore things that seem too real or painful to find out are fake.”

Chapter Text

The joys of a small town, I think as Caroline spies me across the road and waves.

It’s just past four and the worst of the traffic has not yet clogged the road, allowing Caroline to skip toward me, curls bouncing in the undaunted sunlight. She’s dressed in some kind of sport uniform, ponytail high, a bag slung over her shoulder. She has not a singular spot of sweat visible.

Her smile is kind, her face open, but all I can think of is Klaus’ eyes bleeding black. The brush of Tyler’s hand on my shoulder.

If I did not know her importance to Klaus, if I thought for a moment he would appreciate me attacking her or hounding her for Tyler’s whereabouts… I breathe. I don’t confront her, because I know. (Does she know? Her attitude suggests she’s unaware, but who am I to make assumptions on her acting skills.)

This does not mean I’m not mad, I am. It’s been more than a week, a week in which Klaus silently combed over every book for fire damage, ignoring me. The house is a smoke scented tomb, waiting for some kind of break. Hayley shrugged it off, “Emotionally constipated,” she said and carried on as if Klaus was not ignoring her as well.

What do you do? I wonder as the mornings become warmer but the house remains cold, what can I do to fix this? Finding Tyler, was my first idea, but try as I might I’ve been unable to find him. Perhaps these things are best left alone, perhaps it's a matter of time and space. I don’t know, it seems like I know nothing these days. I cannot stand being cooped up in that house during the day, languid in the tension beneath my skin. So I run, I run and I run as if the reservation is before me, like the woodlands of Mystic Falls are the unending forests and shores of Washtington. I go until I can’t go a step further, until the ghosts of my family and dreams are nothing but wisps of thought.

Then I come back, exhausted, just waiting for enough energy to go out again.

“I got the job,” I say. The sun has not yet begun to set, the day feels endless. Even just working evening shifts feels like not enough. I try to hype myself up, think of the comfort of food and the laughter of the patrons, think of Matt patiently going through the menu items and explaining the specials.

“That’s great!” The blonde says, “I knew you would.”

I allow a smile in the face of her enthusiasm, feeling brittle. “Thank you for helping me,” I say even as my chest aches, my hands clenching the edge of my shirt. She is not the one who hurt him, not this time, but it feels like betrayal nonetheless.

“Aw, no, it was nothing! I was more than glad to help out a friend.” She waves away my apology with a grin and shake of her honey comb hair. “We should get together again and celebrate.”

I flinch back, heart speeding. Caroline’s face matches my own shock. I breathe and offer a tremulous smile, “Thanks, but no, I’m not big on celebrations.” Her face twitches and the empty pit of my stomach clenches, “If you really want to, you and Elena can stop by the Grill for coffee, I’ll buy.”

Caroline’s face relaxes but I can still see the uncertainty hidden in the corners of her eyes, that slight tilt of her head. “If that’s what you’d prefer,”

“It is,” I say, firm and without hesitation. I don’t want to be harsh, don't want to come across as rude, but there are trails of memories in my head spread out like dandelion seed, choking the air, murking my visibility. I bite my inner cheek, my frustration like churning rapids. I don’t want to be rude, but I’ve been petty for too long and it slips right out. “So, how are you and Tyler doing?” Not smooth.

The blonde looks away and then back to me, her lips press into a hard line, “Could be better,” she frowns slightly, “he’s gone off again.” Her lips purse, flickering down at the ends, the earlier guardedness making way for something much deeper. “Last time he came back he brought Hayley with him, who knows what he’s up to now.”

Nothing good, I don’t say, warring between vicious satisfaction and pity. I stop and force a few calming breaths. My behaviour in Forks and since coming to Mystic Falls cannot be called well adapted or friendly by any means, but I don’t think I’ve ever been purposefully hateful outside of my messed up relationship with Sam and Emily. There’s no joy in intentionally hurting someone, robbing them of the little good in this already miserable life.

But this is an opportunity, one that I’d be an asshole to take and an asshole to leave.

There is no winning.

At least now Klaus stands a chance - as shallow and cursed as it feels. I draw a hand through my hair and sigh; I’m going to be the best fucking wingman, I’m going to make Klaus so happy he never has to ruin a drawing desk again.

“I don’t want to make things worse, but from what I know of him so far, he isn’t worth it.” I don’t think about their chemistry at the bar, the way Caroline smiled and her hands lingered on Tyler’s shoulder, I don’t think about my own praises for him before he ruined it all. I don’t dare look Caroline in the eye. “Tyler is…not good,” I want to strangle myself, gag and throw into the depths of the ocean. “Maybe you should consider the things he does, the way he treats people,” I swallow, “The way he treats you. I’m not the best judge of character, but I think you could do better,” like Klaus.

The vampire is silent. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking at this unsolicited advice.

(”Maybe we should go away for a while.” Seth says, a quiet near whisper, that fans hot breath across my arm. He is heavy and hot and takes up the majority of space on the couch, but my fingers are stuck in his hair and I don’t think they’re capable of letting go.

“And do what?” I ask, throat dry, eyes drier. The family portrait across the room mocks us with it’s happiness.

“Forget…everything. Wolves and vampires, Sam, my exam grades.”

I huff what is meant to be a laugh but sounds more like the beginning of a sob. “We can’t.” Sam’s growl rings in my head, a reminder, and every part of me wants to melt into it despite the pain. “I love him.”

Seth’s body tenses all at once before deflating, his voice is wet. “I’ll hate him for you.” He says, his breath is hot, his tears hot, the weight of his body suffocating. “I’ll hate him like you’re supposed to hate him.”

I want to berate him, but can’t. The bitterness of the blank tests, the bitterness of Sam’s uncaring eyes floods my throat - hating Sam goes against the burning warmth of every exchanged smile, the deep hollows of his laughter. “Don’t,” I say, but it holds no real conviction. )

Caroline takes a step back, mutters a faint ‘Good-bye’ and hurries off. I don’t need to be a genius to know she won’t be stopping at the Grill for coffee anytime soon.

Matt greets me when I reach the Grill, the place is quiet, a lull between lunch and evening rushes. He presses my apron into my hands and starts a triade about Jerry messing up an order and a customer giving everyone a headache by yelling about it for a solid thirty minutes. We wipe down the tables as he talks, collecting dishes and nodding at a few early arrivals who seat themselves close to the television.

I let his voice wash over me, draining the stress of meeting Caroline from my bones with his soft laughter and casual retelling of the daily ongoing. He’s the kind of ordinary that makes you feel safe, like the weight of the world is not on your shoulders. A reprieve. Fresh air. If the world were different, If I were younger and less broken, I’d take him home to meet dad, delight in the forced nervous politeness as mom asks him to call her Sue. But I am not younger and I am not less broken, and he is a cute kid with the world ahead of him - a life that is normal and uncomplicated by the supernatural.

“How’re you holding up, Leah?” Matt questions after a particularly drunk group of men stumble out the Grill still singing off-key, they had attempted to steal my attention the whole hour they were there with gaudy ballads not fit for modern men. Little did they know; they had succeeded. I’d found them amusing, like a wolf pack on a high after the kill. It brought back bittersweet memories and had my wolf brushing against my skin, whining for freedom.

“I’m holding up,” is all I’m willing to say and I give him a reassuring smile when he raises a questioning brow. I punch his shoulder and hurry away back to my tables, ignoring the concern as his gaze follows me.

Jerry, I realise, for all his mildly off kilter jokes and pig snorting at his own punch lines, is a slave driver; so much so that I hardly realise it’s closing time until Matt has to pester me to leave. Jerry gushes about the night’s sales as we finish cleaning up, his moustache puffing any time he flounces from the register to the kitchen. It feels…good, familiar in a way nothing else has been since leaving Forks. I hope, as I fold and stow my apron that the bakery close to the hotel is still functioning well, that the mechanic that Jake kept pestering to hire him is making good business.

Nearing the end of the shift my wolf had become antsy, straining beneath my skin to get out, held at bay by the standards set forth for polite company. Either way, walking from the Grill’s doors is like breathing anew. The streets are empty and the air crisp, the sky is clear with the sickle of a moon on the horizon. The street lights remind me of when I first set foot in Mystic Falls, the flicker of neon on the side of the road. It feels like ages ago, like the passage of time has been crinkled up and stretched back out.

An empty postcard burns in my back pocket.

I skirt the road back to the Mikaelson mansion, instead moving toward the forest I’ve become intimately aware of in the last few weeks. It’s different from how it looks in the day, obviously. I’m reminded of horror movies and the monsters who lurk in dense shrubbery waiting for its next victim. With the amount of supernatural creatures I’ve come across in this town, I wonder how many people were pulled into the shadows never to emerge the same.

This does not concern me now though, not when there’s run, run, run pulsing through my blood, electricity set to flowing water, a fire of oil ready to spread. The Wolf does not care about the dangers of the forest, not when she can taste the season on the night air, all but feel the roar of insects in her bones.

Is it smart? No, but my blood is alive and I tremble with the desire to lose myself in the darkness where the moon won’t reach. To explore the changes between night and day.

Slowly, I step forward, as my toes cross the threshold from the walkway to underbrush my steps widen, lengthen. Laughter bubbles from me in breathless gasps as trees start to whizz past, excitement like a bubble gearing to burst through my skin.

I hold back the Wolf, delighting in the bite of wind whipping hair into my face, the way it burns my throat, the darkened colours of frightened insects and forest life rushing away. Unlike the Wolf, my human muscles start to burn almost immediately as I push through the densely packed trees and sprint over fallen logs, flogged by ferns and branches.

It builds and builds anticipation, like pleasure firing in my brain, forgetting the emptiness of my stomach, the nerves of customer service, the tightness of Caroline’s lips.

The darkness blinds me between one step and the next, a blink. And the world has changed height, colours mutated and pulsing with life around me. My fur snags on the branches, but I’m too fast, too free to care. The forest is mapped out in front of me, a large buzzing maze of survival, where all manners of creatures bide their time, living their short lives under a canopy of stars and leaves.

My clothes are lost to the forest floor, shredded and discarded in the change, their sad remains torn and left behind in my dash. I’ll mourn the loss of decent clothes later, curse the lack of sneakers and the comfort of well-worn jeans. For now, they are gone and so is the care for them. I’m burning a trail through brush, a machine of power and speed.

I know only the rush. Intoxicating. Freedom.

Here, like this, the fear is gone. Here, is boundless joy in flying across the land. There is no Sam in my head, no Jane to threaten my life, no Caroline to awaken insecurity. A howl rushes up up from the pads of my paws through the cavern of my chest, bursting out in a long low echo. It drags on, a welcome, an invitation.

No one answers.

My paws thunder over rotting branches, spewing dew covered moss into the air behind me. My shoulders shake with the force of my every step, causing silver fur to flow back and forth over muscle and bone. Sinew stretching, thrumming with the exercise.

My ears prickle and twist as I listen and search – for something, for nothing. They find only the distant cry of crickets’ wings beating against their backs. Awakened primal instinct prompts me to howl into the dark again, a call to the creatures of the wild woodland to tell them that I am there. It is answered by only the frantic twittering of birds, the hum of bugs hiding in the dirt and the soft lonesome yelp of a dog far away.

The same birds take to the air; rodents scurrying behind trees and into their holes, a wild song of activity for so late in the evening. It drives me on, enchanting me to run faster, to dodge shrubs and fallen trees, to find an answering howl. With every leap my claws dig into soil and decomposing leaves, the scent of bare nature and fresh, unpolluted air rising to tickle my nose, making the wolf crazed with the idea of the chase, the hunt. Dislodged moss clings to the fur on my underbelly, like debris from an abandoned building, coating me in the very surroundings from which I came.

By the time I stop my chest is heaving and my tongue lolls out the corner of my mouth, desperate for air, for fresh water in a stream. The world seems more alive as my heart beats, legs buckling.

I stand trembling amidst the trees, the consuming scents of various animals making my muzzle twitch.

I let myself sink back onto my hind legs, resting against them with my tail gently swiping across the ground. For a moment I allow my eyes to close, trusting my nose and ears to sense danger.

The world tilts and when I blink my eyes open I’m no longer sitting in the forest but I’m in Klaus’ study, seated at his renewed desk, a neatly composed image of Caroline under my pencil gripping fingers. I feel disappointed as I look at it, something about it isn’t right, even though I’ve drawn it a million times before and every other time I’d tried to fix it. I remember with uncertainty the first time I’d drawn Caroline’s pretty face, she was standing with a horse, an image I’d conjured from my mind not from sight. The one thing I’d done right.

I hear the creak of a door and before I look up I know it is Hayley. I sigh and look up at her, see the slight frown between her brows. “She’s not back yet?” I ask and my hybrid shakes her head, she waves a hand in the distance between us.

“No, her shift ends-”

“I know when it ends,” I snap and force myself to take a deep breath, it isn’t Hayley’s fault.

She looks at me, her lips pursing, “Do you want me to follow her trail?”

I shake my head, as much my gut was telling me to give her permission, I couldn’t. Hayley was trustworthy to an extent, but there were too many people who hated me and wanted to see me suffer. Taking my last loyal hybrid would surely be terrible enough, Hayley meant too much at the moment. “Don’t bother,” I take Caroline’s picture in my hand and crumple it in one fist.

Hayley opens her mouth and closes it, looks nervous before attempting to speak again. “Klaus, it might not seem like it to you, but Leah’s a weakness for you as well now.” She cringes at my glare, “If the other day is any indication, people can use Leah to hurt you. If Tyler figured that out…”

The darkness returns and I jump, the sound of insects exploding in my ears again. When my eyes open I’m back in the forest, soil beneath me and a canopy of trees overhead. It takes me a full minute to accept that I was still me and not Klaus as the weird dream had attempted to convince me.

My head shakes and my ears prick. Strange, the dream had felt so real. For a while there I was Klaus, it was my hands crumbling the paper. I swear I can smell Hayley, feel the slightest breeze from the door opening.

Fur twitches along my hind legs and I push myself up. Disconcerted.

It takes me a while to focus enough that I can find the direction from which I came and slowly I begin following the trail. Brushing up against trees, leaving my scent in a way that I would have rolled my eyes at if I saw any other wolf do it.

It is somewhat half way back and nearly twenty minutes later that I come across a scent I hadn’t picked up during my frantic run.

As soon as the scent reaches my nose the fur on my back rises and my claws extend. Tyler. The name is a growl emanating in the back of my head, it slips from my jowls, menacing. Nose to the ground, I follow the scent until there is a storm shelter, dilapidated, covered in moss before me...in the middle of the woods, yeah that makes perfect sense. It is a mere two foot cement extrusion rising from the decaying limbs of trees, bathed pale in the moonlight. A wooden door, much like that of a cellar, perches in the middle of the cement, a rusted lock keeping it in place.

For a moment I consider breaking in, simply smashing the wood to smithereens, but common sense dictates that Tyler isn’t there anymore; the scent is faint and old, maybe from a week ago. I let out a snuffle of breath and a low whine before lifting a large paw to gently scrape at the wooden surface. More out of irritation than anything else, I don’t want to consider Tyler having hidden here the whole time during my search in town.

Encouraging myself to leave the hideout is harder than expected; all I want to do is curl up, wait for Tyler to return. It’s fruitless though. With the amount of rubbing against trees I’d been doing Tyler would surely stay clear of this area. I convince myself to leave the discovery and continue on my way back to town.

Upon reaching the line of trees marking the end of the forest I came across my scattered clothing, in not too grand a condition might I add. I relax into the phase and soon enough I am gazing down at the shredded remains of my sneakers from two legs instead of four. I frown and grumble at my own stupidity. This is why you can’t have nice things like cell phones, Leah, I inwardly berate myself.

To my luck there’s enough left of my pants to leave me looking decent. But my shirt isn’t as lucky, one arm is missing, the buttons vanished into thin air and there’s a gaping hole in the side where anyone can have a nice view of ribs and breast if I lift my arm. For a moment I fancy leaving it completely, I’m not too bothered with a little skin, but the idea of showing up at Klaus’ home without a shirt on – half naked – doesn’t sit well with any respect I still have for myself. I don the scraps of clothing and with a heavy sigh I begin my journey.

Despite the late hour, I’m not willing to take a chance. I stay hidden in the shadows and keep my arms firmly around my waist in an attempt to piece my clothing together enough that I could be decent-ish. It’s in this dubious manner that I come across something that makes me freeze for a second as I pass Elena’s home.

( “Baby,” Sue says, her hip against the door jam, her face tired. “I’m headed to the hotel, do you need anything?”

I think of the way her hands trembled the morning after dad’s funeral, think of how that was two days ago, think of her “it’s not your fault”s and “I love you”s that broke in the middle. I finish pulling on my sneakers, they’re my newer pair, the old ruined when I phased. “No,”I say, unable to face her, knowing despite her wording that it is my fault. “Thank you, ká.”

She stands there for a while longer, her hair is neatly brushed, her buttons done up right, she holds herself up like she’s constructed of toothpicks and will power alone. “You’re headed to see Sam?”

Acid sits in my throat, I feel guilty, like a stinky, dirty bottom feeder. I nod, once.

“Be safe, baby. Watch out for Seth.” She hesitates but moves forward to press a kiss to my head.

I struggle to breathe again once she’s left.)

At first I blink, once, twice, a third time. But it becomes obvious that what I’m seeing is actually happening and not another dream-like delusion like the one I had of Klaus in the woods. My mouth is open and dry, I stare with the knowledge that this is something I’m not supposed to be seeing.

Elena and Damon. I’m pretty sure it’s real, I pinch myself to make certain. Yup, that’s them. I shake my head, not sure what to think, what to feel. It’s wrong; I know like the way I know how to breathe, inherent. It’s wrong and people are going to get hurt. Yet there’s a measure of relief for Damon, heavy with the weight of its moral implications.

I shake my head again and push further into the shadows. I shouldn’t get involved, this isn’t my problem. Didn’t I tell Damon I was backing away from all this love triangle nonsense? Let them do whatever they want, I rationalise, just don’t get involved. Just let them kiss on the porch in the moonlight; it’s none of your business.

I push away the sudden burning desire to know if anything had happened, if anything had changed in the last two weeks for this to be how things are now.

My lips purse and I spin on my heel, moving away from the lovers, away from thoughts of loyalty and responsibility. I remain careful, staying quiet and staying hidden. You have enough on your plate already, this is not your fight, not your problem.

Chapter Text

I was not raised shy, my mother would put her hands on my face and smile viciously. “You are my daughter, Leah, how could I not be proud.” I never felt the need to hold my tongue or watch what I wore, the world was a stretch of forest, a sandy beach and the supermarket just before the reservation started. Why would I need to be ashamed when the world was safe and the people around me kind?

As a wolf, being so exposed, did not bother me - it barely made the other pack members bat an eye. It was the eyes of outsiders, the news reports and horror of human cruelty that made me tremble in my skin (feel ashamed of my body). We were born with bodies and people have turned them into pillars of judgement to be broken and torn apart.

I greet Klaus hesitantly, unsure what his reaction to my appearance will be. I had not expected myself to feel so vulnerable, but I should have. After going so long without any of his attention his gaze feels heavy and unreadable. I don’t want to care what he thinks of me like this, I do. I do and the anxiety crawls below my skin.

His hair is mussed, his lapels creased, fingers stained as they so often are, even so he is a sight to behold. He arches a brow, mockling asks: “New fashion, I presume, Clearwater?”

It’s meant to be a joke, a way to lighten the last weeks of avoidance. It does not feel funny though, it hurts in a way that does not make sense to me. I decide on tact and refuse to answer. The night had been draining, the weight settled around me alleviated for only a moment by my run.

(“It’s like spidey sense,” Seth says with the enthusiasm of a teenager after two cups of coffee, which he is.

I struggle to follow this, but Sam nods, his gaze considering. “I guess in a way. Less sensing danger, more sensing the potential for it,”

The others ‘ooh’ and my lack of understanding grates even further.)

“The silent treatment? How adult,” he mocks and I have to fight the urge to stick my tongue out, it would only prove him right.

I pry my lips apart, feel the words rise like acid in my throat. “It’s called ‘Wolf couture’,”

Klaus’ lips twitch. If I wasn’t so nervous maybe I’d have been proud of this.

“I see,” he steps forward and I struggle to keep still as he walks around me, slow and appraising. His gaze burns and I tell myself this is not judgement, tell myself I am not a spectacle. It feels like a lie “Let yourself go in the woods, then?” he delicately picks a leaf from my hair and I twitch, watching his hand raptly. “You should be careful,” he sniffs the air so softly that I hardly notice it until he comments, “That scent is unmistakable.”

It jolts me from my own mind, a reminder of the first time he’d commented on my scent and the night when I’d been with Tyler. It sends a frizion through me and I’m suddenly all too aware of how he smells: paper, woodsmoke, paint. How close he is: too close.

I take a step back, breath gone, hands clutching tightly at my torn clothes.

His eyes follow.

I hear a chuckle and jerk around to find Hayley standing on the stairs, not attempting to hide her amusement. Her thoughts on my appearance are obvious. I glower. While things with Hayley have been better, she is still a stranger. Her sour attitude elevated but not wholly gone. Granted it’s been nice to have someone to huff at over Klaus being distant, it does not change that we are so very different with only one shared interest: Klaus.

Seeing her here now, her glee at my discomfort I’m reminded of Jacob smashing a pie into my face, Seth’s cackle after he threw me with mud. She is not being malicious, but it still sucks.

(The postcard in my pocket burns, heavy with guilt.)

“Hayley,” I growl my greeting, with less maturity than I wish I could have.

She answers with a snicker and a once over that leaves me feeling completely bare. If Klaus hadn’t been standing between us in that moment, I might have tried my hand at Hybrid murder.

I breathe tremulously, off kilter, and push past both Original and Hybrid in a bid for some peace.

(I have not known peace since dad died, since the last time he pushed my hair back and called me kaskayap.)

“Leah?” Hayley called, but her voice faded behind the slam of the bedroom door.

The room is cool and dark, the claw marks still marr the back of the door.

(My body is burning but I shiver, scraps of fabric stripped away like skin.)

I’m painfully alone here.

I don’t want to miss it, miss them. But their absence burns in me now, a torrential downpour of fire from the ancestors. A judgement for my actions, for my abandonment.

