Chapter Twenty-Eight

Drain You

New York, New York

August 1945

The masses had stormed Times Square.

Rebekah observed the jubilant humans on the streets below while Caroline watched her from across the room.

"What are they celebrating?"

"The end of a world war," said Caroline. "That's why we didn't come sooner. The war-"

"Please don't make excuses for him, Care. I've done it more than anyone else on this planet; I can hear it in someone else's voice," the Original interrupted tiredly from her place beside the window. Her bones ached, her heart hurt, she was thirsty, and she had a mind-numbing headache – patience, she did not possess. She was still dressed in the flapper dress and heels she wore when Niklaus daggered her. He had tried to apologize to her as soon as she woke, but she had not been in the mood to hear it and sent him away.

"How long has it been this time?" she eventually asked.

"Sixteen years - it's 1945," Caroline provided.

Rebekah nodded in acceptance. "Are you planning on staying here?"

"No, we'll be returning to the school for a while. It's time," Caroline explained. "The war was…exhausting, to say the least."

"Is Pacari with you?" the Original inquired, keeping her tone light.

Caroline hesitated for only the briefest moment. "He's still in Europe."

Rebekah grimaced at that; Pacari owed her nothing. "Elijah?"

"We haven't heard from him in over a year."

"If he feels anything like I do, he'll be as far away from Niklaus as possible," the older blond muttered, shaking her head in disgust. "Sorry, Caroline. You won't see me again for quite some time, but that is the way it must be. I promise I'll keep in contact with you."

"I understand."

Rebekah stayed in the hotel room with Caroline for another hour as her progeny filled her in on the world events she had missed. She borrowed some modern clothing and left soon after. On her way out, she passed her brother in the hallway, but refused to look at him.

"Rebekah!" he called after her, rising from his seat.

Once she had stepped into the elevator, she looked him dead in the eye.

It was worse than if her expression was full of loathing - she was looking through him like he wasn't even there. Like he did not exist.

After the doors clang shut behind her, he swore under his breath and returned to the room. His wife was staring down at the euphoric crowds in Times Square.

"Do you have any idea of where she was headed?" he asked.

"Knowing Bekah," Caroline responded, "somewhere unpredictable."

"This is my fault," he said grimly.

"We knew this would happen, Nik. She wasn't going to forgive you as soon as she opened her eyes."

Niklaus bowed his head in acknowledgement and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her cheek. "When do you want to leave for Des Cendres?"

"As soon as we find a ship heading east. But…"

"But?"

"But we need to do something first."

The growing line at city hall wound out the building, down the block, and around the corner, but they waited patiently, making small talk with the other couples around them. Caroline wore a simple white dress and Niklaus a tan suit. A bubbling young Texan who had served as a nurse was waiting with her sailor beau directly in front of them.

"Did y'all meet overseas? Sam and I were both stationed in Northern Italy but didn't meet until we were sailing back last month!" she gushed, her brown locks bouncing as she nearly fell over with excitement.

"We're actually renewing our vows," Caroline divulged. Niklaus smirked at her.

"But y'all are so young!" the nurse exclaimed, her mouth dropping open.

Niklaus wrapped his arm around Caroline's waist. "Looks can be deceiving."

The second ceremony was the exact opposite of their wedding at the Hagia Sophia in 1402. It was a simple affair sans frills or fuss. If the judge was surprised by the additions to their vows, he did not show it. Caroline thought the man had to be an incredible poker player, because not a single muscle on his face twitched when she swore "to cease living with vengeance and wrath in my heart" and Niklaus vowed to give up "any further revenge fantasies, sibling stabbings, and doppelgänger hunting." When they finished, he congratulated them before promptly asking them to step aside so he could wed the next couple.

They took a stroll in Central Park afterwards, holding hands, with no ambitions other than enjoying the moment and looking forward to the next.

For each member of the family, life in the 20th century was a hard adjustment. The world in the post-war era moved at a faster pace than it ever had in the past. The steady rhythm of progress that had previously reigned was replaced with a jarring urgency and ambition.

Caroline and Niklaus spent the rest of the 40s and all of the 50s teaching at the school. They returned to America in the early 60s to a country that was finally starting to mature. Over the next thirty years, they jumped from university to university, earning degrees in philosophy, mathematics, linguistics, history, chemistry, fine art, theatre, film, physics, engineering, anthropology, architecture, biology, and literature – to name a few.

Rebekah remained elusive. Although she kept her promise to Caroline in keeping up a steady correspondence, she rarely visited in person, preferring to keep her distance. She dabbled in archaeology, fashion, and music vocations, but maintained a low profile.

Mariko flitted back and forth between teaching at the school and traveling the world to befriend covens, exchanging spells and enhancing her craft. She did this to prevent another disaster from happening. She also kept an eye on the supernatural communities that had allied themselves with Mikael during the war. Anything and everything to distract herself from the pain of Ophelia Zola's death.

Pacari committed himself to recovery and renewal projects in post-war Europe. After, he joined Mariko. By the seventies, he was on his own again, not so much traveling as wandering. He crossed paths with Caroline and Klaus occasionally, but never lingered.

