Disclaimer: Don't own anything regarding TVD. I wish I did so I could give Bonnie more screen-time, but... I don't. Such is life ;)
spitfire
chapter four
Bonnie collapsed into the large, four-poster bed in spent heap of limbs, throwing one arm over her stomach and flinging the other across her face. She had never eaten that much in her life. She had never been that hungry in her life. And God, that food. Honestly, she was so starving that she probably could've eaten cardboard and found it delicious, but that food… how could a dinner that divine be wasted on a pair of vampires who wouldn't even enjoy it?
And then, of course, there was Klaus. Watching her every move, relishing it as if she were his meal—it was honestly enough to rattle anyone. He'd been relentless all night: poking and prodding her with overly interested little questions, watching her fork disappear into her mouth with a rapt expression, slowly trailing his gaze down the curve of her neck whenever she took a sip of water…
A flutter of anxiety traversed her: people only played with their food for so long before they got hungry.
"No," she murmured, rejecting the idea. He obviously didn't want her dead—not yet, anyway. He needed his leverage. God, if only she had her Grimoire. There were so many detection spells she needed to do in order to figure out the complexity of her imprisonment, but she couldn't remember all of them off the top of her head. Until she knew every spell keeping her in, she couldn't find the loophole, and until she found the loophole, her captivity was putting people in danger.
Get out or die trying. That was the only way to do it.
"Alright," she said aloud, lifting her arm off her face to try and focus, though her stare promptly caught on the ring bound to her finger. She paused, holding her hand above her eyes and angling her head to peer at it. What could it be? Obviously not his sunlight ring, since giving that to her wouldn't make any sense. Power neutralizer? No—she had no problem heating up Rebekah's spoon at dinner. Tracking ring, maybe? That'd be stupid—it's not like she was going anywhere.
She frowned, absently biting down on her lip. What was his angle?
"It prevents supernatural death," a low voice drawled, and for what seemed like the fifth time in far too short a time span, Bonnie nearly exploded out of her skin in shock.
"Jesus," she breathed, having scrambled into a sitting position on instinct, and her glare was unsurprised to meet Klaus' smug, cornflower blue eyes in the doorway.
"I prefer Klaus," he said with a smirk, "though you're not the first woman I've drawn that raptured gasp from."
Her eyes narrowed, arms extended behind her to prop her torso up and heart racing from the scare. "Do you ever make a normal entrance?"
He shrugged, leaning against the doorway in a languid motion. "I find 'normal' a bit boring."
"So instead you go for healthy alternatives like 'homicidal' and 'sociopathic'?" she retorted before she could check herself, causing the corners of his mouth to flick upward.
"Precisely."
She forced herself to swallow the acrid words collecting on the tip of her tongue, knowing this was exactly what he wanted her to do—play his game, get riled up, react to his taunting. He was toying with her like it was dinner all over again. She clenched her jaw and averted her gaze, pushing herself off the bed and ambling over to the dresser. "Did you want something?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." She could feel his eyes on her.
"Something there's a remote chance in hell I'd actually give you?" she said as casually as she could, opening the top drawer to search for something suitable to wear, though before she knew it, her body was hurtling forward, crashing against the chest-high dresser in a painful lurch that slammed the drawer shut on impact.
She let out a sharp cry, ribs throbbing against the hard wood they'd been slammed up against and chest struggling to take in air. His body was flush against hers, the hard planes smothering her against the drawers and cutting off her air supply, and she immediately reached her hands up to push back against the dresser.
He seized them almost instantly, grabbing the wrists and pinning them down against the wood. "Let's get one thing straight here, love, since there seems to be some confusion," he growled into her ear, tightening his grip as she thrashed against his vice-like hold. "You are my hostage. A bright, shiny, wriggling piece of bait to which I'm free to do whatever I should so please. So this little attitude of yours," he hissed, twisting her wrist painfully when she attempted to dig her nails into him and causing her to inhale sharply, "while absolutely adorable, is utterly ill-suited to your situation, don't you think?"
She focused her energy into summoning a shock wave, trying to build one large enough to toss his body backwards, though to her immediate panic, it fizzled. She closed her eyes and tried again, breaths coming in sharp, frenzied jabs, though after a few seconds, the energy dissipated. Her eyes sprang open, meeting his in the dim light of the mirror hanging over the dresser, and her voice came out ragged, "What did you do to my magic?"
