*It goes without saying that The Originals – the story and all related characters – belong to the writers, cast and crew of the show. I claim no ownership or association to the TV series titled The Originals. This was written by a fan solely for the enjoyment of other fans.*
Quick Word from DayStorm: This short story was requested by xKittyPetrovax3. Originally meant to be a one-shot, this story sort of took off once I started writing it. lol I've given Cami and Lucien a real go, and even though I have a tremendous fanfic workload at the moment . . . I'm interested in delving into this one again.
I might just come back in a year or so, and write a full-length fic based off of this. :)
To xKittyPetrovax3. This one's yours.
Best,
DayStorm
Chapter 1
I know that you're hiding things
Using gentle words to shelter me
Your words were like a dream
But dreams could never fool me . . .
– 1,000 Words
Sweetbox, Lyrics
Dinner was late, but well-worth the wait; a tender glazed pork loin with baby carrots and new potatoes. Tender steamed asparagus, candied fruit and enough sides to satisfy anyone with the promise of dessert to come. The table where dinner was being served – a dark mahogany – was set for two.
Three tall, white candles intimately lit.
It all felt very . . . staged.
Camille sat passively, tension knotting her stomach but willing to play her captor's game. She would watch and she would learn, and when the moment presented itself she would escape. Or she would die. Either way, whatever was going to happen would happen tonight. Not a particularly comfortable realization; she would need to be sharper than she'd ever been before.
Cami lifted her eyes, letting her gaze settle on the man sitting across from her.
Lucien Castle. Dark and possessing the devil's own charisma, he'd stolen her right off the street; abducted her from the parking lot of a police precinct. That took some nerve. The threat the police posed was laughable, but it was no secret that she was a friend to the Originals and under Klaus' protection in particular. He knew that.
And yet he still took her.
For leverage, Lucien had said, and she believed him. There was no reason not to . . . what was she worth to an ancient vampire with a grudge, if not for her association to the Original family? Nothing. She had nothing else worth letting her live for.
Why, then, was she doubting that motivation? She knew why.
Lucien returned from the Thanksgiving meal he was invited to share with Elijah and Klaus . . . and others . . . by himself and in remarkably fair condition.
Cami tried to gauge his mood when he first got home, watching him from her seat in the living room. Lucien hadn't paid her any attention, then. He removed his black silk jacket, loosened his tie and set both neatly aside. His shirt, also silk and as black as jet was made of such exquisite quality that it was like liquid. It hung lightly from his shoulders and moved with his body when he reached to slip the top two buttons free. Rippling like midnight currents. She could see the lean, hard slide of muscle beneath. The sharper cut of his shoulders turning.
She lifted her eyes, feeling flush and uncomfortable in her chair out of the way. Lucien was watching her, reflected in the large mirror over his bed. A wicked smile twisting his expression into something dangerously boyish. Cami's heart gave a firm thump and she looked quickly away. Averting her gaze as if that would make a difference. He saw what he needed.
Attraction knotted her stomach, and a rush of unwanted heat pooled lower.
Lucien was her captor. No matter how desirable he seemed, it was important she not forget that.
Having made himself comfortable, Lucien proceeded to sit them both down to supper. Having to wait for him to come back from his evening out explained why she was eating at midnight.
"Drink up, Cami," Lucien drawled amiably. "If you're not hungry, don't let the wine go to waste."
Pick your battles, Cami thought as fresh tension tightened the space between her shoulders. She reached for her wineglass, faintly surprised by the weight of it in her hand.
The wine was a deep, luxurious purple. Candlelight caught in the liquid, sparkling crimson where it came through. Cami tasted it, holding the wine in her mouth for several seconds. Violets, black cherry and . . . smoke. Very nice. And very expensive, if the complexity of the flavors were any indication.
Aware that Lucien was watching her, a devilish tilt to his omnipresent smirk Camille very carefully set her glass back down and folded her hands in her lap. She was not at a dinner party and he was not a friend.
"Why didn't you tell anyone you had me?" she said.
Lucien froze in the process of reaching for the butter dish. "Excuse me?"
"You came back and you were alone," Cami elaborated. She smiled at the vampire seated across from her, fervently hoping he wouldn't notice the beads of hot sweat forming in her hairline. "A hostage is useless if no one knows you have her. What is the point of all this?"
"Nobody knows you're missing. And I'm not going to kill you," Lucien said lightly. He seemed more amused by her assumption than he had any right to be. Murdering her if she proved useless to him was perfectly reasonable when dealing with vampires, she had learned.
