Summary: Elena takes on the Old Ones, risking all to gain a life for herself and Stefan.
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Date posted: 25 April 2004

* Here's Chapter 56, at long last. I've been sitting on this for a while, mostly because of the tight integration between this chapter and the next; I had to make sure I got 57 nailed solid before I could let this one go. This weekend -- what's left of it -- I'm going to focus on polishing 57 to a fair-thee-well and I hope to post it next weekend. If possible, I'll have the final chapter, 58, done within the next couple of weeks. I must warn that work is... absolutely, stinking crazy. My project is at its peak, so things are a bit iffy on anything outside work. I'll do my best; the characters won't let me do otherwise and besides, I have a thing about work taking over my life...

On an aside, I have not been completely idle. I've put together a little gallery of pictures for the characters of Leaf. It will be part of the webpage, which I'm putting together. The webpage will have more details and behind-the-scenes of the story and the characters. I'll announce either here or in the FFN profile or on my LJ when the site's launched.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for your patience. I love any and all feedback, as you all know. ^_^ Many thanks to those who took the time to review.

winry16: Thanks for the vote of confidence! I would -love- to write (fiction) for a living and hopefully, I'm moving in that direction. Hope your friends agree with you about Leaf. ^_^
Daugain: Nope, all the Old Ones are male. As explained by Jerrick in Chap. 35. And I'm glad Taura has one supporter, at least! :D
Kichiko: Thanks for your continued support. Samar's a joy to write -- when I'm in a bratty frame of mind. ;D And yeah, Makoe/Leon on the basketball court was one of the more vivid scenes that I liked, myself. *grins happily* Read on, read on; another two chapters and then I'm done!
Moreta, Eleia, I owe you large emails. Thanks for the detailed comments and edits. *beams*

~ Fifty Six ~

(12 October 1993)

"Elena!"

She turned to the sobbing call, alarm racing up her spine. One of the Turned was running towards her. The tears shining in the girl's eyes seemed to blind her for she stumbled, caught herself, and continued her sightless rush.

Elena was on her feet and dashing to meet her without consciously moving. She gripped the hysterical fifteen-year-old around the elbows to steady her and seize her attention.

"Jesse," she said, trying to sound calm and authoritative at once. "What is it?"

"Eiran," she gasped, gulping another sob. "We heard a car... and then a thump... And then when we went to look, we found him there- Elena! There was blood everywhere! He's dead! He's dead!" The last word came out somewhere between a scream and a wail. Her legs gave out beneath her then and she sagged against Elena.

Elena felt the blood leave her face. She suddenly did not feel the ground solid beneath her feet and a kind of numbness spread over her thoughts.

Eiran... dead.

She rocked back unsteadily in shock. Her grip loosened and Jesse collapsed on the ground, sobbing.

"No..." Elena breathed, staring at the main house. She took of running, oblivious to those who followed her. She didn't remember reaching the lodge, nor bursting through the door and running down the corridor. The porch came into view and she arrived in time to see Maddy throw herself on the still form on the ground with a low, strangled cry.

Elena's fingers caught the threshold, stopping her headlong plunge at the end of the hall, and her eyes shut as the flood of relief swamped her. Gripping the doorway, she swayed.

Not dead, then, she reassured herself. Healers do not try to revive corpses.

The thundering pulse in her ears receded and she released her death grip on the lintel. A bit out of breath, she moved forward.

Jesse had been right about the blood, at least. A dark, wet pool stained the floor where Eiran lay. The hint of spatters showed how carelessly he had been deposited there.

Elena shuddered but a dispassionate corner of her mind kept working, running through what she knew, putting it together, trying to make sense of it all.

When she had last spoken to Eiran, he had been in New York. That had been four days ago. If he had been given these wounds there, he would never have survived the nearly-three-thousand-mile journey back to Seattle. Nor would the wounds still be bleeding. Which meant that he had been held and tortured at a location not far away.

The fact that he had been returned meant that this went beyond a simple attack; whoever had done this had known who Eiran was and what he had been sent to do.

And there was only one party that would have cared enough to go through all this trouble.

The Old One had done this.

Elena's odd detachment vanished with that realization. And what of the other searchers? There had been six in Eiran's team. What of Alvin and the rest? Had they been killed outright?

Elena's hands clenched in fury and grief. At the tap of a cane on the ground and a quiet, uneven step, she whirled and met Jerrick's eyes furiously.

"He caught them," she said in a low voice, to keep from screaming. "He'd had them in his hands, tortured them and they had been helpless-"

He looked at her, deadpan, as if asking her to get to the point.

"We sent them out there, defenseless. How did you expect them to fight an Old One?" she demanded, losing control of her tone and throwing that last question at him.

"They weren't supposed to. Their task was to locate him so that I could go and get him."

"Apparently, he found them," she snapped bitterly. "We knew Emmet Mogen warned him; we knew that he would not be oblivious to his danger." She fought guilt. They had known and they had not thought to take precautions for their people.

