Of Wolf and Man
The hours passing hold less meaning than they did just a year ago.
Time is no longer a luxury, but a surplus. Abundance cheapens its value. She's lost in a singular purpose she assigns to this man who willingly accepts the mantle. A man who is so much like the person she wants to be instead of who she has become. He makes her feel less like a monster and for now, that's all that matters.
Weeks rush past knowingly.
She chases that coupling feeling with him praying that she can find the familiar human ache she lost forever in April. Finds a penance for her sins in his embrace. Worships his commitment to his own humanity. Marcel is the only vampire she's ever known who lived so beautifully human. Through him, she seeks out the answer to a question she doesn't dare ask out loud.
How do I become human again?
In the middle of her endless search, Elena commits her memories to the typewriter, an old and worn machine of which she's grown both fond and envious. It's there that she punches out her guilt and shame with one alarming strike after the next. Those many mothers who died too young like her own. Gone, immortalized into eternity through her writing. She tries to fall in love with the idea of life – a simple one she knows isn't hers to claim.
But it can't last. Nothing ever can.
Another Thursday sees Marcel disappearing into that black town car with Thierry and Diego. She's alone with her thoughts, organizing her sheets of paper. Treasures and lifelines. Stories of dead women who deserved more than to meet a lost monster looking for a mother. Tales too true to share and so she hides them away with the rest of her truth. Weighted under the white oak stake that she's increasingly embarrassed to be keeping around as if she's on a trajectory toward war with an Original and not some love-lost girl playing the pretender.
Cradled in her hand, the stake is no better than a paper weight. It, like her, is not the weapon it should be. Her hesitancy morphs it into an impotent thing. Silly and useless shoved under the floorboards of her room, weighing down her history.
She's careful to fold the wolf skin last. Contemplating the very alive werewolf in the swamp while she admires the shiny black fur. Curious about the man under the beast who had protected her. His name, his face, his character. Thrashed against his own nature to stand for her against the witches. His snapping teeth no match for their biting fog and fate. As weak as she was in that moment.
In her grasp, the skin grows warm to the touch. Plunging her hands into the black fur feels like holding on to the wolf in the swamp. How she imagines it would be like to hold the one in her dreams. This dead thing has come to life under her touch, entrancing her.
She's regretful to return the wolf skin to its hiding place. To let the dust and moths devour it. The image of it, molding and forgotten, makes her want to retrieve it again. Unfurl it out, drape it across her shoulders and dance with it. Moonlight on her skin and blood in her mouth. Where the wolf pelt lays on her arm, the skin there tingles. Thousands of needles pricking and separating flesh from the muscle. Loosens it from her bones. It's a jarring sensation that has her anxiously shoving the skin back under the floorboards.
Leaping to her feet doesn't put enough distance between her and the skin. Being in the same room as it now makes her insides crawl. She shoves the board into place before racing out of the room, down the hall and up the stairs to Marcel's room.
Slamming the door behind her, she laughs a little. As though she intended to scare herself like she used to when she was a kid taking the trash out at night. Conjuring images of vampires attacking her from the sky and running back inside when there was nothing to fear. At least, she thought before she'd known with certainty that monsters existed beyond her childhood imagination.
It's only a dead animal.
She backs away from the door, absently nodding while she rubs her arm. Nothing special about the skin at all. She'd been neglecting her need to feed as she was prone to do. Convinced that she wasn't hungry when she was clearly so deprived that she has begun to hallucinate.
Still, she doesn't return to her own room. Opts to settle into the safety of his bed instead. Firmly tucks the comforter under her chin like she doesn't quite believe her own reasoning. She resolves to throw the skin out in the morning. Burn it if she can do so without questions from the other vampires. Chides herself for keeping a gift from those three hags and vows to hunt tomorrow night with the rest of her kind.
Elena waits dutifully for Marcel, wrapped tightly in his bed while thoughts of wolves turned to dreams. By the time he returns home, she's already too deep in a moss forest for him to reach.
Her skin is ghostly under the crescent moonlight, marred only by the dirt and algae that collects on her shins as she treks through the swamp. Chasing after three fireflies in the distance. Each time she catches up, they flash again even further away. Leading their lost lamb back to the hunt, sharpening both her teeth and determination.
It's a frustrating game to play and they seem to be spinning her around without direction. She's certain she's gone past the same twisted old tree more than once. Doubling back around in pursuit of the three bugs. When she hesitates, questioning why she's so intent on their capture, the largest of them flashes on the tip of her noise and she gives in to pursuit once again.
Until she spots a wolf on the sands, water lapping at his toes while he watches her. Only when she sees him does she give up her chase. The fireflies disappearing upon the distraction.
"You're the wolf that stood by me against those witches," she says with certainty. Caution damned to the wind as she approaches. "Why are we back here?"
He whines, long and high pitched. Turns his head to the sky to reveal a sticky mat of fur soaked through in blood that is too dark to be fresh. He tries to howl but the sound gets warped in his throat. Gravel spits out instead, blood and rock rippling through the water.
