Notes: The lovely Kate (accidental-rambler) surprised me with a pretty cover! So I figured why not throw the next chapter out there? In this one we meet another familiar faces (and next chapter a couple more of the witch variety…) Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed! Ffnet was being wonky and not showing them on the site so I couldn't reply but I did get them in my email!
Chapter Three: Mouse Trap Game
Klaus had often let his thoughts wander, while he'd been imprisoned. To all the things he missed, places and activities he enjoyed. He did it to keep himself focused and some of the thoughts had been completely mundane. But crowds of humans, cramped seats and horrid food, had not been among them.
He and Freya are on their way to New Zealand and it's not going particularly well.
He was technically supposed to still be in that sterile room in Chicago, and as such his fortune was out of reach. He'd been reduced to petty thievery. Freya had produced a passport from somewhere, but clothing and other essentials had needed to be procured. A credit card had been liberated from a man at a bar, his diamond encrusted watch and deliberate flashing of the black card making him a logical mark. A quick compulsion ensured he'd not miss it.
That had been the easy part.
Flying commercial means layovers, and wasted time, when they've precious little of it. It set him on edge. Klaus' desire to slaughter various travelers in the Guangzhou airport was strong. The only thing holding him back was the knowledge that staying outside of Tristan's notice was their best option. Massacres tended to draw attention.
Klaus is almost glad of the distraction the ringing of Freya's burner phone provides, the staring contest he'd engaged in with a small child growing old. He assumes it's Kol, with an update on his carousing. His brother had taken the witches up to Dublin, intent on causing a scene and waiting for Tristan to find him. And then hopping to the next biggest city. Tristan wouldn't let Kol go without eyes on him, would set trusted people on his trail to report back.
The thinner Tristan's forces were spread, the better.
Kol had drained several tourists before he'd been sated. He'd raged, left an old building unstable upon finding out how long he'd once again been put down for. Klaus had allowed it, to a point. But he'd only so much patience, a clock ticking in his head. He'd snapped at Kol to focus, told him there was work to do. Didn't he want revenge, for what Tristan had done? Kol had managed to pull himself together and Klaus had been able to convey what he needed. Kol had been incredulous, "You're asking me to misbehave?" he'd exclaimed with a grin. "How novel. What a terrible influence you are, Nik. Whatever would Elijah say?"
They both knew that for all Elijah's protestations of upright morality he'd understand that the end justified the means. Klaus hadn't bothered with the dig. "You just need to convince Tristan that you're not interested in politics. That you just want to live, gorge, fuck. Carouse with your witch saviours. That you want no interference, especially from me. Can you do that?"
Kol had looked insulted, "Of course I can do that. Bloody hell, Nik. It's not even a lie. I've no taste for your power plays. Making nice with people who think themselves important. Is there anything duller?"
Satisfied, Klaus had sent Kol and his little friends off, with instructions to make regular contact. He's proven wrong however, when Freya lets out an irritated groan, bringing the phone to her ear. "Lucien, you're not supposed to contact me unless it's an emergency. And please tell me you're not having one of those already. If you can't entertain a woman for longer than a few days you're nowhere near as charming as you'd like to think."
Klaus can hear Lucien's reply, and the street noise in the background, even over the airport's din, "I'd be happy to demonstrate my stamina for you later, darling. But I need to talk to Nik. There's a complication. One I'm not sure what to do about."
He reaches over and snatches the phone from Freya's grip, paying her indignant protest no mind, "Explain," he spits. 'Complication' was not a word he wanted to hear at this juncture.
Lucien sighs heavily, and from the way the sounds on his end rise and fall Klaus assumes he's moving while he talks. "I'm sure you've guessed that Tristan's plan wasn't a slap-dash sort of thing, right? It took time. And patience. He watched you. All of you. Particularly after you broke your curse and killed Mikael."
"He told me it took sixty years to make the daggers."
"Exactly. And after you went down he made it his mission to eliminate anyone who might try to aid you."
Klaus feels his impatience grow, Lucien's hedging is uncharacteristic and that makes Klaus uneasy. These were all things he knew. "Also something he indicated, during his self-congratulatory speeches, while I was held in Chicago. Make your point, Lucien."