Elijah had cut himself off completely. He abandoned all his various residences, asked a witch to hide his location, and ignored all communications from friends and family that managed to slip through his defenses. If Pacari was wandering, Elijah was drifting.

Roxy Theatre

West Hollywood, California

August 1991

Pacari surreptitiously scanned the smoke-filled showroom between swigs of beer. The lean front man shook his greasy blond mane out of his eyes as he sang mournfully into the mic, strumming his guitar with a unique apathetic flair. Below the stage, young people gyrated to the new and exciting sound as the strobe lights flashed across their sweating bodies. The older patrons chatted around the bar, flirting, discussing the music, making further plans for the evening. The famous venue was bursting with fervent energy.

"Are you going to tell me why you're really here?" the bartender asked, pulling his attention. "Something tells me you're not in L.A. to see the Walk of Fame."

Tarkik finished wiping a beer glass and placed his large hands on the bar, tossing his long black hair out of his eyes. Pacari had changed him near Vancouver soon after the American Revolution. In his human life, he had been a hunter-trapper in an Inuit tribe. Now, he was a werewolf-vampire hybrid, a rare breed. As with most vampires of Caroline's strain, he kept a low profile; not many knew of his dual nature.

"I'm tracking someone," Pacari admitted, taking another swallow.

"Anyone I know?"

"Yeah," the Incan hybrid said. "A haughty Original brother who's been MIA for half a century."

Tark raised his eyebrows. "Elijah wouldn't be caught dead in this place."

Pacari snorted. "Don't bet on it."

"What do you want with him?"

He drummed his fingers against the bar and sighed. "Answers."

Tark rolled his eyes. "Very helpful, bud."

Pacari shrugged. "You know me, Tark. It's about Rebekah, as always. She seems to be...missing."

"It's going around."

Pacari frowned.

"Vampires have been disappearing for months," Tark elaborated.

As Pacari processed that, his friend leaned further across the bar.

"There are rumors a vampire-hunter is in town. One who can compel other vampires," Tark said warily, his voice heavy with implication.

Pacari's frown deepened. "Mikael? He can't compel us, Tark. We're Carolinian."

"I know that, but some of these vampires and I go way back, been part of the community for decades. I don't want them forced into that pyscho's army. Klaus isn't in town, is he?"

Pacari shook his head in disdain. "No."

"But why is he here, then? Elijah?"

"I don't know. Sorry I don't have more information, Tark, but I'll look into it; check in with some covens."

"Who are you, the vampire police?" a new voice said from behind the Incan.

Pacari turned as a blond vampire leant her elbows against the edge of the bar. He didn't recognize her, but he could tell she was old.

"Bourbon neat, Tark," she ordered over her shoulder before bringing her cigarette up to her mouth.

"It's not polite to butt into private conversations," Pacari said, frowning at the intruder.

"Pacari, this is Lexi. Lexi, Pacari," Tark introduced with a smirk. "And she can be trusted."

Pacari nodded curtly at the woman. She smiled back.

"I've never heard of a vampire detective, but there's a first for everything," she teased.

Tark answered for him. "Pacari is my maker. He's old, powerful, and well-connected. If anything, he's more like vampire royalty than police."

"Consider me impressed. New to town?"

"I'm here to find someone."

"Who?" she prodded.

"My ex's brother. He's too old to be easily found, though."

"Ooh, family drama. I love it. Vampires with siblings have all kinds of fucked-up issues. Believe me, I know," she winked at him. "Isn't it excruciating to watch?"

"The worst!" Pacari agreed in a frustrated voice. "All her brothers have this hold on her. I just want her to be free of their influence."

Lexi took a swig of bourbon. "I know a pair of brothers who never seem to stop punishing each other."

"And you can't help trying to fix them?" he guessed.

"Guilty. Shame we've never met before," she flirted, her gaze lingering over his body. "How old are you?"

"Just over 450," Pacari told her casually.

She whistled. "It's rare to meet a man older than me."

Pacari glanced at Tark, who held his hands up in surrender.

"Gotta get back to my patrons," he muttered.

Pacari hissed at him. Tark saluted him with a grin before turning to the other side of the bar.

"So, this ex-lover of yours," Lexi started, setting down her empty tumbler and stepping between his legs. "Is it definitely over?"

"For now," Pacari admitted. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer.

"Good enough for me. Interested in a little distraction?" she asked coyly.

He traced one of his hands down her hip and slid it into her back pocket. "I love distraction."

They made it as far as the bathroom. It was hot and desperate, with Lexi pushed up against a stall and Pacari pressed into her from behind, his hands on either side of the stall door. She twisted around, biting his neck and jaw hungrily before he hoisted her up and wrapped her legs around his waist, thrusting wildly. She tasted of Newports and bourbon and blood and he lost himself in her for those brief moments. When they both finished, Lexi slid down and kissed his sweat-covered neck.

"Thanks. I needed that," she murmured.

"Yeah. Me too," he panted.

"See you around. Maybe," she grinned, buttoning up her jeans.

He pecked her cheek. "Take care of yourself, Lexi. Good luck with those brothers."

With a barking laugh, she was gone. Pacari adjusted himself and exited the graffitied bathroom, passing gossiping teenagers who had snuck in with fakes and other clandestine lovers in the hallway. He saluted Tark on his way out; the bartender made a gesture to call him. He nodded. The band was finishing up their set, and the crowd was dancing and hooting drunkenly.

