Kiitos paljon! (Apologies, Finland, if this is not correct, I had to google it ;))

And sorry for being so mean yesterday... but I had to break this into two chapters. I'm quite sure most of you have already figured out what happened, so without further ado, on to the moment of truth...

Again, thanks so very much to everyone who reads/reviews/favourites/follows!

xx

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

DUNGEONS, PART II

FRANCE, 15th CENTURY

Tempest was chasing the wind, and for moments at a time it almost seemed he might capture it. We were no longer horse and rider now, and our customary battle for dominance had subsided hours ago. Flying over the fields, we had become an entity. The few passers-by we encountered gaped at us open-mouthed, for the pitch-black horse with the hooded man melted onto its back was a truly spectacular yet disconcerting sight, and more than one peasant crossed himself when we flew by.

I was bursting with energy. All my worries forgotten for now, I felt more alive than ever, racing along the Loire with the wind on my face and the powerful horse beneath me. It was in moments like this when I embraced what I was the most. I no longer heard my mother's poison-filled voice hissing at me that I was an aberration of nature. Nor did I see my stepfather's face, blazing with hatred when he looked at me, the constant reminder of his failure to control his wife. There was no scheming, no war, no fighting. No, all of this was gone now. There was just exhilaration and speed.

When we arrived at Tiffauges, we were both pleasantly exhausted from the strenuous ride. A pale boy approached us cautiously and held out his hand for the reins when I jumped off my horse. I pushed the boy's hand away and dismissed him. "You would regret it, lad. I shall do it myself. Go and announce my arrival to your master. I am Niklaus, Count Mikaelson." We had all long since learned that aristocracy dealt with aristocracy only, which was why Elijah had compelled every single English ruler since the days of Henry II Plantagenet in the 12th century to recognize the titles Henry had bestowed on all of us back then. In other European countries, it was even easier as no one ever dared to doubt foreign aristocrats' titles. My siblings and I had never aspired for any rank higher than that of counts and countess, as that would invariably draw too much attention and might aid Mikael in tracking us down. Still, in our dealings with members of the aristocracy, titles were imperative.

The boy bowed and kept his eyes on the ground while pointing into the direction of a large cluster of beeches to his right. "Monsieur le Comte will find the stables behind the trees. The first bay has been prepared for your horse, Votre Grandeur." I nodded and led Tempest in the indicated direction.

A few hours later, after I had rested and refreshed myself in the exaggeratingly generous chamber I had been shown to, a servant arrived to inform me that the Baron was expecting me for dinner in the grand hall. I waved him away, examining myself carefully in one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors the room seemed to be built of. It was not out of vanity that I assessed my physical appearance more closely than usual. No, this was sheer tactics. The Baron was widely known for his exuberant, lavish lifestyle, and he needed to recognize me as a kindred spirit, which meant that the most refined garments were in order. If the rumours about the warlock at his side were true, there was a faint possibility for compulsion not to work. I had to be prepared for any contingency, even if I had to work my way into Gilles de Rais' secrets the old-fashioned way – with charm, finesse and cunning. Real mind games were not to be expected, as the Baron was not exactly famed for his sharp wit.

I walked down the impressive flight of staircases towards the great hall, en passant admiring some of the Baron's vast collection of paintings. One of them caught my eye, and I stopped to examine it more closely. It was a beautiful Russian Icon, covered in gold, depicting three angels gathered round a table. My breath caught, and I thought, 'Impossible!'. I had heard of this work, but word was that it had mysteriously disappeared shortly after the artist, a Russian named Andrei Rublev, had finished it. Still captured by the sheer mystery about this ethereal work of art, I heard a faint sound and turned around.

The Baron Gilles de Rais was standing at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at me with an amused expression.

"It is indeed what you suspect, dear Monsieur le Comte," he commented in a dark, commanding voice, looking pointedly at the painting.