She's halfway to him now, trudging through the thick water. His eyes on the white face bleed golden until they are human again. Brown and trusting. She's never seen human eyes regarding he so earnestly from a wolf face before but the sight stops her dead in the water. He looks like he might cry.
"Help them," a child's voice whispers from the knotted trees.
She takes another step towards the wolf, hand outstretched.
"Save them." This time it's a husky voice that propels her closer to the injured wolf. Water splashing against her shins as she trudges forward with more determination.
"Restore them." An old voice. One she almost recognizes. She stops to listen for it again.
But then all the voices quiet and the bleeding wolf is driven off, limping into the hanging trees. In his place rises a bigger, more impressive creature. A grey beast that weaves through the trees, disappearing behind them and re-emerging as a man.
Klaus.
In his black jacket and that sacrificial crimson shirt hanging so low on his chest. Fear bubbles in her chest, but her feet are stuck. Rooted in the dirty water below. "Elena," he holds his hand out to her like he did that night. "Thank you."
This is where she tells him to go to hell, only she can't seem to conjure the words. Her lines on the page are erased and she's left without a script. Instead, she accepts his hand and rises out of the water with him. He steadies her by her waist and she can't understand why she doesn't flinch from his touch. How deeply she wants to but can't seem to manifest the desire into reality.
Her stomach clenches when he spins her closer her to his chest. Pressing her into him like he can make them one with the spreading warmth at her back. Her neck itches as if his mark on her is a fresh, healing wound.
Klaus smiles and she's certain he can feel her thoughts. When he licks his red lips, canines elongate and double. His wolf's grin. Taking and taking. She expects him to bite her. Rip her throat out and leave her for dead.
Wants it.
But he surprises her with a kiss instead. And he runs so hot. Tastes of blood and everything she keeps denying. She presses for more, pleading with him to break the chaste gesture and mold it with her into more. Her tongue darts across his, sucking on his lip before she realizes the blood tastes of her own, thrumming power like river water.
Rears back with the knowledge.
Klaus's bright eyes shine delighted across from her own and she can't help but think that the sacrifice wasn't complete. That all spells are sealed with a kiss and why shouldn't this have been too. The spell to unbind him hadn't worked completely because he hadn't kissed her. Had desired it when he held her jaw in his hand. She'd been too scared to notice then but she was sure of it now.
He'd wanted it but hadn't dared try.
She's not sure what she would have done if he had.
If her nights are for the wolves and the moon and strangely for Klaus, then her days are for Marcel.
Handsome, gentle, generous Marcel with his penchant for lounging in bed with her. Keeping her there for hours with either conversations or his body as a distraction. Most often both as he presses her between languid kisses for pieces of her soul that she feels safe enough to hand over.
She resurfaces from beneath his comforter, batting back the soft fabric at the same time she wiggles her toes to make certain the swamp was absolutely a dream. Marcel smiles and she reaches for the cup in his outstretched hand. Before she can grab it, he draws it back to his chest. Ducks his head down to hers to kiss her pouting lower lip. She can't tell how often she's unwound in his presence. Too many times to make it worth counting.
"You looked so beautiful," he explains, grinning above her. Motioning for her to make room for him. "I couldn't help myself."
"You're forgiven this time," she tilts her chin mirroring so many women before her. He chuckles and plays into this teasing dance that they fall into naturally. Marcel hands her a mug, coffee made thick with the scent of copper. Normally, it would be all she could smell, but this morning she catches a hint of pine on fire and the smell of forest. "Marcel," she begins before the question even forms fully. "When exactly did the wolves get cursed?"
"Why are you so interested in the wolves?" His bare chest rumbles against her cheek with the deflection, but still she sinks into the feeling.
"I'm curious," she yawns. "Indulge me."
Her hand finds his, the silk fabric loosens around her chest as their fingers intertwine on his stomach, moving with each inhale. The stray hairs on her face blow back on the exhale. "A few decades ago. In the eighties I think. Maybe the nineties. They blur a little together."
"And they're wolves all the time?" Intentionally, she makes her voice as small as she can. As if she were still asleep and dreaming to disarm him.
"Except on the full moon."
"When they are human." His answers are coming shorter each time she presses, but she never did learn how to quit no matter how good it might have been for her. "And who cursed them?"
"Katherine, are you intentionally trying to spoil my morning?"
"No, I'm only curious." She nearly sings it. Performing innocence in a way that would make the real Katherine begrudgingly proud.
"Curiosity killed the cat and I happen to like my Kat alive and well."
His thumb traces comforting circles on her palm as he leans in to kiss the top of her head. Her heart sinks at the intimacy. That she would yank at this thread he's so clearly uncomfortable with in the name of knowledge instead of simply enjoying the morning with him.
"Yes, but then satisfaction brought it back again, Marcel," she whispers it. Fights an internal battle that has always been her war. To not be a person who picks and picks until her life festers. To resist the urge to complicate what could be an easy life. To simply be.