She felt his smile curl against her ear. "Quick little witch, aren't you? My chefs like to season their meats with a rare variety of roots and spices—sometimes the side-effects can be undesired."
He'd drugged her. He'd muted her magic. Panic began rushing through her veins, bringing her heart rate to an erratic staccato, though she forced herself to stay as calm as she could—there were ways around this. She didn't need magic. She was smart, she was resourceful: she'd think of something. But right now, she desperately needed to stall, so she went for the one thing she knew he couldn't resist.
Banter.
"So that's what you came here for—to give me an 'F' in conduct?" she gritted out, mind whirring through a frenzy of desperate escape routes. "I assumed Original Hybrids with daddy issues had more important things to do."
"Oh, don't worry, love," he purred, tracing the tip of his nose along the shell of her ear, "I've got an agenda. You see, I'm a man of laws and axioms. I believe in supply and demand, gravity, and giving credit where credit is due. Now, keeping that last one in mind, I provided you with a lavish dinner that left every pore of you positively glowing with satisfaction," he drawled, voice a gravely rumble against the curve of her throat, "and you showed not even the slightest flicker of gratitude. I find that unacceptable."
She watched his dim reflection in the mirror, swallowing the gathering lump in her throat and attempting to sound unimpressed. "So you're here to what? Punish me?"
He chuckled, "Of course not, sweetheart. That would imply accepting defeat." His dagger-like eyes flickered up to the mirror, meeting hers with a deadly expression that wiped all mirth from his face. "I'm here to get my thank-you."
And before she could so much as breathe, he'd grabbed a fistful of her hair and wrenched her head to the side, exposing her neck in a violent motion that elicited a stifled cry from her. A million thoughts exploded in her head all at once, each accompanied by a different emotion, though the most distinct of them all was a memory of her Grams' regal voice. It was soft, lulling, but it somehow managed to resonate over all of the panic and terror clashing through her mind.
Don't be afraid of death, Bonnie, she'd murmured, voice thick like honey. Death is calm. Quiet. A sleepy Sunday afternoon of lemonade and catnaps. The only scary thing about Death is the life you have to live before you get there. Life… now that's what's terrifying.
She closed her eyes, trying to steady her chaotic pulse by letting the words flood her. He probably wasn't going to kill her, but if he did, fine. She would have her sleepy Sunday. She would reunite with Grams. She would be at peace.
"Interesting thing about that ring your wearing," he murmured, and for the briefest of moments, she felt the sharp tips of his fangs brush against her neck, "I can't actually kill you, being a supernatural being and all…"
Her eyes suddenly flew open.
"So I s'pose that means," he pressed on, slowly dragging his teeth all the way up to her jaw, "that I can bite you all that I want," he switched directions, opting to descend back down the curve of her throat, "without any real risk of killing you."
A very real, very paralyzing fear was taking hold of her, causing her breath to grow alarmingly shallow. There was no way out. He could drain her a million times over and she'd keep coming back to life, keep coming back for more. She couldn't even kill herself—she was a supernatural being. Her body started shaking.
"Now, now," he tutted, "there's no need for fear, love. This can all be avoided with a very simple 'Dinner was marvelous, Klaus. Thank you'."
She could see his eyes glowing with satisfaction in the mirror, white fangs glinting as they hovered over the pulse point in her neck. Terror and hatred wrestled within her—terror of the pain he could inflict on her, of the memory of Damon tearing into her throat, and hatred of the smugness clouding Klaus's expression, of his dilated pupils glittering with triumph like the inky dots of two exclamation points.
She struggled for a moment, and then hatred won out. He wouldn't manipulate her like this—she wouldn't fucking let him. This was what he did to everybody. Absolutely everybody—even his own family. If being the one person who's character he couldn't break meant getting her blood drained a hundred times in one night, then so be it. Her eyes slitted. "Dinner," she growled, ignoring the slight waver in her voice and holding his gaze fiercely, "was dinner."
His smug expression tightened.
"The soup," she spat, anger building in her now, "was soup. The duck," she pressed on, voice rising with every word, "was duck, and the sorbet was fucking sorbet!"
He looked slightly surprised by her outburst, and she used the opportunity to round on him, expression filled with utter loathing. "When will you get it?" she hissed, face volatile with emotion. "The games, the threats, the ultimatums—they aren't going to work with me, Klaus. Kill me if you want, torture me if it makes you fucking happy, but know that you will never, ever, get anything substantial from me by threatening my life." Her eyes were daggers. "My integrity, unlike yours, is worth more than that."
