Author's Note – The title of this chapter is inspired by the song "Manipulating Woman" by Ladyhawke. The song was featured in the episode of The Vampire Diaries entitled "Crying Wolf." It provided the soundtrack for Bonnie, as she offered the ill-fated warlock, Luka, a very "special" cup of coffee. In this chapter of our story, the men may seem to be holding all the cards, but the REAL power lies with the women . . .

9:06 a.m. – Bon Temps Motor Lodge

Elena didn't bother to hide her skepticism, as she met Damon's cocky smile with the raised eyebrows and bemused smirk of a non-believer. "An army?" She inquired incredulously. "No offense, but what do you know about running an army? Last time I checked, discipline wasn't exactly your strong suit."

The minute the words left Elena's lips, she wished she had kept her big mouth shut. After all, both Elena and Damon knew full well that discipline had very much been Damon's "strong suit," last night, when he refused to take advantage of Elena's . . . "condition."

The pair regarded one another in silence for a few short moments . . . just long enough for Elena to recognize that Damon had caught on to her obvious mistake. Then, the elder Salvatore brother graciously continued on, as if nothing had happened. "Well, Elena . . . you forget that I was IN an army, once. The Civil War? The Confederacy? I know how they work. You teach people how to fight . . . scream in their faces a lot . . . lower their self-esteem, through a campaign of psychological torture. Let's face it. It's the job I was born to do!" Damon explained happily, as he reached into his suitcase and pulled out a black button-down shirt.

Elena shook her head. "I don't think it's that simple, Damon. Besides, didn't you desert the Confederacy, pretty much as soon as the war started?"

Damon had been focused on buttoning his shirt. However, he looked up briefly to offer Elena his most disarmingly boyish smile, and his naughtiest wink. "Precisely . . .," he replied. ". . . which, of course, is why they lost. Now . . . tell me . . . how do I look?"

Elena regarded the way Damon's dark fitted shirt complemented his firmly muscled physique with obvious approval. Then, her eyes traveled down to his mid-section. And she had to place her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. "You look . . . like someone who doesn't know how to dress himself," she answered, rising from the bed and moving toward him. "Look at this! Those buttons are all wrong!"

Damon glanced down at his lopsided shirt, and smirked with embarrassment. If he was still capable of doing so, he probably would have blushed. "Oops," he said sheepishly. "I guess I was a bit preoccupied with my plans to save The World."

"Here . . . let me do it," offered Elena, as she methodically began to unbutton Damon's shirt, her fingers gently brushing up against his skin, as she worked.

Damon looked down at Elena. And she looked up at him. They stood frozen like that for a few beats, disarmed by the matching looks of sheer intensity they found in one another's eyes, and aroused by the close proximity of each other's bodies. Damon's muscles tensed, while he held his breath. It was all he could do to prevent himself from grabbing Elena in his arms, running his fingers across her soft skin, and showering her entire body with fiercely passionate kisses.

"All done," Elena whispered, blinking exaggeratedly in a feeble attempt to break herself out of the trance she found herself falling under lately, every time she looked into Damon's steely blue eyes.

"Thank you," Damon managed to reply, forcing his now desire-fogged brain back to the matter at hand. "I . . . uh . . . have to go out for a little while. I'll be back in a bit."

Elena took a few steps back, her eyes suddenly filling with concern. "Wait . . . where are you going?"

Damon's body instinctually stiffened, following Elena's inquiry. And though he tried to offer her a carefree smile, in response, Elena was not fooled. "I'm off to build my army . . . obviously," he answered casually.

"And I'm coming with you . . . obviously," Elena added, her eyes blazing with fierce determination.

"You can't," said Damon.

"Yes . . . I can."

"You aren't dressed."

"Well, I'll be dressed, in about two minutes."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . I've hidden your clothes."

Elena raced to her suitcase. Sure enough, it was completely empty, save for some toiletries, and a piece of hotel stationary, with the words "Sorry! Love – Damon," printed on it in childish scrawl.

"DAMON SALVATORE . . . you better . . ." Elena began furiously.

"Be back soon," called out Damon gleefully, as the door slammed behind him.

Elena rushed to the door, flinging it open again. But Damon was already nowhere to be found. She then proceeded to turn the room inside out, searching for her wardrobe . . . or Damon's wardrobe . . . anything she could put on her body, aside from the scandalously short towel she was currently wearing. Unfortunately, there was not an item of clothing anywhere on the premises. Damon had apparently done a very good job of hiding it all.

Pouting, Elena glanced longingly at the broken television, before flopping back down on the hotel bed, exhausted from her futile scavenger hunt. What the heck am I supposed to do now? She wondered, as her eyes casually perused the disheveled room for something to occupy her time.

That was when she saw it . . . Damon's laptop. It was resting precariously on the coffee table in the corner of the room. And right next to it was . . . Damon's Visa Platinum Credit Card.

Elena smiled mischievously. Serves him right, for abandoning me in this hotel room! She thought to herself. Rubbing her hands together wickedly, she grabbed the computer and credit card, and brought them both back into bed with her. In seconds, she had found the website she was seeking. Reaching into her purse, she extracted her cell phone and dialed.

"Caroline? It's Elena . . . Listen, I have a favor to ask of you. How fast can you get on a plane?"

10:30 a.m. – Queen Sophie Anne's . . . oops. . . I mean . . . King Klaus' Mansion

"Ughhhhh . . . how much longer are they going to be down there?" Katherine griped, as she lounged lazily on the late Sophie Anne's leather couch.