But what could they have done?

"What could we have done?"

She hated hearing her own question echoed by Jerrick. She shot him a suspicious look; had he planted that thought in her head? Or read her mind?

He gave her a frank look, guileless, but she wasn't fooled.

"Elena, you know very well that neither of us could have left for very long, much less spent months roaming the globe in this search."

She had no answer for that, but she told him flatly, "We are not sending out anyone else who might become another victim."

He opened his mouth to say something. Judging from his expression, it would have been something sardonic, but she flung up a hand to forestall him.

She growled, "We'll think of something," and stalked away, knowing it was an argument she couldn't win and not wanting to face that just now.

Stefan, who had followed her flight from the field, beckoned her to where he stood with Leon and Makoe. The two vampires looked preternaturally alert and Elena realized that they must be surrounded by the blood-scent.

Some of her wariness might have shown on her face. Leon gave her a small smile that was meant to be reassuring, but there was something...something like sympathy behind it and that did not put her at ease at all. She closed the distance between them, eyes moving from one man to another.

When she got within reach, Stefan touched her elbow gently. "Leon says there's a heavy scent here; wolf," he murmured.

"What?" she blinked at him in bewilderment.

"The scent of werewolf is all over the place. It's all over him." Leon tipped his head to indicate the broken form Maddy knelt beside.

It took Elena a moment to realize the significance of the statement and when she did, she stared at Leon, then Stefan, stricken. "He didn't turned Eiran into a werewolf!" she whispered in horror. Her tone was pure, knee-jerk denial. Oh, that would be too cruel. For him to escape vampirism only to be imprisoned by another curse.

Stefan looked grim. "We won't know for sure until the next full moon," he said quietly, but something in his tone and in his eyes spoke of little hope.

Tyler Smallwood's ancestor had been changed into a werewolf after being attacked by one. If any of those injuries were 'wolf inflicted... If Eiran survived...

"The full moon will be at the end of the month," came the helpful input from Leon.

Elena swallowed. One thing at a time; save Eiran first and deal with the werewolf thing later. Her eyes locked on that courteous young man who had been so good to her when she had needed a friend. She could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, in steady, if shallow, measure.

Maddy sat back as if drained. She probably was. There was a limit to how much a healer could do, given that her own power was not infinite. "I have him stabilized," she said tiredly. The bleeding had been staunched and Elena guessed that serious injuries, visible or internal, had been repaired, but Eiran still looked far from well.

The sixth will pay for this, Elena vowed. With blood and Power.

She went to Maddy and knelt beside her, just barely avoiding the pool of blood. "You've done well, then," she said, resting a hand behind one bowed shoulder. "Let us take over. What can we do? Can we move him?"

"Yes. But carefully. Get him cleaned up, as well. Make him as comfortable as possible. Shock and sensory abuse are part of the damage."

A pair of relieved-looking, but ashen-faced Turned came forward to follow her instruction without further prompting.

Elena helped Maddy to her feet. When she looked around, she found that Jerrick had left. Her eyes met Stefan's briefly in silent communication. He tipped his head to indicate that she should go ahead.

They proceeded to Eiran's room on the upper floor. Elena followed at Maddy's elbow, ready to catch her if she stumbled. She saw the healer settled in a comfortable chair with some restorative beverage in her hand while a couple of male Turned cleaned their one-time leader up in the adjoining bathroom.

"Elena, you should know," the healer said at one point, cradling a steaming mug between her hands. "Eiran's spine was broken in three places."

She met Maddy's eyes. She spoke slowly, defining each word with emphasis. "The same three places?"

The healer nodded once.

"Coincidence?"

She shook her head, then broke their locked gazes. She pursed her lips, set the cup down on the side table and rubbed hands up and down her arms as if she felt cold. "He wants us to know that he knows, Elena. I don't know how much but between Eiran and Alvin, he must know something.

"Sending Eiran back to us like this was a warning. Or a threat."

(that night...)

Leon woke with a start and lay very quiet, trying to identify what had alerted him.

It was dark, with only weak moonlight filtering in through the window, silvering the filmy day-curtains. What little light there was, fell on him. The rest of the room was in deep shadow that even vampire eyes could not penetrate.

In the silence, the soft breath from the foot of the bed was clearly audible. "Leon."

He sat bolt upright, only slightly groggy. "Samar? What-" he began.

"I knew you were awake. You stopped snoring." She sounded amused and strangely breathless. She moved around to the side of the bed.

"I don't snore." He couldn't help but smile at the non sequitur. Her whimsical tone was reassuring and a nice change from her yelling at him, but he was still concerned.

She perched on the bottom right corner of the bed and he felt the mattress sink a little.

"What is it, Samar"? he asked gently. What was she doing in his room in the dead of night? And... where was her towering anger from earlier this evening?

"I have made my choice."

What decision had led her to creep into his room in the middle of the night?

"I want to be a vampire."

Oh.

He relaxed and absorbed this bit of news. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." She sounded impatient, but there was a bit of a tremor at the tail end of that answer.

