A.N.: Okay, it seems to me there needs to be some clarification. When I write that Willem was Lucrezia's birthday-present, this does not in any way mean there was a love-triangle between them, or that Elijah played second-string. IT WAS A THREESOME! One night only. Willem was just a bit of fun one night for a bit of a change. Lucrezia was only ever Elijah's.
Dangerous Beauty
33
Dangerous Ground
The scariest day was when they came to school.
Maybe it was some pack-mentality thing, maybe there was just way too much testosterone and frustration and anger flying around, but it became clear very soon that Jules hadn't come to town without backup. He guessed werewolves travelled in packs, too.
Four angry-looking guys came to school and were waiting for Tyler by his locker – he guessed they'd sniffed it out like trained police-dogs looking for drugs, and they hadn't appreciated the comparison – and one had grabbed him by the collar of his letterman and shoved him against the lockers so hard they had dented.
The school had gone on lockdown. After, Caroline had whispered to him that Giulia, who was in class in Richmond, had called Sheriff Forbes and the principal of the school (who was on the Council and a friend of her dad's from their high-school football-team). Caroline was a little flushed at calling her best-friend first before even thinking of calling her mom, the sheriff, but Tyler didn't think she was wrong not to want her mom involved; Sheriff Forbes' job was dangerous enough without adding werewolves into the mix.
The four guys who'd come to campus without I.D., ready to tear his head off for answers about Mason, had been more freaked out by the lockdown than he'd been, and this was the kind of stuff excessive repeats of One Tree Hill (he'd always loved Peyton) made him nervous about lax gun-control and strangers.
It was Sheriff Forbes and her supernatural squad who stormed the hallway that hadn't managed to clear. There were only a handful of other kids in the hall – and putting on her superhero panties, Caroline was in those brief, lifelong five minutes, as tough as her cop mom; she used vamp-speed and compulsion to get the other kids blockaded in the restroom, quiet, while her mom and the deputies tactically entered the hallway, guns aimed at the werewolves. The only witness was Tyler; but the other corridors were full of kids, and unless they wanted a SWAT team to storm the school and their names blacked out from news-reports about another breach of high-school campus security, they had to go quietly.
Nobody wanted to be known as the guy who'd taken school-kids hostage. They'd been cuffed and carted off to be booked in by the Sheriff's Department without a word, and Tyler hoped the guys had taken the hint; they had picked on the wrong kid. He had backup. He had…friends.
But it was scary, that they'd come to school. He didn't think it was necessary, and couldn't figure out why they cared so much about Mason being out on his own. Tyler hadn't told Jules that Mason was coming back – and talking to Giulia, who'd asked if they wanted her to skip her evening class to come and spend time with them after school, which had been cancelled for the rest of the day after the 'drill', she was glad. If there was something going on with Jules and the other wolves she'd brought into town, she had a feeling they might need to keep Mason's return a surprise they hadn't anticipated.
He was still reeling from Caroline's reaction to him kissing her.
Maybe he shouldn't have. He was just – confused. Risking helping him the night he turned, sticking by him even though he was pretty much known as the biggest dick at school, getting those kids out of the way when things might've gotten dangerous. She was tough and feisty and exasperated and honest: "Everyone just needs to stop kissing me!" she'd blurted, flustered, after telling him he couldn't kiss her.
He hadn't expected that reaction – but then he hadn't waited on her porch intending to kiss her; it sort of just happened. Everything he'd been feeling over the last couple weeks had been churning inside him, and what happened at school had just kind of set it off – he'd kissed Caroline in a reaction to how…amazing she was. He'd never seen it before – but she'd never been this way until she was turned into a vampire.
They were both connected as victims of Katherine. But there was no way Caroline Forbes would ever be a victim. She made the best out of every situation, and when Giulia had offered to skip her class, Caroline had ordered her to the mall for some serious consumerism.
If he'd thought her friends being arrested would've scared off Jules, at least made a point, he might've been wrong; she had the nerve to call his cell, asking if he'd meet her at The Grill to talk.