I shake with the knowledge of my deficiencies, the clear gap in my rationality. Who am I to throw off the plight of my people? The heritage and honour the elders had taught me as a child-

(I’ve known Quil since he was in diapers, watched him throw up mashed squash, and eat his own snot. He sits across from me at the fire now, glasses gone, sheepish as Sam scolds him. There’s been tension in the pack since he imprinted on Claire and Sam’s taken it as a personal affront that this has upset Emily.

Why Sam has to do this now, in front of everyone, I don’t know.

Jared is watching, completely enraptured for once since Kim couldn’t join the meeting - no amount of whining would get him out of it, any resentment he held over Sam’s decision is gone now.

“-she’s a kid!”

“I know!” Quil says and groans. “Like I said, I don’t like her.”

The conversation is familiar.

I push potatoes around my plate, not hungry, the food tasting of ashes.

“Everything okay?” Emily asks, settling down beside Jared and handing him a glass. Her presence shifts the tone and Sam visibly relaxes, turning besotted eyes to her.

Quil escapes to sit beside me, strategic. He droops like a puppy, “I was so happy to join the pack, but Sam just yells at me all the time.”

I snort, “Could be worse.”

He punches my shoulder, gentle, his fingers spreading to clutch my arm like the toddler I carried around. Hands clinging and desperate when Jake was given a piggyback ride and he wasn’t. I close my eyes to it, remembering the wind carrying their childish giggles. I can’t remember hearing Quil laugh in years.)

I don’t want to remember their faces, the warmth of their presence, a pile of bodies on the sand, warm beneath the moonlight, a howl started in jest and quickly turned into something we all couldn’t help but mirror. I do though, I can taste the salt on my tongue.

And it is as if my heart has been ripped out all over again.

With the time and distance between us, how could I know if Seth’s studies were all right? If Jake was remembering to brush his teeth? If Emily was coping with the exorbitant amount of food consumed in her kitchen? Did Jared still shirk off night patrol for dates at the theater? Was Embry dealing well with his seasonal allergies?

…Was Sam running them ragged or had he calmed since I left?

Were they all better without me?

Maybe my efforts had never amounted to anything, maybe Emily had seamlessly taken over my position. A better lover, better sister, better provider than I could ever be. They are all probably fine, hardly even noticed me missing. If they did, would they care?

I’m sure Seth is all the Clearwater they need.

(“Your brother is a nice boy,” Mr Hensley says as I bag his bread.

I smile, “He is. Top of his class, too.”

“Think that old man of yours would have been proud. Kid’s going to make a difference in this community. Do well by that mom of yours.”

I pause, something warm and wet and twisted withering in my stomach. I blink it away to hand the bag over.

“Hm, I know a nice boy out by the Makah reservation. He’s no Sam Uley, but has a strong head on his shoulders. My daughter says he’s a looker. Say do you-”

“Have a nice day, Mr Hensley.”

He blinks and smiles, wobbling his way out the store with a nod goodbye.

For a long moment, I stand with my head in my hands, struggling to breathe, feeling the familiar shake of muscles in my neck.

The doorbell chimes, I look up and smile. “Good morning,”)

It’s the silence, I guess as everything aches. The quiet felt like a boon at first, but it’s grown in weight. The steady drip-drip of a leaking faucet until the sink overflows.

They don’t need me. None of them do. They probably never did.

Just like Klaus doesn’t need me. Doesn’t care that things should be different now. He wouldn’t. He has Hayley, has Caroline, has a whole life that I’m not privy to.

Who am I to come in and change things?

Does the imprint mean nothing? Was all of this just for nothing?

Hurt is all that is real, all that the last years have added to my existence. There’s nothing else to validate it, the ancestors cannot really be this cruel, the world this unfeeling.

I don’t belong here - an imposter, a burden. Like with Emily and Sam all over again. All I’ll do is mess everything up, ruin it again and again until the whole world is burning.

Why should I relive everything I thought I escaped? That…dream of Klaus, maybe it is a sign, a reminder of my place, of all I will do to keep pushing through the same distorted mirrors over and over again until I’m forced to leave.

Keep running.

Keep hiding.

Shame on me and shame on him and shame on the world. Shame on existence for being so cruel.

And I’ll run some more, ‘til the world drops off into nothingness - the primordial pool before life is birthed - and the tales of a wolf spirit will caution children for centuries not to think too highly of themselves, lest you be her, lest you lose yourself and what you stand for.

Lest your name, too, be a sign of bad omen.

( I’ve found that the least complicated vampire to spend time with is Rosalie. She does not talk unless encouraged to, does not poke fun like Emmet, encourage like Alice, or wear kid gloves like Esme. She curls her lips at Jake and threatens him at my door, sinks her talons into my arm as warning when I shake.

Her hair is golden, not nearly cold enough to resemble Jane, but she is fierce, a lioness, hungry for blood. She paints her nails, seated next to me as a nature documentary plays.

“Alone and injured the buffalo will be hunted and killed by the pride before the sun sets. Scavengers like hyenas and vultures will feast on whatever the lions leave behind.”

“Does it bother you, hunting animals?” I ask, seeing the blood red of the Volturi, the black of hunger in Jasper’s gaze.

“Why should it?” Rosalie blows on her nails, the green as rich and deep as the pines outside the window. “To survive I must eat. If it’s me or them, I choose me. Always.”)

Whether I stay or run, I’ll be alone. There are no convenient Cullens to nurse me back from the brink, no baby vampires to give life meaning with chocolate cake. Nothing to fill the aching, raw hole.

I don’t belong and this is shown by the opulence of a room I could never afford, an imprint that will never care, a chasm of where hope and perseverance should be.

I am an injured buffalo, separate from the herd.

It’s cold and lonely and the once comfortable bed feels mocking. I think of moving, of finding clothes to wear. The bag sits across the room, still packed, laughing at me for ever believing I could stay. It’s belly is crammed with clothing I never chose, garments I’d never wear to explore a city I don’t belong in.

(You’ll be staying here, for now…Don’t get too comfortable.)

A flash of warmth offers anger. This is Sam’s fault isn’t it.

No, no, it’s mine, always mine.

The one thing I still have besides a postcard in my pocket.

It burns with guilt, a seething monster with lava for blood. I can’t breathe around the smoke.

I shove the suitcase, kick it when it falls, furious at the way it thuds. Shaking when nothing of value falls from it.

It continues to mock.

(The Walgreens in Olympia feels big, a stadium over my head, the aisles daunting with their pharmaceuticals. The signs overhead are strangely confrontational.

“Hi, do you need any help?” The sales assistant is a woman, the kind that mom used to work with at the hospital. The kind that would pinch my cheeks and give me juice boxes as mom handled some paperwork.

Her face brings tears to the back of my throat. I need my mom.

I shake my head and she disappears into the maze of the store.

I want mom, want the comfort of her soft fingers in my hair, the soothing cadence of her voice as she sings, the familiar bite of chilli in her stew. Want her to tell me dad is coming home soon, go wash your hands for dinner. Want everything to not have led to today. To this moment.

There are two shelves of tests, their boxes boasting happy mothers, curling scripts. I don’t know which to take.

A man peeks down the aisle and I turn away from the shelves, wanting to throw up. Only turning back minutes later, with shaking hands to grab three random boxes.

I want my mom.)

I hear the laughter, an echo of Sam’s that first night, it fills the air with the rancid smell of old food - buffalo stew.

Wolf pushes against me, vibrating, her throat aching with suppressed howls. When I am her I am not incompetent, I’m not useless. I hold her back, she is not me in this moment.

I turn my emotions on the room, the symbol of my ignorance and submission to fate. Let the varnished trimmings pay for my past, the carpet for my mind, the bed spread for the hopeless future that lies ahead. It retaliates by spinning and spinning, throwing me around and down to the floor. I breathe in the dust of the carpet, the plaster from my rampage, it does nothing to ease the detonation inside.

I’m trapped, circled by lions, my fate sealed.

I could run, escape, crawl from the festering garbage and try to throw off the memories, the insufferable feelings of helplessness, and find peace. Escape isn’t possible though, it’s all a farce.

I need to try.

Need to run.

Get away.

Escape.

The tether snaps and fangs burst from my gums, the rush of aggression swallowing my fear and spewing out fur, claws. It is not the smooth transition of earlier that night, Wolf tears through my skin ready to defend herself, hackles raised, ears pinned. I snarl into the carpet, body one large sore, overrun by fight, escape, protect -

I careen through the door splinters catching in my coat, digging into paws as I roll up and continue moving. The air is thick with the silence of predators stalking, lying in wait, ready to rip me apart, blood and sinew.

I’m not prey, I think, leaving a trail of red as the splinters dig deeper. I’m not prey.

The world is swirling, crushing around and through me, waves breaking on my back, salt in my eyes, spinning and spinning.

“Klaus-” a whisper.

I’m not prey, I snarl against the coming storm. No, I'm a predator.

I launch the last of the way, the smell of death, of anticipation, waiting for me. Snarl caught on my lips, I see it. The one who wanted to capture me, standing proud on the steps. Waiting for me, thinking they can destroy me, rend me, eat my flesh.

Teeth bared, I tell it “You will not have me” and it answers with a snarl of its own. A challenge.

Some part of me deigns to submit, to show my belly and beg for forgiveness. It howls and howls, distraught, but it is smothered by the fear - primal.

My challenger does not move, they stand tall, limbs long for strangling, teeth sharp for ripping. They are angry, hungry, a threat. I will not be their meal, I will not allow them to pull muscle from bone tonight.

I offer one last warning, a growl that vibrates the ground where we stand. The challenger does not back down, instead they tense, subtly, the mere tightening of the legs.

They are ready to fight, but I am strong and fast. My claws scrabble over marble for grip, catching on the first step. Flooring smeared red, nails leaving behind grooves.

They will not win, I will be free.

I lunge with jaws ready to snap over their neck, at the last moment they twist and I plow into their shoulder. We tumble down the stairs, their arm around me, I know this is how you get crushed to death, how the bloodsuckers turn you to dust, so I turn even as we fall, teeth gnashing.

Someone is yelling, I pay them no mind.

Their hand curls into fur, nicking skin, yanking my head back by the scruff. I yelp as the ground meets me, pain vibrating through my shoulder, their fingers still deep. I scramble, claws finding purchase on their legs and twist to break free. Tufts of fur come loose, stinging as they’re ripped free.

I spin on the challenger, barking in threat, teeth ghosting over their forearm. They are fast, too, and I don't break skin.

Their retreat was a feint. My legs shake but I meet them in their lunge, snarling, spitle flying. Their fingers are as powerful as my claws, they sink in and in, a handful of flesh, I offer a bite to reciprocate. The flesh of their leg does not crack like gems, blood fills my mouth, bitter and surprisingly warm.

It startles me enough for a moment that the urge to rip the leg off subsides.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Comes the voice again, frantic but clear through the chorus of our snarls. It is familiar, non threatening.

I growl in protest, unwilling to give up the fight. I’m still in danger, still need to get away.

“Leah!” Warm, like sunshine on a sandy beach in spring, toasting marshmallows, the weight of blankets in the deep of winter.

My ears flicker and for a split second my teeth unlatch enough so that the vampire wrenches its leg from my mouth, the sound of flesh tearing fills my ears and they snarl at the pain (it feels inherently wrong, an infringement to the natural order, it shakes the bones in my body), but its-his hands sink deeper into my fur. I yelp and twist, desperate, feeling wrong-footed, unsure why. The movement throws the vampire to the ground beneath me.

Its - his - its arms slip and I scramble back to all four, body swaying. I turn just as the vampire pushes himself up. Despite the ruby liquid running down his leg and his torn clothing, he looks…safe. I whimper, confused, shaken, needing to understand. He is my challenger, he is a vampire, why…why?

His gaze is steady, focused - ready to fight again. Fur clings to his fingers with blood, the punctures on his leg healing already.

I feel it, somewhere hidden behind the panic, a sense of homecoming at odds with everything. I take a step toward him, desperate for something I cannot name.

To the side the other snarls and my challenger stiffens.

Every inch of me tenses, thoughts forgotten, teeth exposed.

It snarls back. Challenge still given. The door looms behind the vampire, my escape.

I dive forward, ready to fight for my freedom. But I don’t make it to the doors, two vines curl around my neck and lock, pushing me to the ground. I know this, I know this and I am going to die, be crushed into nothingness. A pained howl chokes out my throat, the arms tightening so far that my head spins and I can’t scramble out of it quick enough to escape.

My legs kick, body thrashing. I cannot breathe for the arms around me, constricting my throat.

My eyes are bugging and wild, hoarse yelps trying to escape my collapsing throat.

“Leah!” the other snaps (and oh, I know this too, know the shape of the word, how it feels in a whisper and in a scream, how it sits inside me like a seed, a word that holds weight and holds dreams).

And I realise with sudden clarity that this is me, that I am Leah, and this is not an army of newborns gearing to destroy Forks. That Hayley has her arms around me, that she is going to kill me.

Without hesitation, I do the only thing I can, my body thrashes in a wild flurry of claws and suddenly Hayley’s arms are lost. My breath rasps in painfully human lungs, but I don’t let the second advantage go to waste, I shove my arm back, sending my elbow into the woman’s side. As she curses, I buck, shoving her off my back. My fingers slip in Klaus’ spilt blood and I slam back into the ground, smashing my chin against the floor. I cry out as my head spins.

It’s enough for Hayley to jump on me again. Her fingers curl around my throat and my eyes bulge, because I know the next move is a quick twist to the side (had watched Jasper demonstrate it, had dreamt of it curled up, shivering, in preparation for a fight we were not likely to all come out of).

I could recover from almost any injury, case in point my run in with Jane. But death is not something to recover from, death is not bandaidable.

(The funerary procession is large. Fishermen, hospital staff, elders, neighbors… there’s singing somewhere below as the hók-wat stay behind. The burial grounds are sacred and I feel unworthy to enter them with my father’s body.

Will I end up here too? I wonder as Seth cries in mom’s arms. Will I return to Quileute soil and join my father again? Or will the ancestors turn away from me for my path against tradition? My body left to rot in distant seas, consumed by the serpents of the deep?

Maybe that’s what I deserve.)

What little fight I have left drains between my fingers, an echo of the little girl trying to find the prettiest pebble on the beach. I rest in Hayley’s hands, an abalone nestled in its shell, just waiting for someone to crack me open. An abalone does not fight, they are plucked from the water and broken apart, children pick their remaining shells from the sand to make into necklaces.

Between one breath and the next, I breathe out with the pressure of her hands.

Like the shell of an abalone I crack open. Smugglers will throw me into the freezer and sell me at the market, the meat of me will be sucked out. My shell will be discarded in the trash, never to be picked and made into string necklaces.

I wonder if the ancestors will forgive me for this too.

“I’m sorry,”

Chapter Text

I can feel the time pass slower than it had done in my past hundred years, not even watching Rebekah fall in and out of love had made my mind so conscious of each passing second. I decide to lay the blame solely on Ms Clearwater and her rather unprompted confession. Granted her presence did little to my everyday life, in fact it hardly seemed altered. If the shifter hadn’t come perhaps I may never have noticed it, daylight was as bright as it had been before and the night as dark.

Why, then, did time seem to stall? Hayley appears not to be affected by this clear fluctuation in my world.

The hybrid seems to like Ms Clearwater, er Leah, but that hardly prompts a raised brow. Hayley has the unfortunate habit of befriending…strange people – Tyler being my number one example, of course. I can’t blame her though; she has been alone for some time now – once again Tyler being a primary cause – and perhaps for Hayley having companionship beyond myself would be more agreeable.

I’m sure I am at least passable company, yet it seems appropriate for the hybrid to have a female companion to confide in. The mere idea of being a confidante makes me shudder. As much as I appreciate Hayley and her company, I have very little interest in or ability to deal with whatever troubles women folk. My trust built and shattered through time, loss leading to perhaps an unhealthy distrust of them – one case in point, my mother’s attempt to slaughter her children at the reunion ball only a year or two ago.

I am not deluded by my prejudices though, women can be incredibly powerful and dangerous, useful. After mother and Rebekah had removed themselves from my life I was more than glad to be left with only Hayley as a female companion. One of the only hybrids I could give a measure of respect, of surety.(Granted male companions are no better in trust or interest; people, no matter their gender, can be snakes in disguise, just waiting for weakness to present itself.)

Beneath my hand ink smudges. I shake my head and crumple the picture, chucking it to the bin Hayley had insisted on placing in my study since the last fire. I draw out a new page and close my eyes, forcing my mind from the two ladies making residence in my house. Instead I focus my mind’s eye on a face I know better than my own. My hand starts moving and I allow my eyes to linger shut a moment longer, somewhat curious to see the results of this unseen drawing.

When I open my eyes several moments later and glance down at the sketch I feel disappointed. Although I might have drawn it with my eyes shut, it was well done, as always something about it wasn’t right though. I’d drawn it a million times before and every other time I’d tried to fix it. I remember with certainty the first time I drew Caroline, standing with a horse, an image I’d conjured from my mind and not from sight. The one thing I’d done right.

I tap my pen, considering throwing this one in the fire.

The door creaks and I know without glancing that it is Hayley. I wonder if she ever sleeps, I decide not to ask.

When I deign to look at her I sigh at the frown maring her brow. (Hayley’s face when she had realized she would not regain her family, is burned in my mind. My hands still coated in blood, I remember how she wailed, curled over her knees, her fingers clenching at nothing - I could not touch her. There was no comfort to give.) Despite my best attempts, I know her well enough to read her way she opens and closes her hands spasmodically. “She’s not back yet?” I ask, ignoring the way her anxiety bleeds into me, a tangible shiving thing.

My hybrid shakes her head; she waves a hand in the distance between us. “No, her shift ends-”

“I know when it ends,” I snap and force myself to take a deep breath, it isn’t Hayley’s fault. It’s Ms Clearwater, I assure myself, the woman is bound to be chatting up Tyler or Damon at this point, I really wouldn’t be surprised anymore.

Hayley looks at me, her lips pursing, “Do you want me to follow her trail?”

It’s more than a question, a plea, but I shake my head. As much as my gut was telling me to give her permission, because this waiting was torturous, I wasn’t used to waiting, I couldn’t. Hayley was trustworthy to an extent, but there were too many people who hated me and wanted to see me suffer. Taking my last loyal hybrid would surely be dreadful enough, Hayley meant too much at the moment. As much as Leah was worming her way into our lives, Hayley would be my first concern. “Don’t bother,” I take Caroline’s picture in hand and crumple it in a fist. It eases the tension for a moment and I consider straightening it just so I could ruin it once more.

Hayley opens her mouth and closes it, looks nervous before attempting to speak again. Just spit it out, I want to growl. “Klaus, it might not seem like it to you, but Leah’s a weakness for you as well now.” She cringes at my glare, uncaring or willfully ignoring the obvious. “If the other day is any indication, people can use Leah to hurt you. If Tyler figured that out about the imprint and that you are her imprint-”

“He’ll what?” I snap with a raised brow.

For a moment the hybrid’s mouth opens and closes silently and just as I believe she has given up, she crosses the space and plants her hands on my desk. I scowl. “Leah is a mess, if you haven’t noticed,” I open my mouth but she shushes me, my brows arch higher at her tone, “I know people like her, dancing on the edge of falling into fire or over a cliff.” She does not need to point fingers, but it stings nonetheless. “All it would take is a little push and she could break. God only knows what the outcome would be. Don’t play stupid with me Klaus, I know you can see how much she can accomplish – she has something the rest of us never had when you made us hybrids, she has a purpose.”

I lean back and shake my head, “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Think about it,” Hayley hisses and I almost hiss back at her in sheer frustration. “If Leah for a split second thinks that something’s happened to you and she couldn’t do something about it – say Tyler implants a whisper that you were hurt. She said so herself; didn’t she? She’ll be by your side, she’ll protect you. Can you imagine a crazed wolf – something we don’t even know the strength or ability of – running around Mystic Falls?” She shakes her head, “She’ll be forced to leave if someone doesn’t kill her first. I don’t know about you, but I’ll get sick staying here in silence again. You don’t answer well to my snide remarks, Klaus, who is going to snap back at me and call me names? And for once I don’t feel alone in this forsaken place. You’re too proud to say it, but I’d rather she stay and bother us senselessly.”

Hayley straightens, looking pretty proud of herself, chin jutting.

I meet her gaze, unwilling to lose in this contest of wills, unwilling to fold under the pressure of her words. At least I know now how far into this Hayley is, how far she expects me to be. I cannot give her what she wants though, cannot live up to her expectations when I know better than to offer things I cannot control. One day, Leah will be gone like the rest, one day Hayley will find purpose elsewhere.

And I will be alone again, with the knowledge that I was offered the world and it rejected me.

Evidently giving up on convincing me for tonight, she groans and pushes away from the desk, shaking her head. “You’re a dick,”

I cock my head, “Thank you,” I try not to let the boiling fury in my chest seep through and I know I fail when Hayley’s shoulders drop and her eyes gentle.

“I’m going to wait upstairs and keep an eye on the road. When she’s back I’ll let you know.”

I lower my gaze back to the desk, a dismissal. The sketchbook under my hand is down to only a few sheets, I don’t necessarily feel like sketching anymore. “Do that,”

“Of course,” I can hear the smugness in her voice and snarl at the air in warning. The hybrid leaves without another word.

Time drags by slowly, but it feels like only moments later that Hayley calls out, “She’s back.”

I rise from my desk (I do not hurry, I do not use speed) and make my way into the foyer and no less than a few seconds later Leah pushes her way through the door. It isn’t relief I feel when I see her. It isn’t.

Whatever it is that filled me when Hayley spoke, it withers and swirls within me, uncertain.

For a moment a familiar rage builds within me at the thought that someone had done this to her, that someone had…had… something, I don’t know. It nearly swallows me and I find myself striding the distance away. It hits me before I can react, that curling scent, ocean and pinecones, the musk of a wolf’s fur after a run, like fresh soil and fallen leaves, pungent and yet enticing.

I stop before her, not sure what my face is doing, but knowing the rage is gone, replaced with the desperate kind of certainty Hayley had tried to instill. For a moment, a flash of lightning, I can see beyond the fall of her dark hair, the sweep of her lashes, the gold of her skin, and I see silver, the ripple of fur over muscle.