"What decided you?" he probed.

Movement in the dark; maybe she shrugged. The mattress jounced gently as she flopped across the foot of it. "I miss it."

He hesitated from probing further, sensing her reticence.

"I've been more than human, Leon. Faster, stronger. I find I cannot accept being less," she added softly.

He scooted backwards and slouched against the headboard.

"You've thought about what you're giving up? You'll be bound to the bloodlust forever," he started carefully. "Won't be able to age or lead a normal life. You'll have to move all the time to keep people from noticing that you don't get older." He paused delicately before continuing. "Won't be able to have children."

"Yeah," came the soft reply. "But, you know, Leon, I'm not that big a fan of kids. As for the rest..." Another shrug. "It doesn't sound that bad."

There was something in her tone. Something flat and lifeless.

Leon decided that, for this, telepathy was warranted. He wanted to feel the truth in her emotions. He touched her with his mind. ::Samar?::

She made a sound of acknowledgement and inquiry.

::Tell me the truth.::

"I am!" she flared. "I don't want to be human!"

Not wanting to be human was not exactly the same thing as wanting to be a vampire, he noted privately. ::Then tell me why you don't want to be human.::

He felt her anger spark.

::I don't doubt that what you told me was true,:: he qualified. ::But that's not the real reason you want to change.::

Silence.

He could feel some pent up emotion but she managed to hide it. Residual mental shields, perhaps?

Then he caught a wisp of it. Fear.

::Samar?:: His telepathy was soft with sympathy.

"I'm never going to be vulnerable like I was today again, Leon," she muttered through clenched teeth. She sat up and now he felt her fear like dark waves rolling over him. Fear and angry helplessness.

"I'm not going to be food and I'm not going to be a victim. If I were a vampire, I could have kicked Damon's butt all the way down to the ground. He wouldn't even have tried anything in the first place!"

I wouldn't be so sure of that, Leon thought dryly, but he kept it to himself. He wasn't sure he liked her reason for wanting to change, but somehow couldn't bring himself to argue with her. Maybe because she was partially right.

He countered her force with mildness. "Would you consider waiting a year or two until you've aged a little more before changing?"

He heard her pull a breath short and freeze. Then, before he could move, she threw herself down the length of the bed, crashing hard against him. He struggled to sit up in alarm, but she pinned him, face pressed against his chest. She felt warm and soft through the threadbare T-shirt he wore - and she was trembling. His arms closed around her gently.

"You're not going to fight me," she mumbled into his shirt.

He stroked a hand over her hair, smoothing it back around her shoulders. "Did you expect me to?"

She nodded.

::I'm on your side, Samar.::

"Thanks."

::You're welcome.:: In spite of it all, Leon found himself smiling.

He continued to run his hand down her hair gently and gave her time to compose herself. As seconds ticked by, he became increasingly aware of their position. He was sprawled on the bed, the covers askew and messily bunched at his waist; Samar was pressed against him lengthwise with his hands gently resting on her hair and her shoulder.

::If your brother found us like this, he'd kill me,:: he commented dryly. In the back of his mind, he added, 'and I wouldn't blame him.'

"If he tries, he's a hypocrite." Her voice was still muffled against him and her hands crept around his neck in an oddly needy fashion. His own hands found the small of her back and pressed, spread-fingered.

It felt like heaven.

Leon thought of Stefan and Elena sharing a room and while he wouldn't feel comfortable having Samar move in with him - even if they were chaste - the thought of being able to hold her like this every night was enough to make his breath hitch.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly.

There was something very intimate about talking in the dark. Perhaps it was the lack of visual cues. All meaning lay in the tone of voice. All pretenses were stripped away.

"I was thinking you should not be in my bed like this."

He felt her stiffen and almost instantly regretted his words. But she didn't sit up or draw away as he expected.

"You know what your problem is, Leon?" The bit of fire in her tone drove away the last of his sleepiness.

"I think you're going to tell me anyway, Samar."

She snorted. "You're alive in 1993 but acting like it's still 1693." She didn't have to say how she felt about that; the frustration in her tone was clear.

He paused to let her go on. When she didn't, he sighed and shifted a little. ::Samar, what would you have me do? Drag you into my bed after a few dates? Paw you in public?::

"No!" she said mutinously. "I'm not asking you to turn into a sex-fiend. Just..."

::Yes?::

She made an in articulate sound of rage and turned her head to press harder into the front of his shirt. His hands tightened around her in reaction.

::Samar? Why are you so unhappy? You cannot doubt my care.::

Stubborn silence was his only answer.

::Then perhaps I should show you in a way you cannot misunderstand.::

In the dark, you could bare your soul.

He dropped his mental barriers enough to send a wave of emotion to her.

Love. Longing. Protectiveness, doubt and insecurity, desire warring with inhibitions - everything he felt when he thought about her. He held nothing back.

He felt her shudder and yearn towards him and cut off the emotions abruptly. There was only so much temptation a vampire could take, after all.