"You know Mason doesn't wanna be found," he said, glaring at her, refusing the seat she'd offered him. "Why are you still here?"
"Tyler…please sit down," Jules said, giving him an earnest look. "I'm sorry about my friends coming to your school, I had no idea things would escalate so fast."
"Four huge angry-looking guys muscle their way into a high-school hallway, you don't think something's gonna happen? You know two-thirds of high-schools across America have active-shooter drills, right?" Tyler blurted angrily.
"Tyler – please," Jules urged. "Just sit, and I can try and explain everything."
"What is there to explain? Mason's not here, this isn't your home, and it's clear you're not welcome," Tyler said honestly. He knew Sheriff Forbes was unofficially holding the werewolves in antique cells beneath what had been the old jailhouse, as a point. They hadn't officially been booked, nothing had made it to the news, and the principal had made up a cover for the false-alarm, but praised everyone's quick responses.
"I know that," Jules said, with a sad smile. "We're used to it. Tyler… I know about Mason." She said it softly, under her breath, and Tyler tried not to show a reaction. "And you."
"You know what?" Tyler asked, giving her an unimpressed look. He was channelling his best Giulia – she had the most insane poker-face, it was actually scary.
"I know you're a werewolf," she said softly. "And I know your little friend Caroline is a vampire. The dark-haired one, Giulia, I'm not sure about, but something's off about her."
"How do you know about Caroline?" Tyler asked, stifling his alarm. It was okay for these guys to go after him, but Caroline – she'd helped him. Risked her life to make sure he didn't go through his transformation alone.
"You can't sniff them out?" Jules asked, surprised. Jules' expression fell, softening, as Tyler avoided her eye; he could sniff 'them' out, vampires, he was just confused half the time because there were so many scents to single out. "Oh my god…you are brand-new. How many times have you turned?" Her eyes widened, she reached across the table to clutch his wrist. "Hey, I can help you."
"Really? You know, I don't think I want the kind of friends you have," Tyler said.
"Tyler…there are things about this world, about who you are, that you need to know – for your own survival," Jules urged. "A vampire will never be your friend. It's our nature to be enemies."
"You know how stupid that sounds?" Tyler scoffed. Giulia had told him the origin of the vampire species. He doubted Jules knew vampires were created to protect a family from werewolves.
"You need to leave here, it's not safe," Jules said earnestly.
"I'm in high-school," Tyler said, stifling the urge to roll his eyes. "Triple-varsity athlete. I've got another year of school and I want a scholarship. I killed a girl who used to cheer me on during games; and the only people who know that are the two people who helped me through my first transition – and that's Giulia and Caroline. Caroline, who you said can never be my friend because of what we are – she stayed with me even knowing that if I bit her, she'd die. Now I don't know a lot about being a werewolf, or about being a good friend, but if those two can watch what I went through and why, and still stick by me, then I think that is a pretty good friend." He paused, giving her a challenging look. "Yours came to my school, harassed me. You came and upset my mom. Now you're trying to get inside my head, impressionable young kid, doesn't know the ropes, you can take him under your wing? No. Whatever beef you have with vampires, that's your own; I don't want any part of it. I just want to maintain my GPA, get my pick of scholarships and hope I can actually be worthy of Giulia and Caroline's friendship and make my mom proud, because I sure as hell haven't in the past."
Jules stared. "They stayed with you?"
"Yeah. Pretty ballsy, huh. See, that's a friend," Tyler said agitatedly. "See, you don't know who I am – or who they are. But you know what, the way your friends treated me, how you upset my mother, I already know I don't wanna know you."
"Tyler – look, it's…not just about you, okay," Jules said anxiously, reaching out to stop him climbing out of his seat. "Lycanthropes…we live by a code of honour, we take care of each other. And there are others...like Mason…who think the old rivalry should be allowed to drift into the past, if we have any chance at survival, of increasing our numbers to what they were before the vampires… Mason was never the alpha of our pack, but there were plenty of people who thought he had the right attitude about things, and were more than happy to see him as a leader."