It was quiet outside. A light breeze wafted down Sunset Boulevard as he lit a cigarette and watched a group stumble out of the Rainbow Bar.

"Did you enjoy the set?" a familiar voice called from behind him.

Pacari whipped around in astonishment. Leaning against the side of the building, his eyes rimmed with kohl and his muscular body dressed in a ripped-up tee and worn jeans, was Elijah.

"Nirvana hits a spot in my soul," the Original continued thoughtfully, as if he weren't seeing Pacari for the first time in half a century. "I enjoy their cynical skepticism for the future, vulnerable lead singer, pulsating anger, and angst-ridden lyrics. They are refreshingly raw."

Pacari gaped at him for a moment. "What are you, working on an article for Rolling Stone?"

Elijah took a swig of his Pabst Blue Ribbon. It immediately set off warning bells in Pacari's mind. This was pretentious, aristocratic Elijah – drinking PBR out of a can in a torn band tee. It was as he'd feared.

"You've turned it off," he said in a soft voice.

Elijah's gaze remained fixed on a flickering streetlamp. "This notion of 'turning it off' is a myth; a lie to make us feel better about our misdeeds."

"Fair enough." Pacari hesitated. "I've been looking for you."

The Original nodded. "I know. What has my brother done now?"

The hybrid walked up and leaned against the building beside him, inhaling another long drag.

"It's more what he hasn't done," he muttered after a beat.

Elijah chuckled darkly. "The list is endless."

"I've run into Klaus and Caroline a few times since the war. But I haven't seen your sister since she left Paris to go back to New Orleans."

"Indeed?"

"Klaus and Caroline insist he took the dagger out," Pacari continued. "But then why haven't I seen or heard from her? Why is she never with them?"

"I'd imagine Rebekah wants nothing to do with any of us. It is a sentiment I understand."

"But why would she avoid me? We parted on...amicable terms."

"I would not take it personally, young hybrid. Rebekah has wandered the earth for a thousand years. We sometimes tire of company, especially after we've been betrayed by our own kin," Elijah advised, his eyes burning. "And the two of you have a complicated history. Have you ever considered that being near you brings up painful memories?"

Pacari nodded mournfully. "Yes, but she doesn't have to hide her existence from me. Have you seen her?"

Elijah shook his head. "I have closed all my residences in exchange for a life on the road, location-hopping to avoid all family, friends, and even casual acquaintances for decades. I'm in social exile, Pacari. I needed to mourn in peace, without the melodramatics of my younger siblings demanding my attentions."

Pacari sighed and leaned his head against the brick wall.

"I lost more than a wife when Grace died. I lost an entire family, a whole life I'd built," Elijah finished quietly.

The Incan considered his words as the bars and venues started closing. Drunken twenty-somethings were pouring onto the Boulevard, laughing, cackling, screaming, whistling. Cars honked as they drove past, music blasting from the stereos.

"I've only appeared to you to let you know I can't help you. You want my assistance in finding my sister," Elijah said after a pause. "Rebekah is either still daggered or un-daggered and avoiding you, but whichever it is, I don't really care."

"She's your sister!" Pacari argued, turning to the older vampire and narrowing his eyes.

"She's a big girl; she can handle herself," Elijah said mildly.

Pacari snorted and kicked the wall. "Not if she's daggered."

"Then she's having a nice nap. Christ, I'm even a bit jealous."

"Really, Elijah? That's it?" the hybrid snarled.

Elijah bowed his head. "That's it."

Pacari closed his eyes briefly and sucked in a halting breath. When he reopened them, he was alone.

"Good-bye to you, too, asshole," he muttered as the empty PBR can clanged against the grimy sidewalk.

It was just after six in the morning when Pacari reached his Silver Lake apartment. He hit the light switch in the kitchen with the intention of grabbing a blood bag from the fridge before passing out.

His plans were immediately forgotten when he felt an intruder. He crouched down into a fighting stance as his fangs popped out. A tall man with dirty blond hair stepped out of the shadows of the living room. Although Pacari sensed right away he was a vampire, he could not place him - but he looked vaguely familiar. His face was weathered and deeply lined, as if his human life had been spent doing hard labor.

"Impressive instincts," the vampire said as his beady eyes roved over the hybrid. "My daughter chose well in a mate."

Pacari's stance relaxed out of pure shock. "Mikael?"

"However, it was rude of you to ask for her hand without my permission."

"It was rude of you to - I dunno, where to even start? - make your wife turn your children against their will, hunt them for a millennia, come close to killing each of them more than once..." Pacari listed off, incensed. "You forfeited all rights as a father centuries ago."

Mikael sneered. "You sound like Rebekah."

"You don't even know her," the hybrid spat out. "What the hell are you doing in my home?"

Mikael crossed his arms. "Relax, hybrid. I only want to talk."

"You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it," Pacari snapped.

The Original inclined his head. "Be that as it may, I wish you no harm. I want to help you. I hope you'll take it as a sign of good faith that I did not attack Elijah tonight."

"You've been following him?"

