It's been a full four weeks since the solstice, and summer is in high bloom: the air of Mystic Falls is half mirage, half moisture. Everything is vivid, excruciating– the sky is so blue it goes almost white, the grass and the leaves are on a high-tension string of vibrating green or screaming yellow.

Heat blooms like a forgotten detonation, a wave of sticky tropic air rising from unseen corners and cocooning it to your body, a fresh second skin that feels red-orange and raw. Outdoors, sweat appears instantaneously, as if the sun is pulling the precious water of your body straight through your pored skin and into the air so it can hang there in tiny, invisible patterns: humidity made from your own island self.

Caroline watches sprinklers spray great shining walls of mist that catch the light in neighboring yards, safe from her living room couch. The fan above her makes a dull click with each slow revolution, and the cool, dry air is pushing hair across her face in a lazy, time-stop way that makes the day feel melted and endless.

They're only halfway through summer break, and already she feels like she won't manage to swim through the rest to emerge bright and fresh for the next school year.

It feels like forever, but she ignores the sudden stomach-drop thought of it.

She's just so bored.

Her phone vibrates, loud, on the coffee table.

"Thank God," she says to her empty living room.

It's Elena. There's a fair in town tonight, and she wants to go. She wants to try to do as many normal, teenage things as possible– or, well, whatever the new normal is because hello, this is Mystic Falls we're talking about here.

Caroline hesitates; she feels guilt, heavy and painful in her chest, in her arms and her bones, as if she is turning to stone. The last time the fair was here–

But she's a different person, now. She can control herself better than every other vampire she knows. No one is going to get hurt. It will be a night of bright lights and silly rides and stupid ring tosses, and now, imagining the cooler evening air and the phantom taste of sugar in her mouth she realizes it's just what she needs.

She says yes, of course she'll go, but who planned it? What? Becky planned it, seriously? Who gave her that job? This is so going to be a disaster, I bet she forgot about the prizes, no, seriously Elena! She's such a space case!

The sun is still high and bright and simmering in the sky when Caroline ends the call and they've said their goodbyes. She flops back onto the couch to hear the dull click of the fan and feel cool air brush her face, and thinks about funnel cake and ferris wheels and how much summer she has left to spend.

And when the sun sets, guttering out on the horizon in a fiery parade of reds and pinks and burnt yellows, she leaves the house and heads to the center of town. But there is, unbeknownst to her, a dark shadow which stays a few steps behind her the entire way, silent and out of sight.

.

.

.

It's a balmy honey-and-mud evening. The air is warm but the breeze pulls hair away from the nape of her neck in a sweet arc of pale blonde, a gentle wave that covers her bare shoulder. Sweat is already beginning to shine at her temples and the white valley of her throat. Lights are glowing through the summer night up ahead, wrapping around trees and floating with delicate symmetry above everything and everyone. The low whine of trumpet and short bursts of piano filter through the air and the lights and the trees to brush against her skin. Distantly, laughter and sugar spin together.

The fair.

Caroline straightens her shoulders, pulls herself into what she imagines is perfect ballet posture, and fixes on her best Miss Mystic Falls smile. She can so do this. She heads toward the source of the music and the laughter and the honey-sweet smell hanging in the air. And all the while, the shadow remains silent, invisible.

.

.

.

She finds Elena first, standing comfortable and close at Damon's side, her head tilted back and smiling at the towering ferris wheel. Caroline ignores Damon entirely when she greets Elena.

"I'm going up," Elena says, still smiling. "Want to come? Mystic Falls is really pretty from way up there."

Damon, flushed in black and the evening creating sharp shadows across his face, looks as if he could melt into the night at any given moment. His stance is casual, friendly almost, but Caroline can pick up the string of tension spinning itself in his shoulders, and his body is angled in a way she has seen before. He's trying to protect Elena.

God, what is it this time?

Caroline can feel the night ringing in her ears, soaking in her blood. The air is sticky with cotton candy and bodies and the sound of popping kettle corn, but beyond that she can't sense anything; there is no the telltale prickle of magic in her veins or even the heavy dark of foreboding in her lungs. She glances at the ferris wheel, sees couples and siblings and friends sitting in their swinging cars and pointing to some unknowable place in the distance.