"Then I must congratulate you, Baron de Rais, as this is arguably the finest piece of art that has ever been known to leave the Russian realm. The Trinity… I am veritably impressed." I replied politely, inclining my head with a smile. "You must tell me over dinner how you came by it."

The Baron bowed in turn, and I descended the stairs to shake his outstretched hand, using the time to assess his appearance, just as he examined me. He was impeccably groomed, of course, with dark hair surrounding his head like a helmet, and a moustache twirled in the very latest fashion. However, his eyes were his most prominent feature. They were very dark, almost black, with something at their bottom that resembled an almost imperceptible glow of red. Had I still been human, I might have found them very disconcerting. This is what the Devil's eyes would probably look like. Well, I corrected myself, not quite. My eyes were blue after all. I smiled in anticipation. This was going to be amusing indeed.

I was as utterly mistaken as I had never been in my life.

We were but three men at the dinner table. The third man was introduced to me as one of the Baron's closest friends, a Monsieur Francesco Prelati. He was smallish, with a strangely unattractive face, his skin of a fallow complexion, and he was displaying the beginnings of a hump. The man reminded me of the monks I had happened upon in a very secluded Northern Italian Benedictine monastery almost a century ago. Never before had I beheld such an obscene gathering of ugliness, inside and out. It had been positively suffocating. When I heard that said monastery had been burned down a couple of years later, cremating almost every single monk inside its thick walls, I thought that whoever had set fire to the friary had done humanity a great service.

Prelati barely spoke during dinner, and the few words he said were uttered in an unpleasantly high-pitched timbre that was the complete opposite to de Rais' deep voice. But I could sense a strong aura surrounding him. So the first rumour turned out to be true. The Baron did indeed employ his own personal warlock, a powerful one at that, and judging by the somber energy he exuded, he was very deeply rooted in the darkest of magic. He could not kill me, but he could certainly cause minor inconveniences. And I sensed something else - a faint waft of vervain in the air. I was not overly surprised, but still – how had they known? Irksome.

Dinner conversation revolved mainly around politics, war and art as was customary in those times. De Rais was not an intelligent man, but what he lacked in intellect, he made up for in determination and a certain primitive shrewdness. I suspected the warlock to be the driving force behind his every achievement, and I idly wondered what Prelati's price for his servitude was. This was not about money or possessions. Well, if I wanted to find out, I had better start getting to the task at hand.

"So," I ventured while we were waiting for dessert to be served, "Baron de Rais, I understand Tiffauges is only one of your many stately residences. Is it here you prefer to spend most of your days?" I already knew that he did, of course, but I wanted to steer the conversation to our more immediate surroundings.

"It is indeed, Monsieur le Comte. Tiffauges offers certain… amenities not necessarily available to me at my other Châteaux. Its close proximity to the river is also of great advantage."

"How so?"

The Baron gazed at me probingly, then he replied, "You are a man of the world, Count Mikaelson. I am confident you will understand a man's need for privacy while tending to his business."

"I most certainly do."

"That is what I thought. Well, suffice it to say that the river is a necessity to me, as are a number of objects I would find difficult to carry with me on my travels." He raised his glass to his lips, drinking greedily. His speech was starting to slur very slightly. Good.

I noticed his eyes moving to Prelati's for an instant, as if searching for reassurance. Prelati remained motionless, but he lowered his lids, then looked up again. He was obviously agreeing. Ah, so we were getting somewhere!

"As I gather, Monsieur le Comte, you too are a man appreciative of privacy," the Baron stated. My eyes narrowed. Yes, he knew what I was, and it was quite clear he had not found this out by himself. The warlock could not have known either before seeing me in the flesh. Yet they were prepared. Again - who had warned them?

"Are there not aspects to everyone's life that are best kept in the dark?" I answered calmly.

"Very aptly put, Monsieur le Comte. And word has it that you consider yourself quite at home in the darkness, do you not?"

