Oh well... it's Sunday after all... and as I hope you will all have enough time to read today, here comes the next chapter. ;)

Please enjoy.

XX

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

THREESOME

Stealth. It had always been an essential part of who he was, and he prided himself in no one noticing him unless he wanted them to. Klaus was the single exception, as his younger brother was the only other person he knew to be as focused and observant as he was himself. With a light smile, he remembered the times when they had first discovered how to run or walk in such a way that not even other vampires' keen hearing was able to discern their steps. It had taken them both a while to perfect the movements, but after so many centuries of practice, they actually were perfect. Light, silent, smooth.

Elijah had made his way into the attic of Marcel's house via an obliging tree, the roof and a skylight that had turned out to be insultingly easy to open. He had shaken his head at the very obvious confidence the younger vampire was displaying by not having anyone standing guard on either the roof or the upper balconies, let alone the surrounding buildings.

He settled in a shadowy corner of the large, crammed space that had apparently not seen any living presence for years, judging by the thick layer of dust on boxes, ancient furniture and everything else that was piled up. Elijah had been careful to cover up what few footprints he had left in the dust, and he was now hovering unmovingly right next to the trap door that led down into the house. The party had already begun, and both Silv and Damon would be arriving soon. Before they had left, Elijah had instructed them not to send him any texts once they had found the vault. Despite the noisy celebrations, he knew he would be able to distinguish their voices and to locate them wherever they were within the mansion. So they had agreed that the one who found the hidden vault would just utter one sentence, namely 'Whatever happened to the good old soirée?' It had to be more than one word so as to give Elijah the time to determine the exact location of the voice, and it needed to be inconspicuous enough for anyone who happened to overhear not to believe it to be anything but a muttered complaint about the boisterousness of the party.

With a subdued sigh, Elijah thought back to the times his brother had first introduced him to Marcel, a few months after he had saved the young man's life and turned him into a vampire. To this day, Elijah could not fathom how Klaus' usually unfailingly accurate perception of human nature had so completely left him for once. It had not been often that Elijah had disliked someone at first sight the way he had instantly loathed Marcel. The lad had had an arrogance and a cockiness about him he had found abhorrent, but that had not been the main reason for his aversion. It had been the utter lack of compassion, the deeply anchored indifference and coldness in his gaze. Over the years, Elijah had encountered a few people with that kind of hidden emptiness in their eyes, and they had all had some traits in common – a tendency towards aimless cruelty, a duplicitous mind, no sense of loyalty whatsoever and a blatant disregard for anyone but themselves. He had implored his brother to see reason, but after a few failed attempts, he had understood that Klaus had needed to find out on his own. He was not ready to give up on his 'project', and for reasons passing understanding, Marcel's company seemed to alleviate the younger Mikaelson's loneliness for short periods of time. When he finally had to face the bitter truth about Marcel's disposition, the hurt and raging disappointment in his eyes had touched Elijah deeply, particularly in view of the fact that this new betrayal had further hardened Klaus' heart and made him more suspicious than ever, even towards his own siblings, which had greatly pained Elijah. The thought of seeing Marcel pay brought a malicious, satisfied grin onto his face.

Silv sighed and closed her eyes for a second before pushing open the door to Marcel's house. The rambunctious party noises that hit her like a brick wall made her wish to turn on her heel and escape to the serenity of their home and the comfort of Elijah's arms. She knew her husband was somewhere inside the house, although it still eluded her how he always managed to move like a ghost whenever he did not want to be seen. He had explained the workings of stealth to her, just as Klaus had to Caroline, but neither of the women would ever be able to move the way the older Mikaelson brothers did. Not even Kol and Bekah ever truly managed, she thought with a light grin. In order to minimize any risks, they had determined that Elijah would not partake in the actual search for the vault. There was, after all, a theoretical possibility for someone to notice him, and he would therefore only enter the house once the safe was found and be in and out as quickly as possible. With another sigh, Silv focused. There was work to do now, and she had to give a truly convincing performance. Had it not been about something as vital as getting hold of the stakes, she might probably even have enjoyed the show up to a point, as working with Damon was a little bit like concocting a prank with a mischievous cousin. The older Salvatore would arrive in a while so as to give her time for what he had called the warm-up round. And it would seem the protagonist was not going to make her wait tonight.

"Mrs. Mikaelson, it is an honour that you should finally accept my invitation to grace my humble home with your splendour," a resonant contralto greeted her cheerfully, and in a blur, Marcel was in front of her, raising her hand to his lips. "On my word, you are the single most stunning woman I have seen in my three hundred years, and even more so tonight." Trying not to roll her eyes, Silv inclined her head.