An idea dawns.

"Yes!" she says– a little belatedly if Elena's shining eyes are any indication. "Sorry, I was just somewhere else. But yes, definitely save me a spot in line! Just a sec though, I think I left my phone in the car. I will be right back."

"Of course," Elena says. There's concern there but she heads towards the line despite it. Damon moves to follow her but Caroline steps in his way.

"Not you."

"What," he says, voice flat. "Am I not allowed to go on the ferris wheel, too? Nothing says summer fun like swinging in a plastic pod on something that looks like it was built from a Lego kit. Where's your spirit of adventure, Caroline?"

"Shut up," she says, "and tell me what's going on."

"What makes you think-"

"Damon, I swear to God, if you don't tell me, I will rip your so-called heart out of your stupid chest and make you eat it."

"Fine. Jesus, you're annoying."

"Just spill."

"There's a new vampire in town. He dropped by, gave us a formal invitation to 'partake in the blood of the night.' Must be somewhere around six or seven hundred, at least, judging by the amount of crazy in his eyes. Clearly he hasn't aged very well, I mean who says partake in the blood of the night?"

"So what does this have to do with Elena?"

"Take a wild guess. When I say 'hasn't aged very well,' I don't mean he still thinks the telegraph is the latest advance in technology. I mean he's too far gone to care about anything besides what he wants. Which is blood. And maybe it escaped your peppy little world view, but Elena is full of blood, and anything new in this town just seems intent on her, for whatever fucking reason. The universe is a scary, evil bitch."

"Great. What are we supposed to do about it? Where's Stefan?"

"Stefan, my dutiful, thick, naive little basket-case of a brother is trying to ply Klaus for help, as if that's gonna do any good. He thinks the only thing capable of stopping that kind of nuts is a quick little hybrid nip. Meanwhile, I'm on babysitting duty."

"Fine. I'll try to get a hold of Bonnie, maybe she can do something witchy to track him, make sure he doesn't start hurting people."

"Just what we need," he sighs. "The little witch that could. And don't be so optimistic, you're giving me a headache."

"Shut up," Caroline says automatically. But Damon is already at Elena's side, now right at the front of the line. They're the next ones to go up. Caroline watches as they're let through the turnstile and climb into a ferris car. She turns, digs her phone from her pocket and scrolls for Bonnie's number, stepping away from the thickening crowd.

The shadow, solid at the edges and rapidly filling to become something with weight and measure, also steps from the crowd. Caroline can feel it behind her. She texts Stefan and Bonnie as quickly as she can:

He's at the fair. Come now.

She hits send, and there's a sharp pain at her temple. And then, suddenly, there is nothing at all.

No one sees the dark figure sweeping Caroline away from the crowd.

.

.

.

She comes to in pieces, staggered. First, the pain: a slow burn in her entire body; the itching unnatural crush of bone mending; the vine growth of muscle and sinew and nerve; the unholy sting of thirst at the edges of her throat, sharp and unmistakeable; and the full-bloom swelling ache of her head, a pulsing bomb of pain fresh and new with every pump of her slow heart.

"Ow," she says. A breath of movement, the pins-and-needle feeling of awareness returning to her mind and her fingers.

"You're awake," a man's voice says. Things bleed into Caroline's periphery and the back of her memory: burning lights, a ferris wheel, Elena's dark eyes, Damon–

A flood, suddenly, of immediate and crushing understanding. The vampire. The one that Damon had so flippantly mentioned. Caroline's eyes open wide and full, adjust to the settling night. She's sitting in a bed of pine needles and dirt and something akin to fury. Her back is against the trunk of a tree, the thick scent of earth and her own blood nigh overwhelming in the quiet and the stillness of the woods, and... Seriously? Why is she always the one who gets kidnapped? God. Stefan and Bonnie better have gotten her text.

"Alina," the man says. His voice is accented; something old and slavic. His back is to her. He's standing a few feet away and staring into the dark of the woods, the light of the half moon barely giving him an outline. Wow, Kidnapping 101 really passed this one by.