His next words come in a rush, "There were several people in Mystic Falls that caught Tristan's interest."
Klaus clamps his jaw shut to keep from cursing, struggles not to let his hand crush the phone. Because he knows that Lucien's talking about Caroline. She's popped up in his thoughts, since his escape, and he's ruthlessly pushed her aside each time. Told himself that now was not the time to be reaching out to her, even to assure himself of her safety. Not when the stakes are so high. He wonders if that was a mistake.
Lucien continues, sounding more and more reluctant, "He had files. Pictures. Tons of information. There was a human boy that Rebekah was infatuated with – but he seemed to have no interest in anything but settling down and waiting to die. The vampire brothers are glued to the town, something about another doppelgänger, a sleeping curse? Tristan has people watching, just in case they prove useful. He thought to make the Bennett witch an ally but couldn't find her. Nor the werewolf boy. And, as far as I knew, the blonde that you were… friendly with, had escaped his notice too. She left town, after her mother died."
Klaus had known that, had been pleased for Caroline, that she was finally shaking off ties that only held her down, kept her stubbornly tied to a human life, even if he'd regretted the circumstances. And the pain he'd known she must have suffered. But something else in Lucien's words is far more pressing, "As far as you knew? What do you mean by that, Lucien?"
Lucien lets out a long breath. "I saw her. The day before yesterday. With Tristan and Aurora. Prodded Aurora for more information, in a roundabout way. Found out she's been with them for ten years. Works with them."
"What?" The question spills out, low and guttural. A few people shift away from him, sending suspicious glances in their direction.
Lucien hurries to elaborate. Smart man. "Aurora was being well, Aurora. So it was hard to get a coherent answer. Just coy smiles and cryptic remarks about ruined toys. But it sounds as if the girl's not there willingly. I think they did something to her. Tampered with her mind."
Klaus closes his eyes, knowing that they no longer pass for human, his anger winning over his control. He can feel Freya watching him, worry apparent. He takes a deep breath, forces a final question out evenly, "Where is Caroline now?"
"South America? Aurora wasn't entirely sure. Said Tristan sent her on 'another silly errand.' I can press, but she'll not take it kindly is she imagines I've taken an interest in another woman."
"No, don't," Klaus orders. "I have an idea. Just keep Aurora occupied as planned." He hangs up without a goodbye, hands Freya back her phone. Tips his head back, and breathes deeply, takes a moment to reorganize the pieces of his plan.
Freya's patience with his silence doesn't last long. She'd not have been able to hear Lucien's end of the conversation and Klaus has no doubt that his reactions alarmed her. He's holding on to his composure by the barest of threads, and only because he knows he must. "What was that about?" she demands.
He answers her with a question, uncaring if it irritates her, "Who can you send to Virginia? Someone that won't set off alarm bells. Can handle a couple of vampires with a few centuries of age."
She looks even more confused. "I'll make some calls," she says slowly, holding out her hand.
"Quickly," Klaus presses, giving back her phone. "I want someone there immediately."
Freya heeds, him bending her head over the screen, occasionally shooting him concerned glances. He'll have to explain at some point, though it should be easy because he's always assumed that she'd seen Caroline that time she'd drawn power from him, been inside his mind. He'd hated it, still hates it, but has to admit it's been useful, a time or two.
They'll collect Rebekah. One of Freya's contacts will get a lead on the Bennett witch. She'll be useful, when it comes time to get Elijah. And then they'll track down Caroline. Klaus will fix whatever Tristan and Aurora had done to her.
And then, should Caroline want it, he'll be more than happy to share his revenge. There will be more than enough to go around.
There's a method to tackling an assignment and Caroline's honed it to perfection over the years. She's careful, methodical. Doesn't like variables, wants zero surprises when she enters a new situation.
Step one: research.
Tristan keeps records that are both extensive and obsessively detailed. He has a database of vampires, witches, werewolves. What he knows of them, weaknesses that can be exploited. She always starts there. She'd combed through Martina's file, and that of her known associates, on the flight over. And then she'd pulled the files of any vampires with strong ties to South America, just to cover her bases. Covens, too. Some are familiar. It's not the first time she's been in this part of the world.