As quick as it came it is gone. I’m left with the gaping ache of uncertainty and a mess of a shapeshifter. Involuntarily, I find myself smiling, she does look rather ridiculous standing there completely in disarray with pure petulance in her gaze. I could tell her that her clutching arms do little to piece her clothing together, that the leaves in her hair resemble a bush. But her face is flushed, her eyes wide and blown. I breathe, finding wilderness on my tongue.

Something in my chest trembles.

“Hi,” she murmurs and cringes, shrinking into herself although her eyes don’t leave my face for a single moment.

I have no greeting for her, no response that seems right. I’m starkly aware of Hayley somewhere behind me, the weight of her stare. I reach for words, shuffle through them with wild abandon, none of them make sense. My lips part, “New fashion, I presume, Clearwater?” Instantly heat rises in her eyes and I’m struck by my own words. unsure whether to be amused or horrified at the attempt at humour. The tension is still there in my lower back, I’m geared for a fight as long as she will humour me with one.

Her eyes merely narrow and her lips tighten, she doesn’t seem happy. I’m not sure what response I expected or what I would have preferred. But I expected something at the very least, annoyance starts a blazing trail through my chest and I draw a deep breath, pinning her with the most mocking look I can summon. I goad, “The silent treatment? How adult,”

Something in her gaze slips and I’m almost sure I’m going to have my outburst when her brows hike up and she looks positively venomous, “It’s called ‘Wolf couture’,”

Something does not feel right and it dampens the amusement of her response.

I walk toward her, watch her stiffen ever so slightly, “I see,” I don’t, cannot begin to work through whatever subtext we are engaging in. Rebkah would know and she would laugh, then refuse to let me in on the gimmick. This, I think with a bit of mania, is why I don’t want to deal with people, they make no sense. “Let yourself go in the woods, then?” I pause for a moment, eyes caught on a particularly blush leaf tangled in her hair. I reach for it, pluck it from strands like silk, feel it on my finger tips like a satin gown, the new cotton sheets Mother insisted on.

I stop myself from breathing it in, her in. It’s an excuse and I’m aware, but I cannot continue like this. “You should be careful,” I utter, whether to her or myself I’m not too sure, but I shrug it off, breathe. Her scent, that distinctive oceanic, warm aroma fills my head, I try to push it away. “That scent is unmistakable.”

Leah turns her eyes toward me, the dark depths brimming with shock and confusion and for a moment I’m drowning in that intent gaze. It feels like she’s trying to suck the air right from my lungs. Her arms tighten around her exposed body and I have the sudden urge to wrap her up, hide her, but my jumbles of thoughts are interrupted by a soft snicker.

My head snaps back and I scowl at Hayley from her perch on the stairs, but her eyes are on Leah and not me. I take the opportunity to shove away the muddle in my mind. When I glance back at Leah she is busying herself with glaring at the hybrid and it manages to ease the greatest sum of the undefinable something in my chest.

“Hayley,” Leah growls, I admire the sound. She sounds closer to losing her cool with Hayley’s mere presence than when I had openly taunted her. I scowl at this revelation and send Hayley my own offending glare.

When the hybrid snickers again, I know this one is meant for me and I bare my teeth at her in warning.

Hayley had a way of seeing through me, I didn’t appreciate it in the least, especially as she tended to use what she saw to torment me. She’s made a special effort to leave teasing hints about Caroline when she left my presence. Having gone so far to even pull ridiculous kissing faces while I was busy drawing, it had gotten so bad that I’ve banished her from the study when I wanted to sketch. This playful, sibling-like behaviour could hit too painfully at times.

The truth that Hayley was a testament to that which I had been seeking – a family.

There’s a choking sound from behind me and I turn just in time to see Leah’s face crumble into anguish. I only have time to blink once before she shoves past me at a speed that is simply not human – I mentally berate myself, Leah isn’t human.

She hurtles up the stairs and knocks Hayley aside, the hybrid looks at shocked as I feel and calls the shifter’s name. Either Leah doesn’t hear or she doesn’t care because a door slams shut a moment later.

Hayley startles a moment too late, “Leah?”

Silence stretches through the air and Hayley eventually turns to scowl at me.

“What?” I snap defensively at the accusing glare.

“You pushed her too hard,” she accuses hotly and places her hands on her hips, “I warned you: fire or cliff.”

I roll my eyes and turn away, hiding the burn of my face from the hybrid, “It hardly matters.”

Hayley scoffs, “Like hell it doesn’t, you’ve heard some of the stuff she’s been through.”

“And she knows some of mine,” I scoff right back, suddenly burning with rage. Why should a little teasing make Leah breakdown? We’ve both been through some serious shit; I didn’t curl up and cry every time someone called me an asshole. You suck it up and move on, accept it and use the rage for something worthwhile. “She’s being trivial,” I growl and stomp off toward my study, intending on doing…what? I don’t know; something to take my mind off this nonsense hopefully.

Hayley doesn’t bother to scold me or run after me and make me see things the way she does. She knows I won’t listen and I know she’s at her limit already.

For a long time the house is silent, if I focus I can hear Hayley in the upstairs study, stomping around in frustration, and the soft sniffling a few doors down. I don’t know why Leah’s meltdown has me so shaken. I bide my time pacing a track on the floor, growling at the mantle and desk as if one of them will put up a stress relieving fight.

Neither of them do.

Instead, the all too familiar heat of anger burns the room red - another fire, like the ones I’d watched witches burn in, like the ones I’d set myself. Like the one reflected in Leah’s eyes the night of her confession. I tremble with it, a pulsating flame flickering to and fro, needing to burn and burn and catch the world alight.

With this comes the thirst, a worm of hunger wriggling in my throat, the need to tear flesh and drink until the heat subsides.

As if in answer, there’s a thud, ripping.

(The woman’s body goes limp in my arms, the stretch of her skin still warm despite the faded heartbeat. My fingers curl and curl, pressing desperately into the dark of her shoulders, as I drink and swallow and suck. It’s not enough, It’s not enough. I’m so thirsty, I’m going to die. I need more.)

I freeze, head tilted to take it in - the rending of fabric, the slightest creak of a door, Hayley’s step-step-pause. I move, twitching at the promise of a fight, barely reigning in the urge to shift - no time, no time, I think even as a snarl rips through the air and the crash of wood.

I answer it, feeling the build in my throat, sweet masochism.

Hayley meets me at the stairs, her hand catching my arm, gentle. She meets my gaze and it’s a plea, her frown is back filled with urgency, for who I’m not sure. She breathes, “Klaus-” and in it offers so much more than argument, so much more than fire.

If anything was to follow, it is lost on another snarl. I pull myself from Hayley’s hand, with the touch of her fingers I lose whatever restraint had remained.

At the top of the stairs I’m met with not a girl but a beast. A fluid, silver creature that bares its teeth, sharp and long. It’s bigger than any wolf I’ve seen before, but the shimmer of its fur catches me, holding the air in stillness.

The beautiful monster snarls and the answer is natural, that sweet relief tears through the burn of hunger, ripping through me - a challenge.

The wolf waits and I offer it the first attack, feeling the length of my arms, the curl of tension in my spine. I wait, with dry lips and drier veins, a fire leaping over skin, magma behind my eyes. My hands ache with the memory of massacre, the taste of hybrid screams, villagers running and running not realizing they are only making it easier to chase.

Her tail twitches, ears pressed back, and she offers a growl. I stiffen, ready for the attack

She lunges through the air, her teeth aiming for my shoulder. Air rushes my lungs, and I twist and Leah’s teeth catch only air, her body slamming into me. We careen down the stairs. My arms come up, grab at her, the coarse of fur between my fingers, holding close. She twists in my grip, fangs grazing the air beside my face.

Hayley is yelling, but I spare her no mind.

I can feel the bunching of muscles beneath my fingers, the skin below the fur. The ground greets us, the weight of the wolf and the force of this final impact drawing from me a groan. My hands spasm gripping hair, pinching through the skin.

She scrambles against me, claws digging through the fabric of my pants, tearing at my thighs. She breaks from my grasp, leaving me with a handful of bloody fur. I can hear the erratic pounding of her heart, feel the warmth of her life on my fingers. I have barely a moment to think before she is lunging for me again.

I spring to my feet and her teeth ghost over my skin, her fangs just barely leaving a mark. My chest swells with heat, throat burning, thirsty. I growl. The air around me feels thick and disgusting. Leah trembles, her legs shaking momentarily.

We lung at each other. My hands find their way back into her fur, clawing at her skin, drawing blood, sinking deep. Her scent explodes in my head – warm and salty. I falter. Her teeth clamp down on my leg, tearing muscles, spilling blood.

A pained cry parts my lips; that fucking hurts! I snarl wildly just as she does; our pain is mutual. My mind races as my body jerks, trying to find release from the agony, Leah follows suit.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hayley’s frantic cry fills my ears, I don’t look for her, can feel her close, feel the fear coming off her. I know she will try to intercept.

“Leah,” I say, a warning. For a split second I feel the pressure of her teeth loosen and I yank my leg from her grasp. My skin tares, agony washes through me – I cry out. In shock I sink my claws deeper. Leah yelps and twists her body flinging me beneath her and with force against the ground.

My shoulders jar, my fingers slip and my arms fall from her fur. She springs onto all fours, scrambling away from me, her large head lowered and her gait wobbly. I push to my feet, my leg’s protesting futile, it’ll heal, I ignore it.

Leah snarls at me, her ears lowered. When her lips draw away from her teeth a threatening snarl explodes from my mouth even though I no longer have the urge to fight.

I can smell her blood, it makes my stomach roil. I resist the urge to bring my fingers to my mouth.

Her tears twitch up, slam back down and she’s flying through the air, aiming for my neck this time. She never reaches me. Hayley is suddenly there, moving with purpose, her arms sneaking out with lightning speed to snap around Leah’s neck. They fall to the ground. Hayley saddled on the wolf’s back, arms crushing around her neck.

A pained howl tears from Leah’s throat, she thrashes under Hayley’s hold. She’s crushing her.

I know I should stop her, but I can’t move. Her blood singing, melting my hands. I curl my fingers and Leah’s blood coats my palm.

Leah withers and thrashes wildly, her cries of distress a soft hum at the back of my head.

“Leah!” Hayley snarls, her voice unnaturally high. She looks at me pleadingly and if I had a heart maybe it would have been moved. I know what she’s going to do and yet I can’t stop her. Can barely think of moving, breathing.

There’s a wolf on the floor ahead of me and one inside me, both thrash, crying to be released.

The wolf suddenly shifts and Leah falls to the ground, all supple limbs and golden skin. Her arms clamour as Hayley pushes herself up in shock. Leah’s hands slide and she skids in a puddle of my blood, her chin slams against the ground and she cries out. I take a step forward, but suddenly Hayley is back on Leah. Her fingers curl around that caramel neck, pressing into skin. The indents of her fingers, making dark hollows.

I find myself moving, mind curiously blank, feeling only the warmth of blood on my fingers.

Leah stops fighting, her eyes wide, the stretch of her body against the floor a stain.

Hayley’s hands twist just as I reach them.

My fingers grab onto the back of Hayley’s shirt and I yank her away from Leah. SHe sprawls on the floor, gasping.

I shake, focused suddenly on the turn of Leah’s head. The wolf achingly silent, both of them.

I crouch over her, hands hovering.

What did we do?

(I’ve killed wolves before, killed all manners of creatures in all manners of ways. You’d think after a time it holds no meaning, it stops making you think. Well, if it does happen, I have not reached that point, I think.

The body at my feet reeks of piss and blood, a few days ago he would have smelled of that awful cologne he insisted on wearing. I take up his jacket to wipe my hands and face, to do away with the worst of the arterial spray. I do not drink, cannot bring myself to justify it when I’m not thirsty, not now, not here.

The clomping of horse and carriage sound outside and I step from the body, knocking his bag and the many instruments it holds across the floor. Monsters are not meant to be doctors, monsters are made to kill.

I throw the jacket on top of the corpse, ignoring the shake of my hands.)

I reach forward, hands shaking, and eyes wide. I can see the bodies of my slaughtered pack strewn across the forest, their blood coating my hands.

Leah’s blood was on my hands…

Air rushes from my lungs and it takes me a minute to turn her over.

Her head flops to the side, untethered.

Chapter Text

Hayley’s hands twist and in the recesses of my body a piece of celery snaps. It should be final, but tingles break out through my body, a wave of sensation followed by the swell of a headache, singularly intense - consuming.

I shudder a breath through it and that in itself gives me pause. I’m still alive if I can breathe.

The tingles ebb and fade with the wave, trickling out through my fingers and toes, sand swept by the ocean current. It leaves me numb, a shell with no living mollusk inside.

I’m dead, I think, as the pounding of my blood is reflected in the headache. No, no, alive, I decide, despite the lack of body. A weightless strand of kelp floating along the surface of a great blue sea, I have no control of where I will go.

And, like the unpredictable sway of the current, my gravity changes, a point of pressure somewhere on my body that I cannot feel so much as sense. The world moves around me, from floor to stairs, to the ceiling and back to the side. Klaus’s shoes, the torn edge of his trousers, bloodied skin, fills my sight.

Cool, sticky fingers curl against me, a gentle shift as I tingle. My cheeks are warm, I gather as Klaus finds my gaze, his eyes searching. He wavers in my view, blurred by a film of rain, his edges shaking and distorted. What face he wears is lost to the shake of my breath, the thrum of a heartbeat in my ears, the iron of blood still clinging to my lips. There’s blood on him too, I note, with a sense of detachment, I reason that it’s probably mine.

“I-I had to-” Hayley is saying somewhere beyond me, beyond the field of vision that is Klaus.

“Stop,” he says, voice low and eyes still on me.

Perhaps I should have been mad, at the act or that I was still living, I’m not sure. The fight from earlier is gone, the only traces left the physical reminders. It’s blown away in the wind, the fear and anger and…everything, consumed by that single snap. There’s no resentment for Hayley, no desire to plead or snarl. If anger could burn and swell within me, I wouldn’t feel it heat my belly, constrict my chest. What’s left is this, a shell.

“I,” I clear my throat, surely this tightness is real, the ache of tears sinking through bone and flesh -a reminder of times before, the weight of a world with no sense of direction. I blink and for a moment Klaus’s face is clearer, his gaze the colour of rain wet soil and drooping ferns bending under the weight of water. He’s blurred a moment later as my breathing hitches. “I can’t feel - I can’t feel anything.”

“Clearwater…Leah,”His hand on my cheek is soft, a caress, it tracks through the stream of my tears, brushing the hair above my ear. Through blinks he clears and wavers, face set, the line of his mouth an apology. I close my eyes, overwhelmed, struggling to breathe. “Your neck is broken.”

Something must pop in my chest, the recesses of this cavern, it rises up and up to choke me, to bleed from my pores and rupture beneath Klaus hands. It swells from my lips in a soundless cry, wet and broken.

“I’ve got you.” He says, voice close, breath on my forehead. A second hand comes to cup the side of my neck, the skin beneath it tingling, a finger fading from awareness.

(“I’ve got you.” Dad says, soothing the ache with butterfly kisses. His hands are weathered from fishing lines and carrying equipment, but they are kind on my skin, rubbing soothing circles against my back below the bandages. “I’m here, kaskayap. You’re okay.”)

As I cry, I remember the helplessness of lying in the Cullen’s spare room, that first time I walked since Jane’s attack. I wonder if they should have just put me down then, if this was where I was going to end up again. I’d been ready to die, then and earlier today, but this is worse. This is so very much worse than dying.

I don’t think I could do it again.

“What would you have me do?” Klaus asks after some time and the question itself doesn’t shock me.

This is worse than death, I think, this is not living.

But.

But, Klaus’s hand is tender on my skin, his voice level.

Hayley is nearby, her breathing choked, her “sorry” rings in my ears.

You don’t make it this far, through so many near-deaths, to throw it away so easily. There’s unfinished jam in the fridge and a postcard…somewhere.

(Despite my tendency to stray to First Beach, the coast is a long rocky stretch with cliffs and boulders swamped by trees, ferns, moss. Emily finds me relatively easily considering.

Her wound is mostly scar now, pink and puckered, despite this she smiles at me as she sits on the sand. Our shoulders brush but she does not touch me, does not reach out to hold my hand as she used to do. Her sneakers sink into the sand next to my bare feet. “I had a lot of time to think in the hospital.” She says.

“You shouldn’t be out this far so soon.”

She shrugs, “Probably not, Sue’s going to scold me.”

I nod, she’s right. No matter what happened with Sam, mom has always cared deeply. She’d never wish ill on Emily, not as I have done.

“So, thinking. Maybe I need to leave La Push, give you some breathing room.”

A shudder crawls through me and I curl further into my knees. “I don’t need to be blamed for your leaving, too.”

“No, no, that’s not what I-”

“Do you really think he’d just accept you leaving?” I growl. I think of Sam’s “this is beyond us”, his “I’d do anything”. I think of that awful conversation and crash like the waves, thunderous. “You can’t go. I’ll get over it.”)

Dying would be easy, so much easier than anything else has been. But I made it through didn’t I? I’ve walked and shifted and tasted the snow. I held a baby vampire in my arms, felt her warmth, felt the heat of a friendly pat on the back after work. Perhaps the bad has mostly consumed me, but there were morsels of good, too.

Crumbs of happiness scattered on a pond’s surface for the fish beneath - just a taste.

He’d ignored me, after the confession, but he’s here now, looking at me - maybe seeing me for the first time. I don’t have much hope for us, at first ‘us’ was a mere idea of something unattainable yet staying impartial to someone is hard. If the imprint was all there is then there’d be no point. But his fingers are ink stained most days and his hair suffers the brunt of his frustration. He drinks, not to drink, but to offer an image of himself, an image shattered by the lovingly written diary and a drawing of a girl with smiling eyes.

Maybe there can’t be an ‘us’, but there’s so much more, that I’ve never heard, never felt. So much that would never have the chance to birth.

“It…It might heal.” I say, voice clogged by tears. “Or maybe it won’t. If it doesn’t- I can’t…” I watch him, pleading with my eyes, begging in the way I know effects no result.

He blinks, eyes a forest blurring during a run, uncharted. I can see the question writ in the lines of his mouth, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, “Okay.” Then, “Hayley, go for a walk.”

Her breath shudders, I can’t see her. “But Leah, I-”

“Go,” he snaps, Hayley must have some non-verbal reaction because his voice softens, “Calm yourself and empty your head.”

There’s a moment of silence, then the shuffle of feet. “I’m sorry.” She says, soft, round, the words of a child in the face of an angry parent. I understand what the sorry is for, but it’s not complete – not wholly true. Perhaps if she’d been the one attacking Klaus, I’d be the one saying sorry.

Klaus turns back to me after a moment, his gaze searching. I wonder if the dull pain is obvious in the lines of my body, if the fear is in my eyes the same way his shine with focus.

I don’t know what comes now.

I lick my lips and watch his eyes dart. “You’re covered in blood.”

His mouth quivers, just a hint of a smile. “You don’t look much better,”

I don’t doubt that despite being almost completely unaware of my body. I want to hide away, duck my head, fidget under his stare. “Sorry about that.”

He snorts and bends over me, perhaps I would feel the fabric of his pants against my arm, the cool press of his fingers against my skin. “I’m going to try and move you. I don’t know the chances of your condition getting worse. It probably could, but I can’t leave you lying here.”

I cringe, “Yeah,”

He must take hold of me, move me, a spark of tingling pain shoots through me – my toes suddenly attached and alive, burning as they float in space. I groan as the world tilts, moving around, a too-fast carousel.

In an alternate reality, Klaus’s chest against my side, his fingers holding my legs, the concerned glances would have been…romantic maybe. Perhaps that’s a world that exists, a world that is far nicer to its Leah Clearwater. This reality though, is not that kind.

The trip back up the stairs is nauseating, my body deciding to switch back online at random intervals to punish me for breathing. I’m crying despite how fast he is, crying in great choking heaves by the time the trip is over. I’m grateful when he sets me down, hands painstakingly gentle as he arranges me, the fingers on my neck so much kinder than Klaus probably knows or will admit to.

In that alternate reality, he would have pressed a kiss to my cheek, brushed a hand through my hair, and whispered-

I blink the thought away, a different swell of tears at the back of my tongue.

(“I love you,” Sam says, his breath warm against the nape of my neck, his everything warm. So very warm, like the sunrise in winter, a fire burning under the spread of my palms.

I lean my head back, feel how he nuzzles my cheek, and smile. “What do you want?”

“I can’t just say I love you?” He teases, the bristle of his new beard growth making my skin tingle. His hands are firm on my hips, familiar weight.

“Nope.” I twist in his arms, take in the light that highlights the strength of his jaw, the way the brown of his eyes sinks deep, tree bark and autumn leaves and freshly dug up gold. “‘I love you’s can be used to buy kisses.”

“Guess I’m owed a kiss then.” He says, lips already brushing mine.)

I wonder if he would realize such gentleness, even as he wipes tears from my cheeks with a thumb.

“Here,” Klaus says and I can feel his warm breath ghost over my forehead as he rearranges the mess of pillows and blanket beneath me. He straightens and examines the room, brows raised at the destruction I’d wrought hours(?) ago.

And to think this had started with some torn clothes. Now I lie here, completely bare as Klaus tries to find an intact blanket to cover me with. I don’t comment on it, hope he will do me the courtesy of staying mum as well.

He covers me and turn away. The room is a sticky kind of silent, I clear my throat.

“What?”

The discomfort of it burst behind my eyes, I scowl at the roof instead of at him. “Would you mind…helping with-” I cough, “the blood?”

I feel his gaze on me, the weight of his thoughts and the burden on his shoulders. I can’t bring myself to face him but hear his movement as he leaves.

I close my eyes focusing on that deliberate sound – a comfort most definitely.

The burn of breath tickles the back of my throat and disappears, I part my lips to taste it, to know it’s real. Pulling my mind from the memories is hard, fighting a current. The air is tacky and heavy on my tongue – not crisp ocean air, not the bursting freshness of old forest. I draw it in imagining it filling me despite it’s lack, the rise of my body like the sun. Each breath daybreak, there even when you don’t see it.

The clink of a bowl settling down draws me from my mind, Klaus is deliberate in the noise he makes – I use it to track his movement across the room, his nearness.