She lifted her head and the breath she took was a little shaky. "I wish I were changed back already. Then I could show you..." Her eyes lifted, met his, her expression suddenly very serious.

"Take it from my mind."

He studied her for a long moment, then brushed a bit of hair out of her face tenderly. "Are you sure?" he asked, then yelped in surprise as she pinched his waist.

"Yes, Leon, I'm sure. Stop asking me that all the time like I'm a half-wit and just do as I say!" she said impatiently.

He lifted his hands in a good-natured gesture of surrender and slipped a tendril of thought into her mind. It was hard to remember that she was human again, without the solid mental barriers he usually found there.

She shut her eyes, then opened them again. The look and her emotions hit him at once, making him nearly gasp. Hunger overlaid longing. Not so much for physical intimacy but for warmth and tenderness, for laughter and play, for equality and partnership and companionship.

He sensed the frustration at how he kept the barriers of courtesy and proprietary between them, loving her from afar only. Felt her confusion and anger at wanting more. Tasted her bitter self-castigation at needing more than was given.

It hurt.

He reacted by instinct, hauling her into his arms and cradling her close, one hand holding the back of her head, the arm wrapped around her waist.

He was still linked to her, could feel her contentment at the contact. He saw - and felt - how she envisioned things between them - all the warmth and fire of their odd friendship but with much greater depth of emotion underneath.

The question of propriety had no place in this picture. It was all pure emotion.

Without thinking about it, he dropped his shields, opening up his emotions to answer hers. It was... electrifying, the strength of the feelings welling up. His pulse sped and strengthened, making blood pound loudly in his ears.

It was natural - almost necessary - to tip Samar's head up and close his lips over hers, as if kissing her suddenly became as important as breathing - moreso. The kiss was both outlet and intensification of the emotional storm building up.

Leon did not know how long they stayed like that. When they eventually broke contact, he was breathing hard and his body was unbearably tense. Samar's breath was also audibly ragged as she rested her forehead against his chest and she, in turn was pliant and yielding in his arms.

Neither of them spoke and the silence stretched, though not uncomfortably.

"I love you," he said finally, breathing the words into her hair.

She made a small sound, then rose up till their faces were level and their lips brushed. "I think… I love you, too," she said, sounding oddly shy.

The words were more felt than heard as her mouth moved against his. Then, a little louder, "Do you know how long I've been wanting to do that?" she demanded, a touch of her old irascibility in the question.

Leon, having touched her mind, had some idea. At that point, he made up for it the only way he could, and kissed her again.

(13 October 1993)

Eiran came to thoroughly disoriented.

He stared at a vaguely familiar ceiling, then craned his neck to see the rest of the room in an effort to place his surroundings. Walls of glowing wood contrasted with off-white-lacquered furniture. A glimpse of trees through the billowing curtains flanking the open window.

Someone stirred beside the bed.

The dark-haired man leaned forward to prop his wrists on top of the covers. "Welcome back, Eiran," he said quietly. There was gravity in his expression, but also relief.

"Stefan..." Eiran trailed off, confused. Now he knew where he was; in the lodge in Seattle. But how had he gotten there? The last thing he remembered was being attacked by werewolves in New York-

He jackknifed upright, then ended up hitting the pillow again with a gasp as the sharp movement raised stinging protest in his body.

The vampire - ex-vampire, Eiran corrected, noting subtle differences in him - was on his feet, one hand holding Eiran's shoulder down, firm but gentle. "Easy. I don't want Madelene blaming me for ruining her good work," he admonished.

Eiran's fingers closed around his arm, his manner urgent. "Stefan, the others..."

The Italian man met his eyes for a brief moment and then looked away. It was answer enough.

They were dead, then. His mind could barely take in that fact. His hand fell away as Stefan straightened.

"I'll get Elena. She refused to leave your side until I promised to wake her when you regained consciousness," he said, turning to the door.

"Let her rest," Eiran protested.

Stefan shook his head, giving him a small smile over one shoulder. "I promised," he said simply and then he was gone.

Eiran laid his head back on the pillow and tried to gather his thoughts. He still didn't know how he had ended up back in Seattle and try as he might, his memories yielded no clue about what had occurred between the time the werewolves had burst into the apartment in New York and when he had woken up. The last thing he remembered was being tackled from behind and feeling hot breath and cruel teeth on his neck.

And Nelson, smiling and calm, on the couch.

His fist clenched. Had the Turned betrayed them? Why?

"Eiran?"

The soft voice called him out of his grim thoughts. He turned his head on the pillow to see Elena leave the doorway and come towards him. She ignored the chair Stefan had occupied and perched on the bed instead.

Aware of the lightening of his heart at her presence, he struggled to sit up. She placed a hand on his shoulder to still him, unconsciously echoing Stefan's movement.

"Stay still," she told him but he stubbornly resisted. When they had compromised with him propped up on a pile of pillows, she settled back and folded her hands on her lap.

"Eiran, I'm so sorry," she began in a small voice.