"Is that right? Well, I've been known to be curious myself." His voice, low in his throat, sends shivers down her spine. "For example, I've been dying to know how you manage to keep that robe together." His body is deft and certain as it shifts from beneath her until he's above her. Intentional eyes drag the air out of her chest as he descends on her neck. "And I have a certain feeling that the answer will do more than satisfy."
Marcel's mouth trails hot, wet kisses from her neck to her breasts. Daring to do what gravity could not and open the front of her robe with a devotion that keeps her whole. His hands splay so possessively across her stomach, undoing the sash and undressing her completely. How he looks at her and the way he so delicately fits to her body chases the wolves from her head.
There's only room for one obsession at a time.
Elena has always been a curious girl, but Marcel has a way of pulling focus. When he demands it, she can only conjure curiosity for him.
When duty calls him from her side, she returns to puzzling together the bits of dreams she can remember. The slick feel of the water sticks around well after she's already awake. The pleading voices linger in her head only as emotion, but she can't quite remember the words. Not as well as she can recall the bleeding wolf. But nothing – nothing is as memorable as Klaus emerging from the trees, dangerous and wanting.
Nightly, she visits the same blackwater forest. The flighty lights in the distance. The weeping and pleading. The injured wolf. It's all the same.
Except for Klaus.
Sometimes he kisses her. Other times, he stares at her from the trees like he's afraid of her. Only once does he bite her like she expected of him that first night.
The only lifeline she's felt comfortable using has disconnected; Lucy's number no longer works. Elena would rather die than ask Katherine for help. Especially without leverage. She's not sure what she'd mock more, being scared of her dreams or that Klaus was showing up in them nightly. She'd laugh first, certainly, but then she'd dig for information. It's what they both did. Wore knowledge like a sword and held secrets like a shield.
They were not made to be warriors on the field. Both meant for the shadows, their cloying tongues were their strength. Used to recruit armies on their behalf.
And Elena never wants to find out what Katherine might do if she ever found out that she'd not only ignored her warning but set up a residence in the city she'd clearly warned was off limits. Their alliance was hardly stable already and there wasn't much use in testing it.
Not over a silly dream at least.
Katherine and Lucy were out and as much as Elena had enjoyed Mercy's company in the past; she can't trust her with anything beyond the surface. She's fun but ultimately she belongs to Marcel in ways even Elena doesn't.
She has no friends in the city. No one belongs to her.
Vague alliances and relationships. If it came down to it, she was certain that Mercy would take her side over Astrid's but that was rooted more in Mercy's dislike of Astrid than her loyalty to Elena. Her relationship with Marcel was consuming and exhilarating, but she didn't have the faith in him to be vulnerable enough to share in her concerns about the witches following her from Texas to the swamps or how badly she needed to know about the wolves. Even Jane-Anne, someone she could have called a friend, turned from her after she chose to remain with the vampires.
Patterns begin to emerge into uncomfortable shapes.
She's had lovers since running from home, but no friends. As if she couldn't trust in friendship in alone but needed to bind people to her in a way that felt stronger. Lucy and then Marcel. But even with them, she hadn't dared expose her deepest insecurities and vulnerabilities. Kept secrets from them, hoarding them. She was a dragon, hovering atop her sad little treasures hidden in her heart and in the floorboards.
Not willing to fully trust anyone.
All that she'd kept from Caroline and Bonnie. The truth she'd hidden from Jenna and for as long as she could from Jeremy. What those lies did to him. How those secrets killed her aunt. How isolated she'd felt lying to everyone. It began so innocuously with two words – I'm fine – and it ended so terribly with her fleeing her home in the middle of the night, preferring death to the truth.
She has no friends.
Her throat is sandpaper and her gums throb. Accusations and guilt spin in her head until stars explode in her head behind clenched eyes. Stars and liquid blue eyes. A grey pallor and black veins that don't quite reach his once mischievous face. Why he's chosen this moment to haunt her when he's been absent for months is unknown, but she resents it all the same.
The slaughterhouse walls close in on her and the air becomes fire, burning as she takes smalls sips of it. Trying to focus and center her thoughts but failing. Only finding Damon's shocked expression. That she, of all people, would betray him.
She has no family.
Jeremy's body lying lifeless on the dirty bar floor. Her parents choking in an underwater grave. Jenna's choking acceptance on a life she'd barely known. Isobel screeching through the flames and John's useless sacrifice for her.
All of their deaths are hers to claim.
Not the vampires or even her doppelganger status, but who she is as a person. This secretive, withholding creature. A woman prematurely dressed for her own funeral. Waiting for the impossible and the inevitable. Her stomach curdles with past declarations that they might have loved her. That her love was their fatal mistake.