I smiled rather viciously at his pathetic attempt to make me of all people reveal myself to him. He may be a Marshall of France, but he was dumb, arrogant and obvious.

"I like to think of myself as a man whose home is wherever the mood takes him. I neither accept nor respect any boundaries. And this is something that I believe to also be true for you, Baron de Rais, if I am not mistaken."

"You are not. Mundane human limitations do not apply to me either. It seems we are of kindred minds."

"Is that so. And how is it, pray tell, that human limitations do not apply to you, dear Baron?" I asked, genuinely amused now. What a presumptuous imbecile. I noticed Prelati shifting in his chair, apparently nervous. With good reason too, as he had better not forget in whose presence he was currently dining.

"If you will allow, Monsieur le Comte, I shall entertain you with a small demonstration after dinner. I am certain you will find it most enlightening. But here comes our dessert. I do sincerely hope it will be to your liking, as it was created in your honour."

I inclined my head, hiding a satisfied smile. A demonstration. Was he actually deranged enough to go about his purported perversities in front of a witness? Or did he delude himself into thinking that being what I was, I might enjoy them? I may have been a great number of things, most of them evil, but neither was I perverse nor did I consider the torture of children entertaining. A fleeting thought of Henrik crossed my mind. My youngest brother had been mauled to death by a werewolf, and it had been my fault. I had loved him so much, more than any of my other siblings, and there had been a very strong and particular bond between us, but I had not been able to protect him as I was supposed to, still being a mere human. His agonized screams haunted my frequent nightmares to this day, and even after more than four hundred years, the guilt and pain had not completely subsided. No child deserved to suffer like that.

I pushed the thoughts away as dessert was served, an elaborate arrangement of fruit and pastries.

"Baron de Rais, please do convey my sincere compliments to your chef. Dinner was exquisite, and this creation looks spectacular indeed."

"I most certainly will." He raised his goblet, and I mirrored his action. Prelati was not drinking, and his nervousness seemed to increase. I lifted the fork and speared one of the pastries. The Baron had also begun to eat, so I took the little cake into my mouth and swallowed it whole.

Suddenly, the room began to spin and my mouth and throat felt like being torn apart with a dagger. I could no longer breathe. That bloody French bastard had vervained me! Could he really be that stupid? The warlock must have told him I could not be killed, so what was the meaning of this? Did he have a death wish? Well, I would be more than happy to oblige - they were dead men, and they would die slowly and painfully. From the look of them, they would probably squeal like swine.

Christ, the pain in my throat was getting more and more unbearable. Trying to get up from my chair, I felt my legs give and crashed to the floor. The last thing I saw was Prelati standing over me, arms outstretched, murmuring some kind of spell. The only word I could make out was 'immobilitas'.

Then everything went black.

When I awoke, I found myself in a chair, bound to its armrests with ropes that burned into my skin. Vervain again. My throat was no longer burning, so they apparently hadn't forced any poisoned food or drink on me. Wanting to shake my head to chase away the remnants of the daze that engulfed me, I found I could not move. Puzzled, I tried to lift my arms and feet – to no avail. I focused on thinking logically, trying to find a clue to what had happened. They vervained me, I fell, Prelati was mumbling…

'Immobilitas'.

The wretched warlock had used an immobilization spell on me. A slight rush of anxiety flashed through my body. Loss of control was not something I was overly fond of, not that I really had anything to fear. I closed my eyes, quickly concentrating on the beautiful Russian icon I had beheld earlier today. Going over every detail of the painting, I felt my mind settle and the disquietude disappear. Instead, I busied myself with focusing on what I would do to Prelati when this was over. Most spells were of a temporary nature back then, as magic like all things was still developing, so I would be free within a few hours. A day perhaps.

He had signed his death sentence before, but now he was not only to die painfully, he was going to suffer like no one in history ever had. I would keep him alive and sentient long enough to drive him into full-fledged madness from the pain.