He held her stare for a moment, his eyes dark and cryptic, and for a solid ten seconds, she was certain he was going to kill her. His face was entirely inscrutable, his body looming over hers with effortless ownership, and she knew that if she tried to run, he'd catch her in a heartbeat.
But then, he did something that thoroughly surprised her. He sighed—a long, irritated, resigned-sounding sigh. "You are impossibly annoying, you know that?"
She blinked. What?
"You're like a bloody poster for morality, it's ridiculous."
Her eyes narrowed in utter perplexity, entirely thrown by his sudden casual nature: the deadliness was gone. The fangs had retracted, the serial killer stare cast off—he just looked thoroughly annoyed. Her guard instantly flew up. He was probably messing with her. Trying to get her to ease up so that his strike was that much more satisfying.
But just as soon as these thoughts hit her, he pushed himself off of her, taking a few steps back and crossing his arms to scrutinize her. She glared back, wariness coursing through her like blood. "What are you doing?"
He cocked his head to side, eyes examining. "Attempting to figure you out."
"Well, stop it." She didn't know why, but something about him staring at her so intently, so normally, made her feel a thousand times more uncomfortable than when he stared at her like she was his next meal. Her skin prickled with unease and she crossed her arms instinctively.
He noticed the motion, eyes filling with a strange sort of comprehension, though he washed the look away quickly and instead arched a brow. "You have an unfortunate habit of thinking you can tell me what to do, witch."
Her eyes narrowed. "And you have an unfortunate habit of threatening to kill me. All in all, I'd say yours wins."
His lips quirked slightly. "You mean I actually win something against you?"
The playfulness of the comment threw her, and she furrowed her brow. What was his angle? "Don't get used to it."
He smirked, equal parts amusement and curiosity. "Wouldn't dream of it, love."
"Good."
He stared at her for another long moment and she felt herself fidgeting. What was this? Then, "Admit the dinner was good."
She blinked, entirely startled. "What?"
"That food was exquisite—just admit it and I'll leave."
Her eyes blazed with confusion. "Why do you care about this stupid dinner so much?"
His jaw tightened at her dismissal, "Just admit it, Bonnie."
She eyed him closely, slightly amazed by what she was seeing. Credit was clearly something that really got to him. She had no idea where it'd come from—daddy isses? Never being able to please his family?—but whatever the source, she realized the magnitude of its effect. Klaus had a weakness. In his own sick, twisted way, he aimed to please.
She decided to exploit it. "What do I get in return?"
His eyes narrowed humorlessly. "Excuse me?"
She shrugged, coming across a lot braver than she felt. "We've established you can't manipulate me, so instead, make a trade."
He stared her down, annoyance flooding his expression. She fidgeted slightly at the look, not used to seeing him look so… human. She almost felt like she was talking to Damon, and the reality of the fact that his fangs had been pressed against her neck not two minutes ago thoroughly rattled her. That—the ruthless killer with no scruples—that was Klaus. So who the hell was this?
"Fine," he said, eyes glittering suddenly with something new, "I'll make you a deal. I have your Grimoire. "
Her ears perked up, entire face lighting with possibility. He had her Grimoire. She steadied her voice, attempting to sound uninterested. "I'm listening."
"Give me my thank-you and you'll have it first thing tomorrow morning."
She forced herself to swallow her excitement, instead pressing her lips together in a shrewd expression. "How do I know you aren't lying?"
He pressed a hand to his heart, expression wounded. "Bonnie, I'm offended. I'm a gentleman of my word."
"Funny, that's what you said when you promised to let me go."
He smirked. "I never said when, love."
Her eyes narrowed speculatively, and after a moment, brightened. "Add onto your promise that I get to keep the Grimoire."
His lips unfurled into a slow smile. "Now you're learning."
She shot him a cold smile in return, and he held out his hand, beckoning for hers. She eyed it warily for a few moments. Was she missing something? Was she walking into some sort of trap? This all seemed a little too easy. However, before she could decide upon an answer, he reached forward and took her hand into his own.
"Forcing my hand," she observed, body instinctively tensing at the feel of his long, roughened clasped over hers. "How gentlemanly."
He bowed his head down and brushed her knuckles against his lips, eyes flickering up to smile at her. "Always." She frowned at the action, pulling her hand back to recoil, but she tightened his grip on her hand and straightened. "My thank-you in exchange for your Grimoire. Agreed?"