No one watches as she claws her way out of Marcel's room, down the hallway and spilling down the stairs. Out into the streets. Gas lamps guiding her way like the ghost lights she'd been pursuing. Only these are real. These are tangible. She steadies her swaying body against the wrought iron. Sweating even in the cooler night air. Her stomach cramps and she doubles over in pain. Her body revolts in the emptiness she's been trying to feed it.
She has no purpose.
Not as she is, but she can find one. The panic is strong, but she lets the hunger win tonight. Forgets all of Lucy's advice and leans into the one-dimensional mindset of a predator. Stalking through the city as a creature motivated only by the need to eat. Leaving guilt and shame behind as she chases the feast. It's less shameful to her this way,
At least until the morning.
The streets of Care are packed with tourists, but Elena resorts to old tricks. Seducing young men with a wink and a smirk. Caressing them. Feeding into their ego. Trading on her looks and then she turns on them. Shoves them against walls with surprising strength that they try to laugh off but she can hear fear vibrating through their throats that she's soon to open.
She hadn't realized how hungry she'd been, leaving man after man slumped drunk against back alleys as she searches for the next. It's not terribly smart, she understands. But there's a difference between intelligence and wisdom. Knowing she needs to feed, but she can't bring herself to accept it fully. And with tensions rising in the Quarter, the humans aren't exactly willing to offer up their supply of blood.
Tourists, yes. Citizens, no.
The line blurs for Elena as she sulks through the city, indulging and trapezing the line from drunk to drunk. Even after she has her fill, she chases the feeling. The more she lets loose, the easier it is to let go of their faces and she desperately wishes for a moment of relief. For Katherine's promise of starting over. To not be hounded by her mistakes.
Fruitlessly, she pursues that promise in the open vein of some poor fool who thought his luck had changed tonight. He collapses against her and it almost feels like an embrace. She licks the side of his neck and considers going in for more when a lancing pain shoots up her side.
She can't breathe, but it isn't like the feeling that chased her out of the Abattoir and into the role of night terror. Life's blood wells in her mouth from her lungs until she coughs, spraying the man's face. He hardly reacts when she drops him to the ground, backing away frantically and searching her side. Finding a stake in her side, by a miracle not high enough to puncture her heart.
"Katherine?"
An old world opens back up to Elena. The murmur of a thousand conversations and the smell of the sea. The sticky, slick feeling of blood plastering her shirt to her chest and the familiar way her skin knits itself back together again. The horrified look from the women who first greeted her in this city.
"Mo-Monique? Jane-Anne?"
"Katherine, what are you doing?" Jane-Anne moves a protective arm in front of Monique as Elena looks from mother to daughter. Blood drips from her chin and she's exactly the image of the monster Jane-Anne accused her of being. Proving her point. Reinforcing the inevitable lines.
As long as they stand there, watching the other, time slows to drive the betrayal in deeper.
Elena with her hand gripping the stake and Jane-Anne gripping her daughter. Judging each other and trying to calculate their next move. But the way Monique looks at her with a mix of disgust and fear congeals something in Elena's heart. Something small and yearning but with the potential to grow.
"I was hungry. So hungry. I hadn't meant to go this far."
Jane-Anne takes a step forward, her hand outstretched and Elena knows she isn't a match for a witch as experienced as her. And a part of her relishes in the idea of this being the end. That the last couple months with Marcel was a reward she didn't deserve, but this – dying at the hands of this witch in a dark alley miles away from home – this is what she deserved. She closes her eyes, ready for Jane-Anne to push the stake in where Monique had failed.
But wood clatters to the asphalt and Jane-Anne steadies Elena in a motherly embrace. It hurts more than if she'd just killed her. "Get inside. Now." She's terse but there's a softness there that sends Elena back to her own childhood. She's so desperate for a taste of it that she's willing to drink from a tainted well. From a woman who considers her a monster.
On that, they agree.
Jane-Anne ushers both Elena and Monique down the side streets like she's scolding them both for staying out late on a school night. For a few blocks until they make it to the relative safety of Rousseau's.
It wouldn't do for either of them to be seen crossing faction lines.
It's late enough now that the bar is empty. The patrons have gone and upended chairs create a strange forest through the tables. Waiting for tomorrow to begin again. "Jane-Anne?" The sister, Sophie, rounds the corner with a mop in her hand. "What the hell is going on?"
"Sophie. Take Monique home. Please." Jane-Anne is efficient. Pulling chairs from the table and helping Elena to one even though her wound has already healed. Strangely more caring that she would have anticipated.
"I want to stay." Monique is defiant with a clear intensity in her eyes. "I want to hear what she has to say."
"This isn't for you, Monique. Let me handle this."
"Is that who I think it is?" Sophie leans the mop against the bar and is at her niece's side in seconds. Tries to hold on to her elbow, but Monique has stepped forward and out of Sophie's hold. Insisting on being taken seriously.
"Sophie, please. I'll take care of the bar, just listen to me for once." Jane-Anne looks exhausted and with the bloodlust ebbing, Elena has enough conscious thought to be self-aware. Awkwardly shifting her in her seat in the middle of a fight about her. Glancing at the door waiting for her opportunity to run.