Water sloshes and a cloth wrings of it, the drops like rainfall. I allow these sounds and the cool of air in my nostrils to ground me.

Moments later Klaus is in my line of sight his face cleared of blood, his gaze focsed. He holds up a damp cloth and waits for permission. I twitch my lips in a plea that won’t be voiced but he hears it anyway.

He settles beside me on the mattress, the warmth of the wrung-out water welcome on my skin as he cleans.

I watch as he works, tracing the flicker of his eyes, the minute pout and frown of his lips. I let it, him, keep me from stuttering in my breaths, from giving in to the burn of my eyes. After some time he visibly starts to breathe as well, the pace of his rising chest matching the one I’d conjured in my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut to ward off the tears, force my breath to continue matching his.

Twice he moves away to rinse out the cloth before resuming his actions.

He continues to breathe with me throughout it.

Eventually his touch vanishes at my neck, I blink to find him – still there, still breathing – watching me.

“I’m going to clean your arms.”

I swallow, “Okay.” He shifts his angle, and I don’t feel his touch, just the vaguest shocks at my fingertips, whispers of life. “Is your leg…is it okay?”

“It’s well enough,”

I pause, overwhelmed with feelings that I cannot express. “Sorry,”

He shrugs, “There’s nothing to apologize for, Clearwater. We fought, it’s what beasts like us do.”

Ordinarily I might have defended us, our abilities, the freedom of the wolf – but it fills my throat and threatens to strangle me. I was not in control, I was pure animal, and I’d wanted to kill him, hurt him. I swallow and the next few breaths are wet and stuttering.

He keeps pace, rhythmic and slow.

Klaus stands to rinse the cloth, comes back to sit on my other side. I cannot see his face, but his voice is carefully blank, “You were ready to die back there,”

There’s no denying it, I had been, was ready for it all to just stop. “I was,” I agree.

“No longer then?”

Questions like these, like the one from downstairs are so much more complicated than they seem. “I don’t know.”

We fall silent and I stare at the back of his ear, how his hair curls around it. So close, I can smell the ink and fire smoke, the blood.

“Why so eager to die, Clearwater?”

His sudden question startles me and I blink myself into focus. For a moment I mull over his words. “Why be eager to live?”

Klaus looks at me then, leaning to have better contact with my gaze. “The world is cruel and ugly; I know first-hand how charming death can seem. When you give in to it, you let it win, you let them win. You keep fighting until you’re defeated. You don’t give up.” I don’t what memories lie behind the snarl of his mouth, don’t know if I ever will.

I cannot justify that feeling that even now pulses at the back of my head, a parasite or shadow waiting for me to let down my guard. “I’m just tired.” I say because there are not words enough to describe it.

He pierces me with a sudden glare; it’s sharper than the mood called for. “Failure should never be one of your options.”

I stare at him, blankly absorbing the hostile, hidden motivation. I don’t have anything to reply with so remain still.

Slowly the tension eases from him and he resumes the breathing he’d forgotten in his frustration. “Must I check your back?” He asks.

“They’ll be healed already,” I say, eyes blank on the ceiling, remembering his fingers digging into my flesh.

“The blood?”

I ponder his offer for a moment, I’m sure moving me around isn’t a good idea if I’m going to heal, if I will ever heal. “Go ahead.”

He carefully manoeuvres me onto my side, using pillows and blankets to keep my body and head aligned.

His breathing stops for a moment and I try to imagine what he sees on my skin – a tapestry of wild youth and impulsivity.

“You’re riddled with scars,” he says and the breathing starts again.

“They’re all from before,” I inform him, “Wounds heal too quickly now to leave anything permanent.”

There’s an extended silence before, “When the Voltouri attacked you, how long did it take you to recover?”

I think back but instantly shy away from the pain, the darkness, the smell of antesceptic. My mind whirrs with a laughing child and falling snow instead. “I don’t- I think maybe a month? I could be wrong,”

“That fast?”

“Could have been, should have been, faster. Bones can reform in a week. My-” I stop to stare at the door, the scratched wood, the debris surrounding it. “When it heals wrong, it needs to be rebroken. I- my body was…not right. They couldn’t-” I flinch away from the thought, feeling the answering sting in my absent toes.

(“Okay, here.” Renesemee says with the enthusiasm of a child. In her hand is a mirror, the kind used for makeup application or whatever else these things are meant for.

The plastic is cool in my hand, the silver face a wobbling reflection of the world. It lights on my face, and there’s me-)

“I wasn’t right, not really person or, or, yeah. There was a lot of breaking. And I might not have ever been the same, but- But Sam-”

“Yes?”

I blink away the remembrances and stare hard at the wall across from me, “I fought with Sam,” not entirely a lie, “And everything…shifted, rearranged. Wolf and person. It should have been good then – you know? It should have-” I sniff, blinking fast to right the world around me. “But it still wasn’t okay.”

Klaus makes a low humming sound to confirm that he’d heard me, he takes a deep breathing, holds, releases. I copy desperately. “What did he do?”

“What?”

“You said you fought with Sam.”

My mouth opens and closes soundlessly. After a prolonged wait, I sniff, clear my throat. “He was going to send me away,” it sounds much less offensive now, lying under Klaus’s attention in a different city all together.

If the horror of that moment could be translated, perhaps I would not feel like a tantruming child.

There’s the distinct rustling of fabric and I wonder what Klaus is doing. Moments later I hear his footsteps and hear the slosh of water again. I bite my lip.

He does not comment on my story, does not try to comfort nor does he laugh at the absurdity. “Where did you get that scar on your shoulder?”

I’m taken aback, want to twist around and examine my own body. “An accident,”

“Have you ever considered breaking the skin again to see if the scar would vanish?” His voice is close but I cannot feel him, cannot see him. I feel blind.

My breaths stay even only because his does.

I force myself to think of his words, of the scar and how long it’s been there. “I wouldn’t try it.”

“Why?”

Are you scared?

I cringe inwardly, “It has memories,”

“Sentimentality is a weakness,” Klaus states levelly and I want to fling something at his head and demand what the meaning of his sketches are then, but I hold my tongue. We are plunged into stillness again, so much so that I believe he’s left me, the breathing stopped. I bite my tongue from asking him to breathe again.

“How did you get it?”

I’m drowning, drowning and no one will find me until my body washes up on shore – a swelling and bloated carcass fed on by fish. I suck in water and want to scream.

When I don’t answer he sighs, “Lost your voice too, Clearwater?”

I scowl at the air wondering if I answer, will he breathe again? “I went cliff diving; it was stupid.”

“I don’t see a reason for sentimentality in that respect.” He states, lofty and so beyond understanding the mortality of it all.

I let a moment pass before I begin. “There’s this cliff close to our reservation, I would always see the boys daring each other to jump from the top. I’d never done it and no one ever goaded me to try. They didn’t need to, curiosity got the best of me when I noticed it was-” I stop abruptly and frown, lick my lips. “I noticed Sam was one of the guys that did the jumping, he was sixteen at the time, but he didn’t seem scared at all. In fact, they seemed to be having fun – defying gravity and shrieking stupid dares at the top of their lungs.”

“Sounds delightful,” Klaus comments drily, but he does not breathe, does not come into my line of sight, does not touch the parts of me that are still alive. Does he want more? Is that it?

“One day, I snuck up there when I was sure I’d be alone. I didn’t want them to see me try this. There was a mounting possibility that I’d chicken out or screech in hysteria while jumping. It took me a good ten minutes to step onto the ledge, another five before I jumped.” I close my eyes, feeling the rush of adrenalin once again, feeling the wind whipping at my hair, a fall that in the years since has become as easy as listening to the wind in the trees.

“I was terrified, and I had reason to be. I forgot to take into consideration what the water was like below. It felt like hitting concrete. The waves were rough and they slammed me up against the cliff face a few times before I could comprehend what was happening.”

“Clearly you were stupid,” Klaus points out and I twitch. Still not enough?

“I was lucky, Sam and his friends were going to jump that day too, it turned out.” I blink at the surfacing memories: Sam’s call and his arms around my body, the warmth of his skin against the cold of the water. “Sam saved me. He took me to the hospital, stayed with me until dad could get there and still after.”

“Hey, don’t cry!” Sam’s fingers are hothothot on my cheeks. “It’s going to be okay, the doctor just said so himself. Here, let me do that,” he sits on the edge of the hospital gurney and rearranges the hospital gown over my bandaged shoulder. “It’s going to heal up and then you can try again.” I shake my head but he offers a reassuring smile. “I’ll be with you next time, I promise, I won’t let you get hurt again.”

My eyes sting at the memory, I wonder if my body is cold right now, like a corpse, like a bloated body sucked under the waves.

“You know, I think I like you, Leah,” Sam says, his smile is large, his teeth seemingly oversized, cute. He is flushed, his eyes focused on the water. The cliff looms to the side of us and I can’t stop my heart from heating a little too fast. Sam lifts his hand and scratches at the back of his neck, head dipping. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to hang out with me anymore, I just wanted to let you know.”

“How tragic Clearwater.” Klaus comments, his tone anything but interested. There’s the rustle of clothing and the sound of Klaus’ feather-light steps. This is it, I think, near tears with relief. “It’s strange how you hold sentimentality for the man who trampled on your heart. You’re a sucker for pain and it’s pathetic.”

He comes into view, his back not nearly as broad as Sam’s had been, his skin not even fractionally as warm. I feel the beg crawling up my throat, an itchy, desperate mass – please, please, stay, hold me, breathe, breathe. “I-”

“You are weak. It’s not charming.” He leaves.

Chapter Text

When light spirals through the room again, painting the scars in the door vivid, I imagine the warmth of the sun on my back. An invisible kiss.

The light of day does not shoo away the thoughts that had time to settle in the night. They cling, barnacles on the bottom of a boat, holding tight. I blink at the dustmotes in the air, the change from orange to bright white as the light crawls up and up.

Somewhere it is warm right now.

Under the covers, curled in a quilt hand made by aunty, the clanking of kitchen utensils as dad sings off-tune.

(“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m not mad.” Mom says, her voice carrying through the door, Seth’s sobs follow messy, unintelligible attempts at communication.

“Bed again?” Dad asks, over some kind of sizzling and clanking. Mom’s reply is lost in the noise and when it dies down, “Why don’t we get you cleaned up, then you can help with breakfast.”

Seth’s warbling reply fades down the hall.

A common morning occurrence, I don’t bother getting up. I let myself slip through wakefulness, a slow rowboat on an easy current.

At the smell of smoke my eyes snap open and I fling myself from between the sheets. “Dad!” in my mad dash for the kitchen.)

I’m no stranger to self hate, it would be weird at this point in time, I’m not used to it congealing around words from Klaus. Words that despite the lack of body, I know weighs heavy in my stomach. Rocks dragging me down and down to the sea bed.

I gnaw at my cheek, needing to be busy somehow, and focus on the mild frisson in what could possibly be my fingers.

There is no way to tell time other than the shift of light over the door. The rising frustration curls up under my tongue, a pebble that gets progressively more intrusive the longer it sits.

I find myself staring through blurred eyes, blood on my tongue, breath a hot ragged saw in my throat.

I’m thirsty, I think, or at least I imagine I do as I swallow the blood and it tickles the edge of my aching throat. I think I speak, or maybe cry out, or scream - some kind of sound. I want to be heard but am too scared of the silence of Klaus’ chest, I don’t know if Hayley ever came back.

I will my body to roll over, my hands to reach for the glass on the nightstand, fingers fumbling to check the time.

I stare blank and aching, a thrumming of a rocking boat, body still, trapped in the flat swell of an ocean post cold-front. I blink away the dark spots, feel the drag of my lashes as they clump and release.

I breathe, but just barely, not sure if the air reaches the recesses of my severed lungs.

The floorboard down the hall creaks and it is lightning through me, a flash of light which reveals the weight of a blanket (but is it?) on the stretch of my hip, the press of my elbow into warm sheets. As fast as it came, it’s gone.

There’s the creak of my door, footsteps nonexistent.

“Klaus?” is on the tip of my tongue, heavy and rich like licorice, swelling and filling me with a kind of desperation I’d deny any other time.

“Hello, darling,”

I blink.

I wonder if my stomach is clenching, if my muscles are tense.

“What-” I pause to swallow, the desert in the recesses of my cheeks. “Why?”

There’s a soft huff of breath, the hint of laughter I’m used to from vampires with no sense of emotional growth. “Shocked to silence? My, my, I really am a marvel.”

I snarl and it bubbles up inside me, little pops of awareness tickling through the depths of my caverness body. “Why?”

He hums and moves closer, the sound is louder, almost intimate. “It’s technically the family house - even if dear Nicky refuses to admit it.”

A frown mars my brow and I breathe out. Danger usually registers like ice, freezing and clamping down on me, curling itself around and through the winding tunnels of my veins. Now it’s a tightness at the roof of my mouth, adding to the ache of dryness - a cold, dry cavern, crystal tensed, ready to crack. I grind my molars against it holding the cracks back by sheer force of will. “Why- are you here?”

“Minor details,” he replies and perhaps, if the situation were different, if I’d seen his smirk as anything other than a reflection of Klaus’ disgust last night, maybe the ice would have thawed.

A reluctant smile makes its way over my face. “Of course,”

He makes this hum-like sound that suspiciously resembles a cat’s purr – or thunder on the horizon over a deceptively smooth ocean. Either really. “Never mind that. You seemed to have had a run in with Hayley and Klaus. Nothing too serious I hope?”

“Not serious at all,” I say as lightly as I can. “Just a little stiff from exercise.”

Again with that humming sound, he’s examining the marks on the door with apparent fascination. “I heard you calling. Do you require my assistance?”

The sun’s rays have migrated and now only light the room in the warmth of midmorning, it’s enough to be startlingly aware of the dip of Kol’s head, the way his eyes lose their hardness. I lick my lips, feeling the scratch of it. “Well if you are bound to waste my time and energy you might as well fetch me some water.”

“Delighted,” he murmurs and disappears, there are no footsteps. I think of vampire speed, how Klaus cannot be followed, scent, sound and all when he wishes. I think of the creaking floorboard and close my eyes to fight the sudden heat.

Kol returns much too quickly and I don’t have the time to completely shield the rawness. The gaping wound of my gratefulness.

“Your water, dearie,” He sets the water on the side table with the kind of awkwardness of someone who witnessed another’s emotional outburst.

I stare at him, the careful lack of eye contact, the faux-relaxed slump of his shoulders.

( Seth shuffles on the spot, his eyes on his shoes. I share a look with mom, the quirk of lips a telltale sign of the upcoming teasing.

“So, you called Ms Attwood pretty?”

“Gorgeous,” I correct with glee and watch Seth turn near purple as his eyes dart up to glare at me.

“It wasn’t- I didn’t-”

“He was blushing.” I tell mom and Seth seems to tremble from head to toe. His protests cut off as I continue, “Told her that he liked her dress, too.”

“Leah!” He howls and buries his head into his arms.

Mom hums, face carefully neutral. “Ms Attwood is a bit old for you, Seth.”

Seth crumbles to the floor, moaning unintelligibly.)

I offer a smile, trying to think of anything but the way Kol resembles an awkward teen.

Suck it up, Clearwater.

In fact, I do, quite literally too. I breathe long and deep, ignoring the burn of my throat. “Ah,” Damn, “Could you maybe…” I clear my throat and cringe, “Could you turn me over?”

His eyes alight and that smirk reappears - smug little shit - an expression that reminds me vaguely of Damon, Paul, that tit Abraham that works at the Forks library. Despite his asshole face, he’s gentle as he shuffles me around, cold fingers cradling the back of my head, pressing gently into the roots of my hair. I’m left leaning against the headboard, spine perfectly straight (as far as I can tell, at least).

The new vantage point reminds me of my nudity and the reason I’d ended up in this mess in the first place. I cringe.

“Seems like the bone’s already healed,” He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, casual as can be, entirely unaffected.

“You knew,” I accuse.

“I know a great many things, Leah.” Kol chuckles and, infuriatingly, winks.

Miffed, I crease my brows further, refusing to be drawn in by his stupid…stupidness. I stand my ground, grinding molars into the accusation to taste its bloody corpse. “You knew and still you waited for me to ask for your help.” It shouldn’t hurt, shouldn’t even surprise me really - but I’m feeling my lack of support (my lack of mom’s smiles and Seth’s hugs) like the tumbling of rocks off a cliff-face.

“Guilty as charged,” his smirk doesn’t falter for a moment, if anything he seems delighted by the strain of my voice, the undercurrent of responsibility he cannot grasp. He rests a hand on my numb knee. “You’re fun to tease. Most people – and by this I mean Klaus and my darling siblings – get all angry and aggressive. Which, yes, can be fun, especially when knives are involved. You on the other hand seem to take it personally. Sad puppy, don’t pull such a face,” he laughs.

I offer him a view of my teeth, knowing they are not nearly as threatening when blunt and human. It does not ease the thrumming weight at the back of my tongue, but it wards off the urge to voice the newfound emotional blackhole.

Kol offers me a view of his fangs as repayment and seems satisfied when I do nothing more than sniff at his posturing. Stupid- fucking, stupid vampires. I can’t tilt my chin at him but try to channel the energy in glaring down my nose. “Water,” I demand and then tack on a reluctant “please,”

Thankfully Kol offers no resistance to the command and proceeds to lift a frosted glass – complete with straw – up to my lips. I’m not above admitting my fault, so I gratefully sip the water, allowing my gaze to wander the room. It serves dual functionality: avoiding Kol’s stare and drinking in the room and the chaos I’d left it in.

Once the glass empties Kol retracts it and places it down on the side table.

I grace him with my attention again, eying the mud splatter on his boots, the decidedly purposeful mess of his hair. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

A decidedly unhappy quiver makes itself known for a moment in the depths of my missing gut. I blink away the need to cry, to scream, to rage at the world for just one more thing that’s wrong in this dreadful existence. There’s nothing to do for it, no way I can haul myself up across town in the two hours before my shift at the Grill.

No way to avoid another failure.

“I won’t make it to work tonight.” Kol offers no reply, merely watches me back.

Eyes the warm brown of fresh bark, light enough to see hints of the hazel that could have been, with this and the crows feet at the corners of his eyes, the regal slope of his nose, he has a passing resemblance to Klaus. Familial, familiar. Perhaps this would have instilled trust in me, but I know Klaus well enough, have seen the mirrored hatred and pain on his face. I don’t trust Kol, just as I know I shouldn’t trust Klaus. Still though, still. What other choice is there?

“I need you to call the Grill for me and tell them I won’t be in tonight.”

“What will I receive in return?”

The tension fissures through me, waking my amygdala with fiery pokers - it livens the arches of my feet. “Excuse me?” I choke out.

One of the vampire’s brows hikes up and that amused glint reappears. “Just as I said.”

A deafening moment ensues and I spend it glaring at the audacity. He’s Klaus’ brother, what was I expecting? Nothing good can come from asking anyone even remotely related to Klaus for a favor. Whatever he wants, even if I disagreed, I wouldn’t be able to fight him off.

The TV is small and the signal scratchy, but uncle Billy has all the channels, including the one where they try to teach you maths. Jacob had thrown a fit earlier when dragged away from the screen and the cartoon buzzing along on it. I feel a measure of smugness, usually reserved for when Seth is made to eat peas, at not being forced away from the TV myself.

I pat my school bag in solidarity, within the canvas confines is a completed essay and the rambling equations of algebra done in chicken scratch handwriting. At least it’s done.

The TV flickers and the channel changes, I peer across the room to where aunt Sara reclines in Bobby’s rocking chair. Her hair is freshly dyed black, the silver of last week gone like morning mist, and her ankles are hooked, showcasing the clean soles of her slip-ons. She presses-presses the remote controller until the wrinkle on her brow becomes less deep and she sets it aside.

In Jacob’s room down the hall he’s still complaining bitterly, the sound undercut by the jingle of local news.

I spin around to the TV. Dad likes to watch the evening news after dinner and although I don’t understand it much I like to watch it with him. He usually fiddles with my brain and makes guaffing comments about those “self-righteous assholes”.

The news lady seems to be talking about a landslide up north, her lipstick is a deep bloody red and her eyes framed by thick-thick black that is shocking on her pale face. I practice her concerned pout as the newsman adds to what she’s saying. A moment later a picture is shown on the screen and I perk up - the woman’s face is brown as the worn wood on dad’s boat, her hair styled in two braids weaved through with beads, and while it is not Quileute fare, she’s wearing some traditional clothes that seems vaguely familiar.

Aunt Sara notches the TV louder, the static crackling as the presenter’s voices raise.

“...the search for Ms. Lisenbe continues on its third day, search and rescue workers are tiring. Police officials, with no trail to follow, believe there is no hope for finding the missing woman. While some begin to speculate as to the reason for Ms. Lisenbe’s abrupt disappearance and its validity, the local Oklahoma Cherokee community are pushing for the involvement of-”

“Turn that off.” Uncle Billy says and I jerk around to find his face dark and filled with wrinkles. “You should know better.”

Aunt Sara scoffs but turns off the TV. “It’s not like it’s a secret. Who knows, maybe she’s next.”

“That’s enough,” uncle Billy comes forward and pulls me up. “Go help Jacob with his homework.” He says and gives me a little push, I know better than to question him (reminded of the police down by the river, the barking dogs, mom’s hand claw-like as she tells me to go watch Seth).

Shit, my frowning deepens but Kol remains impassive. I lick my lips, wandering if there isn’t another job I could find, somewhere else I could earn my living. But I think of Matt’s kindness, the careful guidance hidden under faux-gruffness from Jerry. I hear Klaus’ scoff, don’t be stupid, Clearwater.

I chew my cheek in consideration. Finally, “What do you want, bloodsucker?”

He pretends to think over my words, his eyes dancing over my face before Kol’s lips quirk into a leer. “Many, many things, Leah Clearwater, much of which you cannot grant me.”

I’d laugh if it was even remotely funny, instead I allow a snarl, teeth sharpening and voice just on the edge of a growl. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Yet if I were to ask something of you, something your mortal self is capable of, mind you-”

“Oh fuck you, you crusty old bastard,” I snarl again, perhaps a bit heavy on the growl on that one.

He rolls his eyes like the dramatic ass-licking twat he is, “I’d have to ask you for a dance.”