She briefly chewed her lip. "All previously agreed upon conditions withstanding?"
"Naturally."
She glanced down at their hands for a moment, at the hands of two polar entities— one the hand of someone who gave up everything to save lives and the other the hand of someone who gave up everything to ruin them. The saint and the killer. The puppet and the ventriloquist. The lamb and the wolf.
After a moment, she hardened against the idea, grasping his hand firmly and giving it a brief shake. "Agreed." Bonnie Bennett was no freaking lamb.
"Splendid." He dropped their clasped hands, though instead of letting go, he entwined his fingers with hers, moving forward until she was crowded against the dresser.
"What the hell ar—Klaus," she snapped, anxiety fluttering through her as his other hand came up to her waist, holding her in place.
"You don't get to go anywhere, love, until I'm satisfied with your thank-you," he purred, cocking his head to the side and eyeing her wickedly. She brought her free hand up and pushed back against his chest, suffocating by the lack of space, but he merely arched an amused brow. "Tell me about dinner."
"I'll tell you when you move ba—"
"Tell me," he interjected, dropping his face down to brush his nose against hers, "about dinner."
Her heart rate was escalating again, mind blurring with a frenzied series of potential motives and explanations. What was he doing? Why was he doing this? She felt entirely thrown, and strangely, infinitely more off-balance than when he was trying to kill her. That, at least, she could make complete sense of. But this? Every nerve was shuddering in protest at the invasion of space. "Klaus."
"Dinner, love."
She started struggling against him despite herself, overwhelmed with the need to break out of his intimate grip. "Klaus—"
"Would you describe it more as exquisite," he pressed on, tightening his grip on her waist as he brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth, "or divine?
"What the hell are you doing?" she exclaimed, the note of hysteria ringing clear in her voice, and he began chuckling lowly.
"Oh, Bonnie," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers in an intimate gesture and staring straight into her panicked green eyes, "Moral, just little Bonnie. I should've known."
She felt her insides constricting with the absolute wrongness of this all. "Known what?"
"That out of anything I could possibly do to you," he drawled, lips curving into hazy half-smile as he angled his head to nuzzle her cheek, "this is what would bother you the most."
She stilled suddenly, realizing his game. That was what the look had meant. The dawning look from earlier, the one he'd quickly erased—he'd caught on to her reaction. She closed her eyes, cursing under breath. It had been too easy. Looked like she wasn't the only one finding weaknesses tonight.
"Aw, don't be sad, love," he purred, cocking his head to the side with an insincere expression. "If anyone should be, it's me. The fact that you'd rather me kill you than seduce you is horribly offensive, but, alas, it gets the job done."
"I already agreed to give you your thank-you," she hissed, unable to shake the feeling of things crawling all over her skin—the absolute sickness of the situation was making her dizzy. Trying to bite her was one thing. Trying to convince her to join him another thing. But this? "You don't have to force it out of me."
"Ah, but you see, I don't like the way you think we're equals, darling," he replied, tracing his thumb over her fingers. So that was it. He wanted to flaunt his authority over her. Punish her for having the gall to propose a deal. "I'll indulge it to a degree because I find it amusing, but consider this a friendly little reminder: we aren't equals. Not even close. Now tell me about dinner," he murmured, voice light with enjoyment, and she shuddered when he pressed forward slightly, pushing his hips more firmly against hers.
"Dinner," she swallowed, trying to shake off the raging set of emotions inside of her, "d-dinner was—God, please stop!"
She hated herself for how desperate she sounded, but his lips had begun traveling down her jaw, leaving a soft array of kisses that reminded her far too much of Jeremy.
"Dinner was…?" he said between kisses, ghosting his way up to her earlobe, and it wasn't until he took the tip between his teeth and gently tugged that she utterly flipped out.
"Stop!" she screeched, and to both of their surprise, a shock wave of energy came barreling out of her, bursting across the room and knocking over everything in it's path—pillows flew off the bed, chairs turned over, the window burst open, and the chandelier in the middle of the ceiling lurched around wildly, threatening to fall. Klaus, however, stood untouched, staring at her with a vaguely astonished expression.
She stared back as fiercely as she could. Did this mean her magic was back? She attempted giving him an aneurism just to see, but nothing happened. He didn't even blink, expression thoroughly inscrutable as it bored down in to hers. They remained like this for a solid ten seconds, her chin tilted up and his stare entirely level, before the door clattered open with a loud, vicious bang.