Vampires were notoriously callous when it came to life – with the exception of those they cared for, of course. Lives were disposable. They were so callous, in fact, that Lucien rolling his eyes effectively derailed her train of thought. Her assumption was perfectly reasonable. Cami picked up her fork, needing a moment to pull herself together. She needed to focus and was finding it a particularly difficult thing to do under the enigmatic gaze of the handsome vampire.
A tremor of heat rolled beneath her skin. Not at all unpleasant.
"Klaus told me you were the first," Cami offered. "That you essentially created yourself. They didn't know it could be done. Not then."
"Did he," Lucien rolled his shoulders and leaned back in his chair, tipping his wineglass at Camille in invitation. "What else has he said about me?"
She took another small sip of her wine, careful not to drink too much. She wanted to moisten her throat, not fog her thinking.
Cami felt uneasy in Lucien's presence, and she was perceptive enough to recognize it wasn't the danger he posed that troubled her. It was something else. Something . . . she didn't know. It was the strangest sensation – not quite déjà vu, she felt as if there was something she'd forgotten. That sense of 'did I leave the stove on?'
Irritating her; she couldn't place it.
Cami tilted her face down, and glanced up at Lucien in a purely feminine gesture of flirtation to let the candlelight catch in her eyes. Hoping to confuse him just enough so that she could find a foothold. A way in, past his deliberate stonewalling. Whether she succeeded, she couldn't tell. Lucien looked prepared to sit there all night, one dark brow raised. Waiting for her to respond.
"I don't know very much," Cami admitted at last. With Lucien's vampire hearing, he was a walking lie-detector so that, at least, was true. He wouldn't hear any tell-tale skips to her pulse showing deceit. Although Camille was more interested in discovering his truths. What did he want with her?
Lucien was so damn evasive. He said nothing about himself, instead turning the focus of their conversation back on her. Keeping her guessing and on her toes.
She could have stayed silent, leaving her captor satisfied with that very brief but honest response to his inquiry. What did she know about him? Nothing much. But instead, she licked her lips and confessed, "I know that any vampire as old as you does nothing without a purpose. There's a reason for all of this. If it's not to bait the Originals, then what do you want? What are you after?"
Lucien smirked over the lip of his glass. Dark eyes glinting in the candlelight and Cami's heart gave a firm thu-thump. She placed her hand on her chest, over her heart. Aware the vampire across from her could hear the beat. He was handsome; there was no denying it and no point in trying. His stunning good looks only heightened by the predator she saw in his eyes – he was like a tiger peering at her through the trees. Beautiful creature. Deadly.
Like with the cat, she knew enough to keep her distance.
"Why didn't you tell anybody that you had me?" she asked again, directing the conversation.
"Hoping for rescue, Cami?" Lucien taunted. He set his wineglass down and leaned back in his chair, bracing one arm over the back. His silky black shirt pulling over his front, gifting her with a tantalizing taste of that smooth, sculpted chest.
Camille swallowed, wishing she could drink more. Her throat felt raw. She said, "Is that why you neglected to inform anyone you were holding a hostage? You knew they'd come for me."
"One of the reasons," her captor responded. "Let's say I'm interested in more than having my innards fed to me tonight."
Her stomach hollowed as her body turned quickly cold at those words. She watched Lucien carefully, trying to gauge his mood. His intentions. Frustratingly, she found him as difficult to read as before. Lucien hid his thoughts beneath the mask of devil-may-care swagger. It was such a simple tactic but an effective one.
But of course, the only vampires in the world older than him were the Originals themselves. For Lucien to have survived as long as he had, he would have needed more than brute strength and the desire to live to get him through the centuries. He was intelligent and that made him more dangerous than he would have been otherwise. The ancient vampire who played at being the self-made millionaire playboy was just as dangerous as Klaus.
He was lethal and precise . . . and unlike Klaus, he owed her nothing.
He would kill her. Torture and maim her, if he thought it would get him what he was after.
Some of what she was thinking must have shown on her face. Lucien sighed and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. "You're afraid of me."
Cami blinked. "W-what?"
"I expected it," he said. "Would have suspected something regrettable otherwise. Is it strange, then, that I never considered the effect your fear would have on me? To have to sit here and see the quiet terror in your eyes . . . see you trying to master yourself and only just succeeding? The rapid beat of your heart echoing in my head. So sure I intend to kill you. Despite what you must think, Camille, I am not enjoying this."