It's far from her favorite, and she wishes she could avoid it. It always brings her back to when she'd first woken up, how confused and helpless and adrift she'd felt. Aurora and Tristan had never been more cloying than in those first few weeks in Rio. Always asking if she was hungry, concerned that she felt lasting effects of her torture. Constantly assuring her that she'd be fine, and that they cared about her, that she was home and safe. Some of Tristan's most trusted witches had stopped by, to see if anything could be done about her memories, to check that Klaus hadn't left her with any parting gifts of the magical variety.
Each had shaken her head sadly, had offered apologies weighted with pity. There was nothing they could do, they'd said. Her mind was broken, always would be. They'd found no traces of residual magic, but had cautioned her that they couldn't truly be certain. Klaus was a master at covering his tracks, had plenty of practice.
She'd wanted to scream, felt suffocated under the constant reminders of what had happened to her. But she'd stifled the urge, and the desire to barricade herself in her room. She'd tried to be upbeat. Reminded herself that the de Martels meant well, were trying to help her. That she should be grateful, because she'd still be suffering, at Klaus' dubious mercy, if they hadn't rescued her. Caroline had repeated it, over and over again. Until she'd almost believed it.
She usually devotes more time to her prep work, gets out her highlighters and takes notes, looks for patterns and connections. But the urgency of this particular job means there's no time for that, so she'll need to rely on her memory. And she's going to have to streamline step two, cut her usual surveillance short.
Not how Caroline liked to operate but she had little choice, the possibility that her freedom, her life, was in danger never far from her mind.
Getting through customs is always easier with compulsion. Caroline's out of the airport, and in a cab, in under forty minutes. She finds her hotel and unpacks. Indulges in a long hot shower, and gets to work.
Step two: be the perfect lure.
When she's done her curls are perfect, shiny and just a little wild. She's painstaking with her makeup, makes sure her eyes pop and her skin shimmers. Caroline puts on a dress that's cut high on her legs and clingy everywhere else. She throws back a shot of bourbon from the mini bar for luck.
She'll stand out, but that's what she wants.
Caroline makes her way to a club that's purported to be the hub of vampire activity in the area. She's not easing in this time. There will be no finesse. She's barging, and crossing her fingers that it doesn't get her killed.
She walks in like she belongs, shoulders thrown back, wearing haughty confidence like a weapon. Scans the crowd, trying to pick out the vampires in attendance. It's not foolproof, doing it by sight. Younger ones especially sometimes slip under her radar, more human in their mannerisms. But it quickly becomes obvious that there's more than a few of her kind in attendance. Caroline falters, stumbling slightly into a dancing couple, when she spots someone she recognizes. But not someone she'd expected to be here.
Marcel Gerard had become a ghost in the last decade, with few confirmed sightings. He'd supposedly left New Orleans accompanied by a witch, a powerful one, which explained why he'd been able to elude Tristan's reach, despite the fact that he was wanted more than almost every single one of Klaus' known associates combined.
Only Freya Mikaelson was more highly sought.
It takes a lot of willpower for Caroline to collect herself, to resist the urge to turn on her heel and run. Marcel's dangerous, and the thought of speaking to him makes her skin crawl. Fleeing would be the smart play, calling up Tristan and asking for backup. Something stops her, a flash of a thought that's reckless and stupid and kind of crazy. But she can't resist it and her brain begins whirling, a plan forming.
Maybe, just maybe, Marcel Gerard could be her ticket out.
If she could deliver him to Tristan, wouldn't that repay her debt? Couldn't she convince Tristan to let her walk away, free and clear, if she eliminated such a large threat? It'd be the biggest blow to Klaus' supporters yet, would maybe allow Tristan to relax a little. It could very well be her best shot of getting out cleanly.
It couldn't hurt to try, Caroline decides. What did she really have to lose?
"Ugh, I cannot believe I have to burn that dress. It was so lovely. Well-constructed. Flattering. And do you know how much it cost? I'll never find another one, not ten years later."