"Mason, taking responsibility?" Tyler smirked. Unlikely.
"Triggering his curse changed him," Jules said, her tone almost stern, like he'd offended her. Hell, she probably had a right to be offended; she knew Mason a hell of a lot better than Tyler did. "He's the most relaxed guy I've ever met, he's practically horizontal – but when he sets his mind to something, he sticks with it; and if someone threatens what he values… Over the last few months, our alpha managed to push out the werewolves who favoured Mason's perspective on things, live-and-let-live…"
"What, your friends are worried he's gone to find his friends and stage a coup?" Tyler snorted.
"Yes."
"Well, he's not. He's on the run from Katherine Pierce," Tyler informed her, not fighting the urge to roll his eyes this time. "She triggered his curse so she could get close to him; now he's on the run because Giulia managed to flip him."
Jules stared at him. She wouldn't know the truth about Mason killing his friend Jimmy. Giulia had figured it out, though. That was how she'd manage to break whatever loyalty Mason had had toward Katherine. "He should've killed her."
"Mason already killed one person, and you and I both know what he got for it," Tyler snapped, scowling. "I don't know how you become supernatural and suddenly it's okay to just kill people who annoy you. I don't get it. And I don't want any part of it. I appreciate you being concerned about me, but I'm not on my own. I have friends, and I have my mom, and I have a future. Just…don't go asking for trouble." That was the best form of goodbye she'd get from him, given the circumstances. He didn't care to hear about her grisly murder on the TV, but he couldn't say he wouldn't be happy to see the tail-lights of her car fading into the distance. He'd been on red-alert since he'd first seen her on his porch, and she hadn't done anything to stop him worrying.
After she watched Tyler leave, Rose listened as the woman had an hour-long conversation with someone on her cell-phone. Her voice was still gentle and coaxing, easily-confident, but she betrayed herself with her fidgety hands, fingers fiddling anxiously with anything she could touch, and her expression was worried. She tried to convince what sounded like her boyfriend to stay in Florida, that he had nothing to worry about where Mason's disappearance was concerned; he wasn't getting in touch with the others, he was just laying low from a vampire.
It sounded like she'd lost the argument. By the time she packed up her things and left, Jules looked worried and unwound.
Rose dialled Giulia's number, and grimaced guiltily, flushing, as a breathless Giulia growled an annoyed greeting. She had obviously interrupted something exquisite. But she thought Giulia would want to know; "There are more werewolves coming to town, Jules' friends. Somebody is bound to get hurt; and judging by her boyfriend's phone-voice, that someone's probably going to be someone we know."
"Wonderful," Giulia groaned. She sighed heavily. "Thank you for telling me."
"You're welcome – now go back and play."
"I will."
She had learned early on that Damon tended to make emotional decisions; and she didn't need Giulia to ask her not to, to keep it from him that more werewolves were coming to town. He already wanted to rip Jules' head off just for being a werewolf and thus, a danger to his life.
They had already been on the road when she'd called, and given who he'd told her was in the RV with him, making the trip, she was sure this would turn out badly. Part of her thought she should have just kept it to herself, told them Mason was dead. Put an end to this ridiculous fear Brady had of Mason making moves against him.
She wished he'd talk to someone – address his PTSD and let him start to heal. But he'd never been the same since coming home from Iraq, had never recovered from having to discharge himself; he'd loved everything about being a soldier. It was his calling. But his nature and his calling weren't compatible; he couldn't be a werewolf and a soldier touring in Afghanistan, trying to make a difference. How could he possibly begin to explain to his superior officers what he went through every month, what he became? So he'd come home, and taken a job as a bouncer. He hated it, but he could rearrange his shifts to make allowance for the full-moon, and sniffed out any drugs or spiked drinks before anyone got hurt. He wasn't freeing villages from terrorists, but in a small everyday way, he was making a difference.