Caroline carefully stretches her fingers, places her palms flat on the soft ground. If she can just get up without him noticing–

"Alina," he tuts, disapproving. He's already crouched down in front of her, too quickly for her to even track the movement. Great.

His eyes are dark, almost black, and his face half-shadowed and sharp. He looks barely older than 30, but there's something wild in his face, something strange and electric that puts her on edge.

"Alina. Miláčku, je to už hodně let."

Caroline meets his gaze, strong and steady despite the darkness of it prickling her skin. She spits blood from her mouth and says, with as much disdain as she can manage, "I don't speak Russian, asshole."

He tuts again. He leans closer, and his fingers brush errant strands of hair from her face with an unnerving gentility. She tilts her head back to distance herself from his touch, a soft noise of disgust or fear escaping from between her teeth without thought. "You forget," he says, oblivious. He sighs, heavy, and hangs his head for a moment. Then he unfurls, long and sinuous and easy, to stand towering over her. He looks down at her as if she is something to be studied.

"You will remember, miláčku. The days we slept away. The nights we hunted. The blood and the fear. A sweet smell."

"Yeah, I don't think so. I'm not a meelatch-ku either, whatever that means."

"My love," he says grandly. "Milàčku."

Caroline digs her fingers into the earth, feels her head finish mending, and lets the tree at her back guide her into a standing position. Her legs feel as if they've been struck by lightning, coiling with energy and restlessness. Adrenaline.

"Let's make some things clear, okay? One: My name is not Alina." Caroline shifts, only slightly, but lets her senses rise up to full wakefulness. She can still hear the distant bustle of people and machinery at the fair. Somewhere to the west of where she is, maybe a few miles.

"Two: I am not your love. I'm spoken for."

He's silent. Blood is drying at her temple. The night is thick and all-encompassing– no crickets or owls, no summer breeze to rustle the leaves. No sign of the cavalry. She feels a jolt of that same restless energy shoot through her limbs. If she can get closer to town, Damon and Elena could see her from the top of the ferris wheel, or at least hear her. Three had to be better than one against an insane Russian, right?

The vampire watches her closely for a few seconds, as though he can make out her half-formed planned as it floats gently and tangled in the front of her mind. He opens his mouth to say something, probably something totally creepy if the past five minutes have been anything to go by, but she doesn't hear it. She's already running.

.

.

.

"We should split up," Stefan says. Caroline's phone is in his hand, the screen cracked. Klaus scans the oblivious crowd around them, eyes sharp as sin. Damon had already dragged Elena away from the fair, to check if Caroline had gone home. There is an invisible tear in the fabric of the night, a strange yawning gap of what should have happened, and what actually did. Klaus' fingers curl into the palms of his hands, and there is something contained there, a violence yet woken.

"Yes," Klaus says, voice easy, eyes still sharp. It sleeps there in his hands, what he'd like to do to the one who has taken her, his Caroline. "Let us split up."

.

.

.

She barely makes it a half mile. He's fast, and she can't be sure if that's his age showing or if she's still healing.

He catches her easily by the throat. Her feet swing dangerously above the ground, her fingers scratching against the iron grip around her throat.

"A new love? A new love? Tell me, Alina. Who now calls you milàčku?"

"Get. Off," she murmurs. She kicks out furiously, but it makes no difference to him. He shakes her a little with irritation, simple as if she was a rag doll. Her vision is beginning to go strange and spotty. Her ears are ringing. She's going to pass out and then–

Oh God, and then what?

Caroline swings her legs up at an almost ninety degree angle, and hooks her feet around his neck. She twists with as much force as she can. He loosens his grip in surprise and they both tumble: Caroline lands hard on the ground, her captor unsteady with one knee on the ground.

"Who," he says, voice thick and dangerous.

Caroline scrambles backwards, stands and reaches out for something–anything–to use against him. And then: What is she thinking? C'mon Caroline you're in a forest, stakes are literally growing on trees. Ugh.