"For once?" Her sister is outraged. "I've done nothing except listen you since I came back home."
"Sophie." Jane-Anne rubs her temples yet the family drama continues to play out as if Elena paid tickets for admission. The show must go on. No intermission tonight.
"Even though I can tell you're hiding something from me."
"Sophie."
"I just keep listening and waiting for you to trust me enough to let me in."
Monique and Sophie both clamor for Jane-Anne's attention. Fighting to get in front of her though to her credit, Jane-Anne doesn't relent to either of them even as they close in on her.
"Mom, please." Monique reaches for her mom's hands. "Katherine tried to save me. Don't do anything to her."
"I'm not – Fine." Elena can hear the compromise in Jane-Anne's heavy sigh even if the others can't. Can hear an entire world of responsibilities settle into Jane-Anne's bones as she navigates her teenager. "You can stay." The three witches sit opposite of Elena and though it should feel like a reprieve, it's more like an inquisition. "Katherine. You need to explain yourself."
"I wasn't killing them. I promise. I didn't kill anyone tonight." The words come out quicker than she'd meant. Had tried to be calm but couldn't find her composure. Her mind is still racing and coming down was never easy.
"No, but in a way that is worse isn't it? How many did you feed from? How many people are going to wake up with bite marks on their neck? Do you think you can chalk this up to animal attacks?"
Jane-Anne's points are all valid and absolutely nothing she was concerned with when she left the security of the Abattoir. Fled from her hounding guilt for a brief respite in her baser instincts. "No, I wasn't –."
"Thinking?"
Monique looks down and Elena is sure she's been in her shoes more than once based on the reaction. Jane-Anne was clearly a fierce mother, but her daughter was obviously not exempted from that ferocity.
"No. I wasn't."
"Jane-Anne, she hasn't been eating." Sophie interrupts her sister who shoots her a look that Elena is glad isn't being directed at her. Eyes widened until her dark eyes stand out even more against the whites and her mouth stretches tight and disapproving. "What? Look at her. Katherine, when's the last time you had blood?"
"Halloween." She's quiet. Knows how stupid she's been about this. Stubborn and obstinate like she could become human again by choice. Only making it all worse.
"Shit, a few weeks. Why?"
Sophie looks at her more compassionately on this topic than either of the other Deveraux women. It makes her want to reveal the truth. That she's still so young and is struggling to control this part of her that she wishes she didn't have to deal with at all. Instead, she tells a half-truth. "I don't like it."
"A vampire who doesn't like blood." It's Jane-Anne who voices her disbelief.
"It's not that I don't like it." Elena wrings her hands in her shirt, shifting and peeling the hardened parts off her skin. The slight discomfort helps her focus. "I don't like how I feel after."
"Ashamed. Of what you are?" Sophie leans in, her elbows on her knees as she inches closer to Elena. Her voice is soft but certain. "You can't avoid it though. You have to eat. Otherwise, this happens."
"I know." She nods, wishing she could share this fear with Marcel. Feed with him and take his guidance. Learn to grow. Be better. Like him. But they haven't fed together since that night. "Jane-Anne? Why are you protecting me? You could have called someone from the council. You could have left and turned me in. Let Marcel do what he does to vampires who break the rules, but you didn't. You took me here. Why?"
"I'm worried about you Katherine."
Her words impact her more than she would like them to. To have someone worried about her. Someone who was looking out for her even when she could benefit from using this against her. Against Marcel and the rest of the vampires. Turning in the woman he had taken into his home and his bed. It would display another fault against him.
And yet.
"You are?" It's Sophie's turn to shoot her sister a look.
"Yes, I am. She doesn't know what it's been like here. Doesn't know the history. All the balance that has been lost and what it has meant to the witches. How it has hurt us. Hurt our community."
"And the wolves?" Elena asks and that same hesitant expression she'd seen on Jane-Anne's face before now doubles with her sister.
"Yes, them too."
Everyone keeps hiding the truth from her. She pivots to a question she has better odds of getting an answer on. "What are you going to do about me?"
"First. I think we will get you cleaned up in the bathroom. Monique can help you. As for the men you attacked tonight. Well, we've had those nightwalker attacks. New vampires that couldn't control themselves. It's an easy thing to shift blame on, but you can't do this again."
When Jane-Anne stands, so does Monique. Sophie to follow and because it feels awkward, so does Elena. Holding her arms for some kind of comfort. "I know. I need to be better."
"You do. But we can help you with that if you'd like. We can take your daylight ring and amplify its abilities. With your blood, we can craft the ring to assist in suppressing the need to feed quite as often."
As Jane-Anne explains the process, Monique and Sophie get back to work putting the chairs on the table. Sophie excuses herself to finish breaking down the bar for the night while Monique waits patiently to take Elena to the bathroom.
"You would do that for me?"