"Will you two shut the bloody fuck up?" an infuriated voice cried, and she glanced over his shoulder to see the entirely discordant image of Rebekah, clad in a pretty pink nightie, rollers, and pair of Barbie slippers, scowling furiously in the doorway. Upon noticing her brother's rather intimate hold over the witch, however, she groaned. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Nik, you've resorted to raping the girl?" She rolled her eyes, switching her gaze over to Bonnie's. "You'll have to forgive my brother, darling. He doesn't take rejection well."
"Leave, Bekah," Klaus hissed, his tone gravely and irritated, but the blonde merely scoffed.
"Right, and let you two continue keeping up the whole sodding neighborhood? Not likely."
"Rebekah."
"Niklaus."
The two stared at each other for a moment, communicating some sort of silent sibling war that involved quite a bit of scowling, and Bonnie took advantage of the moment. In a flash, she ducked and spun out of Klaus's grip, scrambling away before he could grab her and positioning herself behind an overturned chair.
Rebekah snorted. "Yeah, like that's going to keep you safe."
"Thank you for dinner," Bonnie said from behind the chair, ignoring her entirely as her eyes narrowed onto Klaus's. "It was excellent." There. Her part of the bargain was done. Anything else he did was extraneous and had no bearing whatsoever on her getting her Grimoire, getting her magic back, and getting the hell out of here as soon as possible.
"Your welcome," Rebekah replied. Both of them turned to look at her in confusion and she scowled. "What? I picked out the duck."
Klaus sighed irritably, running a hand through his hair. He looked thoroughly vexed. "Come down to breakfast at 10 for your Grimoire," he growled, turning on his heel and heading to the door, "but know this isn't over, witch. Not even close." Bonnie's heart lifted—was he leaving? Good God, he was leaving. This was a miracle—his sister must've ruined his mood enough to make him go.
Jesus, she never thought she'd say this, but thank God for Rebekah Mikaelson. Who knew what would've been happening to her right now if the bitchy Original hadn't walked in?
"You're giving her her Grimoire back?" the blonde asked in disbelief as Klaus pushed past her, eyes bright with amusement, though the pissed off hybrid merely ignored her and disappeared. She glanced back at Bonnie with bright expression. "How did you manage that one?"
Normally, Bonnie would've replied with something cold and unfriendly, but the girl had just saved her from what could've been hours of torture. So, she sighed. "I made a deal with him."
Rebekah arched a brow. "What sort of deal?"
"Thank him for dinner, I get my Grimoire back."
The blonde merely stared at her for a moment, eyes a piercing brown, before bursting out into laughter. "You can't be serious."
Bonnie raised her hands in shrugging gesture. "His terms, not mine."
"That's absolutely absurd," she laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, Nik. So obsessed with winning. It's rather sweet, really, how hard he tries to compensate for all his failures."
At this, Bonnie's eyes narrowed. "Sweet's not the word that comes to mind."
Rebekah smiled, "Oh, you know how it is, darling—one person's sweet is another person's demented. Take your doppelganger friend, for example. Stefan finds her sweet. I find her demented. Any teen girl who wears her hair like tree-hugging nine-year-old and thinks it's cute is just asking to be institutionalized, really."
Bonnie's momentary openness dissipated at the jab at Elena, and Rebekah seemed to notice. She straightened her shoulders, tossed her curler-ridden hair back, and gave Bonnie a disparaging look. "Anyway, I'm off to bed. Make any more noise and I'll strangle you with my bathrobe."
She turned on her heel to stalk off, but not before adding, "And do try not to further destroy my room. Any permanent damage you cause will be inflicted right back at you by me with absolutely no qualms. Fair is fair."
And with that, she disappeared, having the decency to at least shut the door behind her. Bonnie immediately collapsed in a heap on the floor, thoroughly overcome with emotion. Her first conscious night and she was already completely spent.
How the hell was she going to survive this?
A/N: Sorry for the wait – things have gotten really hectic now that school's started so my 3x a week updating speed will definitely not survive that :/ Anyway, any confusing things in this chapter should probably be explained once I switch to Klaus' perspective in the next, so don't worry if you feel a little cheated (re: why didn't he fly across the room?). Also, I'd originally planned to go a different direction with this chapter but I felt that this version incorporated a little bit of everything, so please let me know what you think. Favorite moments? Reviews = love.