"Here."

Caroline looked up and gratefully took the glass of microwave-warmed blood from Damon. "I'm still shaking."

Bursting into the room, Stefan was almost breathless. "What happened?"

"Go ahead," Damon said to Caroline. "Tell." His eyes settled on Stefan. "You're gonna love this."

With Stefan and Damon both staring expectantly at her, Caroline sighed. "I saw Katherine today."

Stiffening, Stefan narrowed his eyes. "Where?"

"At the grill. I just stopped by to gawk and... stalk Matt." Caroline blushed.

Damon rolled his eyes. "Skip the teen drama and get to it."

...

Caroline shook her head at her own stupidity and lack of confidence, but stiffened when she saw a familiar reflection in the mirror.

"Elena." Caroline knew her voice was weak, the same way she knew that the doppelganger behind her was absolutely not Elena.

"Hey," Not-Elena replied, "I saw you with Matt, are you okay?"

"Yeah, you know," Caroline said with a shrug, "Whatever."

A moment passed, and Caroline took her chance, running for the door. But Katherine was faster, taking a step to the left and blocking the way. "You're good. What gave me away?" Katherine purred, "Was it the hair? Or was it my clothes?"

"I know that Elena's at home," Caroline replied, trying and failing not to show fear as she tried again to unsuccessfully force her way past Katherine.

Katherine extended an arm across the doorway. "I need you to deliver a message. Tell Damon and Stefan that I want the moonstone, or I will rip this town apart until it rains blood. Tonight. At the Masquerade ball."

...

Stefan pulled a face. "She wants to do it in public. You killing Mason threw her off guard."

Damon rolled his eyes again. "She's running scared. What she did to Jenna was desperate. She's out of tricks."

"We can't underestimate her," Stefan disagreed, "We have to play this smarter than her."

Caroline looked fearfully between the two brothers. "Can't we just give her the moonstone so she'll leave?"

"No," Damon said incredulously, "Katherine isn't getting dick. I've had it. I'm gonna go to the Masquerade Ball and I'm gonna kill her. Tonight."

Stefan shook his head. "You're not gonna kill her."

Damon looked slightly murderous. "Don't give me that goody goody crap."

"You're not gonna kill her," Stefan repeated, and Damon looked ready to argue.

"Oh really?"

Stefan grinned. "Because I am."

He took another deep drink from his bourbon and glanced tiredly around, eying up every half-decent female as a potential fuck, feed, and forget.

The bar was dark, smoky and infamous for its dishonourable patrons - a perfect hunting ground for the fast and loose girls that he liked.

There were none that caught his fancy at first glance – some too young, some too old, too... something, to pique his taste.

Until his eyes alighted on a familiar slip of a brunette, sitting alone at the bar and staring blankly down into her empty glass.

She was there again, the tiny woman who had rejected him every night this week.

Tiny wasn't usually a word he associated with attractive, fully grown women, but it was the only adjective that would successfully describe the creature sitting alone at the bar.

"You know," A voice to his left said, "Staring at it won't get it in your bed, boy."

Damon sighed and shrugged, giving the owner of the voice – a middle-aged, slightly toothless drunk – a dismissive look.

She seemed completely lost in her own thoughts, oblivious to the world, and yet whenever the bell above the door chimed, her shoulders twitched. She tossed her mahogany curls over her shoulder and Damon's breath caught in his throat at the sight of the flawless nape of her neck. Tonight, he was not going to take no for an answer.

He studied her awhile longer, watching the bartender deliver her drink after drink, and when he was sure that she was drunk enough, he made his move.

He moved slowly, like the predator he was, the look in his eyes clearly dissuading conversation from the owners of the many appreciative pairs of eyes that followed his path across the bar. At his approach, the owner of the bar narrowed his eyes in suspicion; the girl was a nightly customer, bringing him invaluable business during the Prohibition, and she rented a room from him in the apartment above the Speakeasy. But she was an unusual one; unmarried in spite of her obvious beauty, but with no female escort to maintain her chastity. The owner couldn't decide if she was a prostitute or a widow – in any case, the girl provided him with a regular income, and he had long since decided that it was not his business to pry.