It wasn't enough. He wanted them strong, able to defend themselves, he believed in protecting what they had, and wanted to try to earn more for them, create better lives for their kids – he had a daughter in Florida he rarely saw, too conscious that he might hurt her, that he couldn't be reliable because of the full-moon. In Jules' opinion, his daughter might've been the best thing for his recovery; but he didn't want her to have anything to do with them, and that hurt her. She was of the opinion that they could all handle the full-moon better than a lot people did; they were just too lazy to try and make it work. Unlike vampires they weren't prevented from going out in the sun; they had one night a month where they turned into rabid monsters. Rarely she allowed herself out into the wild; there was a favourite national park she loved to roam, and in Brady's company, their experiences of the shift were different to what they'd first experienced.
He'd always been stubborn. Even knowing their lineage, he had been determined since they were fifteen years old that he'd be a soldier. His dad had been a Marine – he got the gene from his mother, who'd been a functioning nurse for over thirty years in spite of the curse – and he had always looked up to him, long after he'd been killed in action. They'd been raised knowing their lineage, the danger; he wouldn't listen. Brady wanted to be a Marine, and for a while, he was. And he was a good one. An engineer, but he wore the uniform with pride. He still kept it in his wardrobe, pressed, in a protective garment-bag. Wore it every Memorial Day. An engineer, he was never supposed to be in real danger of triggering the curse; during an ambush, he had reacted on instinct alone, his only thought to survive, and to protect those around him who were bleeding on the ground. He had picked up someone else's gun, and fired. He'd been discharged a week later with severe PTSD, so bad he could barely function. Her heart had broken.
Ever since, he'd run their pack like a unit. To the outside world, he was all business; to them, there was a wary gentleness. It had been over five years since he became their alpha; she didn't have any regrets. But she worried how things would play out between him and Mason; he had convinced himself Mason, the most relaxed guy she had ever met, wanted to be the alpha. Disdained Brady's perspective and thought he wasn't doing what he should to protect the pack. Mason was just different, that was all. He thought it was wiser to save his energy for the battles he chose, rather than go out and pick fights that had historically always ended with their numbers being decimated. They'd lost a dozen friends in the last twelve months alone.
She worried. About Brady coming to town; about what he'd do when he got here; and who he'd bring with him. She'd never say anything to him in front of the others, but behind closed doors they'd had it out more than a few times about the direction he was pushing the pack, the friends he had pushed out, and the kind of people they were left with.
It wasn't a wonder Mason hadn't come back; and she got the feeling Tyler sensed what kind of people her pack-mates were.
But Brady was the last of her family, a broken reminder of what they used to be, what they'd had. She wouldn't abandon him; she just wished she could help him. A powerful guy in a desperate situation, there was no talking him out of things. Because he had power, there was a stoic strength to him, and he appealed to like-minded people, to the angry, frustrated ones. It wasn't what their pack had started out as, but he'd managed to push out the decent ones, turning the more into a military unit, focused and trained, actively seeking out conflict and taking satisfaction from results. He'd never enjoyed cruelty before triggering the curse; but in doing so he'd shed the skin of who he used to be. Crippled by the change, everything he'd wanted had been ripped away from him. That had left him bitter and dangerous. Their natural enemies gave him an outlet for that quiet rage, and he took it out on any vampire who crossed his path. He scared her; but she loved him.
And she worried what he'd do with Tyler. Fear had a way of warping people, made them do things they ordinarily wouldn't, and Brady was deathly afraid that Mason could take the only thing he had left; the pack. Relaxed, sociable, open-minded, charming, Mason was everything Brady had once been, and everything he hadn't managed to hold onto after triggering his curse. He saw that as weakness – his own; he was afraid Mason was stronger than him because he hadn't lost himself.
And Tyler Lockwood seemed to be the same as his uncle.
But Brady could use him, an overwhelmed kid, to get to Mason.
Jules knew that; so did Brady. And that had everything to do with the battered Seventies RV that had once belonged to Brady's parents, tucked deep in the woods, seemingly abandoned. That RV was pretty much a manifestation of how their lives had devolved; when she was a kid, they'd used it for vacations. Brady's mom had made cakes for the week, his dad had taught him to grill, and there was a tiny vase of flowers on the spotless table where they used to play Monopoly. Brady had always been a bad loser.