"Of course. You saved my daughter. I owe you." When Jane-Anne smiles, a pit forms in Elena's stomach. Regret over leaving this relationship to languish after she moved in with the vampires. "Plus, I have a suspicion that you've been keeping our secret from Marcel."
"I care about him, Jane-Anne. That hasn't changed." She licks her lips, not daring to shut her down again. "But I care about you and Monique too. I don't want to see either of you hurt or put in danger."
"Even from him? You would still keep our secret."
Elena can see the crevice between them, a juncture that could begin to heal in this moment with a promise she'd already been keeping without having been asked. "Yes, even from him."
"I appreciate that. Monique." Jane-Anne rests her hands on her daughter's shoulders and it's the picture of them that gets to Elena. A single mother trying to do the best for her daughter and her people. It makes Elena strangely protective of them as if she by protecting Monique, she'd be protecting a version of herself that never got to live. "Take Katherine to the bathroom. See if we have an extra shirt in the back for her to change into."
Monique takes her by the hand through the woodlands of upturned bar chairs and down the hallway to the bathroom. The night has felt so much like falling down the rabbit hole that it feels right for this young witch to be helping her. The Cheshire Cat warning her not to stray on the path. Running into Jane-Anne has course corrected her somehow. Surrounding herself with vampires, like she had in Mystic Falls, left her stranded without those mortal connections.
"You know, I was raised to think of vampires as the enemy." Monique cocks her head as Elena turns around to peel off her ruined shirt and replace it with a Rousseau's branded jersey shirt. "But you're different."
"How so?" The sink turns pink as Elena scrubs the dried blood from her hands. Clinging to her cuticles. Bits of clumped hair embarrassingly indicate exactly how careless she'd been tonight.
"You don't care about everything that the rest of us care about. Who belongs where and to who. You were trying to save me without even knowing me."
Monique looks at her through the mirror and the image of them together is startling. With their dark hair and doe eyes, it wouldn't have been impossible for them to pass as cousins. Jeremy appears uninvited in her head. How badly he had wanted to be involved in the supernatural. To take a more active role and how it was exactly what Monique was doing. Patrolling the city with her mother. Dancing with danger each time she killed a vampire.
She turns to Monique, needing to look her directly in the eye and not through a mirror. "I would do anything to protect you."
"Why? You hardly know me."
"I've failed in the past. To protect people I care about. And I don't want to fail now. I don't want to fail anyone else again."
It's the witch who reaches for her first, firmly gathering Elena's hands in her own to assure her. "You won't."
By the time she feels clean enough to walk the city streets without question, Jane-Anne has a bowl and a kitchen knife from the back. Sophie, hovering on the edge of the room, meanders closer to her sister when she notices Elena and her niece.
Monique holds out her hand, eyeing the daylight ring on her finger that Elena slips off and hands over. Only after it's gone does she wonder if she trusted in them too quickly. It's the only thing she has left from Bonnie and the one thing that allows her to move freely through the world. She's nervous as the three Deveraux women sit in a circle around the bowl, expectant for Elena to offer her hand to Jane-Anne's blade. Channeling their power together, humming a chant while they wait for the most important element.
Her blood.
To get back her ring faster, she offers her hand without question. Observes them as they watch it fill the bowl. Jane-Anne curls her fingers around Elena's hand to help squeeze the last bit of it before the wound fully heals over. After, she pats the back of her hand in a job well done.
The easiest job she's ever been good at – bleeding.
She's enamored with the way the chant together. Hold hands in a circle of three as the silver ring floats above the rippling pool of blood. To her outside eyes, this looks like community. A daughter who has both a mother and an aunt holds a position in life that Elena will never have again.
She can't help the reverence or the jealousy.
"Here," Jane-Anne utters after they've finished and the ring falls heavy into the bowl. Her fingers are slick and red as she fishes it out, wraps it in a towel and then offers it back to Elena. "That should help with the cravings."
The ring goes back on her finger with no discernable differences. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. A rush of power or the prickling sensation of new magic. But she hadn't been expecting nothing.
It's late, not that the city cares but Elena does.
A midnight moon edges out of the sky, preparing for dawn. Before she leaves, Monique wrings a out a promise from her to visit again. To Jane-Anne, she reassures that she won't live limited in the vampire's headquarters. Allow the witches the same opportunity she has given Marcel to show her his city. Vows to give them room in her heart and her head.
She steps back out into the streets with a regained sense of hope that she had lost alone in the Abattoir with only the ghosts of her past and the beloved monsters of her future to keep her company.
Peace is an ephemeral commodity in her world and it shatters like the pieces of bone splintering in her shoulder. Slamming against the nearest brick wall before she has the chance to truly enjoy it. Crumbling red brick litters across her fractured arm. She'll never get over the feeling of her bones re-knitting together while her muscles mend around it. Nebulas explode in her vision. Deep swimming pools until she can see again. The back of her skull no longer caved in.
"I knew there was something wrong about you." The unhinged vampire from the party, Marcel's unwanted sycophant. The target of Mercy's taunts.