The unexpected words surprised him. "Why do you say that, milady?"

"We shouldn't have sent you out into danger like that," Elena said. The fact that she was nearly whispering did not lessen the harsh anguish in her tone.

He extended his hand slightly towards her, palm up, in a conciliatory gesture. "We knew the risks, Elena, and we agreed to go."

Her head stayed bent despite his feeble attempt at reassuring her. Heavy silence descended. "How did I end up back here?" he asked, finally.

That made her look up, even if it didn't make her any happier. "Why don't you tell me what you remember first?" she suggested. Her guarded tone called answering wariness from him, but he did as she asked and told her about the attack.

"That's all you remember?" she asked, frowning in thought.

He nodded.

"And this happened right after we spoke on the telephone?" Another nod.

Elena looked away and Eiran watched her bite her lip in profile. "He had you for four days," she began. "You were returned yesterday, severely injured. Only you," she specified. "Maddy just managed to save you."

Eiran kept quiet, waiting for her to continue. He could sense that there was something else she wasn't telling him and he braced himself for unpleasant news.

It was a while coming.

"The-the vampires said that you were covered with werewolf scent. We don't know for sure but I think you need to know that there is a possibility... if your wounds were made by a 'wolf... you might..." She trailed off, unable to actually say the words, nor look at him, apparently.

He could only signal understanding, feeling numb. He had known being attacked by a werewolf may result in becoming one himself but he had not made that connection since he woke. Now that the realization dawned on him, he felt suffocated. Immediately, he took stock of himself. Was his sense of smell more acute than before? His hearing?

He shook his head to clear it of senseless brooding. "We'll know with the next full moon, I suppose."

"In three weeks," Elena confirmed. She lost a bit of her rigidity, having gotten that bit of difficult news out. Her eyes when they found him were sorrowful. "I'm sorry, Eiran. I don't know if I can Turn werewolves," she admitted.

Her fingers twisted hard around themselves in frustration. He patted them, trying to console her. The cold bite of a ring on his skin made him stop and hold her hand up so he could see it. He stared at the diamond sparkling there. It seemed to mesmerize him.

"Stefan and I are engaged," she said. The words seemed to come from far away, muffled by that odd sense of displacement - of surrealism - that one gets when one's fears come to life.

He looked from her tremulous smile to her eyes, all aglow, and realized that he had been staring for too long.

Suddenly, her expression changed, sharpened. He wondered if some of the cold anguish he felt had shown on his face, but her eyes darted around the room as if searching for something.

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and half-stood, still scanning the room.

"He's here."

He didn't ask 'who?'; it didn't matter. Her tone, tight and hostile, told him that whoever it was was dangerous. Eiran immediately stiffened in defense.

Abandoning any attempt to recover his emotional balance from the series of crushing news he had just received, he moved. Slowly, carefully feeling his limits, he raised himself to a sitting position, and then slid his legs off the bed to test if they would hold him.

They did, if just barely. He felt disgust and impatience at his own weakness. How was he going to back Elena up, much less protect her, in this state?

He opened his mouth to call for Stefan - anyone; they would need reinforcements.

But his voice froze in his throat as a strange, tingling disorientation came over him. He felt abstracted, as if his limbs were not his own.

Elena was standing in front of him beside the bed, her head swiveling from left to right as she surveyed the room.

He suddenly had the mad urge to knock her away. He thought at first that it was sheer protective instinct, however misled. But the ferocity behind the compulsion told him otherwise.

Fear flared in him, jolting aside some of the abstraction. He could feel his body again, enough to still the fist that was about to rise. His lips skinned back over his teeth. He will not hurt Elena, ever!

"I can sense you," she whispered savagely. Then her voice rose, "Show yourself, coward."

The compulsion increased. He redoubled his attempt at control but it swelled, huge and uncontainable. He tried to physically turn it away, twisting aside, grabbing his right arm with his left hand to stay it. He gritted his teeth, grimly.

A stab of pain lanced through his head and he let out a strangled cry. Taken by surprise, his resistance slipped.

It was all that was needed.

The geas screamed through him, pulling his expression into a vicious, bloodthirsty mask. His hand rose, the force of his entire body going into the blow-

"Eiran?" Elena turned, hearing his cry.

His fist connected with her jaw, smashing her head aside. She was sent sprawling facedown across the bed, and lay where she had fallen, motionless.

Eiran could only stand and stare, limp with shock. The compulsion was gone, leaving him feeling drained. Self-revulsion rose and he bent to touch her with a shaky hand. "What have I done?"

"Nothing you need to regret," a voice came unexpectedly and he whirled.

The man had fine, angular features and the eyes that met his were the color of jade, smooth and almost reflective. His bronzed skin made the gold bands on his arms, wrists and neck glow and his hair was a sleek, inky black river disappearing past his shoulders.

He was the specter Terry's scrying had revealed in the Palace in Antalya. But it was also the one... in his dream. And later...

