A/N There won't be any author's notes accompanying the chapters after this one, so I'm writing a general message here that will apply to every succeeding chapter.

1. Firstly, and most importantly: Thank you so much to everyone that reviews this story - if you're a fellow fanfiction writer, you'll have a pretty good idea as to how much encouragement and motivation a review gives a writer.

2. As there will be [no] 'A/Ning' in this story, I strongly recommend you sign in to leave a review. I will make sure to reply to any questions asked in a private message, but I will not be doing it as an extension to this story.

3. On my profile page there is a link for pictures of characters as I see them. I know some people like to form their own ideas of character appearance as they read, but if any of you are curious as to how I perceive them, just follow that link.

A NOTE ON THE GENERAL CHRONOLOGY OF THIS STORY

This story is told through the eyes of several different characters that reside in Mystic Falls - some are canon characters, others are my own original characters. The events they witness can cover hours or minutes or seconds and the sequencing of these events is not strictly chronological. One chapter may leave off at a certain time, and the next chapter may occur a few hours before its predecessor finished.

This all being said, I do not believe this makes the story difficult to follow; only structures it in a way that gives the reader a general idea of the plot from all angles and perspectives.

I hope you enjoy this fanfic and enjoy reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it.

- Last Of The Lilac Wine . May 2013.

MERCY

Elijah stepped out of the taxi smoothly. The driver, who seemed almost embarrassed that nobody at the hotel had waited out to welcome him, apologized professedly before peeling his yellow car off the curb and driving away.

For his part, Elijah was inclined to reserve all judgments. The hotel was small one and the only clerk seemed to be almost rushed off their feet; so if his features were set into that of faint disdain as he swept across the lobby of the hotel, it was because the scent of blood perfumed the air from a young waitress whose hand had been cut on the broken shards of a glass she'd dropped.

Though Elijah could boast of a higher tolerance to blood and the tedious human nature than that of his siblings, he had to admit he had his limits. And with that thought defining his personal boundaries, Elijah impatiently waved off the clerk that hurried to greet him before he could get too close and made his way into the (blessedly) empty elevator. The small space still felt claustrophobic with its stale air that carried the faint scent of humans, but at least it was empty.

The elevator walls were broken into different large mirrors, glowing now with the reflected gold of the over-head light and Elijah brushed at some imaginary dust on the sleeve of his suit (human contraptions were so tiresomely slow.)

The arranged appointment was to take place on the third floor, in room 64 at exactly noon. Something about the phone call the woman had given requesting he meet her there haunted Elijah: perhaps the inflection of deadened calm on her words as she spoke through the static of the phone, or perhaps it was the mystery of; if he's declined to visit, what might have happened to her next.

He was not so inclined as to heed every call of women that played the damsel in distress but then again what did he want? What did he expect if he continued to portray himself as a man with morals, or – more distinctively – a vampire with morals?

It was a cardinal sin in the eyes of his brother to still abide by the strict rules of a human society they'd left hundreds and hundred's of years ago. But just because they were monsters didn't mean they had to act like them.

The elevator suddenly gave a slight shudder as it pulled to a halt on the second floor, doors sliding open with a metallic clang.

The gap was barely big enough for a person to fit through by the time a young women fell through it. She stumbled into the confined space of the elevator, her panicked gasps for air loud in the sudden silence.

Stunned, Elijah stared at her.

The woman's red hair was caught and held up from her face in a messy bun and there was a coating of crusted blood smeared from her collar bone, up one cheek to her hair line. She wore a simple black cocktail dress and when she reached out a hand to steady herself on his shoulder, he noted the few freckles that were scattered over her forearm.

Elijah had never felt anything like it; her touch more quiet than a breath. When his gaze fell onto the fingers that clutched the material of his suit, on the bloody hand she'd imprinted onto the shoulder and the red substance that was caked beneath her finger-nails he realized that the blood smelt strangely un-sweetened. It could only be that of a vampire's.

He frowned, his confusion heightening as he re-assessed the woman once again. "Whose blood is that?" he asked sharply.

She trembled, but did not reply.

"Look at me."

She did not raise her head, just released her grip on his arm and attempted to back away as much as was physically possible within the small space of the elevator. The doors had already slid shut, the elevator completely still as it waited for instructions and the woman was utterly trapped. When he lunged forward to grab her she was unable to dodge the movement and his fingers wrapped around her arm, tight as a tourniquet.

"Look at me," he repeated, preparing to stare into her eyes and force the truth out of her.

"No. Please, no," she begged - words finally torn from her throat as she attempted to tug her arm out of his grip. "Don't."

He ignored her. "Whose blood is that?" he repeated, forcing her to stare into his eyes.

"Get away from me."

Elijah frowned at her resistance to his compulsion. Her eyes were wide and so dark they were almost black with her fear. He scanned the creamy skin at the woman's throat and wrists for any kind of jewelry that might hold vervain, and, frustrated when his gaze yielded no answers, he wrapped his other arm round her back and drew her close enough that he could bury his face into her neck.