While I was making a mental list of adequate torture devices and considering giving Kol an opportunity to live out his ever-present aggressions on Prelati and de Rais for a while, I heard a door creak open.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Monsieur le Comte," the Baron's dark voice sounded from somewhere behind me. "But I do not appreciate any disturbances during my little demonstration, which I am certain you will understand once we have begun." He had come around my chair and was facing me now. I could only roll my eyes. The Baron chuckled. "Oh, I forgot that you are not able to speak either. It does seem that you have found boundaries after all, have you not?"

He was mocking me. He dared to mock me! I would have to invent new tortures, for I could not think of a known method that would satisfy my raging desire to inflict pain on this man. He could apparently read it in my eyes, as he staggered back and stared at me, fear plain on his face. I would have laughed had I been able to. De Rais was so obviously a coward and so obviously deluded into believing that his warlock would keep him safe from anything that it would be more than delightful to watch him beg for his death.

The door creaked open again, and I could hear two pairs of footsteps. A man and a child. "Ah, there you are, Francesco. Right in time, as our esteemed guest has just joined us again. Now let us see what you brought us tonight, shall we?" There was a greedy undertone to his cheerful voice.

Prelati came into my peripheral view, dragging along a frightened-looking peasant boy of no more than eight or maybe nine summers. He was fair-haired, very skinny and his eyes seemed to bulge out of the sockets. The warlock pushed him towards de Rais, who roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him into the faint light of the candles to examine him more closely.

"Very nice indeed, Francesco. You just know me too well, do you not?" He winked at the warlock, then gazed at the lad again, a voracious desire in his black eyes. He ran his hand over the boy's hair and patted his cheek, purring "You will like it, young one. Well, at least in the beginning. I am not so certain about the rest." The boy's eyes grew even larger, but he kept bravely silent, and my stomach gave a twist. I tried to force my body to obey me and move, but it was futile.

I was condemned to watch. Sick to my fingertips, I kept my eyes locked on the doomed lad's the entire time. There was nothing other I could do than try to silently convey to him that he was not alone in here and that I was going to make this completely deranged madman pay a hundred times over. Somehow, I had a feeling that the boy seemed to understand. He never took his eyes from me, and I could see it gave him strength. Hours later, after his screams had long since died away and the remains of his body had been carelessly tossed into a corner of the room, I still stared at the spot where the light in his eyes had finally subsided.

Another while later, I heard footsteps again. It was Prelati, and he was alone this time. I watched him in utter disgust. He had not touched the boy after dragging him into the room, but I had seen the pleasure in his eyes as he had witnessed the scene. He had been thoroughly enjoying himself, and I gathered that this was his price. He wanted to be here, to witness his master's depravity. He may have been a warlock, but he was also a very sick man.

Approaching me, he took out a small knife and a goblet. Without a word, he made a cut to my forearm and let my blood pour into the goblet. I narrowed my eyes at him. What was he planning to do with it? After a minute, he took the goblet and walked to a small table that had escaped my notice so far and where a similar cup was already waiting. He poured my blood into the second goblet, took up what looked to be his grimoire and started mumbling a spell. I could make out a couple of words like 'frater', 'resuscitare', 'dolor' and 'speculum'. What, was he going to revive his brother to join the amusement?

I was starting to become increasingly frustrated at my paralysis and had just started to envision the next painting to tame my impatience when the warlock left the chambers and did not return for a while. Once he did, he came straight to me, goblet in hand. I looked at him, my eyes blazing with menace, and he did recoil for a second. Then he moved closer again, forced my lips apart and shoved the goblet between them. My eyes narrowed further, but I had no choice than to swallow the contents. I could taste my own blood, mixed with someone else's and some other ingredients I could not quite place.