The words give me pause, because what? Is he serious? After a moment in which we stare at each other, neither blinking, I decide that he is serious and apparently completely insane. I’m too self-deprecating to accept this as some kind of misguided attempt to befriend me. There’s clearly some vampire brain disease that makes them do stupid shit - like giving up an oppertunity for a future favor from a wolf. Clearly there must be some hidden agenda I have not considered, but whatever his reasoning, or brain defect, he has asked for a dance.

A dance is a mostly painless, albeit weird, favor that can only be carried out if my body does gain mobility again.

“A…dance?” I repeat, just to make absolutely, positively, incredibly sure that I had heard him right and that I’m not in fact the one losing my mind.

“Yes, a dance of my choosing, at a time of my choosing, at a place of my choosing.” He confirms and I can’t help but think he looks unbearably proud of himself.

Nose wrinkled in consideration, I take in the way his shoulders press back, grey shirt stretched taut across his chest, a chest completely still. What does he know that I don’t? I consider it “I refuse to do anything naked or anywhere that might lead to harm.” I state firmly and as an afterthought add: “And no spilling of blood,”

Kol laughs, a low and assured sound, “And here I was planning a bloody orgy.” At the look on my face his laughter dies down. “Very well, your additions to our deal have been noted.”

As harmless as a dance may seem, I cannot fathom the insipid wants and needs of vampires as a species and, as such, may be missing a crucial clause or implication. I’ve never pretended to like courtroom dramas or politics as a whole and that may likely be my downfall.

“Is it only the spilling of your blood that’s prohibited or may another bleed for you?” He asks with a sardonic smile and if I could I’d throw a pillow at him. He chuckles and pats my knee, “Answer recalled,”

After Kol leaves, the day becomes a blur of frustration.

Lying here, with only my mind for company and no feasible way to escape the room, I feel the dredges of the past swirling at the tip of my tongue. I try to gain distraction through examination of the scratched door and indented walls, the overall mess of the room. I count the intricate flowers of the wallpaper and snarl at the air anytime my eyes glaze.

I’m sorely tempted to cry again, almost desperate enough to call out for Klaus, Hayley, Kol - anyone really. But the lack of sleep that night weighs heavy on me and, with no ability to throw myself from the bed, the weight of the days past settle down, dragging me into feverish dreams of too cold water and salt in my nostrils.

I wake with a start to darkness, gasping and vaguely aware of the frisson of panic that’s curling in a vaguely stomach area. Somehow, I’m now lying down instead of sitting and a blanket covers me from the neck down. For a moment I wonder who moved me, who bothered to draw the blanket to my chin and protect my prone limbs from the chill that’s starting to bite at my cheeks and chin. The wonder doesn’t last long, I can smell him. It could be from earlier, from that morning. It isn’t though, it isn’t and I know he’d been here maybe minutes, maybe hours ago. I know it the same way I know I’m hungry.

I breathe through the revelation, telling myself it’s for grounding, but the hint of him filling me with each breath is accusation enough.

I’m still stuck, cataloging Klaus in the recesses of my mind, drinking in the elation that it creates - warm, rough, sand-sticky - when Hayley marches into the room and shoves a phone to my ear. The metal of her handheld makes me flinch, but she is unforgiving and presses it closer again, hissing “for you.”

I stare, bewildered. Was she not ignoring me just yesterday after nearly decapitating me? Is this an appropriate response to someone you’ve hurt? But her face is a mask of annoyance, her disgust clear, but directed at me for what I’m not sure.

Hesitantly, I offer the phone a greeting and the reply -garbled by signal, not nearly as lulling as it is in real life - confirms the caller as Matt.

I close my eyes and imagine the warmth in my chest, a flower blooming and painting a yellow smile across my face. His concern is obvious, his tone verging on something bordering manic, his questions after my health reminiscent of calling mum from a payphone on a road trip.

After I assure him that ‘yes’ I’m resting and ‘no’ he doesn’t need to come make sure of it, I spend a moment to express my gratitude for his care (thinking bizarrely of Renesme frowning at her coloring book, tongue peeking out, her thanks for handing over a green marker distracted). Even through the phone line I can imagine his dimpled grin and the way his eye’s crinkle while he tells me to look after myself. I’m not too sure when his dimples or eyes became so important but I imagine it was between his first hello and the extra food he’d given me.

The phone call ends and Hayley gives me a long scathing look that seems to scream in a language I don’t understand. Despite my uncertain thanks, I am mercifully straightened again and fed – mercilessly – a lacking meal of undercooked potatoes and canned beef. I don’t dare complain lest Hayley refuses to feed me anything at all.

She stares at me and refuses any overtures of conversation. For a split second I see her eyes ficker, the briefest swell of a…something before it is gone and she leaves me again with the realization that I have a bladder and that it has become something of an ache.

The day has already been humiliating enough, I will my bladder to hold, to not fail me now.

I bite my lip until it bleeds. What little sensation is present whispers of the warmth of piss - I smell the beginnings of it in the air. And then quietly, waveringly, I call for Hailey, unable to meet her eyes as I ask for help.

It is humiliating, as humiliating as Emily cloth-washing me, as being spoon fed, as having to ask Kol to call into work for me.

We don’t speak. I keep my eyes lowered until I’m back in the room, alone. And then I heave out a sob, needing to curl up and hide, to escape into the forest, to sink into the mattress and seize existence.

Distantly, I hear Klaus and Hayley’s voices - unintelligible murmurs that stop and then start again as I cry. The frustration and helplessness bubble out of me, leaking from the roots of my hair and streaming down, down. A waterfall captured within my skin and overflowing after heavy rain, it threats to burst me - lighting up my knees with ominous creaks and twitching along the base of my spine.

I call out, to him, to them, to mom and Seth and Carlisle Cullen. I stutter around a plea for help.

No one comes to pull my edges together.

**

The pain of knowing is just as bad as that of ignorance. I willingly chose to leave Forks, I knew who and what I’d be abandoning, but even so. Even so, it hurts when no one answers me, when no one comes and soothes my pain. I chose this, I tell myself. I didn’t know it would be so hard, didn’t imagine it could have been any worse than living in Forks.

But here I am.

I made my choice and the consequences are burdensome - they threaten to drown me all over again.

Somewhere, there’s a postcard, unsent, waiting for me.

I’ll probably never send it.

Two days pass. Two days in which I’m reminded again and again how I’ve isolated myself.

Hayley comes with food, her glare gone, but her lips sealed. I don’t taste it, can barely swallow even as Hayley’s hands shake.

I consider begging her. I don’t - too scared that I’ll lose even this.

On day three I wake to cramping and needles. I shudder, biting back a curse as my skin tingles, tip to toe, a live wire crackling with electricity. I arch and groan, curling over to press my face into my pillow.

I’m hot beneath the quilt, my skin too tight, the bedsheets too soft.

With new awareness of my limbs, I try to push myself up. Breathing and breathing, tasting the familiarity of the room - a lingering hit of Klaus, the headiest of perfumes, a promise that feels out of my grasp. I curl toward the scent, needing to have more, but he’s long gone - the room and air settled.

Shuddering, I close my eyes through the sensory overload, gritting teeth as my nerves fire back online. It flickers in waves, burning at each minute twitch, millions of pinpricks.

All I can do is wait it out, groaning, movement only worsens it.

It must be an hour or two that my body takes to re-visit every inch of skin and muscle and probe itself with needles from the inside out. Viciously, quietly, I’m glad that in this time period neither Hayley nor Klaus are here. I must look as tragic as I feel.

Eventually, I manage to roll to the edge of the bed, still as annoyingly vocal about the physical movement. But I somehow succeed in struggling into a sitting position. A giddy, gurling laugh meets this success even as more tears fall. I take a moment to catalog the weight of my legs, the itchiness of the carpet beneath my feet, the way the world turns as I move my head.

It feels down right amazing to move my head from side to side – even if the world does spin a little. I take in the room from my new vantage point; nothing’s changed in the last three days but I still feel a rush of relief and happiness mingled in with the queasy, contradicting opinions of my head and stomach.

Shuffling clumsily, I scoot off the edge and as soon as my feet have my weight I stumble. I clutch at the bed sheets, vainly hoping they’ll keep me upright. Taking a step feels like a marathon, the gruesome end of one, as my muscles quake and the world narrows. I keep pushing forward, using the wall, draperies, anything to keep going.

When I reach the door, lean my forehead against it and breathe.

Chapter Text

Regaining use of my legs and arms should be a vote of confidence, after all if I could heal from paralysis and from the awful deformation Jane had wrought upon me just over six months ago, I must be near invincible. This does not boost my spirits though.

Every evening, as I lay down to sleep the memory of incapacitation rears up to choke me. I tap incessantly on whatever I can to reassure there’s mobility in me still - it’s clearly begun to drive Hayley mad, as she’ll glare and retreat from any room I enter. I swing my feet when I sit and jiggle my knee until the tables I sit at wobble. I’m filled with the kind of frenetic energy that precedes some kind of breakdown, but the breakdown never seems to get closer.

I breathe and breathe and nibble at raw carrots, too fidgety and too constantly weary to stomach much at all. In some bizarre twist I miss Hayley’s awful cooking, at least with her force feeding me I wasn’t constantly hungry.

When I can’t sleep, which is almost all the time, I run. Sometimes I head down the roads of Mystic Falls with trainers and a windbreaker, breath a dragon’s plume condensing around me. Other times I make my way to the forest, fold my jeans carefully and tear through the trees as if I'm trying to escape myself. Which I am.

The clench and strain of muscle never really goes away, even as I wake up after passing out on the carpet, sleep heavy in my eyes and body tensed and ready to move.

I struggle to write the postcard, my hands shaking as mom’s address is scratched into the blank surface. I wonder if, somehow, impossibly, improbably, someone from the pack will see this postcard and come for me. I wonder if I’d go back with them if they did. The post office in Mystic Falls is small and stuffy, the woman at the counter looks bored and asks about a stamp with the longsuffering of a tired mother.

It’s not all awful though. Not entirely.

Returning to the Grill after a week of absence is a comfort. Klaus’ house was daunting in it’s hugeness and stifled with venomous words, the cracking of bone. The Grill no longer lingers with Tyler’s scent, but smells of hot oil and melted cheese. The establishment welcomes me with unfurling wings of warmth and sound that drowns out that of my mind. Matt wraps an arm around my shoulder and smiles at my startled blink.

Jerry chastises me and presses an apron into my hands, his sun wrinkled hand squeezes my arm gentle but firm.

Under the concern, under the jovial smiles, I feel the nerves, a tidal wave crashing against fortified walls. I awkwardly dismiss myself from the sea of ‘welcome backs’ and ‘are you betters’, face hot and hands clammy.

I deliberately point my thoughts away from Klaus and Hayey, away from the postcard and the weariness in my bones. I try to sink into the Grill’s embrace, empty and unaffected.

I recognise a few faces on my shift, some more than others. They recognise me too. “People in Mystic Falls remember new faces,” Jerry informs me when I carry a tray brimming with glasses into the back. “We don’t get many and when we do…well, it’s hard to forget.”

“Small town problems,” I mutter while unloading my tray.

Jerry laughs, “Small town problems,” he repeats.

The Grill is filled to the brim with people tonight, it’s a Friday all right. I need not have worried about clearing my mind, I’m busy enough that Klaus’ obvious avoidance gets tucked away into a dark corner for later.

The movement, back and forth, a bustle from the kitchens to eating areas, feels good. Not as good as a run, but enough to settle the fiddling for now.

Methodic, I think.

And for a good few hours, as patrons come and go, as the TV switches to a recorded baseball game, I’m okay. Or at least, as okay as can be expected.

Which is why I really shouldn't be surprised when the comfort suddenly pops as I look up to find Elena and Damon now seated in my section. I stall for a moment in my momentum, eyes caught on how their dark heads are bent together, their hands intertwined. I remember seeing Damon at Elena’s school, at her door, the flash of his eyes as he’d compelled me. I do not think of Stephan, his casual kindness and soft edges.

Elena looks worse for wear though. I’d thought I looked rough, but her eyes are sunken and shadowed - full dracula makeup style. And as I near them, the tightness with which she’s clutching Damon’s hand starts to look like it may be painful. No indication of this shows on Damon’s face though, soft and purposeful as his gaze is.

When I’m by their table, Damon looks at me, a slow appraising look that feels vaguely familiar. I raise my brows, “Can I get you something?”

The vampire flashes me his signature smirk, “Nothing that wouldn’t cost you your life, love,”

My gaze flickers to Elena, her gaze glued to the woodgrain, the way her mouth convulses. Ah. “All right then, I’ll leave you two to it,” I turn to leave; there are many more patrons to see after all.

“W-wait, Leah…”

I turn slowly. Elena’s eyes are black, abyss black, drowning on a new moon black. She looks like Klaus when he had tried to kill me in his study. I stiffen and I take a precautionary step backwards.

“I,” she clears her throat and the hand she’s using to hold Damon’s clenches so hard that the man actually flinches and reaches with his free hand to stroke her arm. “Please talk to Klaus for me,” She rushes out.

Damon freezes, his face contorting, angular, brimming with protest. “Elena,”

I notice the warning snarl for what it is and instinctively take another step back, the wolf bristling and rising up to seek escape. I’m not sure what exactly Elena wants me to ask Klaus about, but I know Damon is firmly against it. Without a doubt. I wonder if whatever it is will anger Klaus again, I think of biting into his calf and tasting the warm run of his blood.

The world tilts around me, sucking me back and back into the dark corner that I was leaving for later. I realize that my knee is bouncing even as I stand there, having that inevitable breakdown now - in the presence of a hungry vampire and an angry vampire in a room full of mildly drunk patrons - would be such a terrible idea.

“Damon,” Elena starts, her voice cracking and she raises her hands to frame his face, thumbs caressing along his cheek bones. “It’ll be alright.”

The anger in his face crumbles into fear, eyes switching from hard to vulnerable in under a second – I’m too shocked by the scene to move away and give them privacy. “I’ll lose you again.” He whispers in the most broken of confessions.

The words wash over me, I assume, much the same way they do Elena. Despite our different circumstances, I’m positive I look as horrified as she does.

The words ring in my ears, a gong of a church bells, the sirens on fire trucks over the din of bar goers. It swells until it’s pushing at my ribcage and skull, trying to escape. I don't actually know what he’s talking about, I cannot begin to fathom what loss someone as old as him, like Klaus, might have. But I don’t need to know. His desperation, the gaping maw of his chest rushes, a gale force wind to push me back.

(By the time I stumble from the bathroom stall the store is playing one of those closing tracks that are meant to passive-aggressively usher customers from whatever hovel they’d crept into beyond employee eyes. I lean against the sink with a flickering fluorescent lightbulb above me and my own gaunt face staring back at me through a dirty mirror.

Perhaps, I think, I should be glad. But no happiness swells and no crushing despair constraints my lungs. I watch my face in the mirror and wonder what the fuck I’m doing here, with negative pregnancy tests clutched in my hand and an empty stomach.

I throw the tests in the bin and wash my hands, watching water swirl and swirl down the drain as the light flickers.

I never really considered having children. I’d wanted Sam and Sam had wanted children and it had felt like…maybe they’d be a thing one day and Sam would be happy and so I would be happy and we’d be a family and of course, of course I would want children then. Right? But Sam had taken one look at Emily and those vaguely laid plans had been swept away on a breeze as if they’d never existed.

Perhaps they were never possible in the first place.

I dry my hands on my jeans, wipe at my face. The woman in the mirror looks normal enough, I try smiling at her and she smiles back pityingly.

When I slide back into the truck I pause with my hands on the wheel. It would be easy, so easy, to drive the wrong way. To drive and drive until the sun comes back up and the trees disappear and maybe there’d be something that would scrape me off the floor, throw me away or bundle me back together into something recognizable.

I imagine for a brief moment that Forks and Sam and this wolf business fades away until there’s space in me again for hope.

A horn sounds across the parking lot and I jump. Blinking out into the darkness as one of the workers dash to a waiting car, where they’re greeted with a “hello” and a kiss.

The sight burns. Ah, at least it’s something.

I turn the key and the engine stutters to life.)

The Grill swims around me, a blur of sound and smells and the air is cloying, overpowering. The tray in my hands warps.

“You won’t,” Elena insists, delicate and pleading. Her mouth is a perfect bow, bowed with something sympathetic and earnest. “I’ll still love you, Damon, being human or vampire won’t change that. I understand my feelings better than I did previously.”

Damon switches from fear to anger in a millisecond, “What’s stopping you from running back to Stephan? You’ve chosen him over me before, the only reason you’re with me now is because the compulsions wore off. If you’re human they’ll work again.”

Elena squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t want to be a monster anymore,” comes her whisper, “I chose Stephan once, but I didn’t understand it myself. I love you. Please, don’t make me stay like this,”

Silence stretches and a minute later Damon pulls his face from her hands, lips curled in a sneer. “I need a drink,” he pushes to a stand and leaves Elena alone in the booth.

He jostles me as he passes and I struggle to keep on my feet, blinking at the blur of light and shadow, feeling the earth’s turn like a playground swing.

My hearing feels distinctly wolf-like, a warp of everything much too loud, much to reverberated.

“Leah?” I jerk with the sudden call and my eyes drift over to Elena. Her eyes are watery and black, her gaze no less sympathetic or earnest than when she’d looked at Damon a moment ago. I wonder if this was what it felt like when Seth got stuck crawling through the rock tunnels at first beach. Cloying, claustrophobic, hopeless. “I’m so sorry to ask this of you, but would you mind…just…just asking Klaus to consider helping me? I am in no position to burden you or Klaus with my problems, I only- I only need him to help, just a little. Please,”

I blink at her, feeling sluggish, lost in the thrum of life moving around me, adrift in a storming sea. “I’ll…mention it to him.”

***

Alone in my room, I curl under my blanket with my face pressed to the mattress, the sheets steadily growing damp as I stare into the darkness and see Elena’s pleading eyes.

I…I feel empty, this is probably the best description I have. I’m not the best with words, but I imagine anything else would be too complicated, too intricate, to capture the weightless yet heaviness of my body. I breathe and the air gets lost in a cavern, I’m a waterfall, steadily drying out. Dying as the rains blow away for the season, moving inland.

Klaus’ gaze settles on me at some point through the cracked open door. Even under the blankets I feel exposed and curl further into myself waiting for the moment to pass.

Chapter Text

Despite my promise to Elena, it’s difficult, near impossible, to make myself approach Klaus. It has been almost two weeks since we last spoke and that had ended rather awfully. Now, instead of him avoiding me, I find myself avoiding him.

I don’t have the mental or emotional capacity to deal with Elena and Damon’s woes on top of my own. I try exceptionally hard to not think about it too much. Whatever disaster they’re facing, whatever crises have their weird love triangle in a tizzy is none of my concern. I won’t fall prey to it. I won’t.

My gut promises involvement could only be bad. I don’t know how or why, but it curls up and bloats, a beached whale ready to pop. I’ve already been almost-murdered, force fed Hayley’s abysmal cooking, and been subjugated to Tyler’s existence, how could it possibly get worse? As if the threat of life in Mystic Falls is not yet enough, as if getting involved in vampire shenanigans could possibly be worse. It could, but I don’t want to think about it. I won’t think about it.

I keep telling myself this even after a third night at the Grill where Elena stares at me forlorn from a corner booth with eyes life death and reeking of desperation.

I call a goodbye to the staff of the Grill as I shrug on my coat and make my escape into the quiet of night. One boon, I guess, is that there are no vampires waiting for me in the dark. Whatever my promise means to Elena she has the decency not to plague me outside of the Grill. I’ll take what I can get at this point.

The road to the Mikaelson mansion is familiar by now, I step over sidewalk cracks and count the flickering of streetlights as some kind of ritual. It’s an okay distraction from Elena’s stares and Klaus’ silence. My own silence.

I tip my face to the night sky, breathing in air, crisp and wet. The promise of frost.

I can only imagine that Klaus would froth at the mouth to get Elena in his debt. Her blood being the apparent secret third ingredient to Klaus’ Dr Frankenstein dreams, must make it a hot commodity. Even so, while Klaus had bled when I bit him, it was distinctly different from my previous interactions with vampires and their bodily fluids. Klaus himself is a hybrid and while Mystic Falls vampires have proven themselves different from those of Forks, I’m not entirely sure if that means the vampires here have any more blood flow than those I’ve encountered.

That being said, as far as I can tell, Klaus’ foray into hybrid making has stalled and Elena has thus far shown herself unwilling to humour him. If her favour landed her in his debt there’s no ifs, buts, or ands about it, he would take full advantage of the situation.

Whatever Elena wants must be serious to risk coming under Klaus’ influence.

Volturi? I guess and shake my head, unlikely. But in the off change that those red coat fuckers actually were causing Elena issues, we’d have a lot more to worry about besides Tyler and hybrids.

I pause in my steps, appreciating the diversity of colour even in the darkness, the weight of my body resting on the balls of my feet. I allow myself a muttered “Don’t be an idiot,” just so I can hear my voice, feel the breath on my lips, feel the compression of my chest at the exhale.

There’s no Volturi in Mystic Falls, no threat of Jane and no wolfpack to howl to. I breathe and allow the perfume of nearby houses’ dinners to bolster my steps. “No one’s going to die, you’re overreacting.” I tell myself and the thump of my heart, willing calmness.

“Overreacting about what, Ms Clearwater?”

I swear as I spin around, mouth bursting with teeth, hands curling into the beginnings of claws. Any semblance of calm gone as my back starts to bow ready to change. It ripples across my skin in tingling gooseflesh.

The man standing in the middle of the street puts up his hands, lilting to the side as if he’s about to lean against an imaginary wall. “Woo there,”

I snarl, spittle on my lips, eyes flickering momentarily into the ease of night sight. I don’t ask who he is, I feel like it’s implied in the threat of teeth.

His eyes are dark, cheekbones pushing at pale skin in a way I’m becoming strangely tired of seeing. He smiles, eyes unaffected, almost mockingly. Stupid vampires and their stupid faces. “Elijah Mikaelson, Niklaus’ keeper if you will,”

If this is meant to placate me, well, it doesn’t. I offer a snarl and allow my back to bend further. If anything, the fact that he’s related to Kol and Klaus makes him more offensive. I don’t entertain the idea that he’s lying, not with the casual smarminess and confident curl of his lips. Can I not have a break? Really.