Rebekah paces as she rants, wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, vigorously rubbing a towel through her hair. Klaus watches her, sprawled across a sofa, bottle of bourbon in hand. He's got plenty of experience with Rebekah's temper, knows letting her wind down on her own is the best option. She's alternated between complaining about her current situation, peppering him with questions about his plans, and spitting some very unladylike threats against Tristan's life and manhood since she'd been awakened.
Klaus is perfectly willing to let her carry most of them out.
Freya's tucked into one of the suite's bedrooms, tired from the use of her powers during their retrieval of Rebekah. The two vampires, close associates of Marcel's who'd been drafted for this particular errand, are out disposing of the remains of Rebekah's meal and should return shortly.
Joshua is a bit frightened of Rebekah, smart lad that he is. So Klaus can only hope that she's calmed by the time he returns. He'd been surprised to see the boy, even more surprised by how useful he'd been. Rebekah's prison, like his, had been situated in a populated area, the technological protections extensive.
But Josh had handled them neatly, coordinated things with Freya. They'd used a decoy body this time, Freya less certain of where to find those who Tristan paid to report on Rebekah's state. A few drops of Rebekah's blood, a few illusion spells. They wouldn't hold for more than a few weeks, but that's all the time Klaus needed.
He could be patient, but not that patient.
He's tuned out Rebekah's voice, until she throws herself down next to him and gestures impatiently for the bottle. "Honestly, Nik. Where are your manners?"
She's unfazed by the unimpressed look he tosses her way, reaches over and takes the liquor when it's not offered quickly enough for her liking, sloshing some of it onto the carpet in her haste. "I only stole the one bottle. Don't waste, Bekah," Klaus admonishes.
"Poorly planned," she snipes, taking a healthy swig. "Speaking of, where are we off to next?"
"South Africa. Depending, of course, on a few contingencies."
Rebekah nods approvingly, "For Elijah. And then?"
"And then I do believe we should head back to New Orleans. Have Kol join us. Invite all of our oldest, dearest, friends."
Bekah rolls her eyes, "Of course you cannot resist returning to the scene of the crime. Planning on making a grand spectacle of your return?"
Klaus grins, liberates the bottle, paying no mind to the dirty look Rebekah shoots him, easily dodging her attempts to snatch it back. "The people enjoy a good show. Why not give them one?"
Rebekah opens her mouth, likely to berate his dramatic tendencies. Hypocritical, but it wouldn't be the first time. Klaus gestures for her to be quiet, hearing Josh and Gia approach, bickering in low tones. Something about Josh forgetting the matches. They fall silent as they enter the room, both freezing momentarily when they notice the attention they're being paid. Gia recovers first, "I'm exhausted," she claims. "Going to head to bed."
Klaus inclines his head towards the second bedroom, "I don't sleep much. Take that room. It's not a problem for you and Joshua to share, is it?"
Gia shrugs, "Wouldn't be the first time. And we've stayed in way slummier places." She addresses her next comments to Josh, "Hog the covers again and I'll break your hands." She offers Klaus and Rebekah a faint smile, and exits the room at a quick pace.
Leaving a slightly awkward silence as Josh shifts restlessly near the door. Like he expects Klaus to bite him. Again.
"Drink, Joshua?" Klaus offers mildly. "I'm sure there's a glass around here somewhere."
Josh glances at the bottle and shakes his head, shifting once more. Klaus is surprised he's not grown out of such nervous tics. "No. Thanks. Uh, I'm just going to call Marcel, give him the news that things went alright here. See what's up on his end."
"Feel free," Klaus tells him. And it's really more of a demand, one Josh hears loud and clear.
"Ookay then," he mutters, turning slightly away and pulling out his phone. He doesn't bother to keep his voice down, aware that Klaus and Rebekah can hear him. He and Marcel chat for a few moments after the call connects, Josh relaying the details of their successful revival of Rebekah succinctly. He asks Marcel how things are where he is and Klaus straightens from his lax posture, hearing suspicion, maybe a little worry, in Marcellus' answer.
"There's a new vampire in town. Showed up out of the blue a few days ago, no connection to anyone, never been here before. Feels a little convenient, you know? Things being what they are."