When Prelati pulled the goblet away, I felt a fine line of blood dripping from my mouth. For a moment, nothing happened. But I was not fooled – he was a very capable warlock, and whatever he had concocted would show its effect on me soon. And I was right. At first, there was just a delicate haze, descending on my sight like a cloud and blurring my vision. I felt a coldness sneaking up inside me and I knew that whatever would be coming, I would not like it.

There were noises outside, a wail and what sounded like a slap. The door opened, and I felt my daze increasing. Something was really wrong, but my head could not hold on to any coherent thoughts for long. Not only did I not have any control over my body, but my mind was now failing me as well. I felt completely helpless, and I despised the feeling. I could hear de Rais and another child entering the room. God, not again!

De Rais turned to face me, and in a rather theatrical gesture, he pulled the child from behind him and shoved him towards me. Through my blurred eyesight, I could see a boy with dark long hair and big bluish-grey eyes. Just like mine.

HENRIK!

No! Henrik had been dead for over four hundred years! He had died in my arms! But it was him, there was no doubt, I would recognize my baby brother even after eons, his face had never faded in my memories. An expression of deep joy appeared on his features as he recognized me. He looked at me with those trusting eyes I remembered so distinctly and whispered, "Nik?". It broke my heart to hear his voice after so many centuries, and the fear in his tone all but made me want to scream. It broke my heart to hear his voice after so many centuries, and the fear in his tone all but made me want to scream. He expected me to pull him from the Baron's grip and bring him to safety, of course. My eyes went from Henrik to de Rais, and I saw the same sickening, deranged want in his face that had been directed at the other boy earlier.

NO! NO! Not this! Not Henrik! No! Please, no! Gods, I needed to move! It felt like my head was going to burst from how desperately I tried to force myself to break away from this spell. I closed my eyes for an instant, trying to concentrate and somehow conjure up some magic of my own. My mother had been a witch after all, so there must be something of her power inside me as well, mustn't there?

I could not do it.

Sitting in the chair, as paralyzed as I had been before, I stared at Henrik, whom de Rais was now yanking towards the chains dangling from the ceiling. He snapped the shackles closed around Henrik's wrists, all the while my brother's eyes never left me. Accusing, questioning, frightened. De Rais stepped towards the table and was apparently choosing an instrument from the stately selection, while Prelati just stood and watched, a sick greed in his eyes. The Baron returned with an indented knife, giving me a crazed smile as he approached Henrik.

I tried. Heavens, how I tried! Cursing the Gods and begging them at the same time, I nearly went mad. Maybe I even did for a while. My little Henrik, my beloved brother whom I had already lost once and mourned for centuries, whom, as a young man, I had sworn to protect and failed so miserably. Here he was, not ten feet away, waiting for me to finally be true to my oath. Everything inside me screamed, howled and burst with panic.

I watched my baby brother being cut open, torn apart, beaten, violated. His horrific screams were filling the room, his eyes were on me. They were full of hate, of loathing, and he was so right to hate me!

Everything that happened to him happened to me. The spell was mirroring all of Henrik's pain in me. Every blow, every cut that was inflicted on him was inflicted on me simultaneously, but I did not notice the pain, and even if I had, I would not have cared. Henrik stared at me while de Rais tortured him in ways I hadn't known existed, again and again. I went through everything he had to endure, but I should have gone through a thousand years' worth of pain and violence because I could not move. I was so utterly useless. And I was a traitor. My only aim in life had ever been to protect my family, and I had betrayed them yet again. My baby brother… it was my fault, just as it had been centuries ago.

Then my mind went blank and I shut everything out. I closed my eyes.

I left Henrik to die alone.

He was silent for a very long while. "Hours after it was over, Elijah found me. He had been uneasy about my trip in the first place, and contrary to mine, his intuition had not failed him. He took me away from the dungeon, and we were about to leave when I heard my horse. And then there was…"

"Your stepfather. He killed Tempest. He was behind everything that happened that day."

"How…?"

Caroline cleared her throat. "Elijah told me. Please don't be mad at him, I kind of begged him to tell me. But he didn't know what really happened to you in there."