"Astrid? What are you doing?"
It's frustrating to still be this weak even as strong as she's become since dying. In some ways more than others. Astrid's fingernails press into her arms, breaking the skin and there isn't anything she can do about it. Unsuccessfully wrestling her off would be clear confirmation that she's too helpless to take on the older vampire. If she tried, it would be immediate proof that she isn't a match for Astrid.
Physically at least.
Pain is easier to bear now. She wears it like a second skin, warms it by the fire behind her eyes. Considers it only a mild inconvenience as she molds her features into resilient stone. Stares Astrid down, willing the woman to become a bug in her sight. It's her only real defense out in the open like this, pinned to a wall by the stronger woman.
Then, as it is now, she can only rely on the perception of strength.
"Following you. This is the first time you've been seen outside the compound without Marcel. I'd be stupid not to see what you were up to and I was right to suspect you. They all thought I was jealous, but I knew something was wrong about you. You're meant to be hundreds of years old. Your control should be without question, but that's not what I saw tonight." She's speaking too fast. Rolling over her words and spitting them out across Elena's cheeks.
It's a rage she can exploit.
She channels Katherine. And in some ways, her own self before the accident. A haughty brow and a tightened, disdainful jaw. Condescending exasperation that had, at one point, been worn as high school battle armor. "You stalked me all night to discuss my eating habits? I knew you were jealous, but I didn't know you were pathetic too."
"I am not pathetic!" Even as she screams in her face, Elena remains impassive. To show fear now would be a mistake. "That's laughable, Katherine. I watched you run around this city like a frantic, baby vampire. You've been lying to Marcel. To everyone!"
"Is that all this is about?" A forced laugh has Astrid backing off slowly. Her hands still pin Elena to the wall, but her nails have stopped drawing blood. She's easy to make insecure and Elena can leverage that. "Trying to undermine our relationship. He's not going to believe you. Why would he? When he doesn't even trust you in the light of day."
"He'll believe me. He has to. You don't think he'll be livid when he finds out that you're the vampire responsible for the witches breathing down our necks? Leaving bodies in the Quarter like a child."
"Prove it. "
It's a risky move. A bluff that Astrid could call and send the entire house of cards tumbling to the ground. It wouldn't take much for Marcel to see the truth. One testimony and her mask would slip.
But it's all she has right now.
To level Astrid with black, dead eyes. Uncaring and unmoving. She is steel made stronger by the fire that burns in her veins.
"I will!" Her voice cracks into the higher pitches. She's frantic to win and that leaves enough room to lose. "There's something not right about the story you weave. No vampire as old as you claim should have an issue with control. Marcel may be caught up in your charms, but they don't work on me. I will make him see. I will –."
She's not sure what she will do next because the threat is caught in a grunt. Astrid falters back and Elena is too caught in her performance to even consider helping her. Watches impassively as the pretty blond vampire staggers to the ground, scraping her knees with the effort to stay upright. To her credit she fights it, but Elena takes the opportunity to step forward and lightly caress Astrid's chin. Leaning down to gaze into her blown out pupils. Panic and fear contort her features until her skin is paper thin over the bones in her face. They slack immediately when Elena snaps Astrid's neck with a flick of her wrist.
Contemplates ripping out her heart to save her more trouble in the future when she spots the Devereaux witch. "Sophie?" Elena can feel familiar warmth flood back into her face, softening the muscles around her jaw. The anxiety she masked successfully was now spilling out of her body. Exhausting relief. "That was you?"
"Yeah, well." She shrugs with a crooked smile. "You seemed like you could use the help."
"Thanks." Elena pinches her bottom lip. Life and death were easier to navigate then these awkward pleasantries. Her arrow guided straight towards a solution always stalled during these times. "Wait, are you okay? Your nose –."
Sophie wipes at her lip and then again with the back of her hand to get the rest of her nosebleed. "I'm fine. Our power isn't exactly what it used to be." She stares at the back of her hand before looking back to Elena, startled by her own admission. "Shit. I shouldn't have said anything."
"I won't tell Marcel." She's already keeping one secret for the Deveraux women. Her list has enough room on it to pencil in Sophie next to her sister and niece. Even if Marcel would delight in using this information as ammunition in those meetings. The real reason the witches are refusing to make his daylight rings.
Especially if he would delight in it.
"Thanks."
"I should probably figure out what to do about her." Elena nudges the unconscious vampire's side.
"Astrid?" Sophie snorts at the way she rolls back against Elena's foot.
"You know her?"
"Oh yeah. When Marcel and I were fooling around, she was pretty clear about how much she hated it." Sophie sucks her cheek in, raising her eyebrow. Elena grins, waiting for more, but the casual air between them breaks when Sophie realizes they aren't two friends complaining about an ex over drinks. "Shit. Sorry. Is that weird for you? It doesn't need to be. It's only ever been a fling with me. He never actually brought me around in public. Not exactly great for his image with the rest of his people. Or mine for that matter."