I choose to ignore his name, irrelevant.

I look him up and down, the tailored suit and blue tie. A fucking vampire lawyer, I think hysterically.

“I think Klaus would take issue with that description,” I lisp through rows of teeth.

Elijah doesn’t stop smiling for a moment; he shakes his head as if exasperated and takes a step forward. I match him with a step back. Retreat is not cowardly, retreat is self-preservation.

“You’ve known my brother for all of what, three months?”

“Or something,” I snark, allowing myself the reprieve of human teeth for the remainder of this confrontation. I keep the claws ready though, fingers loose at my sides. He doesn’t respond except for keeping a bland smile stretched across his face. “So what? I don’t see you skulking around his depressing mansion and being forced to live with his sulks.”

This time Elijah laughs, the smile curving a bit further, almost reaching his eyes. “That does sound like my brother.”

I scowl. Okay, yeah, he’s Klaus’ brother, but even so he should watch himself.

“It hasn’t been my choice alone to leave him be,”

I raise a brow, “Some kind of brother you are.”

He looks on the edge of an eye roll but seems to catch himself just in time. “When your brother and his many, many enemies are constantly trying to kill you, you’d also not visit often.”

“Speak for yourself, bloodsucker.” I sniff at his words, turning my nose up and blatantly ignoring the falsehoods of my reply. If someone were going to hurt Seth, I’d throw myself at their feet, this is not invalidated by my runaway stint across the country. Fight me, bitch.

The vampire gives me a curious glance, his smile vanishing into the pretentious nose scrunch of public officials and disgusted aunties everywhere. “Not all families are alike,”

“Just because your family is made up of murderous dickheads and assholes, doesn’t make you better than the rest of us.” I counter on the mere fact that his face annoys me.

I don’t know how true this is and hardly care. Klaus has not bothered to detail his family tree, but childhood trauma is really damn visible and, despite Klaus being a raging idiot and a vampire, he’s clearly got enough family issues to put the American political system to shame. And, after meeting Kol, and hearing the brothers speak it really doesn’t surprise me that Klaus has another brother sneaking around at night in the hopes of scaring women half to death. Besides, by mere virtue of being a vampire in Mystic Falls, he’s got to be an asshole.

One day I’m going to wake up to a Mikaelson family reunion and will probably drown myself.

He rolls his eyes this time. It would be a victory, but I’m still firmly trying to glare him into dust.

“Most families don’t alienate their victimised brother,” Because this at least I know to be true if nothing else is.

Elijah’s brows hike up toward his hairline, “Is that what he’s told you?”

I scoff, “He didn’t need to tell me anything; he practically reeks of childhood trauma.” No one with a happy childhood gets as tight-lipped and angry as Klaus has every time his family has been mentioned.

“Then you don’t know Klaus,” Elijah starts, “He exalts in making everyone feel inferior.”

“So what?” I want to demand but bite back the impulse. I’d been in the Uley Pack for a good chunk of my life, I knew inferiority. Klaus definitely has some kind of complex I've not learned enough to identify, but he’s still my Imprint, still the guy who let me stay when he didn’t know me and cleaned my wounds. Yeah, he’s pretty much an unforgivable piece of shit that’s been ignoring me for two weeks, but he’s my piece of shit and Elijah standing on the knife edge of my every protective instinct.

“As if knowing that makes you an expert. Every incompetent brat and their mother knows that, you don’t see them rallying to say they know him. I don’t need to deal with this.” I shake my head and unbow my back, keeping the curl of claws pressed to my palm. “What do you want? I’m counting down from ten and then I’m leaving.”

“Hah,” His gaze feels sharp across the space between us, calculating. I’m reminded again of lawyers, those holier-than-thou ones that would come and bother the chief whenever a reservation boy would get into a fight outside of La Push. The overwhelming desire to bite his face off nearly has me sprouting teeth again. “I merely ask that you remind Klaus of where I stand in Elena’s assistance and that he should reconsider helping us.”

I suck in a breath. So he’s involved too.

Suddenly, I really don’t want to tell Klaus about Elena’s request. I beat back my curiosity with a bat and shut it in a dark corner. I narrow my eyes. “Is this a threat?”

The vampire’s smile stretches, “Possibly, but no.” He takes another step forward and, again, I mirror the step back. “He has one loyal hybrid and a…wolf by his side; I don’t think he’s at liberty to prance around without considering the consequences.”

I bare my teeth, about to retort something possibly laced with cuss words, but before the words reach my tongue the vampire is gone. I’m fast enough, I could give chase and possibly catch him but there’d be no use. What would I even do? My shoulders sag and I release a heavy sigh. “Certainly not your best night, Clearwater,” I mock and try to twist my voice to sound like Klaus’, “’Ms Clearwater, you look like shit’, yeah, yeah, feel like shit too you pompous ass.”

After some deliberation, I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat and start to shuffle along the road again. Elijah hadn’t directly touched me but knowing Klaus’ pedantic sense of smell and having seen his reaction to the last time I came back smelling of something I shouldn’t, well. I’ll be back at the mansion soon enough, ready for the great inquisition.

I guess this means our stalemate is over.

I grumble as I yank the door to the house open, readying myself for attack and necessary evasion. When no Hayley or Klaus immediately attack me, I pause to stare at the door to Klaus’ study. Is he waiting for me to come to him? Is this going to be one of those passive aggressive things where he waits for me to concede? I mumble an unintelligible sound and drag my feet to the study door, before I can knock-

“Come in, Clearwater,”

I do as told, wearily slinking into the room, a teenager past their curfew. I eye Klaus from a distance, not willing to close the gap, not sure of his reaction. After our time spent ignoring each other I feel distinctly adrift in his presence. I stare for a long time at the tired corner of his mouth and a gaping yearning opens up inside me. Why is this so difficult? It shouldn’t be this difficult. The rest of the pack had done the bare minimum to have their Imprints trust and choose them, and here I am with… Klaus. “Hey,”

“What did he want?”

It’s bitter and I want to throw a fit worthy of a toddler. I swallow it down and try for something lighter. “No ‘How was work today, Clearwater’?”

“If I don't ask, then I don’t care. Now tell me what my brother said.”

I scoff, “About the same thing as Elena, only with more insults and threats and less sad vampire eyes.”

An irritated sigh, “Can you elaborate?”

There’s nothing for me to kick at petulantly without having to step further into the room, I settled for tapping my toes against the hardwood, very aware of how irritating it sounds. I might as well, “Elena wants your help. I have no clue what for, she never said, seemed kind of…distressed. Damon threw a hissy fit about it.”

“Elijah, Clearwater,” I roll my eyes at the snarl.

Maybe I do understand the Mikaelson urge to throttle Klaus, it’s very quickly becoming a Clearwater urge. I force myself to breathe and not storm away. “I’m getting there, for god’s sake. Let me finish.” I lean against the door jam, eyes trained on Klaus’ bunched fists and the twitch of his upper lip. He’s so annoying yet so pretty, the bastard.

“Elijah ‘suggested’ you help Elena with her…thing, he said that with Hayley as your only hybrid and, I assume he meant me when he spoke about a wolf, that you should be cautious about how you choose to continue. Kind of denied it was a threat, but it did make me want to rip his face off.”

I’m torn on whether to bring up the comments about Klaus’ mental state and personality issues, mostly because fuck Elijah, if he wants to insult his brother, he can do it himself. But Klaus is curled almost like a pillbug over his desk, and I’m reminded of fighting with Seth and being sent to my room. The desperation of knowing you're right but being told you’ve done something wrong.

I hadn’t been lying when I accused Elijah of not knowing Klaus, I doubt Klaus barely knows himself well enough to work through his current emotional turmoil. And I cannot pretend to know him well enough either. For all my own woes and calculations of Klaus’ past, he’s pressed himself down so far into a corner that all he allows himself to be is the trapped animal that lashes out. What hides beneath that is wholly beyond my grasp.

Sam used to coax me away from my anxieties and would lay them bare, claiming they had no power when exposed. As a teenager and as a young women it had felt as if he knew me completely. He already knew my body, already knew what caused me to smile and frown. And then he had snatched that knowledge away from me…I became aware that he did not know anything at all. That I did not know him either.

In a startling version of irony, Emily had once told me about a philosopher - psychologist? - who wrote that everything we interact with is only a version of it that we have created for ourselves in our minds. We can never truly know or love someone because all we know is our minds, the reality of them is beyond our scope of understanding. It hadn’t felt important or particularly interesting at the time, in fact, I may even be remembering what she said wrong. But the idea of it swells within me now.

Sam had not known me as well as he proclaimed, and I did not know him as well as I thought. Will I ever know Klaus? Really know him, not just the him he bothers to show the world. Probably not, I think, he does not seem to want healing. And us, together? Two broken things playing at being useful, we are bound to only hurt each other further.

My thoughts are interrupted by a shattering bang, and I recoil as Klaus’ desk groans and splinters fall to the ground. When his hands come down again, I flinch slightly, but don’t look away. It happens three more times and by the end of it, there’s a twist of agitation welling in my chest. My brow wrinkles with force, trying to keep the desire to run away.

I should have expected this. And while not entirely unsurprising, it still feels awful to watch and let happen.

I imagine if I were Hayley (who Klaus seemed to trust) or Caroline (who Klaus could not conceive of hurting) approaching Klaus when he’s like this would have been easy, expected. But I’m not them and the conflicting desires to get away from the danger or pull Klaus close so I can comfort him burn within chest and suck the air from my lips.

So, I stand and watch until he seems to collect himself in the ruins of his space. Only then do I dare move further into the room, close enough to be present but far enough not to pose a threat. I suck at my bottom lip as blood and ink drip from his hands, as splinters decorate the curl of his hair and highlight his grimace.

A discarded sketch lays crumpled and ruined in the wreckage – Caroline again.

“Let’s get your hands cleaned up.” I say as softly as I can, wondering if this is how rescuers feel when pulling people from the edge of a bridge or coaxing a beaten dog from a kennel.

“They’re fine,” he snaps, and his voice is clear, commanding.

(Sherriff Charlie offers me a smile that crinkles his moustache and pulls the hat from his head.

I have not seen him in months, not since dad's funeral. The moustache is new. I shuffle to make space for him on the log and he sits with the kind of weary sigh dad's are known for. "Morning Sherriff."

"Leah," he says and stops to rub a hand over his face. "I'm sorry I haven't been around, I've been- it's just-"

I look at him, the dark of his eyes, the downturn of his lips. I remember his face creased in laughter as he shoved dad into the surf. "It's okay, it's fine."

Another shake of his head, he closes his eyes and breathes, deep and stuttering. "I should have been there, to, to help, or to check on you. You know, your father, he- he meant a lot to me, to a lot of people. Of course, well, you know that already. I should have still, shown up, or, or called-"

I reach out, resting my hand (warm, warm like fire and long exhales) against his (cool, wrinkling with age, calloused from his gun) and pull it away from where he'd begun to scratch at his cheek. "Okay." Dad's hands were always warm too, dried from sea surf and sunlight, wrinkling and soft. I imagine his hands had clapped Charlie on the back and ruffled his hair, his fist firm and unyielding as they scared off local grifters who wanted to make trouble in La Push.

Years ago Rene and Charlie had divorced and dad had taken the Sheriff (then deputy) out to sea. By the time the sun sank below the horizon they had not come back. Mom had kissed our foreheads goodnight and sat outside to wait for their return. In the morning, Charlie had flicked egg whites into my hair and made airplane noises at a complaining Seth.

I offer the man a hand squeeze, holding tight, thinking of that morning where he had gifted me laughter despite his own pain. "Thank you, for coming now,"

And in the mist of a Forks morning, the sheriff begins to cry, the back of my hand pressed over his eyes.)

I wonder if anyone’s ever kissed his bruises or cleaned his scrapes. I wonder achingly if that answer is never.

I suck at my teeth and I take another step forward, “I’m sure they are.” Seth would sob at the smallest of cuts, convinced he would die for five minutes before a Band-Aid could be applied and he promptly forgot the injury existed in the first place. “But for my peace of mind? All we’ll really be doing is washing off the ink,”

There’s silence before Klaus lifts his head, his face a cold mask. We stare at each other for a long minute wherein I try to keep my face guileless. “If you insist,”

“I do,” I hum appreciatively and wait a moment before extending a hand, even knowing he won’t take it. “Why don’t we go somewhere else for that? A bit messy here, isn’t it?”

It feels like following a zombie from the study to Klaus’ bedroom – a place I’ve never been before, but don’t let myself look around to judge the decor as I have in every other room. I have a task to complete after all. I direct him to sit and hurry to fetch a bowl of water and a cloth.

When I return Klaus is lying on the bed, an arm draped over his eyes. I pause to stare before disregarding his hitching breaths and setting up the impromptu not-quite-first-aid station.

“Hayley will be away for a while.”

I freeze with the half wrung-out cloth in my hands, droplets dripping over my fingers to splash in the water below. I open my mouth, but no words come to me.

“She’s alive,” Klaus says in a rasp, obviously interpreting my silence, “But she’s gone,”

An age passes and I look down at the cloth, slowly I finish wringing it, “She…left?”

“She heard murmurs that there’s a man that could bring back her family.”

I nod slowly, not knowing whether saying that Klaus was also her family was a good idea. Instead, I bite my lip, “The sire bond?”

A snort, “She broke that ages ago, she just decided to stay.”

I can’t think of anything to say. Hayley would come back surely but saying that would be a lie, I don’t know that for sure. I could tell him that I’m here, that I’d never leave him, only…it’s not me he wants here. Hayley is his last hybrid. Hayley is his somewhat-friend. Hayley is the one, not me. I swallow.

“Pass me your hand,” I say, not sure whether I’m angrier at Hayley for leaving, Klaus for letting her go or myself for the jealousy her absence inspires.

A sigh and Klaus lowers his arm, his eyes focusing on the roof. “I told you it was unnecessary,”

The frustration of the last weeks comes bubbling up, I hold his hand just a bit too tight. “Shut up, Klaus. Just shut up. Just because Hayley isn’t here doesn’t mean you get to go around mistreating yourself.” His hand is cool in mine, the red and black smudging over my fingers. I squeeze my eyes shut. “I get it. She means a lot to you…but you mean a lot to me. I don’t expect you to play house with me or even care about the imprint, but it’s real to me. And what I need is for you to stop being stubborn and let me help you. Now let me bloody well wash your hands.”

The way he tenses, the twitch of his hand in my grasp, I think he’s about to throw me from the room. But when I look at him again his eyes have drifted shut and his body has bone limp. “There are some splinters; you might need to use a tweezer if you are so adamant to do this.”

I sigh. “Okay, okay,”

“Okay,” Klaus replies and I swear that the rasp of his voice gets worse.

Crying children are easy to placate, but Klaus is not a child, nor is he a sheriff I've known my whole life. I am wholly unqualified to comfort him. I blink back forming tears, Hayley would know what to do. But she isn’t here. And I’ve got to do it now.

“Okay,” I whisper.

Klaus’ lips move, but no words come. His eyes squeeze closed tighter, and I pretend not to notice the moisture on his lashes.

Chapter Text

Never thought I’d miss the cloying scent of charcoal eggs in the morning.

I consider purposefully burning some in hopes that, maybe, it would convince Klaus the world was not in shambles. But desire fades like morning fog. The kitchen seems off-limits, sacred. I nibble on dried fruit sitting in the garden, watching as the plants become disordered, and wonder if Hayley looked after those too if my being here just contaminated another corner of Hayley’s memory.

However, much as it plagues me I can’t bring myself to eat anywhere else in the house, nausea, a clammed-up jaw and a dry tongue. I wonder vaguely if my last proper meal was a burnt egg - I can’t seem to remember. Memories slip through my fingers into the bigger ocean of Klaus’ radiating depression.

Hayley’s absence has ripped the air from Klaus’ mansion. I sometimes touch my lips just to be sure no one’s suffocating me in the hallways.

Klaus wanders around, so aimless and lonely stuck in his mind, a spectre. The mantra “Hayley would know what to do,” swirls in my own mind, a thorn embedded, as I tiptoe around him.

I cannot pretend to know Hayley’s extent of involvement in Klaus’s day-to-day life. Did she clean? Cook? Coddle Klaus, when he needed a good hugging? To be perfectly honest with myself, I’d avoided it. As if keeping distance would whittle away at the jealousy, the ache of longing.

It doesn’t seem right to imagine her filling the roles mom would at home either, no scrubbing or dusting fit the image of Klaus’ loyal follower. Besides, her cooking skills left little room for praise. Yet her absence…

I’m reminded of that house, the Winchester one, where the walls seemed to move, to shrink, and change, and breathe. Whether it be Klaus’s clear expression of grief or Hyaley’s absence, the mansion does not seem to like it. I don’t like it. I imagine one of those ghost-hunting mystery groups would wet themselves in excitement.

My own discomfort swells like tides, rearing back and crashing over me in forceful waves. I can’t emulate her, I don’t know how to, I don’t know how she held him - the house, the very air - together.

I imagine she did it as she did everything else, with a healthy dose of skepticism and snark. Two things that I pride myself on, but clearly it's not the same.

(There’s a photo of Emily and myself, probably around six years old at the time, tacked to my wall. It’s accompanied by a ticket stub from when the circus came around, a fraying seaweed bracelet, and a collection of handwritten notes.

I press some sticky tack to the back of my report card and place it under the note from Mom, reading ‘Working late tonight. Left you and Seth some food in the fridge. Love you.’ from a few months ago.

There’s probably a word for this, I think but no word comes to mind.

I always thought it was funny when kids in movies got compared by their parents, it’s stupid. Seth and I couldn’t be more different, there’s nothing to compare. I bark a laugh and step away from the array of memories. The Me of yesterday was stupid. I don’t need to be compared to Seth.

In some ways I’m not even mad, Emily is better than me. In every way that matters and doesn’t. It’s always been evident, I’d just not let myself see it.)

Perhaps we could have been friends had I not been so weary. The times we spoke were fraught with tension, perhaps it was all mine. Perhaps she’d been trying and I’d just not noticed. It leaves a pang of regret in my chest.

Forks had been lonely, a bone-deep ache only soothed by Seth’s infectious presence. Mystic Falls should be different, but it doesn’t seem much. I consider Klaus’ haunting of his own home, the weary tilt of Elena’s mouth, Caroline’s strained greetings. I scoff.

Ducking my head, I try to focus on the task at hand.

It’s been exactly three days since Elijah threatened us and Hayley left. I’ve come to the conclusion (after seeing Klaus mope about and avoid the study continuously) something had to be done. Perhaps this was what Hayley had done, I ponder; maybe she spent her days cleaning up after Klaus’ tantrums. And the Lord knows there’s a lot to clean up.

It was one thing cleaning his wounds and picking wood splinters from his skin – it was something entirely different to remove the damaged desk itself and sweep up the many forgotten pieces of it left on the floor.

I wipe my forehead on an equally glistening forearm. It’s hard labour – especially after work, with nothing but leftover fries in my stomach and it being at an hour in which country is asleep. I won’t complain too bitterly, I promise myself if it means Klaus will move back to this private alcove and stop dragging himself listlessly down the halls.

Twirling the broom between my hands, I observe the mess left after moving most of the larger chucks to the side. For as long as I’ve been here the hearth had not been lit even once. Why? Could be anything from prissy vampire nonsense to moody man-child nonsense. And, despite the sweat I’ve worked up, it’s a chilly night.

Even with the wolf breathing flames through my veins, I can feel the cold.

I’ve piled as much of the wood as I could close to the fireplace, already mentally preparing myself for the soft crackling and orange glow that comes with a good fire. Remnants of a past sat under the dark starry skies, with Sam’s hand curled around mine, Seth chattering across from us as he burns yet another marshmallow. It leaves a bittersweet taste at the back of my throat, distant as it might be.

Fires are good, too. Fires breathe.

I can’t stop my mind from wandering - clinging to the image of pack meets. Perhaps they're outside tonight with a fire roaring and crackling. Billy’s weathered hands on a beat-up guitar as Jake sings out of tune. Emily would sing too, husky and soft, and the rest would quiet to listen. Waves and crickets a suitable accompaniment. The imagined song lodges in my throat, a breathy hum as I pack wood.

Although I’m sure they’ve suspended moonlight sit-outs in favour of warm home interiors – more than likely Sam and Emily’s place. Winters in Forks got a little too chilly at times to tempt hypothermia– even for wolf packs.

“Clearwater,”

My head snaps around so fast that an answering ache twitches the back of my neck. I grunt. Amusement flashes across a stoic face, enough to give me hope, but not enough to fuel it. Brown eyes meet crystal blue. “You’re here,” I accuse lightly as Klaus continues to stand in the doorway.

He snorts, “Where else would I be?”

I shrug in answer, honestly having no clue.

Klaus’ face pinches slightly before he releases a heavy breath. “You shouldn’t be using that broom,” he states mildly with a sour grimace at the plastic contraption in my hand. I'm three seconds away from asking his royal highness to point me to something better when he enters the study. “I’ve always found the old way better,” he dangles an old wooden broom from his fingers – one of those you see in witch movies or in the ancient versions of Cinderella. “Modern technology provides quantity and less quality, they did it properly back in the ’20s.”

I try not to frown… because really, I know Klaus is a vampire and technically one of the first to be created, but yeesh. It’s strange to hear him talk about a timeline in which I was barely even a swirl of atoms in the cosmos. I’m not sure I’ll ever be comfortable with it. How does Bella or Elena handle it? I might just have to ask.

Instead of handing me the broom though, Klaus lowers its bristles to the ground and in one fell swoop manages to clean a good 30cm of desk debris and scattered paper. “You can start with those,” he murmurs, indicating the scattered, scrunched-up drawings of Caroline with his chin.

I can hardly protest. There’s a slither of pleasure gained from collecting the frumpled images of Caroline’s face. I bite my lip to keep the spite from my face.

Now's not the time for this. The wolf seems to disagree, it is always time for claiming our mate. Klaus is speaking to me, a novel occurrence after the month we’ve had, ruining it with burning jealousy was not a good idea.

There are a lot of similarities to the twisted relationship between me, Sam, and Emily here, ones I’m not yet comfortable acknowledging even to myself. This is different though, I allow myself that.