Memory came back in a flood, as if some restraint on him had been lifted. This man had completely possessed him, body, mind and spirit. He would have done anything he had commanded. He had-

'I need her incapacitated. She will recognize me no matter what form I take,' the gold-skinned man had told him. 'But you will be to catch her unawares and disarm her for me.'

Eiran felt violently ill.

"You have done well, young shapeshifter," the Old One interrupted his flashbacks as he strode forward. The weird, flat eyes fixed on the unconscious blonde, a sense of satisfaction behind the bland face.

Eiran stiffened defensively, moving to block the other's path.

The Old One checked his step and looked back at him. It was an assessing look. "Do you mean to stand between me and this one, my wolf?"

The reference made his heart sink, but Eiran lifted his chin defiantly. "Since you mean her harm, then, yes, I will stand between you."

"I know how you feel about her. Would you like to lie with her, and then satiate your hunger?" The question was delivered smoothly. Before Eiran can brace himself for whatever the other planned, he was hit with overpowering desire and bloodlust simultaneously.

A groan tore from his throat, an animal sound of mindless need. He threw his head back, teeth bared and body arching. Just as sharply as he had bent back, he doubled over again, burying his face in his hands and muffling the low howl that rose in him.

He nearly rounded on Elena right then and there, but the initial reaction had bought him precious seconds to get over the shock of the need. He managed to hang on to his control by a precarious thread.

Head hanging low, he slowly uncovered his face and panted, "You know how I feel about her." He looked at the Old One through hair falling disheveled into his eyes, expression going feral from both need and anger. "Then you know I love her too much to do anything she would not want." He straightened his bowed shoulders, keeping careful hold of the desires that still raged in him.

"I would never hurt her. Nor let anyone else do so."

"Never?" The Old One sounded chillingly amused. "Shall I show you how empty that boastful vow is? You will draw her blood, and simply because I say so."

The utter surety in his voice chased goosebumps over Eiran's skin. This was one who held sway over him. Folly indeed, he realized belatedly, to challenge that authority so directly. But there was nothing he could do now but face his tormentor in silence.

And brace himself.

And yet, he was still unprepared.

His right hand burned, as if dipped in hot oil and kept there. He stifled a yelp and lifted it. Five small, sharp, black claws broke through the skin at the ends of his fingers and the back of that hand sprouted a pelt of fine grey fur.

He stared at it disbelievingly.

"Why such surprise? You are mine," the black-haired man reminded. "Every part of you, even that which you yourself have yet to master."

The pain had gone beyond what could be tolerated. Eiran's mind was blanking out, numbing in defense against the continuous agony.

"Now," the Old One said, a touch of smug satisfaction in his tone, "Spill that human's blood."

It was as if some force spun him around and propelled him to stand over the fallen woman on the bed. The flat command bypassed his brain, going straight to his treacherous hand, which swung obediently down, seeking Elena's flesh. The black claws touched her skin, then sunk enough to actually draw blood before Eiran managed to rein it back.

Clutching left hand around right wrist, he threw a desperate glance over one shoulder. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "What do you hope to accomplish? She cannot die!"

"Perhaps," was the unruffled response. "But simply harming her will make you wish for your own death. Will you stand aside now?"

"No!" Eiran retorted furiously. Moving as if his body was made of ungainly wooden blocks, he turned his back on her, facing the Old One squarely once again. "What is the point in resisting? Elena will destroy you, just as she did your brethren. You cannot stop her, cannot escape. Your time is done!" He flung defiance at his tormentor, his only weapon, however paltry.

The slanted eyes narrowed. "My patience is wearing thin. Stand aside. I'll not tell you again."

Eiran merely stared back at him. This was the being who had made him a werewolf, who was causing him such pain now. It was he whom Eiran had been searching for for so long, who kept him away from Elena's side, who would harm her now.

Eiran felt hatred burn in him, making his face heat.

::Fool!:: The curse rang in his head, followed almost immediately by stabbing pain that exploded behind his eyes and drove him to his knees. No...

Wave after wave of anguish crashed over him, breaking him, his will and spirit. He must have blacked out. When he came to, he was flat on the floor, breathing like he'd run uphill for miles.

He pushed himself up painstakingly, moving like an old and feeble man. He could not have lost consciousness for very long because the Old One was just moving towards the bed, unimpeded. As the sixth walked by, Eiran reached out and grasped the passing ankle as firmly as he could.

The gold-skinned man stopped and looked down at him, eyes flat with displeasure. "You still think to oppose me?"

"I won't let you touch her. Not while I draw breath," Eiran got out painfully. He knew he brought his death with those words, but it was the truth; he could not let the Old One act without intervening while he could.

Perhaps he could buy the others time enough to save Elena.

The ancient being crouched over him and took hold of his chin, craning Eiran's head back cruelly. Eyes of jade green with that strange reflective sheen bore into his.

"You would have been a strong member of the pack," the Old One said quietly, sounding thoughtful. "Had you chosen other loyalties." He released Eiran's chin and stood. "What a pity."