Damon sat down beside her and flicked his fingers in an obnoxious gesture for the bartender to bring them more drinks.

Up close, the girl made his mouth water. She was thin, pale and fragile looking, with hazel doe-eyes that were a little too big for her heart shaped face; high cheekbones, a sulky mouth, a slightly upturned nose and a perfectly proportioned forehead. Her hair was curled to perfection, pinned back at her temples in the fashion of the day and tumbling down her back to her tiny waist, and she shifted in her seat to adjust the skirts of her dress.

"That seat was taken," she said, and Damon smirked.

"Yes," he replied, "By me. Allow me to introduce myself – I am Damon Salvatore."

Her eyes flashed momentarily, and Damon tilted his head in question. She allowed a small smile and shook her head at his cockiness. "You're a confident one, aren't you?"

Damon shrugged, tipping his glass in her direction and taking a drink. "Perhaps I can afford to be."

There was something off about her – perhaps it was that she was unmoved by his flirtatious smile, or that she seemed reluctant to hold his gaze for too long – but Damon wasn't much bothered. She would make a nice meal for the evening, and he was most definitely looking forward to seeing bloodied puncture marks on her beautiful porcelain neck.

She turned to face him, taking a sip of her down drink and raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"

Damon smirked again. "Money, power, charm, a handsome face... Not to mention my bedroom prowess."

"That's quite the litany," she replied, unimpressed, draining her glass without so much as a wince.

"You haven't told me your name," Damon pointed out suavely, and the girl gave him a sidelong look.

"Haven't I? How rude of me. My name is Blair Waldorf, Mr Salvatore."

"What's a pretty young thing like you doing all alone in a place like this? There are some bad characters about, you know." As if to make his point, Damon openly leered at her, expecting a demure and polite rejection in reply.

She smiled coyly, then, like a woman with a secret. "And I suppose you count yourself amongst them?"

Her glib response caught him off guard, and Damon smirked. "Most definitely."

...

She had allowed him to walk her to her room, and when they reached the door, she halted. "Goodnight, Mr Salvatore."

Damon bowed his head to look her directly in the eyes. She really was the tiniest little thing – even in her fashionable heels, her forehead barely grazed his chin – and Damon almost felt bad about what he was about to do. "Aren't you going to invite me inside for a drink, Miss Waldorf?"

Blair seemed to deliberate and then sighed, unlocking her bedroom door and allowing it to creak open, revealing the double bed in the centre of the room and the vanity table near the door. "Come on in, Mr Salvatore."

For an absurd moment, Damon faltered on the threshold. He wasn't sure what made him do it, but something about this woman was different, and he was intrigued by it. "I wouldn't want to offend the morals of a virtuous woman, Miss Waldorf."

"Then, let me assure you, Mr Salvatore," Blair leaned up to place her mouth next to his ear, and her voice was a sultry, beckoning whisper, "I have no morals or virtues to speak of."

He pulled her into the room and she heeled the door shut behind them, throwing her arms around his neck as his wound around her waist. He dipped her, pressing a hot open-mouthed kiss to the thrumming vein in her neck. Blair shuddered under his touch, tilting her head away to allow him better access to her nape.

At her eagerness, Damon hardened instantly, feeling the whites of his eyes become cloaked by scarlet, feeling his fangs descend. He closed his mouth to hide them from her, not wanting to bite – not yet, at least – and struggled to hide his surprise when she captured his mouth with hers.

Her tongue swept across his lips and Damon's mouth opened. He shifted her backwards, pressing her up against the door, raising her to his height. Blair moaned at his ardour, thrusting herself against him, smirking when he let out a guttural answering moan.

He lifted her legs and they wound themselves around his waist, her heels digging into his derriere, urging him onwards.

Taking haste backward steps, Damon felt the foot of the bed against the back of his knees and allowed her to push him down onto the cover.

His hands grazed over her clothed body; he had never wanted a woman this much, not since Katherine, not for more than half a century. She ground herself against him and Damon sat up, his hand twining in her hair and pulling her more firmly against him. Their mouths met in a battle for dominance, and Blair reached down to claw his jacket from his shoulders, tearing his shirt and tie from his body in the process.