She sighed, wandering over to the RV. The scent of him clung to the grass by the door, which was locked. "Brady?" She turned, and jumped, smiling; Brady's stern, chiselled face softened into a smile, and she leaned in for a kiss. "This was a hard place to find."
"Better to stay off the radar," Brady murmured. "You sure this kid's like us?"
"He's gone through the turn once," Jules told him.
"So he triggered it after Mason came up here," Brady said, sharp eyes lingering on her face. "You think Mason put him up to it?"
"He wouldn't do that," Jules said gently. "He hates what he is; you know that. He wouldn't wish what we are on anyone." Brady frowned into the distance.
"And vampires?"
"This is their territory," Jules said, with a sigh. This wasn't like Miami, where vampires owned all the real-estate, the clubs, and the werewolves roamed through the undeveloped woods, or New Orleans, where vampires and witches enjoyed drunken revelry and a relative peace while the werewolf clan lived in a cursed purgatory; but there were vampires living here, wealthy, well-connected, they had lives – she'd guess the little blonde was a newbie-vamp, so vain she was enthralled by the idea of always being able to fit into her cheerleading uniform and had begged to be turned. There were no other packs for counties; this, due to sheer absence of werewolves, made it vampire territory. And they had the advantage of knowing this place. But they adapted for survival; they learned, and quickly. "And I know how we get Mason's nephew."
Tyler Lockwood was Brady's leverage; if he was the means to helping Brady settle his anxiety about Mason making a power-play against him, Jules would do what was necessary. She didn't like it; but she loved Brady more than she was uncomfortable about leveraging a teenage-boy over his uncle, who she actually liked.
"You hear that?" Brady raised his voice, and Jules rolled her eyes as she heard soft rustling. "Told you." He glanced back at Jules. "She's the only one I trust to get things done." He lowered his voice, his smile less chilling. "You always were smarter than me." Jules gave a shrug. He was the grunt; she was the paralegal.
"So who's here?" she asked, glancing around.
"I am never getting a car with that psycho ever again!" She stifled the urge to roll her eyes in aggravation as the familiar voice, drawling and mumbling, grated on her nerves. She should've known; wherever the boys went, she went. Hayley was one of those girls who was always hanging around the guys, roughhousing, physically flirtatious, riling the guys' girlfriends up, had a bad reputation because she was oblivious to the hurt she caused. It was the downside to having to think of herself first for such a long time, and for realising young that she got more from sharing her honey than at swatting the flies.
She took care of the guys, and they took care of her.
Stevie's eyes followed the beautiful Hayley as he skulked nervously behind her. At the sight of him, Jules glanced at Brady. Stevie…had a lot of issues, lycanthropy aside. Schizophrenic, eerily comfortable with punishment, he was not someone it was easy to know, and he made most people uncomfortable. But he was wicked clever and completely desensitised to violence; he was Brady's go-to for the really grisly stuff even they balked at. Stevie enjoyed it.
Her two least-favourite people. Great. The obnoxious, coquettish Hayley, and Psycho Stevie. Not the best fighters, they were more a liability than an asset. Hayley wasn't a fighter, she had no interest in learning and she didn't know how to commit to anything. She was thoughtless. And Stevie…
She shot a sly look at Brady, whose face remained impassive, but she sighed and forced a smile. "Didn't think you'd come."
"It's a cute town," Hayley smiled broadly. "Nice choice."
"Not many bars to dance on here," Jules remarked; Hayley made her money pouring drinks, flashing her cleavage and her pretty hazel eyes and dancing on flaming bars. Jules wasn't a snob, particularly, but Hayley wasn't the kind of girl you were proud to have as a friend, her behaviour reflected badly and Jules knew she'd be shocked at half the things she knew Hayley got up to if she were her daughter. And, all things considered, Hayley had had as normal an upbringing as they had. Two parents who loved her, a good school, a good life; she had no excuses. But she had left home too early to truly learn responsibility, maturity, to stick with something for her own benefit even though she thought it was soul-sucking. They all had their crosses to bear.