Klaus is out of his seat, ripping the phone out of Joshua's hand immediately. Complications are not welcome, not at this stage. "What's his name?"
"Good to hear from you too, Klaus," Marcel replies sarcastically. "I'm fine, alive and kicking, thanks for asking." Klaus can hear music on his end, loud and upbeat. Marcel always did enjoy the nightlife.
"There will be plenty of time for pleasantries, family bonding, after we've won, and various enemies are no longer trying to kill and imprison us. We can play catch, if you'd like. Now, what's his name?"
"Her name. And she says it's Caroline."
Klaus pauses, goes very still upon hearing that name. It's not an uncommon one, but he's never believed in coincidence. He just knows. Rebekah sucks in a shocked breath, the bottle hitting the coffee table loudly as she stands. Vaguely Klaus notes Josh's head swivelling between him and Rebekah with great interest. "A tall blonde?" Klaus questions urgently, needing to be sure. "American, young, attractive?"
"All of the above," Marcel confirms. "And always dressed to kill. You know her? Is she one of yours? Or one of Tristan's?"
Klaus loathes that he doesn't know the answer to that question. "I'm not entirely certain. She was a friend, once upon a time. You need to detain her. But do not hurt her," Klaus orders, the words clipped and harsh. "Do you understand?"
If Marcel finds Klaus' ferocity, or his request, odd he doesn't comment. "I can do that," he agrees easily. "Martina's got cells that will hold her just fine."
Klaus wants to refuse that, dislikes the idea of putting Caroline in a cage. But he holds back. There's much he doesn't know. He'd like to believe that Caroline wouldn't work against him, not anymore. His instincts bend that way. The last time they'd parted it had not been as adversaries.
But caution must prevail. She had opposed him before, worked to put him down. Klaus needs to remember that. Still, there was no need to be barbaric about it. Just this once he'd keep to the principle of innocent until proven guilty. "Keep her fed, see what you can find out. Gently."
"Kid gloves. Got it. I'll call you when I get something."
"Brilliant. Good-bye, Marcel."
Klaus hands Josh back the phone, cuts the boy off before he can make the glib remark he's about to. "Go to bed, Joshua," he snaps. The boy's contributions today had been valuable, he didn't deserve to have his neck snapped. And Klaus wasn't certain he could resist, in his current mood.
Josh is self-preserving enough to obey, retreating to the room he and Gia had been assigned and closing the door behind him.
Leaving Klaus alone with Rebekah, who's unlikely to be so accommodating to Klaus' wants. He can feel the weight of her stare, knows she's incredulous. Her voice has ticked up in pitch when she questions him, "Do not tell me that Caroline Forbes is somehow involved in all of this, Nik."
Klaus sighs, doesn't bother to face her, "I cannot do that, sister. Because I don't know."
"How could she be? She's a nothing from nowhere. I'd have hoped she'd be done with her tendency to meddle in affairs she can't handle. But perhaps she's stupider than I assumed."
"Time will tell," Klaus grits out, forcing his face into a neutral expression before he turns.
Rebekah studies him shrewdly, "What aren't you telling me?"
"A good many things. As always."
Her teeth snap together, a hand flashing to the side. Klaus dodges the bottle she lobs at his head. "Wasteful," he scolds, after it smashes into the wall behind them.
"Don't you realize that's why we're in this mess?" she hisses, stalking towards him, her anger making her tremble. "Your paranoia, your need for control. Your ridiculous inability to accept that not everyone's out to get you. You wouldn't tell us anything, wouldn't trust us. And we all lost another ten years of our lives. Because of you."
A sharp stab of something like guilt pierces him, but he refuses to let it show.
It's a thought Klaus had often circled back to, during those endless cycles, in that cold white room. He'd done what he thought best back then. As he always has. As he'll continue to do. But it might be expedient, to consider what he could have done differently, better. Learn from the experience, so it's not repeated. He knows Rebekah makes a good point. He'll have to unbend, at least a little, if this is going to work.