"I've been following you," Mikael clarified.

"What?"

"Over half my family lies in coffins, all because of Niklaus."

"Over half?" Pacari repeated sharply.

"Esther, Finn, Kol… Rebekah."

Pacari's eyes flashed up. "You're certain Rebekah's desiccated?"

"Isn't that why you sought out Elijah? To see if he had any idea if she was still daggered?"

Pacari said nothing.

"He didn't know anything, nor did he care. But I do. Niklaus did not do as he promised. My daughter lies in wait."

"Caroline promised-"

Mikael cut him off with a scoff. "You can't trust my daughter-in-law; she'd do anything for her precious Niklaus. You know it."

"Rebekah is her sire! She would not betray her this way!" Pacari argued. "They are like sisters."

"Are you so certain?" Mikael asked slyly.

No, he wasn't. Caroline had always been unpredictable. He had grown to admire and like her, though he had never fully trusted her. But this was Mikael.

"So, what, are you offering me a deal? I help you kill Klaus and you help me find Rebekah?" he asked. He'd never do it.

"It's a charming idea, but no. You'd never help me kill Niklaus - you know my daughter would never forgive you. She is inexplicably loyal to that beast," Mikael sighed. "Though I crave his death, it is something he possesses that is my immediate concern."

Pacari snorted. "Your 'immediate concern' has always been hunting your children, especially Klaus."

"Times change."

He arched an eyebrow at the ancient vampire.

"You're a vampire-witch hybrid, emphasis on the witch. If you help me track this item, I will free Rebekah," Mikael offered. "No one will be harmed."

"I can't track items, only people."

Mikael was unfazed. "I believe there is enough life essence and magic left in the corpse to be tracked."

"You want me to track a corpse? Whose?" Then Pacari realized. "Esther's. No fucking way."

"Esther for Rebekah, Pacari."

The Incan narrowed his eyes. "I don't trust you."

"You don't have to trust me. You just have to ask yourself: how badly do you want to help Rebekah? How much do you love my daughter?"

Kigali, Rwanda

1994

It was around three in the afternoon when Caroline and Klaus arrived in hell. They had already been on the continent when Abambe had contacted them. Genocide. They had left immediately to join her. Upon reaching the capital, Klaus ran off to assess the situation, while Caroline searched for her progeny. The permeating stench of war haunted Kigali. Death, decay, blood, gore – all on open display everywhere she turned. It was sickening. The sounds were even worse. The pleas for help were punctuated by rounds of gunshots and screams of terror. Smoke crept out of every crevice; in every sense of the word, Rwanda was on fire.

Caroline finally found Abambe on a cliffside overlooking the city. She was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, silently observing the chaos below with a stillness only possessed by vampires who had lived long enough to witness many catastrophes.

"Isn't it incomprehensible?" she asked her sire as she approached.

"Yes," Caroline said solemnly. "Nik's investigating, but I caught enough on my way here."

Abambe did not turn around. "Have you seen that photograph of a child crouching in the Sahara? She's malnourished to the point of deformity. A vulture watches her. It's waiting for the inevitable. You wonder if it will feed on the child before she's even died – that's how close to death the pitiful creature is."

"Everyone's seen that picture."

"You would never have been able to take the shot, Caroline."

"No. I wouldn't have."

"Ah, but without that picture, would anyone have cared about what's happening here?" Abambe asked rhetorically. "Do you think the photographer was trying to incite action? Or was he just chasing a shot?"

"Does it matter? Like you said, it affected change, whatever his motivations were."

Caroline joined her progeny on the tree trunk and they sat in silence, observing the chaos below.

"It wasn't far from here that you turned me," Abambe murmured. "I was a queen. Queen Abambe."

"I was astounded by your strength and poise; the way you inspired your people. You were special," Caroline said. "I felt compelled to save you from a mortal life. Preserve you."

"Bless you, Caroline, you're always trying to save someone, aren't you?" Abambe said; it wasn't a compliment. "And how do we save humanity from itself? These people are murdering and raping and pillaging… Time and again, this is what humans do to each other."

"I don't know the answer to that, Abambe," the hybrid answered sadly. "I wish I did."

Abambe sighed and fell silent once more. Caroline's enhanced vision took in the burning fires and fresh corpses. The stench was drifting up the cliff, aided by the cloying humidity. Abambe's ebony-colored skin glistened in the heat.

"We'll take as many girls as we can to the school," Caroline vowed.

Abambe let out a dry, humorless laugh and stood up, restless. "That is like slapping a Band-Aid on an amputation," she murmured as she gazed down at the horrific scene.

Caroline bit her lip.

When Abambe turned, Caroline could see it in her eyes – the detachment, the despair, the acceptance.

"Forgive me for just now – you have done an extraordinary thing with Des Cendres," she said solemnly. "Never give up on it. The more girls trained there, the less death in the world; I have always believed that."

"Abambe?" Caroline questioned, unwilling to let her mind accept what her heart understood.

The vampire smiled, and her white teeth gleamed in the unrelenting sunlight. "When Kol wakes up, you need to forgive him," she instructed. "He mourned those girls. He paid for his mistakes. Poor Kol has always seen you for who you truly are. It was disappointing to both of us when you lost yourself for a time. You are extraordinary, Caroline. It has been a privilege knowing you."