"Give me a day," Hayley smirked, eyes drifting to Brady. Jules wasn't an idiot; Hayley carried a huge torch for him. She was just too afraid of Jules to make a move; but she'd made her way through the single guys in the pack, switching up her favourite every few weeks. It was good she was around to let the guys channel some of their frustration, but her behaviour caused its own drama, problems they didn't need while they tried to keep the pack together, alive.
With all the others he had brought with him, seasoned soldiers in his militia, Brady had chosen the slut and the psycho. She guessed Hayley would keep the guys out of trouble with the locals, they had rules and Jules' grand-plan did not involve forcibly expanding the werewolf gene-pool by leaving little gifts in different zip-codes, only to return twenty years later to purposely trigger the curse. The idea had been discussed before. And Stevie's speciality was in convincing people either to talk – or not to.
They laid low until they couldn't stand campfire food any longer. None of them were used to camping out for an extended period and the novelty of the great outdoors was dwindling, the guys missing their game-consoles – and their girlfriends. Only Hayley wandered off into town occasionally, keeping her head down, but Jules had pointed out Tyler when they drove past the high-school, and Jules got a feeling Hayley liked the look of him. Hayley didn't have history with their pack, she was what they knew as a transient – never in one place for long, migrating between different packs. Young, with no ties, it happened. One day she'd either settle down, or circumstance dictated she had to; with the way she passed herself round like a party-favour, Jules was sure unplanned pregnancy would dictate her future. And a small part of her already dreaded the kind of mother her child would have to endure.
For the moment, though, Hayley had taken to wandering the streets of Mystic Falls, getting a feel for the sleepy, pretty town. Jules was happy to let her go – she kept her own self-interest to heart and wouldn't risk sticking her neck out for anything, she wouldn't cause trouble for the sake of it.
But the others were getting antsy.
"Where is she?!"
"Just let it go, Damon, don't be stupid!" Ric urged, following at a stride, alarmed Damon was – well, doing a classic Damon and letting emotion dictate his response to a situation he had created.
"What, I'm supposed to just let her get away – 'you've been marked', what the hell kind of wolf throw-down crap is that anyway?!" Damon blurted angrily. Ric followed at a stride, watching his friend. He was letting his emotions get the better of him, and that usually ended up with someone getting their heart ripped out.
"Low-brow shot at canine humour, marking their territory – or in your case, their prey," Rose said, sidling beside him, relaxed.
"Damon, look up! Just look up!" Ric urged, and Damon scowled up at the moon. It was full, luminous and dazzling, giving everything a silvery glow. "If this werewolf stuff is true, one bite and you're dead – one bite. Alright, don't risk it. Just – go home, lock your doors, and we'll deal with it in the morning."
Damon pulled a face, silver eyes churning with anger and emotion, but he gave a curt nod. "Yeah." Ric sighed as Damon and Rose wandered off to his car, Rose wiggling her fingers back at him with a smile; he liked her. She was calm, didn't let things get to her the way Damon did; Ric thought she was good for him. At least she'd made an attempt to diffuse the situation inside The Grill.
Tyler's mystery she-wolf had apparently brought friends. The rest of the pack – or at least three new guys who'd all been glaring across the restaurant at them for a good hour before one had slammed his shoulder into Damon on his way to get a drink. Ric knew one thing; no-one got between Damon and his bourbon. Only the fact Rose was there and Damon wasn't three sheets to the wind already meant he hadn't risked railroading the reputation he'd been cultivating around town.
The house was full of…life. Odd. He knew it was Giulia by the playlist blazing from the kitchen, The Kinks; the clatter of pots and pans; the growls of frustration; the scent of raspberries and warm copper, gelatine, roasting oranges, crystallised pineapple and thyme, heady and mouth-watering, seeping down the hall from the kitchen.
She only came home to pilfer from the library or make a mess in the kitchen. Still rattled and annoyed by the wolf-bitch, and her stupid threat – if you were gonna threaten someone, make it creative and visual – knowing Giulia was waging a culinary war, he reached back and turned the lock.