But that will have to wait awhile longer. There are too many things he doesn't know just yet, and Rebekah's impulsive, liable to act without thinking. He's accepted that he needs her. Kol and Elijah too. But he's not ready for full transparency just yet. "A drop in the bucket. What's a decade to a millennium?" Klaus replies reasonably, dismissively, knowing she'll take it badly.
She shoves past him, making a noise of infuriated disgust, low curses in their mother tongue falling freely. She throws open the door to Freya's room, slams it so hard the frame cracks. He hears Freya's sleepy mumble, asking what's wrong followed by Rebekah's clipped reply, telling her everything was fine. That she needn't worry and should go back to sleep.
Klaus smiles to himself, listening to Rebekah's movements in the other room as she crawled into bed.
They were often more alike than not, he and Rebekah.
He returns to his seat, settles in for a long night. He'll listen and make sure they have no unwanted company. And wait for Marcel's next call.
When Caroline comes to she's stiff, her upper neck achy. It's a familiar sensation. She'd woken up feeling like this often after having been beaten in a training session. Tristan was ruthless, hadn't seen the point on taking it easy on her. Klaus, and those loyal to him, he'd told her, each time she'd lost, would show her no mercy. He thought it was best if she was prepared for that.
But it's been a while and she winces as she becomes more alert. She stays still, trying to work out where she is. She'd gone back to the club last night, hoping to strengthen the tentative connections she'd been making, in hopes of getting an introduction to someone on a higher rung in Martina's organization. They've been tough to crack, warier than she'd been expecting. It had raised her hackles, made her think that something major really was about to go down.
And that feeling had only made Caroline more determined to succeed.
She remembers flirting with one of the woman's underlings. He'd been a little drunk, his eyes glued to her boobs, and she's fairly certain that he wouldn't have been able to repeat a thing she was saying, even if he'd had a stake pressed to his heart. Caroline had been pleased at her progress until something behind her had caught the vampire's attention and his eyes had widened fractionally. Caroline had fallen silent but before she could turn she'd felt a solid frame at her back, big hands on her neck.
She hadn't had time to even consider fighting back before everything had gone dark.
So much for all those beatings she'd taken, the lessons she'd been meant to learn.
And it only takes a couple seconds for Caroline to realize that she's completely screwed, that the chances of this incident being innocuous are minimal. Temporarily killing someone didn't exactly say 'Welcome to the neighborhood!' She's resting face down on a thin, lumpy mattress. She's cold and damp and the room smells like earth and concrete, the slightest hint of vervain stinging her nostrils.
It was exactly what she'd expect an old vampire's creepy fancy dungeon would smell like.
A voice, deep and smooth, interrupts her growing alarm, "I know you're awake."
Her eyes squeeze shut, and she curses her luck. Caroline's never spoken to this man, but she has a sinking feeling she knows exactly who he is. And she isn't just a little screwed. She is epically and irrevocably fucked. Caroline tenses, muscles locking, hands curling, ready to spring. Something scrapes against concrete, several feet behind her.
"I just want to talk," he says, sounding completely relaxed. Friendly, even.
She pushes herself up in one swift movement, faces her captor through bars soaked in vervain. She's completely unsurprised to discover her assumption correct. It's Marcel Gerard, who'd spoken, his handsome face watching her with great interest. Caroline takes a few steps forward, letting her head tip to the side. Aims for casual indifference, "If you wanted to talk you could have bought me a drink. Kidnapping doesn't really invite a girl's trust, you know? Kind of makes you seem like a perv."
He grins, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. Marcel's got his boots propped up on the bars, and he looks very comfortable. Like he's not planning on leaving anytime soon. "Ouch. And hey, maybe I would've. But you seemed a little skittish, always careful to keep half a room between us. And since we've never met, I've gotta wonder why that is. Hurt my feelings a little."
"Call it a gut instinct. Flawless perv radar."
"Maybe," he concedes, tipping his head in her direction, still completely refusing to rise to her bait. "Or maybe my reputation precedes me."
"A little full of yourself, huh?"
He doesn't react to her taunt, remains placid and curious. Shifts gears as if this is a pleasant chat, and not an interrogation. "Where are you from, Caroline?"
She sighs, sits back down on the cot. Tries not to cringe at how discolored it is. She makes a production of smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress, crossing her legs. "Maybe you should tell me your name before you ask for my life story."