"This is awkward." Elena says it with a smile that Sophie returns.
"Chatting with his former hook up?"
"Chatting with his former hook up over the prone body of another woman who would kill me to get to him if she could get away with it."
"Good thing she can't." Sophie laughs like she can't trust the sound coming out of her mouth. "I'd take her threat seriously if I were you though. She doesn't play."
"You think? I can get ahead of her. If I re-trace my steps tonight, then I can find the men I attacked tonight. Feed them my blood and compel them to forget." Elena hooks her arms under Astrid's and drags her leaning against the wall. "It will be her word against mine."
"Smart." Sophie nods, letting the silence cool the air while Elena works to navigate Astrid's dead weight. "Hey, I wanted to thank you. For what you did for Monique."
"They told you about that? She would have been fine without me being there, Sophie."
"No, that's not what I meant." The way she lets out a sigh has Elena leaving Astrid crooked against the wall while she gives Sophie her full attention. "My sister means well, but she's consumed with this idea that power is a limited resource that needs to be reclaimed from the vampires. And her intensity has been rubbing off on Monique. It was good, I think, for her to see humanity in a vampire. To see compassion and empathy."
"To see me as a person and not a monster?"
"Basically." They're tip-toeing around each other. Like a strange ballet of formality and familiarity, they bounce between the two.
"Why does it matter to you if she sees me as a person?"
"I left home as soon as I could. There was a lot going on here that I didn't agree with so I travelled a bit. Saw the world and met many, many different kinds of people." Sophie takes a step forward that Elena appreciates but can't bring herself to match. "It was good for me. I hope that when the time comes, Monique can find the same thing, but until then it's good that you showed up."
It is a foreign concept for her that she was begrudgingly getting more used to. Reasoned that it could by why she's remained secluded with Marcel and other vampires as company. They automatically saw her as a person. There was no need to exhaust her energy trying to convince them of anything else.
"She thinks you're pretty badass." Sophie adds it as an afterthought and it flatters Elena immensely. She has rarely been seen as the cool, older sister and this feels as close as she will ever get.
"She does?"
"Yeah, how can she not? You're different than what she knows. Confident woman with killer style and an air of mystery."
Elena can't help but notice how the gap in her teeth make Sophie's crooked grin even prettier. "Mysterious? That's the best description I think I've ever gotten."
"Teenagers are easily impressed by anyone that isn't family."
"Ouch." Elena reaches for her heart, feigning offense. "So, why did you come back then? If you were having so much fun out there?"
It's unclear what she wants Sophie to say, though she knows she's hoping for a specific answer. That she was forced by obligation or something as mundane as running out of cash. That coming home was hard and she wish she hadn't had to do it. Instead, she says something that devastates her the most.
"I missed my family. You only get one, right?"
"Sometimes," she swallows. Wishes she could choke on her own spit and die with Sophie's words. "I should get going. Drag her into an alley before sunrise."
"You're a better person than me, Katherine. I would have just left her out here. Let her take her chances." Sophie is nearly around the corner when she turns back around. "If you're curious about the wolves, you should visit them in the bayou. Find out the truth for yourself. No one in the city speaks plainly. Even when they would like to."
"Last time I went out there, I nearly died."
"Last time you went out there, it wasn't the full moon. Remember, things work a little different here." She smirks a little at the image of Elena hoisting Astrid up by her arm, a blonde head resting against her shoulder. "Anyway, it's only a few days away, so you have some time to think about it."
It's easier than she thought it would be to clean up her mess.
Compelling her truth into their mouths and sending them home with the story of the worst hangover of their lives. She doesn't think twice about it anymore. It seems so benign in comparison to the crimes she's already committed that these have become generosities.
She trades the bar shirt for the last guy's flannel. Chuckles silently as he walks away with his midriff showing. Muses on the merits of crop tops coming back into fashion for men. How Caroline would love it. Any distraction to avoid the sinking terror that Astrid isn't just jealous. She's ravenous. Intent on exposing Elena to Marcel. Unaware that if Elena was caught in her lie, she'd be exposed to a much worse nightmare than a broken heart. An older enemy than sorrow.
And the only person around to save her tonight was Sophie Deveraux.
All she has are unstable, untested alliances built on sinking foundation in the middle of a swamp. She needs to find better ways to stay afloat and out of the storm brewing between Marcel and the rest of New Orleans. It's a keg waiting to explode and everyone seems to be looking for any reason to light the match.
A/N: It's been so long since I last updated! I've been struggling a little with writer's block and some personal issues, but thank you to everyone who commented. It means so much and helps me get through these lulls. And a serious shout out to my friend, Tech (Natasha09). The writer of many names and many incredible WIP. Talking through some plot points with her really greased the wheels on this chapter and helped me spin out something that looked a lot different than what I had outlined. Sometimes you set up the characters in the situations and you have to let them guide the plot.
Find me on tumblr. I'd love to discuss this story and hear your thoughts.