She cried out, struggling in earnest against his grip now, but she could not escape and Elijah could almost taste the sweetness of her flesh as adrenaline and horror rolled off of her in waves. He allowed his fangs to tentatively graze her shoulder where the strap of her dress had fallen to reveal white skin and his lips brushed against the tracery of brown and golden freckles he found there. His teeth broke her skin and hot blood welled up into his mouth like a burst dam. No vervain. No hint of the humming energy that might signify she was a witch. Totally human.

He released her.

She stumbled backwards slightly and he watched the blood – her own, this time – trickle from the bite mark he'd left down her skin.

"Not you too," she whispered, briefly touching the wound at her neck and holding her fingers out in front of her. Horror slowly touched upon her features as the blood dripped from her fingertips and onto the wooden flooring.

Elijah's face hardened at her obvious disgust and fear. "Unfortunately. Now, if you'd be so kind as to answer my question –"

But she seemed to be in some kind of a daze. A strange look crossed her face as she continued to watch her own blood drip from her finger tips – some kind of dark fascination - and along with the impatience that welled up in Elijah again he felt anger mixed with the beginnings of something like fear.

He was about to push for an answer again in that coldly calculated voice that masked all real emotion when she answered, pulling out from her reverie.

"Vampire." She said, suddenly. "I'm covered in vampire blood."

For the first time, there was silence in the elevator. Her erratic breathing had slowed and her dark eyes seemed somehow calmer following her confession. .

"You're a hunter," Elijah finally concluded.

Her skin flushed.

The light pink color worked its way up her neck and into her face and ears, the blood pulsing angrily in protest to his statement. "- A what? No – I –"

He stepped forwards, an irrational anger burning through his veins. "You hunt my kind down and kill us like dogs," he said, his eyes flashing with a kind of cold scorn. "You would have my family and I exterminated, destroyed -"

"For God's sake, let go of me!" the woman cried out and half terrified, half furious she pulled away abruptly. "They're hunting me!"

At her words there was a crash as something hit the roof of the elevator hard. Reflex reaction, the woman braced her arms against the walls either side of her to steady herself as the whole cart shook. She stared up at the ceiling in horror as the whole space gave another shudder and the light bulb above their heads burst with a shower of bright white sparks.

Elijah could hear something moving about outside in the elevator shaft and felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He was almost certain that it was another vampire.

"What's your name," he demanded quickly of the woman in front of him.

"Clare Kennedy."

"Clare," he mused – the clipped tone of his British accent suddenly becoming more pronounced with surprise as he noticed the traditionally Irish last name. "Why are these people looking for you?"

There was a great groaning sound like bending metal and the pair glanced up once again.

"They're trying to get into the lift," Clare whispered in horror as a tile shifted slightly. "Oh my God."

She dived forwards to jam her fist against the button for the lobby but Elijah covered it with his hand. "What are you doing?" she snapped.

"Why do these vampires want you dead?"

"Stop it, they're going to kill me!" she panicked, attempting to move his hand in a bid to get the elevator back down to the ground floor once again.

"Why do they want you dead?"

"I don't know, I can't remember anything that happened to me before two days ago – I swear."

Composure broken for a moment, he blinked in surprise. "What?"

He paused, reminded of something – that fragment of words, he had them heard somewhere before. For a minute a phrase tried to take shape on his lips and then he managed to force out: "You're the woman on the phone."

Of course she was. But the change of emotion in her voice was such that he had barely recognized her – there was no dead calm to her voice here, only panic and confusion.

Clare's response was somewhat aggressive through her surprise. More strands of red hair fell loose from her bun as she spun round to face him. "You're Elijah?"

He nodded and suddenly her expression seemed to soften, the stressed, tight lines on her face smoothing somewhat. "Please. You promised. On the phone you promised you'd help me."

His response was hissed between clenched teeth as the elevator gave another tremor. "Please," the woman repeated again as she grabbed onto his hand, unwittingly smearing blood onto his skin.

The elevator doors opened before he could respond and they were both suddenly facing the second floor of the hotel.

Stretching out before them was a deserted corridor with a carpet of deep red that was almost precisely the same shade as Clare's hair and white-wash walls and wooden doors.

"Get out here," Elijah instructed finally, some form of an idea quickly taking shape in his mind. "Keep walking until you get to some kind of stair case. Make for the roof or outside to an alley – you need to lure them out somewhere where no one will see us."

She didn't move. "On my own? Where are you going?"

"The next floor down," he replied, curtly – annoyed that the afternoon was not going the way he had intended and frustrated she was questioning him when there was precious little time. "I'll need to dispose of our friend in the elevator shaft."

She nodded. Inhibitions seemingly resolved Clare sucked in a deep breath and abruptly turned and fled down the corridor away from him.