Caroline jumped to her feet.

"ABAMBE – NO!" she shrieked.

But it was too late. Abambe ripped off her lapis lazuli necklace and threw it over the side of the cliff. It was not immediate – the sun took its time, as if questioning the ancient vampire's decision. Caroline stumbled to her side and grabbed her arms, which were only just starting to smoke. She forced nature to bend to her will in her desperation, protecting her progeny from the deadly sunlight with her magic. Holding off the inevitable.

"You have to let me go, Care," Abambe insisted.

Caroline shook her head angrily, bitter tears filling her eyes as she stared into the all-knowing brown gaze of her friend, the first vampire she had ever turned.

Abambe gently kissed the blond's forehead and pried her fingers off her arm.

"I'm ready," she whispered into Caroline's ear.

Slowly, with aching sadness and despair, the hybrid allowed the vampire to break her grip. As soon as her hands came off Abambe's skin, her magic ceased protecting the vampire. Caroline's entire body shook as she backed away, the tears now cascading down her pale cheeks.

The flames quickly engulfed Abambe, but she did not cry out. She kept her gaze focused on the sun as she burnt. Within minutes, it was over. She had returned to dust.

Across the city, Klaus knew something was wrong. Intuition told him to follow his wife's scent. When he found her, she was kneeling beside Abambe's ashes, clutching her discarded lapis lazuli necklace to her breast and openly weeping. He crouched down to pull her into his arms, running his hands over her hair and arms soothingly as her slender frame trembled from the shock.

"NO! No, no, no, no, no. NO!" she wailed, choking on her tears.

"Let it out, sweetheart," he said, his voice choked with grief.

The scream of bloodcurdling agony disturbed birds in treetops miles away.

Central Chile

1998

"They will yield a smoky flavor profile with hints of black cherry, espresso, and chocolate. If you're looking for a bolder profile, I would suggest ageing it in-" the vintner continued in a monotone voice, but Rebekah zoned out. Gita poked her side.

"He's trying to teach you something about the vineyard you just purchased," the younger vampire muttered snidely. "You're fulfilling stereotypes about dumb blonds right now."

"I didn't raise you to be a bitch, Gita," Rebekah scolded under her breath.

Gita smirked at the Original. "Yes, you did."

Rebekah turned back towards the old man, who had yet to realize he'd lost his audience. "Don't push me. Besides, I already know most of this; I just wanted a second opinion."

Gita rolled her eyes. "I'm your second opinion."

"Please. Like you know anything about wine. Don't make me laugh."

"Ouch," Gita murmured with a grin.

The vintner pushed two glasses filled with dark liquid across the rustic table and blinked at them owlishly.

Gita threw back her portion without a moment's hesitation. "Ah, yes. Smoky."

Rebekah looked at her adopted daughter in disdain before picking up her own glass and swirling it carefully. "Not a bloody thing."

Less than an hour later, she was showing the vintner out and trying to get him to stop talking about the health of her soil. It was sunset by the time he was backing down the driveway. She found Gita in the grand living room, going through salutation to the sun reps.

"Gods, I thought he'd never leave," Gita breathed out.

Rebekah threw herself into the leather couch and grabbed a magazine.

"Shh. Talking during yoga is frowned upon," she said as she flipped through the magazine. It was about wine, of course. With a huff, she threw it back on the end table. Gita laughed at her and twisted her body into a pretzel-like form on the floor.

"If you don't really care about winemaking, why did you buy this place?" she asked.

Rebekah laid down to close her eyes. "What else am I supposed to do all bloody day? I thought running a business would be a welcome distraction. But all this talk about grapes is giving me a migraine. And I don't get migraines."

"Maybe if you confronted your problems, your misery would abate," Gita replied. Her back cracked as she twisted.

"And Caroline called me this morning," the Original said. "They're in Santiago. Doesn't Nik realize by now I want nothing to do with him?"

"Perhaps Caroline wanted to be near you. She's still upset about Abambe," Gita suggested, her expression growing somber as she thought of her late friend; Abambe had run the school for centuries. Now, the responsibility had fallen upon Emmeline and herself.

Rebekah sobered. "She'll never really recover from that. But we compartmentalize. We have to."

Gita stretched into child's pose.

"My family is a psychiatrist's nightmare," the blond mused. "Or more like, greatest challenge ever."

"Hmm. Maybe if you confronted your problems, your misery would abate," Gita repeated cheerfully.

"Nobody can judge an internal injury by the size of the superficial wound," Rebekah murmured, "by the hole."

The Indian vampire frowned. "Is that a quote?"

Rebekah response was to cross the room, pull a worn paperback from the bookcase, and toss it at her friend. Gita caught it deftly, gazing down at the cover. It was The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie.

"What does this have to do with anything?"

Rebekah collapsed back into the couch and closed her eyes. "'The inexplicable inwardness of the issue.' You expecting me to forgive Niklaus is the same as someone expecting Caroline to forgive Kol. If Emmeline, the great love of your life, called tomorrow and said as punishment for a fight she razed your henna tree, would you say, 'No big deal, sweetheart?'"