She grazed a hand down his now-bare torso, humming in appreciation at the feel of his muscled chest. She felt her dress rip under his hands, felt the laces of her corset being slowly undone, and she groaned in frustration.

"Just get it off," she grunted, and Damon smirked.

"That was most unladylike, Miss Waldorf."

Their eyes met and she shoved him back against the bed, reaching behind her to finish the job that he had started. Her corset loosened against her frame and she gave him a catlike smile, thrusting her hips against him again and raking her nails along his chest.

Damon hissed as she caught his nipples, and hurried to gather up her skirts. He encountered stockings... and then nothing. At the feel of her bare flesh, Damon growled in surprise, and she laughed breathlessly at the renewed hardness between his thighs.

His fingers found her core and she mewled as he teased her, using one of her last coherent thoughts to reach down between them and unbutton his trousers, releasing his length. Damon moaned as her small hand encased him, smirking cockily at Blair's appreciative groan.

She manoeuvred herself above him, and, as Damon lifted her skirts again, Blair sank down onto his length, moaning loudly at he suddenly thrust upwards, filling her deliciously.

He sat up and her legs fell around his waist, and the momentum made Blair see stars. She leaned back as he peeled her corset from her body, smiling when he hissed at the sight of her exposed chest. He lowered his mouth to her neck, suckling at her pulse.

They moved in unison, desperately racing to reach a common goal, and just as his peak was nearing, Damon lifted his head and their eyes met.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured, brushing her hair from her shoulders, "Don't scream; this won't hurt, I promise." His pupils dilated and retracted, and Blair stiffened a little as shadows formed under his eyes. She remained still, watching with interest as his teeth sharpened and lengthened.

In an unexpected move with untold speed, Blair took hold of a fistful of his hair and wrenched back his head, and Damon grunted in pain. It had been a while since anyone had actually been able to hurt him, and he was so caught up in his surprise that he hardly heard the whisper against his neck.

"I wish I could say the same."

Her fangs pierced his jugular in a savagely erotic bite, and Damon shuddered, powerless to move. Something deep inside of him recognised a strength that surpassed his, and his self preservation instincts demanded that he allow the feed. Her orgasm was sudden and unexpected, and Damon moaned loudly at the feel of her walls squeezing his cock almost to the point of pain. He tilted his head back and finally resumed his movements, drilling his hips up into her mercilessly, aching to achieve his own release.

Feeling his length begin to pulse inside of her, Blair pulled away, licking her lips as his blood trailed down her chin and onto her breasts. Unable to tear his eyes from the sight, Damon was incredulous when she offered her own neck to him, pulling his head against her roughly.

"Drink," she whispered, "Do it."

He didn't need asking twice.

Blair let out her own moan at the feel of his mouth on her neck, and cried out with rapture as his release triggered a second of her own.

He pulled his mouth away and the two gazed at each other with wonder. Their stillness lasted a mere moment, but the moment was enough. Their mouths crashed together and Damon flipped them over, pinning her to the bed. Still connected at their cores, his hips set a punishing rhythm with a renewed vigour.

She clung to him, scratching her nails down his back and revelling in his masochistic moans.

...

Afterwards, they lay entwined on the bed, partially spent. Damon twisted her hair around his fingers and Blair purred at his ministrations.

"How old are you?" Damon wondered, knowing that she must be an older vampire than he because of her superior strength, and yet finding it hard to believe that someone with such a youth about them could be as old as she must be.

"Seven hundred and forty three," Blair answered with a smirk, rolling over to rest her chin on his chest. "What about you?"

Damon grinned. "Sixty something. Give or take a few years."

"That's..." Blair sat up, holding the torn remains of her corset to her chest, "A bit disturbing."

"Mmm," Damon agreed with a smirk, trailing a finger down her arm, "Perverse, isn't it?"

"Damon? Are you even listening to me?" Stefan clicked his fingers in front of Damon's eyes, and Damon blinked stupidly at him for a moment.

"What?"

Stefan huffed impatiently. "We were talking about Katherine? We said we needed a way to overpower her?"

Damon grinned and sauntered over to the drinks table, pouring himself a tumbler of bourbon. "I have the perfect thing."

"Seven hundred and forty three, huh?" Damon said, "That's a long time."