"You can be very persistent," she said coolly, pulling away her hand and raising a brow. "I will have to give you that."

With a grin, the older vampire gestured towards a large, crowded room from where music, dozens of voices and heaps of laughter came drifting through the air. "When there is a prize this desirable to attain, I am known to be quite perseverant."

Wondering what the vampire equivalent to throwing up was, Silv folded her arms across her chest. "You may rest assured that I can be just as persistent in rejecting your advances. And I do not take overly kindly to being considered a prize. I have only consented to be here tonight to put an end to your endless, tedious attempts at seducing me. And because… but that is none of your business. I do hope you will offer me a drink, though, otherwise I am not certain just how I will be able to tolerate your company for an entire evening's length."

She had seen how Marcel's eyes had begun to sparkle at her deliberate hesitation before insinuating that there was another reason for her being here which was none of his business. God, the man was so predictable!

Fifteen minutes later, they were standing next to each other at the makeshift bar Marcel had set up in his living room. There were dozens and dozens of people around them, and yet the would-be king hadn't looked at or spoken to anyone but her. Trying to hide a satisfied grin at the progress, she suddenly heard Damon's voice at the entrance, greeting some of the partygoers he obviously knew from previous encounters. Downing the rest of her champagne, she suppressed a sigh of relief. Marcel had been moving ever closer, trying to be inconspicuous about it, and they were no more than a few inches apart. The perfect excuse.

"You know, Marcel," she said coolly, "I have no idea what sort of female you are usually dealing with, but I do find your overly conspicuous attempts at crowding me rather clumsy, and I believe I could use some air. Why do you not take a break from your pubescent flirting and find a more… elegant approach?"

Without another word, she whirled around and directed her steps towards the patio, briefly nodding at Damon who was just walking past her to greet Marcel. When she arrived at the courtyard, she heard the older Salvatore mutter, "Crashed and burned, did you? Then again, to be perfectly honest I'm surprised that she's playing that hard to get, dude, given her reputation and her… current domestic situation."

There was an unmistakeable excitement in Marcel's voice. "It's good to see you, man. What do you mean, reputation? And what's going on between her and Elijah?"

"Get me a drink and let's step out on the balcony. Too many prying ears, dude."

Silv shook her head, grinning. Knowing Damon, he would cook up a ludicrous tale about her dubious past with uncountable men and some outlandish drama that was currently happening between her and her husband. But she could no longer listen as she needed to concentrate on finding the vault now. Klaus had given them a detailed description of the house's layout, and she and Damon had divided the rooms between them in order not to waste any time searching the same places twice. If the vault happened to be in the living room, they would have to actually wait until the party was over, but Klaus had been relatively certain that Marcel wouldn't have chosen a room everyone had access to. Very quickly, she entered the first room, some sort of office, and went to work.

Twenty minutes later, she had searched three rooms but had come up empty, and it was time to return to Marcel before he became suspicious at her prolongued absence. He was still on the balcony with Damon, and Silv grabbed a glass of red wine before stepping out to join them. When Damon felt her approach, he grinned and winked at Marcel.

"I think I'm going to get another drink and join the Karaoke troops for a while. Remember what I told you, buddy. Silv," he nodded curtly as he stepped back inside.

Marcel's eyes followed the older Salvatore, and Silv shook her head in mock consternation. "Still can't wrap my head around it," she mumbled, as if speaking to herself.

"Around what, my dear Mrs. Mikaelson?" the older vampire asked in his most velvety voice, raising his glass to hers and looking at her lips rather hungrily.

"Oh, nothing," she hurried to say, "I learned something about Mr. Salvatore the other day that had me somewhat surprised, that is all."

After tiptoeing around the subject for a while, she allowed Marcel to extract the information from her, fabricating a story about how Damon's tastes were apparently not limited to the opposite sex and how it had nonplussed her, given his attachment to Elena, and that she was rather certain the doppelganger did not have an inkling about it. She could see the hungry gleam in Marcel's eyes again, and she knew she had been right. The older vampire did fancy Damon, and not only as a drinking buddy. It was a crying shame that she wouldn't be able to watch the older Salvatore's next round of flirting.

"Well, tell me, Mrs. Mikaelson," Marcel whispered now, giving his voice an extra-silky touch that made Silv suppress a disgusted shudder, "what are your tastes, then? You strike me as an exceptionally passionate woman with a variety of preferences, and I would imagine that not every man is… able to cater to your needs."

