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A deafening silence was the only sound to follow the loll of Trevor's lifeless head on the floor. Blood a deep shade of scarlet dripped and trickled, merging with the old, dusty carpet.
Half-paralysed with fear, Elena braced herself; all but cowering in the corner of the room. She trembled in sheer terror, palms pressed tightly against her tear-stained face. The only movement within her was the adrenaline coursing unrelentingly through her veins.
The sound of his footsteps thudded closer to her.
Closer.
Closer.
Elena bit her lip. She wondered what could possibly happen to her next, a force of morbid curiosity searing aggressively through her mind.
It wasn't even the prospect of death that had her petrified.
It was the unknowingness.
She hated — absolutely hated — the feeling of not knowing what they might do to her. She doubted it would be as simple as snapping her neck — ironically, considering all the potential alternatives, a quick death would be preferable.
She hoped the Salvatore brothers would find her. She hoped Bonnie's magic would be enough to save her. She hoped that she might be able to see the sun rise tomorrow.
But hope had never been kind to her.
Not in the past, and sure as hell not recently.
And so she waited, frozen — not even daring to breathe — as Elijah approached her. One step closer. Another step. Four more paces and he'd be less than a foot from her.
Suddenly, the footsteps stopped.
Elena's heartbeat ratcheted up into hyperspeed, which she thought had to be some kind of scientific record. What was he doing?
"Hello, Miss Gilbert."
They weren't the words she'd expected to hear.
Though she wasn't sure what she was expecting. She supposed there were few polite things you could say to a girl you planned on sacrificing.
Elena didn't move from her position, still braced like she was on a plane she knew was going down. She didn't utter a word either; her lips must've been sealed with some sort of extra-sticky superglue.
"I have no intentions of harming you." His tone was unyieldingly patient, with the air of a parent talking to their young child.
It should've felt like a trap. Elena knew perfectly well what the Original vampires wanted with her — Rose had been crystal clear. Why else would they have had her kidnapped? It wasn't as though they were inviting her over for tea and biscuits.
But somehow, it didn't sound like a ruse. Something in his voice made her want to trust him; whether it was feigned or genuine, however, she couldn't tell. She wasn't sure it mattered. Either way, she was a dead girl walking.
After another split second of contemplation, Elena cautiously shifted her fingers, creating a gap she could peek one singular eye out of.
And there he was.
Dressed immaculately in a suit and tie — perfectly tailored to him, she noted, then kicked herself for thinking of such things when the end of her life was looming.
His hair was parted evenly at the front, topped off with a glistening finish that spoke of expensive hair gel. In fact, every element of his carefully curated appearance pointed towards immense wealth.
Unsurprising, really, when you have a millenium of savings and a near-infallible ability to compel both humans and vampires.
Several long moments passed. The only sound was the mechanical ticking of the archaic grandfather clock sitting next to her. The regluar tick-tick-tick filled the air, which was already heavily laden with the rusty scent of fresh blood.
When he noticed the microscopic shift of her slender fingers, Elijah's expression softened slightly. A look of something that resembled sympathy flickered through his eyes, before they returned, unrelenting, to their usual stoic form.
"Please, allow me to explain."
What is there that can possibly be explained? Elena wondered incredulously. Perhaps the Original's standards differed somewhat from hers, but even they couldn't possibly believe a kidnapping and the casual decapitation of a vampire could be that easily dismissed.
Still, not one word escaped her. She wasn't sure whether it was fear or pure speechlessness at the situation that rendered her mouth useless.
Elijah cast her an appraising look, his gaze raking slowly over every inch of her —lingering the longest on her face. Had her body not oh-so-helpfully selected freeze rather than fight or flight, she'd have shuddered.
The intensity of Elijah's scrutiny was almost too much to bear.
"My brother, Niklaus, intends to use you in the ritual he requires to break the Curse," he explained, reiterating what she already knew. His measured, composed tone entirely juxtaposed the nature of the words that they conveyed. "However, I believe there is a way both aims can be achieved."
Her arms fell from her face in shock.
Half a moment passed before she realised, as his words twisted themselves around in her mind, trying to turn the meaning into something comprehensible.
Shit.
Scrambling to conceal herself once again, she felt a pronounced tinge of red glowing on her face. But embarrassment wasn't the only thing sending her thoughts racing at a hundred miles an hour.
What the hell could he possibly mean?
Just as her palm was once again about to connect with her face, an iron-firm grip clasped around her right wrist, rendering it immobile.