"Sure is," Blair replied with a shrug, "Hey, go downstairs and ask Teddy for a bottle of champagne."

Damon scoffed, but a smirk tugged at his lips. "What am I, your whipping boy?"

"Of course you are." Blair licked her lips and looked him up and down, admiring the lean muscles of his torso. "The sooner you go, the sooner you get back, and the sooner I can show you my gratitude."

He stood and watched her for a moment, observing her completely relaxed yet entirely seductive pose on the bed: lied on her left side, her right hand over her head, knees bent and curled, toes pointed, the fingers on her left hand trailing patterns in the bed cover. He didn't need further persuasion, and soon returned with what he had been assured was her bottle of choice.

"In spite of your reservations, you do make an awfully good whipping boy, Mr Salvatore. I see you got my favourite." She sat up and reached for the bottle, uncorking it with a flick of her thumb, and when it erupted onto her bare chest she squealed with surprise.

From her reaction, Damon knew that she hadn't planned on getting champagne all over her chest, but he tugged off his shirt and pants and was instantly above her, licking the champagne off of her skin with his skilful tongue.

She clutched his head to her, moaning as he nipped at her breasts. "God...!"

"I prefer Damon," he replied wolfishly, and the heat in his eyes made her shiver.

...

"So what exactly have you filled seven and a half centuries with?"

Blair shrugged. "I did some travelling, designed some clothes, played hooky with a King..."

"Which King?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch as her lips trailed kisses down his torso. "Stop distracting me."

She sighed. "Henry VII."

Damon made an interested face. "Of England?"

"Nah, of Wisconsin. Of course Henry VII of England."

"And what year exactly was this?" Damon pressed, and Blair's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"1492. Why?"

Barely able to hide his excitement, Damon pushed himself up on his knees and placed a finger under Blair's chin. "Do you remember a woman named Katherine? Or Katarina?"

Blair thought for a moment and reached for the champagne bottle. "The only Katherine I remember from that year is Katherine Pierce. She was one of my maids..."

Damon cupped Blair's face in his hands, his eyes dancing. "Do you remember who turned her?"

"Turned her?" Blair pulled back a little and furrowed her brow. "I did."

"Oh, Stefan, you are just gonna love me," Damon crowed, rubbing his hands together with glee. "I just might have a friend who can help to control our little Katherine problem."

Stefan scoffed. "Oh, please."

"You turned her?" Damon repeated incredulously, "How? Why?"

Blair shrugged. "The girl was a good maid, but she was clumsy. She cut her wrist on some sewing scissors, one day, and it just wouldn't stop bleeding. It was a large cut with an oozing bleed. It just kept pumping out of her skin. After a couple of hours, she was so pale, so close to death, and I didn't want to lose such good help. I told her not to be afraid of me and I gave her some of my blood. She took too much... It made her reckless and dizzy, and then she slipped."

"You mean she died?"

"She fell down the stairs and broke her pretty little neck," Blair replied, gazing at him with narrowed eyes. "She died with my blood still in her system and I knew what that meant. So I picked her up, put her in my bed, closed the curtains and sat with her until she woke up. She was such an innocent little thing."

"Innocent?"

Blair smiled at the memory. "She was terrified when she woke up. Shaking like a child. Sobbing because I had made her a 'demon blood drinker' – it was sweet, really. I brought her a stable boy... Turns out she wasn't so innocent, after all." Blair smirked, then, cold and delicious, and Damon couldn't help but kiss her.

"What happened then?"

"Oh, she drained him," she answered with a shrug, "And then she tried to kill me. I gave her a little lesson in manners. Showed her that I could make her do anything that I wanted her to, and that it was only by my mercy that I'd let her live. She didn't believe me, so I made her stand in the sun. She was screaming with the pain, but she couldn't move. I told her that I never wanted to see her again and then she ran away. She was always running."

Damon gaped at her. "So... you didn't just turn Katherine, you sired her?"

"Be interesting or die."

Damon winced at the female voice at the other end of the phone. "Hey, Blair!" A suspicious silence. "Blair Waldorf?"

"Who is this? How did you get this number?"

"It's Damon Salvatore. I need your help."