Gita pondered this. She had planted that henna tree at the site that would be become one of the inner courtyards of Des Cendres. She had nurtured it for centuries - she had no words for what its continual existence meant to her.

"It would be hard," she started slowly, "but I would try to find forgiveness. I know from experience revenge is not for me. I could not live with such anger inside of me."

The Original pulled a pillow over her head with a sigh.

Caroline's breath caught as soon as she opened the bathroom door. Dozens of vanilla candles in glass holders had been placed all over the dimly lit room. Soft music played on a hidden radio. There were rose petals trailing across the floor and floating in the enormous claw-foot tub. And sitting inside the tub was a bubble-covered present, all for her. He was holding two flutes of champagne.

"What's the occasion?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

Nik smiled at her sweetly. "I love you."

She giggled and slid the robe off her body. His eyes darkened as he took her in.

"You see this every day," she told him as she walked across the room.

"Never enough," he muttered.

She stepped into the tub and stared down at him. Already, he was hardening.

"What am I going to do with you, husband?" she wondered, running her hand down her flat stomach.

"I wouldn't be opposed to you taking advantage of me," he quipped. "I love a good ravaging."

She reached down and took one of the flutes. She looked him in the eye as she took a sip and swallowed slowly. His gaze wandered to her throat. She raised the glass to her lips again, but this time, she let the champagne fall to the side of her mouth and onto her chin. The light-gold beads trickled down her throat to her chest, trailing over her taut nipple before dropping into the warm water.

He started to raise himself out of the tub, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"I thought you wanted me to take advantage of you?" she demanded playfully.

He fell back against the edge of the tub with a groan. She smirked and then leant over him to smell his hair, purposefully placing her breasts in his face.

"You've been sooo good lately. Not even a little bit naughty. I think all that good behavior should be rewarded, don't you?" she asked.

He nodded helplessly. She took the other flute out of his hand.

"Open your mouth," she breathed into his ear.

He obeyed. With careful precision, she poured a small amount into his mouth. As he swallowed, she slid her hand under the water and stroked his cock. She continued the little game until the flute was empty. She set it on the floor and smiled at him.

"Very good," she hummed, placing her hands on either side of the tub and taking a big breath before submerging herself underwater. She licked his tip, then took him fully in her mouth, playing with his balls simultaneously. When she knew he was close, she pulled away abruptly and stood up, the water falling off of her naked form.

"I thought I was being rewarded," he huffed out, but she knew he wasn't really complaining. He loved foreplay.

She ran her fingers across her thighs before rubbing her nub gently, staring down at him.

He shifted in the water. She applied more pressure, making herself clench as she swirled and massaged the little bundle of nerves. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but she kept her eyes locked with his. He was clearly using every ounce of restraint he had to stop from pouncing on her. She rubbed harder and gasped, her thighs trembling. Right as the first wave of pleasure ran through her, she dropped into the water, straddling him, and taking him inside her. Her orgasms continued to rip through her, and she rode him desperately, wanting the feeling to last as long as possible.

"Caroline!" he gritted out, grabbing her hips as she came endlessly. Her vision went black and white stars pinpricked the insides of her eyelids. He slapped her hands away and replaced them with his own while thrusting up into her with his rock-hard erection. Her body jolted again; every time she thought the waves were slowing, another started.

Nik raised himself on his knees and lowered her to the bottom of the tub gently, one hand splayed across her back to support her. She looked up at his face from underwater. His thrusts slowed in pace but became more forceful. He added a twist at the end. Finally, his entire frame stiffened.

"CAROLINE!" he roared, his veins webbing across his face. She heard him through the water. Finally, as he softened inside her, the last of the multiple orgasms that had ruined her faded. She went limp as he lifted her up and draped her over his torso, holding her to him as he laid back against the tub with a sigh.

They sat in silence for a long time. Neither of them needed words.

Nik pressed soft kisses into her shoulder and caressed her back as she started to drift off. She wondered what they would do in the morning. Maybe go to a museum or find some art studios. That'd be nice… Just exploring the city together…

A shrill ring shocked her awake. Nik grumbled as he stepped out of the tub and grabbed the cellphone off the counter. His eyes widened when he saw who was calling.

"I think it's for you," he said lowly, offering her the phone.

She took it with a frown and glanced at the screen before answering. "Bekah?"

"Caroline, Mikael is here!" her sire yelled through the receiver.

She met Nik's eyes across the room. He froze.

"What? What happened? Are you okay?" she demanded.

"Gita and I are running due north of the vineyard. Just get here as soon as possible, Care. I-" The connection broke.

Within seconds, Caroline was out of the tub and running around the hotel room, throwing on whatever she could find first. Nik did the same. He held out his hand when they were ready.

"Let's go," he said.

They ran faster than they ever had before. Casablanca wasn't that far from Santiago, not for two all-powerful hybrids. The night air rushed past them as the cityscape transformed into rural roads and old forest. The trees would have provided cover for Rebekah and Gita.

Please let them be okay, Caroline thought frantically. Rebekah would have slowed her pace to stay with Gita. Who knew how many vampires Mikael had with him?

"Niklaus!" a voice roared through the trees.

