Prologue: The Last Petrova

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters and plot. The dialogue from the first section of this chapter is borrowed from episode 2x09 (Katerina) of The Vampire Diaries and belongs to the people there. I own none of the characters from the TV show. No copyright infringement intended.

Bulgaria, 1490

"Ah!" The young woman's cries pierced the heavy air as her mother urged her on through the excruciating pain.

"A little more, dearest . . . a little more," Nikolina Petrova soothed her daughter as she continued to shout. "Push . . . a little more!"

Katerina gasped for breath between her mother's words, attempting to stay coherent through pain like nothing she had ever experienced before.

"A little more, a little more. Push!"

Wails rung through the cramped attic room as Nikolina pulled the small baby into her welcoming arms and into the view of the mussed young woman panting for breath on the bed. Nikolina smiled softly. She had never seen a more beautiful child.

If only Katerina could keep her.

"It's a girl," Nikolina murmured, partly to herself.

Katerina stared in bewilderment at the small figure howling in Nikolina's arms. Had that tiny human being really been a part of her for the past nine months? "A girl," she breathed.

A girl.

Oh, no.

Now she had even further disgraced the Petrov name. Katerina's father had gone into an indescribable rage when he had learned that his second daughter was with child before she had secured herself a respectable husband, but if she had at least given birth to a healthy son it would not have been as much of a disgrace, seeing as Andon was currently without an heir; instead he was stuck with four unruly daughters.

He would never forgive her after this. Andon would see Katerina's precious daughter as an abomination – one more offense Katerina had brought upon the once highly respected Petrov name.

Desperate, Katerina deplored Nikolina for just one moment, mother to mother – one moment she could replay in her head for the rest of her miserable life before having to say goodbye to the best good thing that had happened to her in the past year. "Please, Mother . . . let me see her."

Andon stepped forward then, drawing himself out of the shadows, his evident rage making him appear all the larger to the women crowding the room. It was written across his face in harsh lines, and he spoke before his wife could move. "Woman, don't!"

Nikolina submissively turned to her husband, puling the child to her bosom. She sent him a pleading look. Katerina looked to her father – her now loathsome father – with a look of incredulity.

"What are you doing?" he harshly demanded of the woman.

Katerina cried out, "Let me hold her at least once . . . just once . . . at least once!"

Andon only shot her a look filled with disdain at her pleas as Nikolina passed the still wailing child to her husband. "Forget it! You have disgraced this family!"

"Father, please!" she begged. Tears began to form in her dark eyes as the man who took hand in raising her – who had once loved her with all his heart – took her child from the room and from her mother without once glancing back.

Nikolina was breathing heavily, eyes trained on the doorway as she shooed her other three daughters and the remaining servants from the room.

"No, Father . . . No!" Katerina screamed after him, heart pounding in her chest, vision blurred. "NO!"

Nikolina halfheartedly restrained her daughter as Katerina thrashed on the bed. "No, Katerina. It's better for her! It's better for her!"

She didn't even believe her own words.

Katerina continued to sob as mother and daughter clung to each other in their shared despair over the lost child – both knowing they would never see the little Petrova ever again.

"No, Mother, please . . ." Katerina sobbed brokenly, digging her sharp fingernails into her mother's sides with all the strength that remained in her weak body. Nikolina rocked the young woman back and forth as she murmured, "Let her go . . . Let her go, Katerina," knowing her words would never be a reality as long as Katerina lived.

"Please, мама . . ."

The next time the second eldest Petrova girl saw her family, she was no longer Katerina Petrova.

And they no longer existed in the world.

Bulgaria, 1508

A sob caught in her throat as Anelia barreled through the forest, pushing branches out of her path. The full moon lit her course and she could hear the excited baying of the hounds in harmony with the Felipov men's calls for her blood.

Anelia's dress was ripped, leaving her almost completely exposed. She could feel the path of dirt mixed with her sweat as it traced a line down the side of her face, despite the cold, Bulgarian air seizing her flesh. She barely registered it as she continued to propel herself forward through the tall, dark trees. Her feet were bare and the skin torn and bloodied, but she found she could barely feeling it past the numbness overtaking her bones.

Her giggles rang off the walls of her bedroom as her sweet Teodor continued to kiss a path down her neck, hands playing with the hem of the nightdress her husband had recently gifted her with for her eighteenth birthday.

Her husband.

Oh, if only Krastio could see her now. He had always called her the ice queen because of her subdued and cold reactions to his touch when he laid with her. On the contrary, with Teo she felt on top of the world. She felt this heat coursing through her, igniting her veins. She had just discovered this feeling and was not prepared to let it escape her. She felt more alive with this man than she did even with her beloved two-year-old son, Samuil.