It’s different because…well, it just is.

I’m not in love with Klaus, for one. He’s intriguing and annoying and rude. He also let me stay even when the imprint was revealed. I can’t fool myself into thinking I don’t care for him. The wolf doesn’t forget him for a second and when you constantly think of someone, it’s-it’s a bit hard not to care. Even a little.

It’s more than the imprint though, as much as it aches to admit. I could blame this all on the stupid soulmate shit, but I’m tired of lying to myself. I care about him, maybe a bit more than I thought I would. He’s a person just like me, even if he’s also a vampire, despite his being a vampire, maybe.

I shake my head, wrenching my eyes away from the flex of his forearms.

A whole bundle of Caroline’s scrunched-up face finds its way to the pile I plan on burning. If it’s cathartic, no one but me needs to know.

The scene seems horribly domestic. It’s the kind of thing I could get used to too easily.

Fanciful thinking only leads to hurt; I feel a familiar frisson between my ribs at the stab of loss the thought awakes in me. I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to find hope if it’ll only backfire on me later. Klaus may not be Sam, but I don’t think I’ve matured enough from that part of my life to really tell the difference just yet.

He’s…enticing. Exciting maybe. Sam was those things too, my mind reminds and I tell it to fuck right off. He’s handsome, and charming when he wants to be, and I’m still a living breathing person. His laughter, when it comes, feels like the sun through clouds, and his anger is the whip of trees in a storm.

Like Sam, that insidious voice whispers again, gleeful. I snarl at it and cover it with the burn of my muscles, the soft swish of our brooms.

I’ve done this before. Granted the previous time felt like a once-in-a-lifetime, it was my first time though so of course it would. But that doesn’t mean this will hurt any less.

He is not Sam, and even if he were, I’m not his Emily.

It was easier to ignore when he wouldn’t speak to me, easier with Hayley around to buffer the thoughts.

I release a heavy sigh and pause in collecting the last scattered pages. Eyes skittering to Klaus for a moment, I start to straighten the edges of the page. I’m not sure whether I expected a change from any of the other drawings he has done, but it still makes my breath catch to see Caroline’s face fixed so affectionately across the page. For a long while I content myself by staring at the image. Klaus’ skills are truly beyond words and I let myself for the briefest moment imagine what it would feel like to find a drawing of myself sketched by Klaus’ hands – the hands I dug splinters from and was allowed to cradle briefly.

“Can I light a fire?” I ask eventually, glancing at Klaus over my shoulder.

His head barely lifts to acknowledge me, but his hands pause in moving the broom. After what feels like a minute he starts sweeping again. “If that’s what you want, go ahead,”

I spend an extra minute observing Klaus, not sure what was implied by that tone. I decide not to try deciphering it and turn to the hearth. Crouched down, “Why do you never start a fire here?” moving deftly to place pieces of desk and scatterings of Caroline’s image in a haphazard pile. “I mean, it probably gets rather cold, and… fires are nice, I guess.”

This time he does raise his head, chore forgotten as he heads over to me with an answering sigh. “Always so curious,”

I shrug.

Klaus stares at my pile of ruins, eyes glinting with thoughts or memories far beyond my grasp, “Fire isn’t comforting to all.” He pauses before continuing. “There was a time, I was still human then, that I was thrown into the flames. Scorched skin has the worst stench…” he blinks and adds another crumpled picture to the pile, “Then there were the witch hunts, I cannot count the number of times they nearly burned Rebekah at the stake,” his lips twist, “They could never keep her down though, she was strong…she is strong.” Curiosity bursts beneath my skin, a bolt of lightning, but I bite my lip to keep silent, the man has more to say. “It reminds me of this one time, humans attempted to burn down a house over our heads, if I concentrate, I can still hear them chanting for us to die.”

As if his words set off some unknown trigger, I can feel my skin blazing. Heat scorches at my hands and smoke burns my lungs. The support beams over our heads quiver and let out a shriek as they tumble down, crushing me to the ground. Yet over the sound of roaring flames and Rebekah’s terrified cries, I can hear the chanting. Like a swarm of bees getting closer and closer.

“Die!”

“Die!”

“Die!”

“Monsters!”

The fear that floods my body only intensifies with the revulsion in those livid voices. I’m going to die here…

“Niklaus! Niklaus, get up!” My head jerks to the side and I see my brother, standing there with half his face dripping with blood, his hair nearly scorched off while his arms cradle Rebekah, skin blackened with the fire’s wrath, hair mostly gone. “We need to get out of here! Get up!”

Elijah’s panicked voice registers in my mind at the same time that I realise that the fallen beam is trapping my legs. I know I can escape – but I’m weak, I haven’t fed in days and my body has grown lax with hunger. A cry of pain reaches my ears and I watch Elijah stumble for a moment, his arms nearly releasing Rebekah. Flames lick up his legs, burning away his pants within seconds. “Elijah!” I bellow, frantic as my fists begin to slam down against the wood over my body. Splinters fall around me, catching alight before they even reach the ground. “Get out!” I shriek at the same time the roof groans above us.

My brother lunges, his body and that of my sister fall on top of me. For a brief moment, I register that the beam is light enough to be lifted with Elijah’s help, yet at the same time wood rains down. My brother yelps and he too is crushed. My screech fills the air as I shove my way out from under him.

We aren’t going to die here!

I gasp, my heart beating in my throat as the hearth comes back into focus. The world around me dims to the placid lighting of indoor fluorescence. Confusion melds with relief as I suck in a breath - clear and crisp, with a hint of bourbon.

Klaus is still talking, his voice muffled by my heartbeat, a distant rush of wind over the scream echoing through my head.

I’m okay. I’m…not there. I’m okay.

It wasn’t me, I know this vaguely even as my skin flushes with heat and my thighs ache with the weight of that beam. The fear for my family weighs heavily on my stomach, crushing, worse than the fire eating at me or the smoke in my eyes. They’re not my family though, it wasn’t real, and the ache of my thighs is from crouching down for so long, the heat from the small fire in the grate.

I shake my head in an attempt to dislodge the imagery, shake off the fear, reground to the present. I sway with it, realizing my own dizziness, and reach a hand out to steady myself. Fingers curled into the soft seams of Klaus’s pant leg.

“Clearwater, what are you doing?” Klaus demands voice pitched with annoyance.

It felt so real.

I’m reminded of Sam’s memories in my head, watching as he tucked Emily’s hair behind her cheek, and felt the bursting affection in his chest. I remember too forcing myself from the change to escape the thoughts, naked on the beach as the rest of the wolves lazed in the sun.

I shudder in a breath and curl my fingers tighter, feel as Klaus’s knee bends to accommodate the sudden force of it. He doesn’t jerk away, as I thought he might have - perhaps it's due to my ragged breathing, the rabbiting of my heart.

Whatever that had been, because it couldn’t be the sharing of thoughts. He’s not Quiluette and I’m very human right now. It’s impossible. Whatever it was, it threatened to choke me.

Next to me Klaus shifts, turning to me, a barrier between wolf and fire - I breathe and breathe and breathe - brows set in a deep frown, questions written in the pinched corners of his beautiful lips. If forces quiet tears to fall and before I can ask permission or Klaus can offer, I slump forward, my head finding its way to rest against his shoulder. My hands come up, bearing none of my hesitance of earlier, and wrap around his prone body, needing, needing.

He does not move to reciprocate my hold, but that does not deter me. I cling tighter to his unmoving form, “I’m so sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

There’s a moment where only the steady crackle of fire fills the air before Klaus reaches up a hand and awkwardly pats my back. “It all happened long ago, Clearwater, there’s nothing to be sorry about,”

I shake my head, my tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, “No. It doesn’t matter. It feels real, it feels,” I shudder and feel him stiffen under my embrace, “Things like, like that, those moments, memories. They don’t stop hurting, they don’t go away.” I choke out, unwilling to release him just yet. “I’m sorry, Niklaus.”

He shakes his head, a sigh brushing the hair by my ear. “Calm down, would you? I am fine.” Slowly his hand curls around my shoulder and he pushes me away, “I think the room could use some warmth anyway.”

The distance highlights the amusement on his face bringing out freckles stark on the bridge of his nose, the pensive storytelling from earlier gone.

“So-sorry,” I hiccup, scrubbing at my face.

“Okay then,” Klaus pushes to his feet, giving his soaked shoulder a weary glance before looking back at me. “I’m going to change my shirt. Don’t get too carried away and burn the place down,” he grouses and the amusement of it is lost on me.

He leaves me alone with the memory, an acidic swell draining across every synapse.

Chapter Text

“Have a good evening, Mrs Hendriks,” I usher at the door, waving politely as the woman hobbles away, leaning heavily on her walking stick. No matter how many times I’ve offered to help her, she refuses every time. 

“I’m old, not ancient , dear,” she’d reply, a twinkle in her milky brown eyes and crow’s feet around her smiling mouth. Despite her words, I still worry. I’ve seen how she struggles to stand from her stool after having the customary soup of the day every night. I listen to her retell the story of how she met her husband— right here, at the Grill ! 

And the night grows colder. The sky may be dotted with only stray white clouds reflecting the sunset somewhere in the distance, but the breath of the wind is like icicles. My lips feel parched at the cool air, and if I continue to lick them, I’ll get sores. In my mind, I can’t fathom how Mrs Hendriks walks her way back to the Home every night. My muscles ache from the cold. What it must do to her… 

“She’s been doing this for ages,” Matt mentions when I head back inside. His eyes reflect some of the glow I’d seen in the elderly woman’s, his lips twitching into the same smile. For a moment, I consider that maybe they’re related. "She always orders the soup, always sits at the table closest to the bar. That’s where she met Mr Hendriks, you know?” 

I nod because I do know. I’ve heard the woman tell me the tale countless times before. “When did he die?” I ask instead because this isn’t a story I’ve heard. 

Matt pauses to wipe down a table, lips pinching in thought. “Three years ago, it was a heart attack, but by that time, the Alzheimer’s already started to kick in, and, well, Mrs Hendriks spent most of her time here before anyway.” 

My chest aches for them. I cannot imagine that heartache; I expect it’s worse than Sam’s rejection, worse than Klaus’ disinterest. I shake my head, “She’s nice.” 

“Very nice,” Matt agrees. His smile returns, and he slings the dishcloth over his shoulder, his face turning to me. “Do you feel it yet?” 

My brows lift, and I tilt my head, “Feel it?” 

“Yeah, the Mystic Falls effect ,” Matt attempts to explain; the rest of his face crinkles as his smile widens into a fully-fledged grin. 

“I…don’t really know; what does it feel like exactly?” I half expect him to wax poetic about the mystery of it all, the odd eccentricities of vampires sipping bourbon and the slew of fresh graves. For all the Mystic Falls is, well, mystic, it’s also very small-town typical. 

“Like home,” the boy says with an impish grin as if he’s revealed a secret and not a world-shattering line about finding your place in a turbulent and unkind reality. 

Matt’s words stay with me until I reach Klaus’ house later that evening, a parcel of leftovers under my arm and a thermos of coffee in my hand. 

Home, he said, as if ‘home’ was as simple as a town sign and the old lady who pats my hand every time she pays for her single bowl of soup. Home used to be the cold surf rushing over my toes, dad’s rough voice singing lullabies, the sneaking of a glass of wine over giggles, and the full moon casting my and Sam’s shadows over my front door as he kissed me goodnight. 

I shudder out a breath, suddenly colder, tired, inexplicably mourning for a concept that I’d once held in my palm but has since eluded me. 

“Clearwater!” My head lifts after I close the door behind me, “Is that a cannoli I smell?” 

The weight lightens, my shoulders buoyant under the strain of my heart. A smile twitches at my lips, and I shuffle along the foyer where weeks ago I had lain paralyzed, where months ago I’d first stepped into a new world. I pass the study’s door and hear an answering growl from within. I grin. “Give me a second. Got to heat some food up.” 

“Time is of the essence,” comes the grouchy reply. 

It has been a week since we cleaned his study, three days since I first braced myself for entry to the kitchen. I step into the room and pause as if in reverence. It’s no different from any other kitchen and has not morphed strangely since Hayley’s disappearance, but I pause nonetheless. 

The whirring of the microwaves tells me judgingly that this isn’t what a home feels like. I ignore it and take the heated food and coffee back out of the sacred space. 

I shoulder my way into the study, holding tight to our meal. “It’s warm in here.” Klaus is at his desk, the surface free of drawings – I shouldn’t feel smug, but I do. I set a jalapeno cheese wheel and the cannoli down in front of him atop a stack of what could credibly be called geographic encyclopedias.  

“I’ll give you mild credit, the fire was a good idea.” Klaus compliments without looking up at me, his hands and eyes already trained on the food. He, in fact, does not need to eat human food, but that does not stop him from stealing my cannoli as well. 

“Well, I try.” I sip the coffee, eyes skimming over the papers littering Klaus’ desk. He’s been writing today, a new hobby perhaps, or at least one I’ve only become partial to now that I’m his primary company. I’ve tried snooping, but the style of writing and the language have made my efforts moot. Whether he’s penning a new journal or setting out his plans for world domination, I couldn’t tell the difference. Perhaps he’s writing letters, love letters to his dearest Caroline, although why she’d know how to read this clearly made-up code is beyond me. “What’s that called?” I ask after a moment has passed, and Klaus has shoved an entire cannoli into his mouth. 

His brows raise in question, and I point to his writing. 

“This…language or whatever it is.” 

Klaus swallows and leans back, eyes scanning over the pages, “It’s old,” 

“There’s a Mrs Hendriks who comes to the Grill, she’s always specific to state that there’s a difference between old and ancient. This, Klaus, I’m sure is more than just ‘old’.” 

He huffs, “Fine, ancient; I guess as ancient as I am. No-one’s used this language in over a thousand years, even then it was rare. At some point what was natural to me slipped away into nothing but history book references.” 

I cock my head and amble over to his shelf, the fingers of my free hand reaching for the familiar leather-bound book I’d come across so long ago. I place the coffee down and flip through the pages, recognising the symbols – letters – as Klaus was using them at his desk. My fingers pause over the one picture that had always made me scrunch my face in concentration; I turn the book to face Klaus. “I saw this some time ago. I was never sure if I was right in assuming the word at the bottom was Rebekah. You have other drawings of her." I pause, wait for him to rip it out my hand or snarl in my face about privacy. He doesn't. "They’re good. It's, she's your sister, right? Rebekah” I know it is, am certain about her name only because I saw her catch fire and heard Klaus scream for her, a man tormented by fear. 

“You assume correct,” Klaus says, his eyes lingering on the picture, longing and anger. He turns back to the food. "Do put that away, Clearwater. Even if you can’t read it, the mere fact that you’re holding the diary of a young fool is disconcerting.” 

I roll my eyes yet comply and replace the book, fingers stroking over the worn parchment. With coffee securely back in my hands, I head over to the armchair by the fire, sinking into the sponge, grateful to be off my feet. “Could I bother asking you to teach me to read that?” 

“Not going to happen.” 

“Aye, aye, captain,” I sigh in mock frustration, and a smile pulls at my lips when Klaus snorts. 

“You’ve been watching TV again, haven’t you?” 

I shrug, not caring if he can see it or not from where he’s sitting. I bite my tongue around commenting on his news obsession. “What else am I supposed to do when you gallivant off during the day and my only company is children’s cartoons?” 

“Have you thought about working day shifts instead?” 

I shake my head, “Not for me. Night suits me well.” The night is when the loneliness is at its worst. The night is when the shadows of the Volturi taunt me, and the ghost of the pack’s pity settles around me like snow. 

A sigh, “You can find other things to entertain yourself.” 

“If you teach me to read those funky hieroglyphics of yours then I could take up reading. There’s a lot of books on these shelves.” 

“No.” 

“You’re boring, a party pooper.” He does not dignify that with a response, and I am left to stare into the flames, hands warm around my mug. The flames crackle and a piece of wood tumbles to the side. Air rushes through my lips, “What does the word ‘home’ mean to you?” 

I can practically feel Klaus grimacing across the room, “Nothing too pleasant I assure you.” 

“I guess, but…” I scowl at the fire and clutch the mug tighter, fighting to find the words. “What would it feel like?” 

“It feels like vulnerability and loss.” Klaus states matter-of-fact, “The last time my mother attempted to reunite our family and create a home, we all very nearly died. Some people aren’t meant to feel home, Clearwater. Home is as dangerous as anything else out there. If you’re looking for a home, I suggest you get the hell out of Mystic Falls before it tears you apart.” 

I think of Matt’s joyous little smile, of Mrs Hendriks coming to the Grill three years after her husband’s passing. I try to imagine Mystic Falls as something other than what Klaus says, something other than an entity trying to cannibalise itself. 

Silence rings like an electric drill through the room. He does this often, little hints and probes that suggest that I'd be better off far far away from here. They're not mean spirited enough to feel like a dismissal though. “This is your home though,” I turn slightly in my seat so I’m facing Klaus, and I speak before he can deny it. “It is. I’ve seen it. You belong here. Mystic Falls, this stupid mansion, this overly decorated study – it’s all your home. I don't. I’m not sure what that means for me, but nothing here would be the same without you. You’re a part of this place.” 

Klaus raises his eyes to glare at me, “And why would you say that?” 

“Because no matter how many horrible memories linger here, you remain anyway, you stay because you know deep down that nothing will ever feel the same.” 

The glare intensifies, but at least I haven’t been hit over the head by a flying book or desk yet. “I’m assuming you don’t have a home then?” This more than anything else feels a little mean, a little more like the Klaus that sank his claws into my hide with the intention to maim.

“I’m working on it.” I close my eyes, momentarily thinking back to Seth and Jacob, the pack, Billy, and the embracing ocean at my doorstep.  

(“We’re going to build a house. Right here.” Sam says.  

I look down at the ground. We’re perched on a rocky outcrop a mile down from La Push beach. There’s decent tree coverage and a fantastic view. I imagine waking up here, looking out over the ocean, and my chest hurts. “Right here?” I ask to be sure.  

“Right here.” He says, wrapping his arms around me. “Our kids can run around on the beach and we won’t even need to leave the porch.”  

I swallow back acid. I smile even though he cannot see my face. I hope the smile carries through my words so that he cannot hear the panic and dread in my voice. “That sounds idyllic.”  

His arms tighten, and he spins me around. When I’m back on the ground, he lets me go, and whoops. Rushing past me and down to the beach, he throws off his clothes to the sand and plunges into the surf, and I’m reminded that I love him, that surely one day I will love our kids, if they ever exist, and surely one day I will want to live right here, just like he does.  

He looks back at me from the water, and I smile, rushing forward to greet him. The sand grounds me. The taste of salt in the air washes away my uncertainties. I get caught up in his arms and let myself think: surely one day.)  

“Working on what?” 

“I'm deciding where my home is,” I tell him with an air of annoyance, which he can probably hear through my voice. "Maybe I have more than one home. Maybe home is a person.” 

“A person?” Klaus sounds mildly incredulous and slightly offended, as if the possibility should not exist. 

I close my eyes and try to imagine it. Thick and cloying and awful, “My home is with my brother…with Sam,” It sinks like guilt and fear and a desperation so keen I can taste the devastation of it. As much as I hate to admit it, Sam will always be a part of my life, even if it’s a part I don’t particularly like. “My pack.” I open my eyes and twist around to see the narrowed state of Klaus’s eyes. A small smirk teases the edges of my mouth, “My second home is…Mystic Falls, if it will let me stay. Maybe. At least I think so, I could be wrong, I'm wrong much too often to be sure. Maybe I’m sleep deprived and Matt was talking fairytale garbage into my ears all night.” 

“Matt? Elena’s friend?” Klaus all but growls, and I roll my eyes. 

“I guess. Maybe we find home in the people who want us to be their home.” 

“All this talk of home and making friends makes you sound childish,” Klaus states. 

“And your unwillingness to let me read your books makes you a rude vampire overlord.” I mock back with sincerity. 

Klaus hides his amusement by shoving the second cannoli into his mouth. I can’t blame him; they’re really good. 

Chapter Text

As things tend to do, we settle.  

It’s incredibly telling that my bags have never been unpacked fully, so I unpack them and place my meagre piles of clothes into a dresser with ornate brass knobs. I sand down the old scratches in the wood and allow the curtains to ruffle in the breeze.  

And I sit. I sit at a fireplace, warm with the lull of Klaus’s various stationary over delicate paper, warm with the knowledge that I plan to stay, warm with the way sometimes he will sit by the fire as well and smirk around a glass of wine as I regale him with tales of my adventurous youth. Klaus presents sketches to feed to the flame, he tucks mysterious words away into journal entries I’ll never parse.  

I listen to his complaints about the technicalities of welcome mats and the never-ending supply of vampire television series that are an ‘affront to my existence’. I close my eyes to his ranting and wake curled in bed, lingering traces of his scent on my wrinkled shirt. 

The Grill changes its menu to the complaints of many and a bingo night nearly causes us to call the police. From a corner table, Klaus sips from a glass and occasionally I find his eyes in the mirrors, always carefully blank or disdainful. In the light of a full moon, I lope through the forest, aware that Klaus is waiting, tense and glaring at its end.  

He does not try to dissuade me from these activities and does not admit that the moon makes him ache. Perhaps the part of him that longs to run is too scared, or perhaps that part has long ago died under the weight of broken bones and shattered family. Whatever the case, he stands guard on the full moon, hidden in the shadows of gnarled trees, stiff as a board. 

I cannot fault him in this, I’d very nearly given up the wolf with the promise that it would grant me mercy to die old but free in exchange.  

Autumn ticks away into the start of winter and Hayley des not return. Frost settles over the dead garden and we pretend it does not exist. 

One morning, a rare occasion that he is there when I awake, I ask him, “You’re rich. Have you ever had a butler?” 

He is in the process of feeding a pile of crumpled Carolines to our fire and turns a look of pure pity to me. “Elijah once kept me staked for five years, in that time he used my house – not this one – to launch a particularly awful painting career and had a whole team of servants dusting my coffin. Thoughtful of him really, I awoke to a clean house and promptly got to ruin it in a hunger-fueled frenzy. But, to answer your question, I was a man of wealth for the better part of my centuries, I’ve had all manners of groundskeepers, maids, and butlers.” 