Just as she's about to break off a particularly stake-worthy branch, she looks past the Russian vampire to see a dark figure approaching. Apparently he's too far gone to hear–or maybe he just doesn't care– because his eyes are still focused on her, still has his right knee in the dirt, uncaring. "WHO!" he yells.

That's what she'd like to know. Is it Stefan? Or wait, no, it's–

"Klaus," she breathes, and the relief that follows is so swift and strong that it runs through her veins like a current.

The man laughs, high and unexpected. But Caroline's slow-growing smile makes it catch in his throat.

"You don't mean the first? Prvotní?" He stands, angry.

Klaus steps soundlessly from the shadowed night, casual and lethal in equal measures. There is no light to illuminate his face but she can still see him in perfect detail, a film-grain clarity that rings in her bones.

"I'm afraid she does," Klaus says. "Dobrý večer, old friend."

Klaus, faster than sight, cracks a branch from a tree. It snaps like dry tinder under his fingers. In under a second Klaus stands behind him, and the branch finds its home between the vampire's unused lungs. He cries out, then silences, blood at his lip.

"Fancy seeing you here," Klaus continues. "Now, what I would like to know is if there's a reason you're in my town. And without even a drop by to say hello, now that is very rude. Have you forgotten the old ways? Have you forgotten, old friend, what I am?"

"Niklaus, my–"

Klaus twists the branch, and the words become wordless, become instead the howl of something inhuman.

"It was a rhetorical question, mate. Now don't move, there's a good lad."

He's at Caroline's side, suddenly, and she almost flinches back until she feels that it's him, it's Klaus. His hands find her face, cradles it as if she could be broken. He is so, so gentle.

And then he's kissing her. It's immediate and all-consuming and she melts in his hands, finds her mouth opening and God just the heat of him is burning her down to her core. The down of his scruff scratches her skin pink, and his rose-dark bottom lip is full and ripe between hers and this feels a lot like when they were dancing, when they were easy, in sync, perfect. Something like want is coloring her thoughts red, and pulls him closer, presses herself further into him. For a second she thinks she feels him stumble closer, as if he's come undone. He tastes like a dark wine.

And then it's over. His eyes are searching her face, wild, sharp and bright. And there's hope in them too, and it makes something inside of her falter.

"Um," she says.

"No. Alina, ne. Nerozumim!"

Klaus' eyes go, somehow, dark and furious almost instantly. A veil shutters over them and he is once again cold, posture stiff.

His hand is inside the man's chest. He can feel the strange red thick of it, the wet muscle of his heart, and squeezes as he says, quiet as the night, "Ona je moje."

And then, the heart in his hand, he pulls it out of the man's chest, and then drops it, almost carelessly, where it makes a dull thud on the forest floor. Stefan and Damon appear from the dark, and at the sight of Klaus, the fight drops from their shoulders.

"Well that ought to do it," says Damon. "A little anti-climactic."

"Where's Caroline?" says Stefan.

"Here," she says, her voice even. "Klaus beat you to it."

"Well, I do think that went over fairly well. Though next time, Stefan, you need my help, I'll want something in return. And Caroline, try not to get into so much trouble. I do have other things to tend to."

"Oh right, like I asked for this to happen! Some crazy vampire who thinks I'm his long lost love knocks me unconscious at a fair, and it's how I want to spend my night? Ugh! I'm going home."

"You're welcome, Caroline," Klaus says, and the words float over her skin as she stalks away.

"Thanks," she says, quiet and angry and under her breath, unsure of the strange mass of feelings throbbing in her chest. Her lips burn and her hair is mussed, and this should have been a normal evening, with normal teenage things, and now–

And now, again, she is left with the ghost of Klaus' mouth on hers, a burn in her lungs, and a dark taste on her tongue.

Great.


A/N:

Crazy vampire guy probably should have been Russian, but he's Czech. Because I know more Czech than Russian. I'm not even that great at Czech either, so without further ado... some undoubtedly faulty translations:

Miláčku, je to už hodně let - My love, it's been many years
Prvotní - Original
Dobrý večer - Good evening
Ne. Nerozumim - No. I don't understand
Ona je moje - She is mine