He stepped forward and Eiran's clawed hand snagged the hem of his off-white robe and held on.

The material parted around the black claws and reformed but the Old One stopped again and watched him with narrowed eyes as Eiran struggled to his knees, then to his feet, slowly, but obstinately.

Swaying, unsteady, he took a staggering step sideways, putting himself squarely between directly between the Old One and Elena.

"Not...while... I... have breath." And he swung his single, clawed hand at the gold-skinned man.

Unsurprisingly, the blow did not connect and Eiran caught his balance before he fell flat on his face. He stood, watching the Old One for his next move, trying to control his unstable stance.

A cold finger drew a line down his back and gasped. The Old One merely looked, not moving.

The next instant, the line was afire and he felt the cloth of his shirt sticking to his skin. More lines were forming, cold then burning, on his chest, arms, legs, back, even his face. Bright blood blossomed on his clothes and ran down his body.

Eiran hissed and lunged forward, clawed hand drawing back to swing.

A new line ran across the back of one leg and his knee buckled. He went down hard and with a cry more of despair than pain. After that, the cuts went deeper, hitting muscles and turning his body into a limp mess. He found himself sprawled on the floor again, in a pool of his own blood, blinking to clear his eyes.

This time, when the Old One stepped forward, he could not move to stop him.

No... No.., he thought brokenly. As strength ebbed from his limbs, he could only lie motionless, raging in his head.

Only his chest rose and fell and his blood oozed onto the floor. All else was still. His surroundings were darkening, or perhaps it was only his vision.

He thought of the woman lying unconscious on the bed, whom he had failed. He felt a single tear form and run down his face, followed by another.

Elena. Her name was said in his mind alone; he was unable to move his lips or produce any sound anymore. I'm so sorry.

Please forgive me.

His last thought was a desperate wish for her safety - and an unheard avowal of love.

Makoe ran without being aware of his surroundings. His entire being was focused on that one room on the second floor of the main lodge, where a surge of hauntingly familiar Power had come.

He had not felt it in almost two thousand years, but the sense of it - and the mind behind it - was unmistakable.

His feet never seemed to touched the floor. Perhaps he shapeshifted and winged his way up the stairs; he did not know. He vaguely realized that he passed Jerrick but for once, the effacing redhead did not hold his attention.

Down the hall, he could see Stefan beating on the door with a fist and calling, "Elena! Eiran! Is everything all right?"

Then he was there, almost shouldering the ex-vampire aside. He flattened his hands on the door and sent a thought inside, seeking the mind he had sensed.

He was met with a light, identifying brush, and then the wood against his hands disappeared. He entered the room and zeroed in on the gold-skinned man in a form-fitting white jumpsuit.

They sized each other up and Makoe felt the familiar ache in his jaw that meant his fangs were trying to lengthen. With ease of long experience, he held them back. There was no need for that. Not yet.

It didn't take a genius to put two and two together and Makoe uttered a soft statement into the charged silence between them. "So it's true; you're an Old One."

Before the other man could reply, Stefan rushed towards Elena, who was huddled against the headboard of the room's only bed. Her face was turned away from them and hidden by her long hair.

Makoe could see her trembling from where he stood.

Stefan met an invisible barrier surrounding the blonde and got the breath knocked out of him in the process. The ex-vampire pushed forward again, then began hammering on an unseen, but unyielding surface. "Elena!" he shouted but she did not acknowledge him. Stefan beat a frantic tattoo with his fists then stopped and stared at her in worry and confusion.

It was only then that Makoe noticed the heavy scent of blood in the air. For the first time, he took note the figure on the floor, covered angry red slashes and lying in a scarlet pool. So that was why his jaw was aching. He knew his face was a stiff, impassive mask.

The Old One spoke. "How did you come to be here?"

Makoe met the jade eyes. That much, at least, had not changed. "Coincidence. Chance."

"I find that hard to believe. You party with those who wish my destruction. The coincidence is too great."

"Believe what you will."

He felt the line of his lips harden in chill amusement. "Then believe what you will. Truth transcends mere opinion," he quoted.

The Old One studied him with what looked like abstract curiosity. "You throw my old words back at me. You have not forgotten, have you?"

"Did you expect me to, tràill?" He might have spat the question out bitterly, but it came out icily controlled instead.

Rather than be taken aback by the hostility, the other made a faint sound that could have meant a hundred things. Makoe was abruptly thrown back two millennia when he had stood with this man in a leather tent with the wind howling outside, and he had not been sure which of them was master and which the slave.

They stared at each other, both level and cool, silently fighting for the upper hand.

"Elena," Stefan was saying in a soft, pleading voice.

Movement in the periphery of Makoe's vision, and then his one-time slave broke their locked gazes.

"So glad you could join us," he greeted Jerrick with a tone of smooth malevolence, like honey over ice shards. He seemed to forget all about Makoe's presence, but the vampire was not fooled.