"Elena." Her first name rolled effortlessly off his tongue, sounding foreign in his accented drawl. It seemed more exotic, somehow. Unique.
The sound of it, combined with his firm touch, sent an unfathomable shockwave ripping fiercely through her.
"I understand you have little reason to believe or trust me. But please, allow me to offer my explanation."
It wasn't a request so much as it was a demand. Although the implication was subtle, and his words gentle, Elijah's entire demeanor commanded respect. It was clear he would settle for nothing less.
"Okay."
Even Elena herself was surprised at the word that squeaked itself almost imperceptibly past her lips. But it seemed to satisfy Elijah, whose grip on her slackened ever so slightly as he began.
"Although the ritual requires the sacrifice of the Petrova doppelganger," he paused to indicate Elena with his free hand. "I believe it may be possible to preserve your life by enlisting the assistance of a witch."
He may as well have turned her world upside down and flipped it inside out.
From what Rose had told her, it was a given that she would die if Klaus had his way; which, judging by the way she spoke of the man, also seemed to be a guarantee. But here Elijah was, fingers clasped around her wrist and gazing intensely into her eyes with his own, informing her there could be a way out.
For what seemed like, and probably wasn't far from, the millionth time that day, her heart hit the accelerator. It seemed to be working overtime as she mulled this newfound hope over in her mind.
It was irrational. She knew it was irrational.
This man and his family had done nothing but indirectly drag her to a place she didn't recognise, and threaten to slaughter her in the name of breaking some ancient curse. A curse that most people seemed to be doing just fine without getting rid of.
And yet she believed him.
Perhaps it was delusion finally setting in after endless exhaustion and being put in danger time and time again. Perhaps it was the assurance with which he spoke; the gentle timbre of his voice that he didn't need to use. He could just as easily have compelled her — the only thing standing in the way of that option was a necklace. A necklace he could so very simply rip from her neck.
But why was it, she wondered, that the prospect of Stefan coming to rescue her hadn't triggered the same anticipation? Why was it that a virtual stranger — a murderous one, at that — could offer her more reassurance than her own boyfriend could?
She hadn't allowed herself to feel hope before now, but here it was. Seeping irrevocably into her thoughts, despite her better judgement knowing it was wrong. In every way possible.
Taking in a shaky, ragged breath, she titled her head up slightly to meet Elijah's gaze.
The thing was, it didn't feel wrong. Every ounce of Elijah's being right now, from his posture to the undeniable look of empathy that made itself painstakingly clear on his face, confirmed the words he'd spoken to her. He wanted to help her.
Which begged the question...
"Why do you want to help me?" She felt a twinge of pleasant surprise at her ability to form coherent words returning from its inconveniently-scheduled vacation. Even if her voice was still hardly audible to her own ears, she figured the power of speech was no bad thing. Being involuntarily mute wouldn't help matters much.
He didn't reply straight away.
Instead, he ran his dark eyes over every inch of her face once again, with the unrushed pace only a man of his power would be comfortable with. She bit her lip, her face burning bright crimson as she averted his eyes.
Eventually, he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
"In truth, I'm not certain," he admitted.
"Then why bother with this?" Her words implied what she couldn't bring herself to ask directly: why would a thousand year old vampire, who could have his merry way with anyone he liked, expend this much effort to rescue a mere girl? It was true she looked like Katherine. She acknowledged that. But that should hardly have any bearing on how he treated her.
As everyone always seemed to love reminding themselves, she wasn't Katherine.
"I will admit that my initial captivation with you began because of your physical resemblance to Katerina," he began. "However, after seeing you here...I realise it is deeper than that. I can't articulate everything I am feeling in this moment clearly enough for you to understand, but there is...an undeniable pull I feel towards you."
Elena's mouth gaped open uselessly as she attempted futilely to make sense of what he was saying.
Not because she didn't understand what he meant.
But because she did.
She had felt it from the moment she caught her first glimpse of him, in all his well-ironed suit and gelled hair glory. Why else would she have been drawn to the most minimal of details in his appearance? Why else would she feel an inexplicable sense of trust towards him: a vampire who could murder her without blinking — and probably had done so to countless other humans less fortunate than herself?
"You feel it too."
Those mere four syllables were enough to startle her out of the racing thoughts that tangled themselves into unrecognisable knots, as she attempted to make sense of this impossible situation.
"I...I-"
She had barely formed the sentence in her mind when it was cut off, as Elijah closed the already miniscule gap between them.
And pressed his lips to hers.