The hybrids recognized it instantly. Cold dread crawled across Caroline's skin as they followed the voice to a clearing. Gita was lying on the forest floor, presumably with a broken neck. A few paces away stood Rebekah. Her father was holding both her arms behind her back with one hand. The other was grasping the White Oak Stake; the tip of it placed over her heart.

"Come, Caroline. I want to negotiate," he said arrogantly, gesturing into the trees behind him.

"Why me?" she asked suspiciously.

"We've always gotten along so well, daughter," he shot back. "Come, come. Or are you willing to risk your sire's life?"

Caroline started to walk towards them, but Nik caught her arm. When she turned around, she saw he was clearly in agony, his eyes burning with hatred and resentment and fear.

"He can't hurt me, Nik," she breathed to him. "But he can hurt her."

He nodded haltingly and let go of her arm, his breathing uneven.

She turned towards Rebekah and Mikael and followed them into the trees.

As soon as his wife disappeared in the forest with his sister and stepfather, Klaus ran to Gita and kneeled beside her.

"Get up, Gita," he said urgently. He needed answers.

She moaned.

"Get away from her!"

Klaus stiffened but did not turn.

"What are you doing here, Pacari?"

"Stay away from Gita!" the Incan hybrid demanded again.

"Funny, you stumbling into us at the exact same time as Mikael," the Original Hybrid said smoothly. "A funny coincidence."

"It's not a coincidence. I brought Mikael here," Pacari said shortly.

At that, Klaus jumped to his feet and flashed towards the younger hybrid, his eyes apoplectic with rage.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

Pacari did not even blink. "I made a deal with Mikael. I help him find Esther, and he helps me find Rebekah. I know you never un-daggered her."

"Esther? You blithering idiot, Rebekah is not daggered! Mikael just took her hostage, along with my WIFE!" Klaus screamed into his face.

A look of uncertainty darkened Pacari's expression. "No. We made a deal."

Klaus spit on the ground. "You thought you could trust Mikael?"

Before Pacari could utter another word, Klaus flashed towards the sound of his wife's voice.

"I don't know where he keeps the coffins!" Caroline was yelling as he flitted through the trees.

"Lying doesn't suit you, Caroline," Mikael drawled. "Do you not love Rebekah enough?"

Rebekah's fearful eyes caught his as he approached.

"I thought I told you to stay away, boy," Mikael snarled without looking at him.

"Don't you know by now I never listen?" Klaus snapped back coolly. "What's all this talk about coffins?"

"Your wife is pretending she doesn't know where you've hidden your mother's body. But that's fine; it's easier this way. More direct. Where is Esther's coffin, Niklaus? Answer me, and your sister goes free."

"What do you want with her corpse?" Klaus asked cautiously. They'd been expecting something like this; in fact, it was why they always brought Esther's casket with them when they traveled. It was not so long ago they'd learned from the Berlin coven that Mikael sought Esther's body, most likely to resurrect her.

"That need not concern you," Mikael said. "Pacari tracked it to Santiago, but then lost its location. I assume the duchess here concealed it once it was no longer in transit."

Rebekah's eyes widened at the mention of Pacari, but she said nothing.

Klaus weighed his options. Caroline would probably be able to disarm him, but she also would be afraid to risk anything with the stake pressed into her best friend's chest. It wasn't worth it. They lost this round. His fists clenched and he stared up at the stars furiously. There was nothing he wanted less than Esther coming back from the dead.

"A storage unit on San Mateo and Los Apostoles," he ground out.

"The number, if you please."

Klaus hissed in fury. "721."

Mikael smirked. "My thanks."

He shoved Rebekah into Caroline's arms and ran forward, the stake pointed at his son's heart.

"NO!" Pacari yelled, stepping into the clearing with his arms raised. He telepathically tossed Mikael away, slamming him into a boulder. Mikael shot back up to his feet with a smirk.

"Thus, ends our deal."

"You lied," Pacari growled at him.

Mikael shrugged. "I did what I had to. Thank you for your services. I'm much obliged."

Without another word, he flashed away. A small army of his vampires and witches closed in to prevent them from following him.

The quartet got to work.

A heavy silence fell over the group once the last of Mikael's minions had been dispatched. Rebekah stared at Pacari in hurt and confusion and anger while he avoided her eyes.

How could he join my father? she thought furiously. It didn't make any sense.

"Um. Gita should be awake by now," Caroline muttered, glancing between Rebekah and Pacari. She grabbed Nik's arm and pulled him back towards the clearing where Gita had been knocked out.

"You've been working with Mikael?" Rebekah finally said in an accusatory tone.

Pacari nodded with a miserable look on his face.

"You know what my father has done to me! To my family!" she cried.

"I thought Klaus had gone back on his word and never taken the dagger out," he argued. "I've run into Caroline and Klaus many times since the war, but never saw you. I started to get suspicious that they were lying about you being awake."

"You believed Mikael over Caroline? She's your sire!" Rebekah screeched.

"I've never fully trusted Caroline. I forgave her for her actions, but I never forgot them," he admitted quietly.

Rebekah narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you trust her now?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Irrefutably."

"Nik took the dagger out in 1945. I haven't been able to forgive him yet, but he did do as he said," she snapped, gesturing to herself. "Obviously."