“Regular old rich boy shit then,” I comment.  

His flippant attitude towards death has gotten no easier to stomach, but I’ve learned there’s no point in getting mad at him for something that had happened over three hundred years ago. He had once told me the names of every single child a feral vampire had killed in a village. A vampire he had created and then had to put down. He’d followed this up saying that he’d had to kill all the children that had then turned into vampires, as well. 

I pointedly don’t think of Renesme, the way we’d very nearly killed her fresh from Bella’s womb, or how the strongest and strangest vampires had gathered to protect this one child from the retribution of her existence. 

He does not seem inclined to hire someone to fix the garden and after staring at the weeds and over-abundance of cobwebs, I decide I don’t care. 

Let Hayley be mad when she returns – if she ever returns. Perhaps the disrepair will be what drags her forward. 

On a particularly busy night at the Grill, Klaus not present, Mrs Hendricks bullies Matt into giving her a shot of whiskey. The bar applauds her not pulling a face and she’s rewarded with a glass of lemonade as she regales a poor family with her tales of adventure in Ireland. It’s nonsensical at best and includes enough sighing to put a female lead to shame. 

“I love that story,” Caroline says. She settles down at one of the smaller tables in my section, dressed in a striking red dress. There’s no occasion for it that I know of, but that does not stop her and other young things like her from tottering around on heels and in their best dresses. I wonder for a moment about the confidence, the surety of self that must beget such behaviour, and decide I’m mostly thankful that Klaus is not here, and I won’t be subjected to a million drawings of this.  

“It’s a good one.” I agree, giving her table a quick wipe down.  

Somehow, by some stroke of luck, Caroline and Klaus always seem to miss each other at the Grill. Whatever devious witch or spy is keeping them apart is forever in my dept. On the rare occasions they do see each other or interact, the rest of my week is guaranteed to be one of gloom as Klaus stares forlornly out windows and crumples papers aggressively. 

Elena settles down in the other seat, expression dark and tired. She, in contrast to her friend, is in black jeans and the largest, worn sweater to grace Mystic Falls. She rests her cheek in her palm and sighs in time with Mrs Hendricks’ tale. 

“What can I get for you?” 

Predictably, despite being vampires and not needing human sustenance, they order a plate of fries and iced coffees. I don’t remind them that it’s winter or night, I don’t care if they don’t. 

Caroline turns to me with a too-large grin when I bring their order, she captures my hands, cloth and all, between hers. “Come to our school dance!” 

I stare at her for a moment, unable to work out the catch. “You know I’m about seven years older than you, right?” 

She laughs. I don’t join. “Don’t be silly, the dance is open to the whole town. We have one every year.” 

“It’s Christmas-themed,” Elena adds with little enthusiasm. 

I wonder, a tad hysterically, what’s wrong with these people. I pull my hands from Caroline’s, suddenly too hot, too restless. “I’m not sure.” 

“Come on! It’s fun!”  

“There’s dancing and food.” 

“And mistletoes!” Caroline crows. 

“And Mistletoes,” Elena sighs. 

“Mistletoes?” I croak, a tad more hysterical now. 

She grins, sly and twinkling, “Don’t you know it. You’ll have a blast. I promise it’s not just a bunch of stupid kids getting drunk and falling all over themselves. You can even bring Klaus.” 

Bring Klaus? Bring Klaus to a Christmas dance where there are mistletoes and dancing? Mistletoes, dancing, and Caroline. What a fucking rich way to absolutely ruin our no-sulking streak.  

I bark a laugh, hysterical is one word for it. “We’ll see.” 

Getting Klaus there would be easy. One mention of Caroline and he’d be down for it. But everything else about that? Chaos. A recipe for certain doom. Have these girls forgotten who famously killed an entire pack of werewolves during a Christmas party?  Is everyone in this town absolutely batshit insane? 

It feels, quite suddenly, like all these weeks of idle company and comfort were a precursor to something greater. Something horrible. Parties of this sort are fiascos of change, if the movies have taught me anything. It’s where the guy gets the girl, it’s where the downtrodden nerd gets their revenge, it’s where the serial killer hides in plain sight.  

Mistletoe? I think as I fetch another table’s order, might as well roll the credits on any hopes I’d been harbouring. I always knew I wasn’t the main character, but really, isn’t this a bit much? A tad on the nose? 

What could I do if Klaus fell back into old ways? I don’t know if I’d even try to save a group of wolves if they were gunning for Klaus’ head. There’s surely a conflict of interests here and they make no more sense than anything else that’s happened in this god-forsaken place. 

I need to run. I need to shake off the ill-ease and let my baser instincts burn off the sense of impending doom. 

Chapter Text

( We are creatures of old and, as such, the expectation is that we are naturally adept with our abilities. I am not. I am an outlier, a scar of raised pale flesh on an otherwise flawless face. There are no female wolves, and yet here I am, a woman, a wolf. There is no glory in it and the shame of my abnormality settles over me as coarse as sand within a shoe.  

I’ve barely been a wolf for a week when I’m urged into the forest, urged to strip down in front of Sam and the pack. It’s humiliating in a way they don’t seem to grasp, especially as the lead up to it includes a violent anxiety that leaves me puking out my breakfast. It’s been less than two days since father’s funeral. A week since I changed and heard the stutter and fail of my dad’s heart as clearly as I’ve heard his ‘good morning’s and ‘I love you’s every day of my life.  

“It’s not your fault,” mom had whispered against my temple, both our faces wet with tears. But it has to be someone’s fault and I’m the one who was there, the one who turned into a fucking beast in the living room. It feels like my fault.  

Sam frowns at me now, crouched wearing nothing but shorts and the air of superiority I’d always thought somewhat charming. “Focus,” he says and I want to spit at him, bite him, rend his flesh so he knows the agony of being the reason someone you love dies. “You won’t change if you’re fighting it.”  

“I don’t want this, I don’t want this,” I croak from the forest floor. The clearing spins around me, a wash of green and brown, it looms in threat. Sam does not offer me space, does not rest his hand on my back and whisper comfort as he had at the funeral.   

“You’re a wolf. This is a blessing from our ancestors, Leah.”   

I want to scream, if this is a blessing then I’d rather be cursed.  

“Change.” He insists, gone is the gentle coaxing from when he’d lead me out to the clearing. Gone is the man who kissed my tear-streaked cheeks. “Change!” It holds an echo, a wolf’s warning growl lodged behind the words and it presses down on me, stifling and terrifying in equal measure.  

The change washes over me, fast and vicious. I don’t have time to catalogue how my bones reform, nor the itch of fur. One moment I’m on hands and knees and the next I’m on four paws. The world bursts into sound and scent, an overwhelming rush of sensory input that has me stumbling about disoriented and scared.  

The pack whoops and it startles me into tripping over a root, legs scrambling wildly even as I try to throw myself up and away. I find my feet and they drag me into the brush in a clumsy dash. I make contact with a tree, yelping and snarling as I spin around.  

Leah , Sam’s voice resounds through my mind, through the meat and sinew of me, calm down . His thoughts, his mind, is as warm as his skin, it burns with pride and determination.  

As if it’s that easy! As if I have control over this monster that’s taken over me. I pant desperately, legs trembling and world swaying dangerously.  

A wolf, dark as coal, large as a horse, brushes up against me. I know, somehow, that its Sam, and I whine helplessly, desperate for direction or freedom, or for the rotting hateful thing in my chest to die away.  

You’re fine, he seems to say, snout pressing against my downturned ears.  

There are yips of agreement from the others, a veritable wind of fur and crashing underbrush. Their minds are bright sparks of thought that Ping-Pong around my skull, too much, too many smells and sights and feelings coalescing into a hurricane. I scramble back from them as if this might help.  

What’s her problem? Someone asks. It’s easy.  

Girl’s aren’t meant to be wolves, someone else says, thinks, impresses.  She can barely stand up straight.  

Stop, Sam interjects, his hulking form brushes up against me, she’s new and she’s grieving.  

Unbidden, the minds of the wolves all focus in on the memory of the funerary procession. It’s not my own memory, I remember every second of that day, but it rings of familiarity. The memory catches a glimpse of my own face, pale and stoic and wet, mom’s crumpled face and Seth’s wet snarling mouth.   

It builds up hot and ugly and terrified within and crawls up my throat claws sinking deep. I throw my head back and howl.)  

I avoid the topic for as long as I’m able. Klaus seems well aware that I’m keeping something from him.  

He huffs and leaves weighted silences, looking at me askance with clear intent to force me from my self-imposed muteness. It is perhaps testament to how far we’ve come in the last short weeks that this silence rings ill.  We have come to rely on each other for company at the very least and it’s the same company I hope to keep safe by avoiding Caroline’s offer.  

On a Tuesday, nearly a week since I learnt of the ball, I lose the battle with myself.  

I cannot rightly keep this from Kaus, he will learn of it on his own surely, but I’m in no position to manage his infatuation. That requires a level of intimacy that I have not yet been offered.   

I reason with myself: they are creatures of the same cloth, they are equally as annoying, they are both lonely. And I hate myself a little bit more for this. I am selfish, I want to be selfish.  

All this agony because of her.  

Her name grows rotten in the whirlwind of my mind. The stench of the possible hurt a horrid sense memory of Emily’s shy smile and the echoing press of her kiss funneled down the pack’s mind link, a roaring, overwhelming thing with claws and the ocean’s whistling scream. Caroline, as foul as seaweed washed ashore, her mere presence enough to render Klaus stupid. A woman who has and could possibly again, aligned herself with Klaus’ enemy. Bloodsucker. Instigator. Tease.  

She must know about Klaus’ past; she must know about last Christmas in more detail and horrific agony than I ever could imagine. And yet she would still have me ask him. Surely she knows what it would do? And how marvelously awful it is to imagine her and Tyler’s satisfaction at Klaus’ failings.   

If she did, is she aware of how much of Klaus she holds in her palms, ready to crush or cradle?  

She could crush him, so easily . Klaus plays at strength and indifference but he is nothing but a paper house. Ready for flame and thrown stone but hoping for the serenity of acceptance, of appreciation. A reciprocal for what he sees in her.   

It eats at me. This unwavering yearning for belonging and love – a cruel lie fed to hopeless fools in hopes of keeping us docile and waiting. One day. One day maybe the likes of Caroline and Sam might turn around and realize what they have given up and, on that day, Klaus will still be waiting. A damned fool. And I’d be nothing again. A familiar yet shattering reality.  

It should not be surprising, I know what it’s like to be the one left behind, to give someone everything and receive nothing in return. History after all repeats itself. There is nothing I can do about it and so what is the point of trying?  

It’s with this knowledge that I face the day, unwilling to undermine my feelings and the past which shaped them. I am not going to be that person, not again. I won’t waste my efforts trying to be the one he wants even if I have started to want him. I will not keep him from his own desires and follies, that is his lesson to learn and his burden to bear. I t will be better , easier, to just exist in his shadow, an daunting, unwanted right hand here to serve my master , another Haley . At least in this role I will be useful to him.  

After work I run. The exertion whips away the concerns and anxieties. Soon I’m exhausted and I drag myself back...home.   

I linger at the door, knowing what I need to do.  

I hear his approach much like a gust of wind – but, more than that, I can hear the sigh of breaths he doesn’t need and the creak of a hand against the door. It’s a telling sound, he knows I’m here and I know he is. He waits.  

If it weren’t so discomfiting, it would be sweet. It is that sentiment that drives me forward, shattering the tentative uncertainty still lingering in the confines of my cotton padded heart.  

The door swings open under my palm and I’m instantly enveloped in Klaus’ scent; the lingering wisps of ink, old books, and fire still clinging to him. I breathe in deeply, too lost in the tumultuous war within me to care. I have done more egregious things in his presence, and he knows, he does, that this is nothing.  

I think wildly of Sam tearing into Emily’s face. Jacob hunched protectively over a baby, eyes feral with the new revelation. I think of Paul, Embry and Jared, the varying ages and minds of those they imprinted on. There’s nothing subtle about the imprint, nothing proper or pretty or logical.   

If I’d a choice, I’d tear it from my chest.   

I didn’t choose to fall . I d on’t want to care for another man who will, in the end, end up not sparing two thoughts for me.   

The imprint was, of course, the primary cause. Why else would I choose to be here and experience this again? But it had not ended there, it built like any other thing, the drip of sediment into stalagmites, the abrasion of a pebble in a river flow. Slowly and over time, through shared laughter and the comfort of proximity, without my even noticing, it’s grown larger than a single thing as fickle as the imprint. More than the blind support of fate, more than a soldier’s devotion or a war bride’s determination. It’s morphed, like rock melting into magma, into something grander. Like the studded stars in the night sky and the crashing of waves on sand. Undefinable, shattering. Enthralling and terrifying in its scope.  

The idea of it, loving him, even the smallest amount, is ruinous. After all who would choose to love a person like him? A man who is half crazed with bloodlust, a man sculpted from nightmares and the most chilling of horror stories… A man whose true smiles come in rare moments and whose laughter is infectious as much as its deranged. I did not choose destiny, I did not choose to love him, just as I did not choose to love Sam. But as with all things that have existed, it was written in the stars and tea leaves, tarot cards and holy books, whispered by prisoners in dark cells and shouted by prophets from mountains.  

Here I am . Fated to be with him even if he isn’t fated to be with me .     

In the yellow light of the foyer’s interior, Klaus glares at me. As unadorned as a mortal man, as burdened as the saints which died decrying his kind. His chin is tilted in the way I know means he’s expecting a fight, I want to give it to him. “Why the wait? Forgot how to open a door?”  

The fight rises up and dies before it reaches my tongue. Ashes and memories. I’m left weary and sad. Plain old, no frills, sad. I shrug and push past him, even the brush of his sleeve against mine is enough to make the resurfaced ache clench hateful hands over my lungs. I stop there, just as much to force air through my nose as to wait for him.  

He doesn’t disappoint; swinging the door shut and coming to loom behind me.  

If I try hard enough, I can almost imagine Hayley at the top of the stairs, amused and annoyed at our antics.   

Too long passes, but we are not normal things. We were not built for gentle sorrow and bittersweet forevers. We were made for blood and misery; the passing of time does not detract from what we are – fundamentally intertwined through a narrative of loss and enmity. Counterpoints on destiny’s plan.   

“What happened, Clearwater?”  

“ Clearwater ,” I mock quietly and shake my head, more self-loathing than anything else. Finally, I draw a breath, straighten my shoulders, “There's a Christmas party. Caroline invited us, you.”   

He does not respond immediately and the heartache does not consume me whole.   

“Did she mention what happened at the last one?” He stands behind me, but I can feel the weight of his gaze, the tension that he carries in his shoulders as thick as black clouds forecasting a thunderstorm.  

The part of me who fumbled our relationship with Sam wants to laugh, bitter and mean, and rub his face in his failings. “See? See? This is what people like you do. Ruin and condemn.” But there are wholly too many parts of me to count. Parts of me that are desperate for the imprint to hold some truth, parts that love and hurt and yearn. I don’t know anymore which parts are real or figments of an unhealed wound.  

I thought I was doing better.  

I suck in my lips, breathe harshly through my nose, blink at the empty space at the top of the stairs. Are we both bound by fate to be miserable forever? Can not one of us find rest? I say, “She didn’t need to. It won’t happen again.”  

Promises are like sand. I curl the fluttering, grieving edges of my heart up and over the words, willing them into truth.   

There’s no indication of whether he believes me, nothing in his tone or stance, or the steady flow of his breath, that hints that he has heard what I’m saying. “All right. If you plan to go, I will escort you.”  

Any other reality, any other day, any other stupid-themed dance, and this offer would settle satisfied assurance over the painful twist in my chest. But it is not that reality or day or anything else. So, it does not give me confidence in the coming end.  

I turn, unsure what I plan to say when I see his face. Perhaps an artwork of his own hope and desires, a reflection of the deeper, realer thing he will wear once Caroline is in his arms. But by the time I’ve turned fully he is gone, the study door creaking softly as it shuts.  

We are, I think, trapped in a tragedy of our own making.  

Unwilling to spend the rest of this morbid forever standing in a cold foyer, I gather my wits and trudge up the stairs and past the ghost of Hayley’s memory.  

I turn on the landing and the sudden queasiness has me stumbling. It’s laughable really, how this is just one more thing to add to a deceptively empty load. The world around me shivers, shifting in echoes. Remnants of too many thoughts, feelings, sensations. I turn drunkenly toward the familiar echo of shattering wood. The study. No, a forest.  

The trees on either side of me are old, not as old as me, but old enough to hold the sudden stillness like a breath.  

The forest reeks of damp moss and now blood. So much blood. The putrid acidity of bowels relieved. I reek of blood too, it’s coating my face and neck, seeping into what used to be a white dress shirt. My hands are crimson too . None of it is mine. Not mine. Mine.  

I’m...adrift, anger tearing through the dry hollows of my body. I’m angry. So damn angry that I’d rewind time and kill them all again and again and again. Until they stop looking surprised when I rip out their hearts, slit their throats, impale them with my sword. They shouldn’t be fucking surprised. They should... They should know better. Should understand. It was their own faults.  

I shake my head, the buzzing of flies inside my skull. Itching my teeth.  

Their fault. Their fault.  

I’d ripped out Adrian’s heart, warm and wet and pulsing still as my fingers stuck into it. I’d held it until the meat ruptured and pressed between my fingers. There’d been no disgust, no satisfaction. The anger a noise as all-consuming as fire. I should have felt something, but. He deserved it. Just as Kimberley deserved to be backed against the cell bars, deserved to feel cool steel slowly biting into her neck until her life’s blood splattered my hands and face. My shirt.   

They betrayed me. It’s their fault.  

The canopy of leaves sigh as birds return. I snarl up at them. White hot rage, lava swelling down a mountain, seeps through me anew. The world has been nothing but red since their lies were made apparent.  

It’s not enough. I need more. More blood, more death, more screams.  

They did this.   

I drop the wet mess of Adrian’s heart to the ground and my hand clenches over the empty air.   

I find myself back at the party; the snow still flurries here, an innocent untainted white. Echoes of Christmas carols feed my hatred for the living, their uncaring, ruinous festivity. They’ve not tasted death and torment as I have. They have not had every good thing ripped away and been fed hollow pleasantries. As if it would fix anything. As if platitudes would change the betrayal and contempt into anything other than rot under my tongue.  

Kill the hybrids. Kill Tyler. Kill everyone . Bask in their terror.  

The venom of it seeps through the stillness in my chest. If I’d a heart, it would be none of those things.  

Then I see her, Mrs Lockwood, sheriff, mother of the spawn ruining my life. The blood coating my skin crawls. It’s dry and tacky already despite the cold.  

She stumbles through the snow, quite a sight beneath the fairy lights with her daring purple dress and neatly combed hair. Her heart beats loudly, wet squelches that ring across the courtyard. It will be so easy to tear her apart. Humans are nothing but meat. Disgusting, revolting flesh-sacs of deceit and ego.  

And they think they have the right to take from me. As if they’re worth more than I.  

I am ageless, a devastating force for Death herself. Not my very own family, flesh and blood of my flesh and blood. Not the hybrids I created, strong and durable, better than their weak werewolf counterparts.  

All anyone has ever done is deceive me, ruin me, make me suffer. But it’s their turn now. Their turn to lose and wither in agony. I’ll be the one deciding who gets to live or die.  

“Tyler, honey, you’re supposed to be my sober cap. I think I drank half the party.” She settles down by the fountain, so blissfully innocent of her fate. She fumbles a bit and puts her phone away. In the falling snow she combs her hair, relaxed, unbothered.  

She doesn’t know, probably, but this does not make it better.  

“Evening, Carol,” I start, moving forward, emerging from the shadows, aware that even in this dim light she’ll see the blood coating my face and shirt front. “You’re looking for Tyler; I would like to know where I can find him myself.”  

She stiffens, eyes roving over me. Her heart makes a desperate bid to beat faster. “Klaus, please. Don’t hurt him.” Her voice is low, an attempt to negotiate, but her nerves are betrayed by the salt of her sweat, the near-chemical rush of alcohol through her fumbling veins. She pauses, shrugs her shoulders slightly and pulls that stupid pleading face that never saves a life. Pathetic , how very pathetic… “He’s my son, he is all I have.”  

I step closer. The snow lands on me, unbiased, uncaring. “And you are all he has.” The realisation settles on her face, the tiniest shift of her mouth and brows, the disbelief in her too wide eyes. “There’s a beautiful symmetry to that, don’t you think?”  

Carol Lockwood stares at me, her earlier fear larger now, shining beyond the dim fairy lights and her concern for Tyler. Still, she lets out a cry when I grab her neck, her surprise at the action grates at me. She twists under my fingers and, before she can take another breath, her face is plunged under icy water. The fountain swallows up her earlier ease and blissful unawareness. Her scream emerging as bursting bubbles.  

There’s triumph in this. This is more than her, it’s the whole town beneath me, writhing and fighting to escape a watery death. She won’t succeed. I burn, mind red and shadow. The darkness of coffins and stakes, the sound of my own ragged breaths as a wolf’s teeth eat into my shoulder. “A little nap,” in the sweetest voice and the searing agony of darkness never ending.   

This is nothing more than they deserve. For every mistrust and blade in my back, perhaps a showcase of her corpse for Tyler to find, a tragic symbol of his poor choices.   

Dig the dagger deeper and deeper until there’s nothing left.  

Water soaks my jacket sleeves as Mrs Lockwood fights, the sound of her watery shrieks pleasant hums to accompany the buzzing. Finally, her body stops jerking, arms floating up beside her prone body and I wait. I wait and wait, surely there will be more, one last fight, but it never comes. She’s dead.  

Too easy. I don’t feel the satisfaction I crave; I don’t feel much except disgust and the anger undiminished. The amusement, I think, will only come once Tyler finds the bodies. Then I’ll feel something, then I’ll laugh in the face of his agony, then I’ll be content to torture him too.  

I let go, strands of wet hair clinging to my skin as I back away. For another moment I stare, the water slowly settles down and in its glimmering surface I can see my own face. Still, there is no satisfaction. The fury has not dissipated and I can see its influence in my eyes reflected back at me.  

Turning, I head back whence I came, leaving Carol’s dead body in the fountain . Merry fucking Christmas.