"I never mentioned Henrik to him. Not once. He has no idea. He would hate me for the rest of eternity."

Caroline was staring at him, ignoring the silent tears that were streaming down her face. His voice was broken and he wasn't able to look her in the eyes.

"Klaus," she whispered, horror-stricken, "he would not! Never! Oh God, I don't know what to say to you. I have no words…"

"No words to tell me what a good-for-nothing failure I am? Please, do not strain yourself, go right ahead," he snarled and started to get up. Caroline grabbed his hands and pulled him back.

"Are you nuts? Klaus, none of this was your fault! You were immobilized, for crying out loud, what were you supposed to do? You could not move, you could not speak, and you had to watch! What on Earth makes you think you failed your brother?"

"It was my duty," he all but screamed. "I was his older brother, and I had already let him die once! Whatever the circumstances, it was my responsibility to look after him! Instead, I let him be violated, tortured and killed! And I…" his voice cracked. Caroline pulled him into her arms, ignoring his half-hearted resistance. She let them both fall back onto the bed and wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could, pulling his head onto her shoulder like she had done back in Tromsø and entwining her legs with his. "You what?" she asked very softly.

"I closed my eyes, Caroline! I was not with him when he died. I abandoned my baby brother because I could not bear to see the hate in his eyes! And I never mourned, not once in six hundred years, because I was too much of a coward to face the memories!"

Without a warning, Klaus buried his face in the curve of her shoulder and started to cry.

He wept forever. Caroline's heart broke for him with each desolate sob, every inconsolable tear, and it mended with all the times he pulled her close, with every desperate touch of his hands to her hair, her face, her hands. She did not utter a word, holding him and letting him make up for six hundred years of suppressed mourning. How could he even think it had been his fault? The mere thought of what he had gone through made her spill another round of silent tears. No wonder he didn't even want to see her in that cursed room! She conjured the visions Prelati had given her; how desperate had she been because she hadn't been able to move so much as her toe to help Klaus while he was being tortured! And how much worse must it have been for Klaus.

At some point in the middle of the night, he began to gradually calm down. Caroline was stroking his neck, her cheek resting against his hair, when he whispered, "You did not leave."

She squeezed her eyes shut. How much did this man loathe himself to think that she would actually leave because of something that was not even his fault to begin with? "I told you so."

He lifted himself onto his elbows and looked at her for the first time in what seemed to have been hours. "Should you not be appalled, horrified, disgusted?"

"I am. I can't even begin to tell you how much. Prelati, de Rais and that monster of your stepfather are the worst kinds of lowlife imaginable! There isn't an adequate word in the English language to aptly describe them!"

"What about… me?"

She sighed. "Klaus, I can only repeat myself. None of this was your fault, and no one on the face of the Earth would ever blame you for what happened to Henrik. Except you, of course." She paused. "Why didn't you turn it off? If anyone ever had reason to, it would have been you after that. So why didn't you?"

"I left my brother alone, I let him die. The least I could do was to go through the ordeal of suppressing the memories myself, of needing decades, even centuries to really bring them under control." He shook his head. "It did not even come close to what I would have deserved to suffer through instead."

Caroline's eyes widened. "You never turned it off so you could punish yourself?"

He didn't answer. She touched his cheek with her fingertips, seeing his eyes close at her caress. So vulnerable, so strong, so flawed, so… Klaus. Caroline, come on now. You feel it, you have felt it for a while, so admit it already.

She stiffened as the final realization hit home. This was it for her. She would never recover from Klaus. And that thought was so beautiful, it plain terrified her.

He stared at her now, sensing a change in her but obviously not knowing what to make of it. When she didn't speak, he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Elijah would certainly agree with me, as would my other siblings."

Plunge in. Head on. "They most definitely would not. Not only because this wasn't your fault, Klaus, but because they have the same issue I am facing when it comes to you."

