Hi readers!

I know it's been a long time since I posted something. I've just been so busy with school. I've had this story planned for years, but never got around to writing more than the first five chapters. I'm not sure if I want to continue, so let me know what you think about it. I want to get back into writing fanfiction.

Thanks a bunch!

-Skye

"Prologue"

Vervain surges through her, stiffening her body. Her time is limited, the sickness rapidly approaching. The mere movement of her mouth to speak causes her great pain, but years of acting help her mask it.

"Come on," she urges, trying her best to remain seductive through the haze befalling her. "What's stopping you?"

Klaus, the left side of his face concealed in shadow, smirks. His hand snaps out to the back of her neck, his fingers pressing into her skin as he pulls her close. His piercing eyes lock with hers, mischief dancing in his irises.

"Nothing," he whispers.

His fangs elongate with a disgusting slick that still makes her skin crawl despite her long lifetime. She holds her breath as his free arm wraps around her waist. She can't feel her fingers. She lets out a small whimper of pain behind tightly pressed lips as he bares into her neck. The vervain is weakening her, making her more susceptible to pain.

He should have sensed something was wrong. He had fantasized about this moment—Caroline, her skin glowing in the moonlight, all his and allowing him to take her for all that she was worth in the rose garden she fallen in love with—and none of his fantasies involved him hurting her. He could never hurt her. Even his bite should have done her no harm.

But as her blood spills into his mouth, as sweet as he had ever dreamed, he cannot find it in himself to care. After all, and though no one else would agree, he was a rational beast. He understood that even the greatest experience would never imitate fantasy.

Amongst the sweetness of her blood—if he can put the taste into words, it is just as sweet as the beignets his sister Rebekah made before he left her in France's summer of 1742—something foul falls against his tongue. He tries pulls away, but Caroline's arms quickly envelop him with the last of her strength. More of the foul blood slides down his throat, scorching like the fire of his very first sunlight. He manages to break free from her pitiful grasp, but it is too late.

He has tasted vervain.

The cold of his first Norwegian winter takes over, icing him over. Ice crystals form in his veins, blocking his flow of blood. As quickly as they formed, the crystals melt away and leave agony in their wake.

"You…tricked me," he accuses in the quietest of voices as blood spurts from his mouth.

Caroline, who had fallen across the long marble bench once he'd let go, smiles weakly. Her long blonde hair glows in the moonlight, making her cherubic face seem more angelic. "I had to," she whispers, her voice near inaudible. Her eyes lull to a close. "Stefan sends his love."

Klaus coughs, blood spraying onto the grass at his feet. A sharp force rams into his side, knocking him to the ground. His vision clouding, he stares up at Stefan as the young fool raises the White Oak stake high above his head. The moon reflects in his hazel eyes, giving way to the fire of determination.

"I can't say the past four hundred years have been fun," Stefan quips as he brings down the stake.

But despite the vervain in his body, Klaus is still one of the strongest vampires in existence. Already, the small administration of blood is leaving his body, his strength returning.

Before the stake can graze the face of his shirt, he catches Stefan by the wrist. He manages to throw Stefan off, sending him flying into the side of his illustrious family home. In an instant, he kneels before Stefan—slumped against the chipping wood with barely any time to react—and snaps his neck.

Ruefully, he turns back to Caroline.

Vervain consuming her, her face holds no pain. Her legs hang over the front of the bench, her torso stretched along the marble. With her hair falling over her face from the wind and her hand listlessly resting in front of her barely moving chest, she looks at peace. She looks as beautiful and as innocent as the day they met.

Four centuries.

He has waited four long centuries to have her. And when he was sure she was finally his, it was nothing but a cruel ploy. The moment of happiness he felt as she stood in her doorway garnished in the blue satin dress and Egyptian jewelry he sent for her is lost. Once more, his heart aches for her.

But he can't go on like this.

He cannot merely exist while she frolics in Stefan's bed. He cannot bear the thought of falling prey to another of the foolhardy plans, their dastardly schemes to kill him. The knowing that she would willingly end her own existence to extinguish his fills him with a great sadness.

She would rather be dead then see him alive.

This has to end. He has to set this world right, even if only for himself.

He has a plan.