It all had started out innocently enough. Well, as innocently as Enzo could get, anyway. He had heard about her, heard about the presumptions and the cold exterior, and about how she had turned the big bad hybrid wolf into an infatuated lapdog licking her hands and fattening her ego. He had been told of her smiles and her goody-goody attitude, and he was informed that, underneath the dreamy, angelic face, she was nothing but a nightmare waiting to happen. And he couldn't wait to meet her.

To see if he could get her to lick and love, too. See if he could succeed when Klaus had not.

He hadn't realized she was going to do the same to him.

They had met at an empty time, in an empty space, a spark igniting his soul. She looked at him once, her eyes wandering on his face and body, and a small smile spreading her lips.

The Enzo.

She had him categorized in a second, not knowing any more about him than his name and reputation, and his pride pushed him to seduce her. To get her to know him. Show how good, how luscious he could be.

It was all sizzling looks and brief touches at first, a mix of compliments and judgements, all play and no work; he felt her entice him with her light and watched as she surrounded herself with his own darkness. He watched her fight her attraction as his grew bigger and bigger, and, every time she pushed him away, he would only come back stronger. He killed a witch so that she could save her friend, murdered a man so she wouldn't have to. And when she grew resentful, he only grew more beguiled.

He couldn't tell what attracted him to her, but he knew that, in the rare moments when her guard was down, she was a real, kind-hearted person who liked to make bad choices when it came to men. Her latest bad choice was the boring Salvatore brother, Stefan; he had smelled it on her the minute he saw them together. But she chose Enzo to be her new mistake, her new story : she took his hand, and she took his heart, and when he took her to bed, she rewarded him a thousand times.

Their late nights getaways were magic waiting to happen; long, sweaty sessions between heaven and sin where she would cry out his name over and over as her legs wrapped around his waist. He couldn't get enough of her, never get enough of how she would make him crave the soft touch of skin against skin and lips against lips; he was mad and she was his cure. It was a high like he had never felt before, an insanity they shared for hours on end where no one could get to them, where no one would hear or see.

She would act, whenever people were around, like they were nothing but vampires forced to socialize to please their friends. She'd fight him when he stole kisses from her in empty corridors and when he made her come in dark closets, she'd protest when he called her gorgeous or when he showed how well he knew her. She was a horrible person by day, an ardent and assiduous lover by night. She scarred him with her lies, hurt him with her dismissal : Enzo hated it, but he bore it all the same; he knew she would more than make up for it when he could get her alone. He only had to wait.

They had breakfast where other couples had dates, they had passionate, violent fights when others said, 'I love you', and they tore each other apart when they only wanted to fall together. It was an horrifying game she forced them to play under the pretence of only being friends, but he played it with all his heart. He certainly did come back to her every time .. "You're my King", she'd whisper in his ear when he would deny her her sweet release, "Make me your Queen." And so he would move again, and, thrust after thrust, would make her beg for more, and her fingers would dig on his back, leaving awful long scratches that made him wince whenever he moved.

And when he would dream of her at night, in his head she had him on his knees and she wore the crown. He'd wake up breathless, only to seek comfort in her arms again. She never denied him anything, except for public affection, but, little by little, she changed him into the good person he once were. He helped her look for the man she loved, even when he knew he would lose her altogether, and he helped her get him back. She could make him do all that she wanted, and he could never say no; but she never did ask for something he could not do. He was a distraction, a way to forget about all the wrong things in her life, and he would kiss back the tears and she put his soul back together. They were good, they were awful, but they could not do without the other.

He tried leaving, more than once, and she found him back in her room every time. She never asked him if it was worth it, all of it, to hurt this bad but feel this good; but he saw it in her eyes when she would kiss away the pain. She never asked him if he wanted more, nor did he ever mentioned that he longed for it : to them, this was the perfect hideaway. A parenthesis where their life didn't matter, nothing did; nothing but the rush and the pleasure, and her moans in his ear. And in the morning he would slip away without a sound, more than happy to know that she would welcome him back that very night.