He gazed at her, raising an eyebrow. "And what issue, pray tell, would that be?"

She cocked her head and shrugged lightly. "They love you."

Silence. He straightened up, his whole body going completely rigid. There was not the slightest motion as he breathed, "Caroline, what are you saying?"

She looked up at him, a sudden lump in her throat. Her answer was barely more than a whisper.

"I love you, Niklaus. That's… that's what I'm saying."

He was beyond frozen. "I don't believe you." The answer came like a pistol whip, like a reflex reaction. Of course you don't.

"Klaus Mikaelson," she said softly, "you are one thousand years old. You have seen everything and everyone and you know to tell the truth from a lie. You know me. So look at me. Look me in the face and tell me I am lying to you."

Caroline locked her gaze with his. Whatever the price, she would gladly pay it for this man. I know you hate it, Caroline. Still… She swallowed. Courage!

"Look me in the eyes and compel me."

His eyes widened in shock. He took her head in his hands and stared into her face for a very long time, but he didn't do it. He did not compel her. Resting her hands at both sides of his neck, her eyes told him everything that whirled inside her. Her joy at finally having been true to her own heart, her anguish and pain over what he had just told her, her all-consuming desire, her fear of losing him, of not knowing for certain if he felt the same. And all the deep, irreversible, honest love for him that filled her so completely.

"Caroline," he whispered helplessly.

He kissed her with such adoration that she thought her heart would inflate to the size of a hot air balloon. There had been a beautiful intimacy between them ever since they had first touched, but this was something completely new. Caroline was not sure she would be able to handle how everything inside her was suddenly burning for him in such an absolute way. There was no turning back for her. Ever.

They undressed each other slowly, lingeringly, never once taking their eyes off one another. Klaus' hands wandered all over her body, caressing her with feather light touches that made her feel like she was floating in midair. His lips lingered on her neck, slowly kissing every inch of the sensitive skin, then moving on to her breasts in the same agonizing pace. Every caress, every soft touch of his lips on her skin spoke of how no one had ever given him what she just had.

He was worshipping her. And Caroline knew she would love him until her dying day for his unspeakable tenderness.

When she could no longer bear the sweet agony, she whispered, "Klaus."

"Yes, my darling?" How can one word make me melt like that?

She slid her legs onto either side of his body, feeling his hard length brush her thigh. She needed him more than anything in the world.

"Let me feel you."

His eyes contorted in something that remotely resembled pain, but his shaky sigh told her it was nothing but the rawest of emotions. He rested his arms on both sides of her head, letting his hands caress her hair the way she loved so much, and entered her even more slowly than he had that afternoon. When he filled her completely, he pulled her up so she came to rest on his lap, her legs around him. Gently caressing her sides, he gazed into her face, kissing her ever so softly again.

"Make love to me, Caroline. Very slowly."

She moved in the same agonizingly languid rhythm he had earlier. She couldn't bear to lose a single inch of contact with his skin for even a second, just as she was completely unable to tear her eyes from his. This was the most intimate moment she had ever experienced and it nearly killed her, even more so when something started to spark inside her, very gradually. Her breathing accelerated, but she did not increase her pace, and neither did he. He watched her intently, utter fascination in his eyes, lips parted, breathing heavily. And then it began as a small tingling in her toes, moving up her legs, spreading all over her body into her head, her heart, her everything. A golden wave of small explosions spiraled from her core to meet the tingling in the rest of her body. She stared into Klaus' eyes, helplessly exposed to the slow, unbearable orgasm that crawled its way through her body, mercilessly dragging her towards an edge she had never known existed.

And then Klaus gave one small rolling thrust underneath her.

The universe imploded. Caroline did not make a sound. She could not gasp, scream or move, for her whole body was paralyzed by this sweet, deep and soul-searing climax. At that very moment, Klaus' strangled whisper turned her entire imploding universe upside down.

"Always and forever."