He makes a disappointed noise, his face falling, "Come on, now. Don't pretend that you're stupid. We both know you're not. You know exactly who I am. And I have a fairly good idea of why you wandered down here. We went through your hotel room, saw you traveled light. And your cell phone only makes calls to one number, with a Paris area code."
"And? Is it a crime to be kind of a loner? Or to like Paris?"
He obviously doesn't buy her defense. At all. "Maybe not. But it is interesting, you poking around right now. An unfamiliar face, with strong ties to the de Martel's home turf. And at such an… unsettled time. There are whispers of a white oak tree found in Canada, you know. That an Original is feeding his way, very indiscreetly, across the UK right at this very moment. And after they've all been gone for a decade? You can't blame a man, especially a man who's got a price on his head, for being paranoid right about now."
Caroline forces a derisive reply, "And you think I have something to do with that? How would that even work? I haven't even been a vampire for twenty years yet. You just snapped my neck."
Marcel shrugs, lets his feet fall and leans towards her, "Age isn't everything. I know that as well as anyone. Brains level the playing field more than most people think."
Caroline hears a heavy tread on stone, and glances towards the door. The vampire she'd been cozying up to last night strolls through the door, barely glancing her way. Which was a little bit of a blow to her ego, if she was being honest. He's got a tall glass, filled with blood, and he hands it to Marcel. Leaves without a word. Caroline tries not to look at the glass, even though her fangs ache to drop. She hadn't fed before going out last night, planning on sneaking sips from men who got handsy on the dance floor. Healing from a major injury always made her extra ravenous, her control over her needs harder to maintain.
Letting Marcel know that, showing a weakness, was out of the question.
She's shocked when he offers her the glass without demanding something in return, carefully maneuvering his hand through the bars. Caroline blinks at him for a moment, wondering if it's a trick. His smile is gentle and wry, "I'm under strict instructions to keep you fed."
"Instructions from who?" Caroline asks suspiciously, slowly getting to her feet once more.
"A guy you don't want to piss off. Maybe you've heard of him? Klaus Mikaelson."
She'd thought it likely that Klaus was the one pulling the strings, aware of where Marcel's loyalties were said to lay. She'd maintained a slim hope that she was wrong. Hearing it out loud makes it real, all of her worst nightmares confirmed and Caroline flinches back until she's pressed to the wall farthest away. Marcel looks surprised, maybe a little concerned, "Hey, it's just blood," he tells her, retrieving the glass and taking a small sip, as if to assure her it's benign. "I promise. No tricks."
She shakes her head, a dry laugh spilling out before she can stop it. "Oh, great. So your boss wants me at full strength, huh? Can't have me weak to start off with. Must be totally boring to torture someone who doesn't have the strength to resist."
Marcel looks genuinely puzzled, moves slowly, like he's afraid to startle her. He crouches, sets the blood just inside the bars once more. "It's not like that, Caroline. I know you work for Tristan. Were it up to me, I'd have killed you. Nothing personal, but we've got a war brewing and I plan on winning it. This laying low thing really isn't my style and I'm sick of running. I'm sure you understand. But Klaus said no. You want to tell me why that is?"
Caroline looks away from him, sinks to the ground, uncaring that the dampness from the wall is seeping into her dress. She brings her knees up to her chest, bites out, "I have a few ideas. None of them good."
He sighs, and stands once more. "For what it's worth I'm pretty sure that whatever you're thinking is wrong."
"I guess we'll see," Caroline replies, unable to help the thread of despair it's laced with. She buries her face in her arms, avoids Marcel's probing gaze. She wants to take back the words. And she's dying to lunge for the blood, but she can't. It's Klaus' offering, his mind game. She won't start it at a disadvantage, owing him something.
Mind games were a specialty of Klaus' and he was very, very fond of them, Tristan had always said.
She refuses to look up, even after Marcel's footsteps have faded away. Merely curls herself into a tighter ball, digs her nails into the skin of her calves to distract herself from her body's wants.
Caroline might be dreading what comes next, but she'll be damned if she doesn't face it on her terms.