Anelia was brought back to the present as Teo playful growled at her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She flashed him one of her coy smiles and held his face between her dainty hands as she gazed into his eyes, partially covered by his midnight locks.

"Oh, my dear, sweet Teo, if only I was free of horrid Krastio and able to be your wife instead. I love you with my entire soul," she murmured, sealing her confession with a gentle kiss.

"I –" he began, but their heartfelt moment was interrupted as the doors to Anelia's personal suite crashed open, revealing her enraged husband.

"You lying курва!" he bellowed, probably attracting the attention of the entire Felipov household. "I am absent for one night, and you go and sell yourself to this low-life?"

Anelia's eyes were wide as saucers, her heartbeat fluttering weakly in her chest. "N-no! Krastio! It isn't like that . . . You know my heart belongs to you! Only you!" She cried desperately.

Krastio's face twisted with a mixture of rage and disgust."Oh, really?" was all he muttered disbelievingly before lunging for Teodor, grabbing Anelia's lover by the throat and easily throwing him against the opposite wall. Teo crumpled to the floor, moaning incoherently.

"Teo!"Anelia cried."Krastio, I beg you, please –"

"Shut up, woman!" Krastio shouted. "Only me, huh?" he murmured darkly to himself from in between clenched teeth. Faster than lightning – before Anelia could register what was happening – a dagger was buried in the center of Teo's chest, sending blood flying out from between his lips. A broken sob tore from Anelia's chest and broke through her tightly-clenched lips. Everything had happened so fast . . .

"Teo . . ." Anelia breathed, breath hitching.

The room was completely silent, save for Teo's weak spluttering and coughing and the frantic footsteps sounding from one of the staircases – still a long way off, Anelia noted in the back of her mind.

Krastio broke the silence. "I loved you. I loved you with my entire being, and you turn around and rip my beating heart from my chest!"

It was then that Anelia realized what was to come next for her. There was no avoiding it or pleading her way to safety or a less cruel punishment. An unfaithful wife was shown no mercy – only long, slow, painful, tortuous death. Not three seconds had passed since Krastio's outbreak when Anelia suddenly lept from the bed, dashing out the open doorway to the hall. She frantically ran in the direction of the silent staircase, opposite the one teeming with the commotion of concerned household members. The décor of the estate flew by her in muted color.

As Anelia burst through one of the servants' exits and into a private courtyard, all Anelia could hear disrupting the silence of the night was the angry bellow of her name.

She never stopped running.

Paris, France, 1509

The young woman sagged back against the man – creature? – holding her firmly against him, fangs imbedded deep in her neck. She had attempted to fight the sensations that threatened to overwhelm her at first, but she had since then given in and was moaning in abandon as her veins were drained nearly dry.

All of a sudden, the piercing pleasure-pain sensation was ripped away from her as the man – and his fangs – disappeared. Without his support, Anelia fell to the ground, welcoming the coolness of the earth beneath her cheek, the softness of the grass. Anelia heard a faint ripping sound and a strangled cry.

"Sorry, mate," a nonchalant British accent declared, "but I saw her first."

Anelia was hauled onto her unsteady feet by a pair of strong hands. Her vision went in and out of focus. Probably from all the blood loss, she thought absently. She swayed as the stranger took hold of both her arms.

"Now, love, what's a gorgeous thing like you doing alone in the city of love?" The smooth British voice questioned, amusement lacing his tone so much that even Anelia caught it. "What's your name, darling?"

"Anelia," she murmured, nestling her head into the crook of his neck. "May I sleep now?"

The mysterious man chuckled. "In just one moment, Anelia – may I call you Neli? You see, Neli, I'm actually looking for a companion myself, and you look like quite the good time."

Anelia smiled. She didn't know why, but she felt completely secure in this man's arms. Like nothing could ever hurt her again. Like he could end all the suffering that constantly plagued her, no matter where she might travel to escape it.

She didn't know how wrong she was.

Next thing she knew, the man was forcing his damp wrist against her mouth. Anelia began to regain her strength as soon as the liquid hit her tongue, and so began to struggle against her savior-turned-captor as he force-fed her his blood.

"Feel free to call me Kol," was the last he said before he snapped her neck and everything went dark.

Translations:

мама - Mama

курва - whore

Ok, so that was my first attempt at a TVD story! I'm not sure about the whole thing just yet; I may have to go back in and do some tweaking. Sorry it's so short, by the way - it looked longer written . . . The actual chapters will be longer, and considering this is mostly just back story and stuff like that . . . meh.

Anyway! I would love some feedback on how you guys thought I did! Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it:) If not, please tell me what I can change or do better. That would be much appreciated also!

Christina