There was the strange pull again. Klaus and Caroline had described what Esther had been explaining about Marcel's enhanced charisma that was especially attractive to witches. For a split second, she wondered whether it would work on her if she wasn't so absolutely and irrevocably in love with Elijah. Then again, Esther had said that there had to be a natural attraction in the first place, and there was nothing about Marcel that she found even remotely alluring. He was not overly intelligent, despite a certain shrewdness, not well-educated, his sense of humour did not match hers, he was arrogant, loud and she did not find him physically enticing. Inwardly straightening, Silv called herself to order. She needed to suppress her growing longing for Elijah's company and concentrate on her task. Out of the corner of her eye, she suddenly caught sight of Damon at the bar who was imperceptibly shaking his head. He hadn't found the vault, and it was her turn again. Her eyes narrowed when she looked at Marcel, putting down her glass and taking one step towards him.

"Give me one reason, just one good reason why I should not leave your house right this instant after this outrageously impertinent, prying question," she hissed, putting one finger on Marcel's chest and pushing him back an inch. It had apparently been the right move, as the older vampire grabbed her hand and pressed it flat against his chest, his eyes sparkling.

"Because deep down, you know that I can give you what you need. What you want. What you desire. And you know that there is a part of you that craves my touch, Silv." His voice lowered even further. "One day, you will admit the truth to yourself. And I will be right there."

Rigidly fighting the impulse to slap him in the face, she raised her head and straightened to her full height. "It is Mrs, Mikaelson," she snapped, but at the same time, she leaned in and very briefly pressed her hand against his chest before pulling away. It always worked with this kind of man – rejecting them on the outside but making them believe that one was secretly burning for them. "If you will excuse me, I would like to freshen up."

She saw the brief instant of triumph flaring up in his eyes. He had bought it. He honestly thought she was just about to give in. Stepping back into the crowded room, she hissed at Damon so Marcel could hear. "Do teach him some manners – not that you have any yourself." With that, she stalked off, her head high and her posture rigid. Once she was out of sight, she flashed back into the patio and from there, up to the first floor where Marcel's bedroom was located. When she was just about to open the door, she heard voices down in the patio and quickly disappeared towards the shadows of the upstairs hallway, carefully watching the two vampires that had strolled into the courtyard. Without another word, they began to kiss heatedly, and Silv had to suppress an exasperated groan. God, she hoped this wouldn't take too long! She waited and waited, cursing the lovebirds downstairs and the fact that she couldn't stay away for very much longer without Marcel becoming suspicious. Although she might have bought herself some time with her last performance, making the older vampire believe she would need a while for her inner turmoil to settle.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the couple gradually stopped kissing and left the patio hand in hand. Without wasting another second, Silv opened the door and slipped into Marcel's bedroom. Her eyes widened, and she had to press a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. Right in the middle of the large room, a gigantic round bed took up a great amount of space, with two steps leading up to it. Everything in the room was black and red – the walls, the carpet, the furniture, the drapes. The atmosphere was extremely somber, and Silv felt oddly reminded of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. There even was a leopard bedcover, and the entire ceiling was covered in mirrors. Desperately trying not to burst into laughter at the thought of Marcel wearing Frank'n'Furter's corset and garter belt, let alone his makeup, she began to meticulously search the place, idly wondering who in his or her right mind could ever get remotely aroused in an atmosphere like this.

Remembering something Klaus had said about how the vault was probably not overly ingeniously hidden, her gaze zeroed in on a small art print on the opposite wall, depicting William Blake's 'The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun'. For a moment, she could do nothing but shake her head. Just how much more cliché would this man get? Blake's painting was one of the most obvious representations of megalomaniac fantasies ever created, used in popular culture on a regular basis. A man who saw himself like the Great Red Dragon in that painting must be severely humiliated by the fact that there were more powerful beings in existence who could subdue him at their leisure. She had to suppress another giggle at the vision of Marcel working with Photoshop, replacing the Dragon's head with his own and that of the woman with Klaus'. As she sobered, her eyes began to narrow. Of course! This was where the would-be omnipotent world leader would be hiding what was most valuable to him. Taking a couple of steps forward, she gently lifted the painting an inch and peered behind it.

Bingo.

Silv replaced the painting. There was no time to lose. "Whatever happened to the good old soirée?" she said, clearing her throat a couple of times so as to give Elijah additional direction. She was beyond relieved at the thought that she would be able to leave now, and her hand was already on the doorhandle when she heard steps outside. It couldn't be her husband, he would never be this conspicuous. The steps were approaching now, and Silv took retreated into the room right before the door opened and she recognized the scent.