"I know, I see!" he rushed out. "But I was so worried. He was out of control a few decades ago, when you were still desiccated."

Rebekah bit her lip and forced herself not to cry. "I can't believe you would do this to me. You know Mikael is our greatest enemy. I told you all about him – remember, when we were married? Mikael almost just killed me and my brother! He's gotten away with Esther's body, and who knows what he'll bloody do with that!"

He bowed his head in shame. "There is no excuse for my actions."

"Why can't you just let me go, Pacari?" she asked tiredly, knowing the hurt it would cause him.

She was wrong. She had underestimated the pain her words would inflict. His face contorted with self-hatred and he fell to his knees. She almost went to him. Almost.

"I am at your service, Bekah. You shall decide my punishment. Do you wish for me to kill myself? I will do it. Find some silver, and I will shove it into my heart," he said hollowly.

She took a steadying breath and unfurled her fists.

"No."

"No?"

"I don't want you to die, Pacari. I could never wish that," she confessed as hot tears fell from her eyes.

"What should I do then? I can go into exile; you won't have to see me for a thousand years if you wish," he offered.

"I want you to go to the school," she murmured.

Pacari looked up at her in surprise. "The school?"

"I think you should put your many talents and vast knowledge to use. Go to Des Cendres. Caroline would be happy to have you as one of her teachers," she continued, rubbing her knuckles across her cheeks and trying to control the tremors running through her.

"If that is your wish, then it is done. I'll leave tonight," he swore, rising to his feet.

She cleared her throat. "Good. Gita was returning soon, anyway. She'll go with you."

He nodded wordlessly and made to join the others in the clearing.

"Pacari!"

He turned and waited. Rebekah's eyes brushed over him, taking in his penetrating black eyes and beautiful russet skin. He was taller than her, but not by much. A strong nose and jawline. Thick lips that had once kissed her countless times a day. Tattooed arms that had once held her possessively as she slept. Black hair that curled when it dried in the sunlight. Fine, tapered fingers that held the memory of her body, the secrets to her pleasure. As she appraised him in the moonlight, she remembered when she first laid eyes on him, dying of a snakebite in the Amazon rainforest.

I don't regret saving him. I could never. I still love him. That's why it hurts this much.

"Bekah?" he questioned, taking a step towards her. Unbidden, a Nirvana lyric flashed across his mind. My heart is broke but I have some glue.

She set her jaw. "Good-bye, Pacari."

Ural Mountains

Siberia, Russia

1999

"Enough! It is done."

The witches lowered their arms at the command.

In the wake of the battle, dozens of bodies lay strewn across the abandoned cathedral. Grime and gore congealed on the floor. The dying's last breaths wisped into the air, past the towering stained-glass windows and disappearing in the rotting rafters of the vaulted ceiling. Their souls would be next.

Cecile broke away from her coven to approach the Traveler leader as he choked on his own blood.

"Mor-M-M-Morganne," he wheezed when she kneeled beside him and regarded him apathetically.

"D'Ebanne, Morganne - whichever you'd like," she said. "But yes. That is who destroyed your coven, your cult."

"The Travelers p-preserved and p-p-protected. You will bring ab-about the end of days-s-s," he rasped.

"My coven is perfectly capable of protecting the Anchor."

"You don't understand what you're dealing with. The p-power, the duty…"

"It is time to stop underestimating us, no?" Cecile said, gesturing to the dead and the dying surrounding them. "Your coven thought itself above the codes of witchcraft, and yet attempted to foist your authority on others, hindering progress. You have stolen souls and bodies and lorded over the Other Side. No more. Your days are done."

"Y-you have to c-consider the f-f-f-fate of th-the world-"

"You killed my husband," Cecile interrupted frankly.

"Re-venge..."

"I would never deny I sought vengeance. But coincidentally, the supernatural community urged us to act, claiming your cult was too dangerous to endure. We had a converging of motives; kismet, if you will."

He blinked at her with startlingly grey eyes, like the color of winter storm clouds. The lids moved too slow. His time was up. Whatever he intended to say next, she'd never know. His body's systems were failing him. He sucked in a shallow, ineffectual breath – the death rattle. His body seized then went limp.

It didn't take them long to find it. As soon as the Travelers had realized the Ebanne Coven had found them, they must have hastened to hide the box.

It was a pine packing box about six feet tall and three feet wide. Nondescript. Someone found a crowbar to wedge under the lid. It took two men heaving strenuously before it gave way. Dust motes erupted from the interior and the coven moved in to get a better look.

Cecile brushed the wood wool out of the way and frowned when their prize was revealed. Her coven murmured in unease.

"A statue-"

"That's the Anchor-?"

"Why are the eyes shut?"

"So strange. A standing, sleeping statue-"

Cecile stared at the eerie stone figure. The subject was a beautiful young woman with delicate features and flowing hair. Her hands were clasped in repose over her toga. The craftsmanship and attention to detail was impeccable.

"Pack it up. We're taking it back to Auxor."

A/N: Ah! Three chapters left! Thank you all so much for reading, following, and reviewing! Whenever I get a review, I'm inspired to write more.

Know this one's a bit gritty and melancholic, but it was essential for character development.

Oi. ~ L