"Giulia?"
"Don't speak to me! I'm removing moulds!" came a shouted response, voice full of agitation. Damon gestured to Rose with a roll of his eyes, smiling, and she followed curiously. Pausing at the butler's pantry, he eyed the exquisite sertout de table inherited from Damon's glorious Florentine contessa great-grandmother, the scent of silver polish making his nose twitch, noting his mother's vases and sweatmeat dishes, cleaned and ready. He followed his nose and found Giulia, her intense features drawn into a scowl of concentration, the light gleaming off a large copper mould she was painstakingly removing. He waited until she breathed a sigh of satisfaction, her scowl melting into a gentle smile, before he spoke.
"The great unveiling, huh?" he smirked, as Giulia cleaned the antique plate on which a truly glorious belgrave jelly shone, the pale blancmange centre showing through clear spirals of elderflower-jelly. "Why did you ever think this was a good idea?"
"It's something memorable," Giulia said thoughtfully, eyeing the jelly.
"What's all this for?" Rose asked, eyeing the huge oak table, laid with more fruits of Giulia's labour – elaborately-decorated pies, sweetmeats, crystallised fruit, candied violets drying for decoration, a glorious cake, several daintier blancmanges, her attempts at tuiles and brandy-snaps, some Indian- and Asian-infused dishes that nodded to the popular influences of the British Empire's trade-routes, taking Damon back to famously expensive Lockwood banquets. Only the Lockwoods would have had oysters, pineapples and saffron during the Civil War! They had borrowed Salvatore moulds, though, for the pies and jellies – the original Mrs Lockwood had always envied their collection. It was a shame no-one used them anymore – dining used to be an experience for all the senses, as visually tempting as they were delicious, fragrant. Damon's family had always set ball suppers a la Francaise, everything on the table at once around the elaborate centrepiece of desserts, flowers, ceramics and silverware; no-one was expected to eat everything, they took what they wanted and helped each other. It was a far more sociable, delightful way to host a dinner-party. His mother had always hosted the most delicious, intimate suppers; Alice had continued the tradition. Their first Christmas together, his gift to her was a smaller copper jelly mould designed with lily-of-the-valley framing a dainty cameo of Alice's profile.
"It's a recreation – rather an reimagining of the supper Mrs Lockwood hosted for the Founding families in 1864," Giulia said, stifling a yawn. She looked exhausted. "I'm doing a trial-run of the recipes, before the caterer who's going to help me produce the final meal can take over."
"You made all of this?" Rose asked.
"I'm not very good at delegating," Giulia sighed, upturning mini-blancmanges she had made with leftovers, offering them on a plate with some teaspoons to sample. "And I've been working on this too long, I'm very protective of it."
"How did you research this?"
"Stefan's diaries, to start with. Letters between other Founders thanking Mrs Lockwood for their favourite dishes, asking to share the recipes; the recipe-book collated by Mrs Lockwood's head cook, an educated slave; Mrs Lockwood's invoices for the ingredients and flowers; the newspaper article detailing the supper – what people wore, the decorations, who provided the music," Giulia shrugged. "One of the guests painted the evening after to commemorate it. I've had it restored by someone in New York. Pastels." She growled a sigh, rolling her eyes in annoyance.
"Bit dangerous, don't you think? I'm in that painting," Damon said.
"Only your cheekbones," Giulia said fairly. "You're only in profile, and Stefan wasn't sat close enough to the viewer to really be recognised."
"The lot of the second son," Damon smirked.
"Speaking of, where is your little-brother?" Giulia asked distractedly, eyeing the punnets of redcurrants, small bright-red strawberries and dark cherries, stalks on, the small pineapples and pomegranates she had bought, peaches and bunches of herbs and elderflowers, fern fronds – she had already ordered the roses and China asters and baby's-breath. Decoration; every dish she was creating would be presented exquisitely on the best crockery, with flowers and greenery and berries, elaborate antique skewers stuck with then-exotic olives, crayfish and, in an extreme display of wealth, truffles. He remembered one dubious favourite of Honoria Fell's – jellied lobsters. "Stefan usually corners me when I'm cooking. He likes to save the accusations for when I'm wielding a knife, oddly."