It was Marcel.

Thinking quickly, she realized there was no place to hide. She flew across the room and onto the enormous bed, flinging herself on the ridiculous leopard covers and putting on an insecure expression. And not a minute too early.

A victorious grin split Marcel's face when he spotted her on his bed. Hovering in the doorframe for a moment, his eyes all but undressed her before he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

"As I said," he purred, approaching the bed and licking his lips, "somewhere deep down, you know that I am the one who can give you what you need. But I am delighted to see that it did not take you long to realize that fact."

Quickly rising from the bed before he could even think about joining her there, she stepped up to him and placed both hands on his chest. "Maybe so," she whispered, giving her voice a tremor of uncertainty, "but I can never act on it, Marcel. I came here to find out what it is that… pulls me to you." She let her hands run up to his shoulders, taking another step and bringing her lips to his ear, her voice silky and seductive. "Yes… I want it. Very much so. But you know who I am married to, and neither of us would survive this. Elijah always finds out. I will never be free." Clenching her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut, she forced herself to ignore how his hands were wandering over her body. A deep repulsion gripped her at feeling his fingers on her back, her waist, her backside… the outside of her breasts. Summoning up all of her acting skills, she smiled and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek, desperately fighting the impulse to furiously wipe her lips. "I have to leave. Please, Marcel, do not pursue me any longer. It would be my death. And yours."

When she had almost reached the door, he spoke again. "I will have you. Mark my words, Silv. And not even Elijah Mikaelson will keep me from getting what I want. Especially now that I know that it is what you want."

She did not turn around, but as she opened the door, she whispered in mock despair, "If only there was a way."

Seeing his wife flash off, Elijah conjured all of his willpower to keep him from storming into the room and simply hack off Marcel's hands before castrating him and tearing his heart out. That disgusting piece of filth had had the audacity of touching his wife. And oh, he would pay for it, but not now. Controlling his inner turmoil, he returned his attention to the room beneath him. He was hovering on the patio roof, right opposite Marcel's door and window towards the courtyard, and now all he needed to do was wait for the man to leave. Which would probably not be long, given the fact that there was a celebration going on after all.

A few minutes later, Marcel did indeed leave his room and returned to the party, not without making Elijah want to strangle him at the sight of the smug, overconfident smirk on his face. Shaking his head at himself, the Original waited for another minute before silently descending from the roof and ghosting into the room. Making a slow, three hundred and sixty degree turn, he stopped at the sight of a Blake painting on the far wall. The Great Red Dragon? What was it about that painting that made it so prominent among serial killers, vainglorious cretins and men with a Napoleon complex? Anyway, this had to be it. In a blur, he had removed the painting and sighed with relief at the sight of the relatively old-fashioned safe that was in front of him now. Roller system, very good. He supposed it had been there for many decades and Marcel had never bothered to replace it with a new one. After all, who would dare to steal from the king? There was a small array of tools in his jacket to cater for every contingency, but this would be relatively simple indeed. His Original hearing would replace the stethoscope a human burglar would require to pick the lock, so all he needed were his fingerss. Gently placing one hand on the smooth metal surface, he closed his eyes and began to turn the lock. Ten degrees to the right… twenty… twenty-five… there it was. He heard and felt it at the same time. First click. He repeated the procedure, turning the button to the left, back to the right and to the left again. Just a four-digit number? Well, Marcel's brain could probably not accommodate more than four digits in a row, he thought sardonically. Raising his eyebrows, he let the last click fall into place and quietly opened the safe. There was nothing inside but a sheet of paper, which he supposed was the infamous God-Gifted list. Putting on a pair of gloves that had been spelled by Davina to become impenetrable by any traces of magic, he pulled out his phone and took a quick picture of the list. The names on it did not play a major role, they were pawns, but he was mildly curious to see whom Marcel deemed worthy of being part of the new world order and after all, Kol would need to know. He stowed the phone away and carefully slipped a hand inside the vault. There. He felt the stakes. One, two, three. With a light grin, he pulled them from the box and hid them inside his jacket. At the same time, he took something else from another pocket and placed it inside the safe. It had been Klaus' idea to have Davina spell three regular stakes in such a way that anyone who looked at them would believe them to be nothing other than true White Oak. They had also been invisibilized, and neither Marcel nor Bonnie would ever be able to spot the difference. Not that they would have any reason to believe the vault had been tampered with in the first place. The second he had positioned the three fake stakes exactly where the White Oak had been, he shut and locked the vault. Replacing the painting, he took one last look about the room and disappeared as silently as he had come.