She said nothing. Her fingers curling into fists on her lap.
A moment passed. Then another. She said, "My friends will come for me. Someone will notice I'm gone, and they'll track me here."
Lucien allowed amusement to bleed through his sardonic expression but cracks had begun to appear in that mask he wore so easily. Hurt. It was there and gone so quickly she nearly missed it. Just the tiniest flicker of emotion that slipped into his eyes before it was gone.
Puzzled, Cami leaned forward before she realized what she'd done. She immediately eased back into her chair, fervently hoping it only looked like she was trying to get comfortable. No luck. Lucien saw alright and he picked up his wineglass, lifting it in silent salute. Mocking her.
Look all you want. You'll take what I give you, Camille.
This was insane. Cami felt as if she were expected to win a game where she didn't know all the rules. Chess against a master. Every move had to be measured before it could be played, because her opponent missed nothing and the cost of failing would be . . . would be . . . what did Lucien want?
Was she frightened? Oh, yes. But more than anything, she felt thrown off balance. Flustered and confused. There was something there. She was sure of it. Something he meant to tell her.
"Lucien," she sighed, releasing the breath she'd been holding.
"Cami," he echoed.
"What do you want with me?"
No more games. No more pretending. She needed to know, and it was clear he did want to tell her.
"I want the truth, Camille. I want it not for myself, but for you." Said with perfect honesty, tension rolling off of every word. Heat smoldering in the depth of his dark eyes and none of it was fake. She believed him. "I only want to show you what was taken from you. Return what was stolen and prove that I am not the villain of this particular story. Undo however much damage as I can so that by the end of tonight the Cami that I knew might find a measure of wholeness again."
A measure of wholeness. Said so easily she questioned if she was even able to question it, though she had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Cami lifted her eyes, meeting Lucien's gaze from across their intimately small table. The warm, rich scent of their dinner deceptively reassuring in its familiarity. Those scents made her think of home and her childhood, which might have been what Lucien intended. She pushed those memories away, instead turning her attention to the tall white candles between her and the ancient vampire.
Tiny flames burned brightly in the unlit room. Beads of melted wax liquid as they slid down the length of the candles, glistening and transparent at first. Quickly losing their heat to harden into milky pearls. The candle's wicks were blackened. The flames sharp, perfect little spades. Bright orange, fading to yellow and then white nearer the center. They burned brilliant blue at their base, where they were the hottest.
"Camille?" Lucien's voice. Darkly seductive, like a whip coiled around a champagne bottle. She could feel that voice on her skin. Like the brush of fingers, intimately warm. She could feel the sparkle in her blood, heating her body.
Cami drew a careful breath. "Did you put something in my drink?"
Startled silence followed her query. She didn't look at the vampire. Her eyes were beginning to sting from staring into that burning light for too long. She couldn't make herself look away. Afraid of what she might see. Afraid of things she felt while in his presence.
Not as afraid as she should have been. "Did you?"
"No."
One word. Harsh denial.
She believed him. She didn't feel ill. Wasn't even sure why she'd asked.
The candle flame was extinguished by a hand coming down over it. Snuffing out the light with a puff of smoke and a brief burst of hot-wax-smell. She glanced up, then, and had to blink several times to clear her vision. The shadowy echo of the flame-shape lingered in her vision like an eclipse.
"Why would you ask that?" Lucien demanded. Another crack in his mask – this one on purpose, Cami thought. He was irritated and wanted her to know it.
Her gaze sharpened, narrowing on Lucien as she realized that in her distraction she'd missed exactly what he had said to her. The most direct statement he'd made all night.
. . . I am not the villain of this particular story . . .
It was the only thing he'd said about himself. That was significant.
"Who's the villain?" Cami asked, her voice surer than it'd been. Her interest was piqued and she felt more like herself because of it. Her fear dissolving beneath her wealth of experience. She finally had something to contribute to this discussion, and if she could only keep Lucien talking . . .
Lucien might have been surprised by the suddenness of her question, but he didn't show it.
He lifted his hand from the candle, a small twist of smoke wafting through his fingers. "Guess."
"No," Cami said. "Not guessing. Tell me what you meant by that."
"I mean exactly what I said. I am not the villain. There is a monster in your world, Camille, and it is the devil himself."
Cami closed her eyes. Her pulse skipped at the implication and a measure of guilt; that she couldn't pretend ignorance. "Klaus."
Lucien only smiled. A dark, dangerous twist to his mouth.