The lame man hobbled painfully into the room, pale eyes taking in Eiran on the floor, and Elena curled up in the corner. "What have you done?" he demanded, eyes fixed on the blond girl.

The sixth Old One lifted a hand in a pacifying gesture. "Nothing that should inconvenience you overmuch. But I did say we would make a game of this."

The blithe tone sent Makoe's guard shooting up. His eyes narrowed as he studied Elena. They had spent the past two months searching for him. Now, here he stood. She should have been unmaking him and Turning the vampires, but instead, she was huddled in the corner like a frightened animal. What had the Old One done to her?

"What are you playing at?" Apparently, Jerrick did not trust the Old One either.

"Your task is to unmake me. So here I am, to meet my fate." In a grandiose gesture, the gold-skinned man spread his hands and bowed slightly. "However," and the tone made Makoe's innards clench in dread.

"I did some research and came up with some interesting questions." The Old One began to pace languidly.

And as he moved, he shifted form.

"Nature wants to eradicate us 'unnatural beings' who violate her order of things. That would include our undead offspring." He circled Makoe and when he emerged on the other side of the vampire and stood in front of him, the Old One had lost half a foot in height. His hair had shortened and lightened; he sported riotous curls of dark-blond and his eyes had deepened to hazel. The white jumpsuit had turned into a simple shift of undyed cloth, belted with a length of woven leather.

Makoe held himself stiffly and made himself look into the wide, innocent eyes, with that wicked spark behind them. He kept a tight control of his expression and his shields.

"Still unwilling to open your heart, are you?" his 'slave' asked softly and the voice was high and clear, as light as a thistle on barrows.

"Not till I learn better," Makoe retorted coldly.

The Old One smirked, and Makoe felt the swift, sharp mental probe that he was unable to stop. "It would seem that we are both wrong." With a knowing look, he spun away before Makoe had a chance to react.

The shapeshifter's features and form melted into another image as he continued in his lecturing tone. "So Nature sends an executor - incidentally, breaking one of her own rules to do so - who is endowed with Powers to exterminate our kind and reverse what was done to the pitiful mortals." The hair straightened, lightened to pale blonde and the body grew taller. The homespun lengthened and darkened, becoming jeans and a sweater.

A clone of Elena paused over Eiran's still body and looked down with an expression of fleeting regret. Then the expression was gone and the Old One turned around, resuming his lofty stance.

Walking towards the real Elena, he melded back into his previous form, bronze-skinned, clad in white, with the black hair gathered at mid-back with the filigreed gold clasp.

He stopped in front of the human girl and bent to put himself level with her face. He brushed aside the bright hair and his voice dropped to something between thoughtful and dreamy. "That made me wonder: considering her dislike for undead and undying, would Nature continue to lend her destructive force to her executor if the executor-" he grasped Elena's chin firmly and forced it up so that they all saw.

Dainty fangs indented her lower lip.

"-became one of us?"

The blonde lifted anguished eyes to Stefan, who froze, horror plain on his face. Her eyelids dropped, squeezed tight, and she jerked out of the Old One's hold, hiding her face from view once again. She missed seeing the ex-vampire fall to his knees, hands limp by his sides.

The sixth straightened with a short, sharp laugh. "And since our little bane here has not tried to unmake me yet, I would say, the answer to that would be, 'no'." He faced the three of them and smiled amiably.

"But of course, Nature decreed that her tool would not die until the task has been completed. So perhaps she should stake herself and come back human and then unmake me. But again, that begs the question; does the immortality geas still hold, if she dies as a vampire?" He tipped his head mockingly, inviting a response. None was forthcoming and after a drawn out moment of silence, he went on, apparently satisfied.

"So where does that leave us?" he asked rhetorically. "The fair Elena can either live out the rest of her life as a vampire and there will be two more Old Ones left in the world." He arrowed a sharp look at Jerrick.

Makoe followed his gaze and saw the implacable hate in the pale blue eyes.

The sixth continued. "Or, she could drive a stake through her own heart, take the chance that she will come back human and unmake me." He stopped in front of Stefan and looked down at the vampire with an expression of false cheer. "Of course, if she doesn't, she'll just be dead."

He spun to face the girl, missing the venomous look Stefan gave him.

"So, what is it going to be, Elena? Eternal bloodlust or gamble with death?"

With a sleight-of-hand action, a stake appeared in the Old One's hand. He bent before her, offering it like a well-trained waiter.

"What do you say?"

* tràill means 'slave' in Gaelic. However, since Makoe is supposed to be a Gaul from two thousand years ago, I'm quite sure the language must have shifted to some extent. If someone would like to point out the more accurate translation, I'll be more than happy to amend it.

And in case you're wondering what happened, the Old One changed Eiran into a werewolf when he captured him in New York, and subjugated him - sort of brainwashed him. Then he brought him back to Seattle, tortured him to make it convincing and delivered him back to Elena to infiltrate the group. The aim was to get close enough to render Elena helpless so that the Old One could take over. After getting rid of Eiran, the Old One changed Elena into a vampire.