"Oh, he's probably gazing longingly into Elena's eyes," Damon drawled. "Guess you haven't done anything that threatens Elena's peace of mind."
"The night is young," Giulia said grimly, popping a cherry into her mouth and chewing ruminatively.
"I haven't seen food like this in over a century," Rose sighed wistfully, dawdling along the table, examining each moulded pie and elaborate jelly – the scent of the elderflower-gin belgrave jelly with a rhubarb-mint blancmange tucked inside made him itch to try it; he picked up the leftover tiny one, a tangy lemon one, licking his spoon clean. Rose paused at an elaborate moulded pie, the top decorated. "What's in this pie?"
"That one…was actually a Salvatore recipe. Based on something like cacciatore – mushrooms, thyme, olives, sun-dried tomatoes, I used venison and chicken. And breadcrumbs, as it was so wet."
"How much longer are you gonna be doing this?" Damon asked, gesturing around the kitchen.
"Not long," Giulia said. "I have one more jelly to unveil and then I have a ton of reading to do." She yawned.
"Cool, well, just mark what you don't want eaten," Damon smirked.
"Oh, you're not touching these," Giulia warned him. "I'm getting credits for this project; I need photographs of each dish and the finished spread. Not to mention a calculation of the final cost and man-hours involved now, compared to then."
"Why did you decide to do this again?" Damon asked. He vaguely remembered her mentioning the project when he'd first come back to town.
"I thought it would be fun."
He chuckled fondly. "You're a freak; only you would think this is fun," he sighed. "Well, have fun."
"Do you want any help?" Rose asked. "Some of these blancmanges and jellies will keep in the refrigerator."
"If you wouldn't mind putting them away, carefully," Giulia said gratefully. Damon rolled his eyes, wandering off to pour himself a drink; at least the kitchen refrigerator was empty for Giulia to store things. The pies and cakes were tucked into the larder to keep cool and covered but not chilled – the larder kept the moisture out. He was in the library when he heard Giulia and Rose in the hall, talking and laughing. He sauntered over, handing Rose a drink, and Giulia was saying goodbye when Damon heard glass smashing.
He set his drink down, eyeing the crossed swords – sharp – nestled behind the Salvatore coat-of-arms, and remembering the full-moon, the wolf-threat, he quietly unsheathed one of them, wielding it before him as he entered the great hall, signalling to Rose and Giulia to stay put.
An amber-eyed wolf growled amid shards of broken glass – for a brief second, he was relieved the bitch hadn't come through the century-old stained-glass windows.
Those glowing eyes lit on him, the growl deepened, angrier, and Damon didn't know what happened.
One minute, the wolf was there, the next, there was a wine, he blinked, and a cascade of dark waves flashed in the lamplight, obscured by the wolf's thick fur.
She didn't scream, but the scent of her blood was fresh on the air, rich and mouth-watering; there was a clicking noise, and the wolf howled, whining, a piteous sound; he plunged the sword through its chest, and it whined, turning tail and fleeing, leaping, its silvery fur bloody, through the broken window.
Giulia raised a shaking hand to her neck and shoulder, flesh torn and a mess, bleeding profusely, and Rose dropped to her knees, pressing the t-shirt she had whipped off to the wound, as something small and dented and silver – a lap-counter – fell to the carpet as Giulia shook on the floor, trying to sit up.
Without even thinking, Damon had bitten his wrist and shoved it against her mouth. She squeaked, shoving him away, but Rose stilled, glancing up at Damon as she slowly removed her ruined top from Giulia's shoulder.
Her shoulder was healing, the skin knitting itself back together.
Giulia glared up at him, snatched her lap-counter off the floor, shook Rose off and stormed away; she paused briefly to unlock the front-door and left a topless Rose staring up at Damon, who frowned, watching her go.
A.N.: What's next, you wonder?