It had taken Elijah mere minutes to burn the stakes and collect the ashes in a small box he had brought specifically for that purpose. Once he was done, he took a wide detour in order not to arrive home too shortly after Silv. Both he and his brothers knew that their house was being constantly watched, which was why all pretenses had to be kept up until the door was safely shut behind them.

He found Klaus, Caroline, Kol and Stefan in the study. Rebekah was shadowing Davina who was on her way home from Bonnie's, Damon was still at the party and Elena was waiting for him at Remy's. With a brief nod at Klaus, he handed him the box containing the White Oak ash.

"It is done. We can… proceed." Seeing both Klaus' and Caroline's eyes fill with dread, he felt a strong rush of compassion for what they would have to go through. Again. And once more, it was his young sister who would be on her own and his brother who would be able to count on family and friends. The world was a strange place, at times.

Klaus gestured towards the hall, apparently reading his brother's upcoming question. "She has gone straight upstairs, Elijah." They looked at each other for a moment before Elijah inclined his head.

"I will see you tomorrow. Or rather, later today. Good night, everyone."

A few seconds later, he opened the door to their room to find Silv in an armchair in front of the fireplace. Her hair was wet and she was wearing a robe. Elijah's heart skipped an imaginary beat. She looked so young, so vulnerable… and by the Gods, he would be damned if he ever allowed her near that vermin again.

"Are you all right, my lovely?" he asked, a little worried at her silence. Whenever he entered the room, she usually all but flew into his arms.

Her voice sounded wary when she nodded. "Yes, I am fine."

Elijah felt a lump in his throat, Something was wrong, but he could not pinpoint what it was that bothered her. He took her hand and pulled her out of the armchair, taking her face in his hands and examining her closely. All of a sudden, a quick burst of fear grabbed him.

"Silv. When you were there, in his room… did you… feel something?"

After another moment of heavy silence, she nodded. And the quick burst of fear turned into a bright, burning fire. He looked at his wife's face, the face he had come to love above everything else, and he knew that there was one thing he would never be able to overcome. Losing her again. With what was left of his self-control, he whispered, "What was it?"

Biting her lip, she raised her head and closed her eyes for a second before she answered. "Shame. I was ashamed."

"Why?"

"I let him touch me. I let this bastard put his hands on me! The day we were married, Elijah, I swore to you that no one else would ever touch me again until my very last breath. I am aware that tonight was but a performance for the greater good, and yet I cannot help but feel that I have betrayed you," she whispered, her face a mask of anguish and guilt, her eyes full of fear.

The relief that washed through him was so consuming that it almost knocked him off his feet. He scooped her up into his arms and flashed them to the bed, leaning against the headboard and gathering her as close as he could. "Of course you have not betrayed me, Silv, not in the very least, and what is truly unforgivable about this is that I allowed it to happen, my lovely, when I should have just smashed his skull, plan or no plan." His lips found hers and he gave himself over to the incomparable feeling of abandon only Silv had ever been able to invoke in him. Just before they completely lost themselves in each other, he spoke again.

"You will never go near him again, Silv, and I do not care what Niklaus' plans are."

Silv brushed her knuckles across his cheek, making him close his eyes and block out everything but her loving touch on his skin.

"Have I told you yet today just how madly I love you, Elijah Mikaelson?

He was silent for an instant, covering her hand with his and opening his eyes to look at her intently. "When all this is finally over, would you consent to…"

"… bearing your mark for all eternity?" she finished his sentence, her eyes lighting up with exuberance and joy.

Elijah stared at her, nonplussed. "How did you know?" he demanded with a slowly spreading smile.

A small tear ran down Silv's cheek. "I have been waiting so long for you to ask me, Elijah. Ever since you turned me. Some hidden part of me was still having doubts whether you would really want me like that, so absolutely, so irreversibly, so… eternally."

With an incredulous shake of his head, he kissed her again until they were both dizzy. "How could you ever have doubted my feelings for so much as a second, my beautiful woman? I do apologize from the bottom of my heart, Silv, for it was not my intent to make you anxious or to be a cause for insecurity. There is no need for that, my lovely. There never has been, there never will be. Please," he added with the boyish smile he knew she could never resist, "do me the honour of accepting to share the Signum with me."

"Always and forever, Elijah."