No longer in her "Birthday Suit," Katherine was now wearing a black Fangtasia t-shirt she had found lying on the floor next to the pool. The shirt was just long enough to cover her lady parts. However, every time she stretched, or shifted position (which she did quite often), all vestiges of modesty disappeared (especially since she hadn't bothered to put on any underwear).

When Stefan inquired as to her unique, distinctly non-Katherine-like, choice of attire, the brunette vampire replied that she was simply too depressed over her best friend's "untimely" demise to get dressed. Nonetheless, as Katherine began massaging her legs - moaning softly as she deliberately kneaded the muscles of her inner thighs with her fingers - the increasingly hot and bothered Stefan couldn't help but wonder whether the elder Petrova Doppelganger's unique "outfit" had been selected for more sinister reasons.

Since his own luggage was still lying in a guest bedroom in Eric Northman's house (a place that he doubted he'd be returning to anytime soon, under the circumstances) . . . and the clothing he had worn the night before had been shredded beyond repair, during the evening's "activities" . . . Stefan was forced to resort to wearing a pair of red drawstring sweatpants. Though admittedly comfortable, they were also about two sizes too big, and had obviously belonged to one of the former Queen's "gentlemen callers."

Stefan turned toward the basement, using his vampire hearing to try to make out the muffled voices of Klaus and his "guests." Unfortunately, Queen Sophie Anne had obviously paid quite a bit of money to have her walls extensively, and supernaturally, sound-proofed. So, all Stefan could hear were the sounds of Katherine's moans, and his own increasingly labored breathing. "I have no idea when they'll be finished. I don't even know what they're doing," he responded in frustration, as he paced the room frantically.

"King" Klaus was nothing, if not efficient. Mere moments after the Original Hybrid had unceremoniously disposed of the Queen of Louisiana, a caravan of cars had arrived in the driveway of the mansion. In total, there were about fifty of them . . . men, women, and children . . . ranging in age from 10 to about 55. The overpowering doglike stench that wafted after them, as they trudged through the entrance foyer, was enough to make Katherine want to vomit.

Stefan noted, to his chagrin, that the only way Klaus could have possibly arranged such a massive convocation, in such a short amount of time, was if he had planned for it, in advance. The younger Salvatore brother shook his head angrily, as everything became suddenly clear to him: the two women he had killed at Fangtasia . . . Queen Sophie Anne finding him in the parking lot . . . his rendezvous with Katherine . . . the fatal showdown between Klaus and Sophie Anne . . . Klaus had orchestrated all of it. And Stefan and Katherine were simply mere pawns in his giant chess game for World Domination.

"You mean, he never told you what he was planning to do?" Katherine wondered out loud. "Aren't you guys supposed to be like BFF's now, or something?"

Stefan growled. "KLAUS is not my BFF! He's not my ANYTHING!"

Katherine raised her hands upward in a placatory gesture. "OK . . . fine. He's not your friend. Chill out! And, please, sit down. You're making me nervous," Katherine commanded.

Stefan sighed, and sat down roughly next to Katherine. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I know this hasn't exactly been a picnic for you, either."

Katherine smiled, and offered Stefan a wink. "Awww, it hasn't been all bad! Has it?"

Stefan laughed heartily for a few moments, guiltily recalling the events of the night before. But then he remembered who, ultimately, had caused them, and became serious, once again. "How did everything get so screwed up, Katherine? How did WE get so screwed up? Back in 1864, it all seemed so simple. I loved you, and you . . ."

"I loved you too . . . really, I did," Katherine replied, finishing his sentence for him.

"So, why wasn't it enough?" Stefan inquired sadly.

Katherine just shook her head. "You're so tense," she whispered in his ear, as she began to gently massage his back with the same dedication and energy, she had been giving to her own legs, just moments earlier. Her palms moved up and down his spine in long lazy circles, as she caressed his skin with the delicate touch of someone who knew him intimately, inside and out. "Sometimes, you just have to let go of the past, and just BE," she added soothingly.

At first, Stefan stubbornly retained the tension in his muscles. He needed to be strong and mentally alert. Very soon, he was going to have to chart out their next course of action . . . and, if necessary, their escape route. But as Katherine's fingers began to work their magic on Stefan's shoulders, he felt his body begin to relax, in spite of himself.

"That feels really good," Stefan managed huskily, as Katherine worked her way up to his neck. In doing so, she gave special attention to the spot, right beneath his hairline, which always seemed to knot up, whenever he was stressed. A sense of satisfying relief washed over Stefan, when she did this . . . causing his shoulders to slump forward, and his heavy head to fall forward into his chest.

A blissful drowsiness took over Stefan, as Katherine continued to lull him deeper and deeper into submission, kneading his temples and forehead with her delicate thumbs. When she gently pulled his head back down toward into her lap, he no longer had any energy left to resist her. He just felt so calm . . . so light-headed . . . and so very, very tired.

"Just sleep now," Katherine instructed, patiently running her fingers across Stefan's increasingly heavy eyelids, until they fluttered closed.

And sleep, he did . . . until the sound of fifty-one feral howls shook him rudely out of his stupor. No amount of soundproofing would be able to muffle the earsplitting noise that was coming from that basement. The ground beneath Stefan and Katherine shook, as ferocious creatures thrashed and bucked beneath the floorboards.

"What the hell is that?" Katherine sputtered, her almond-shaped eyes widened with fear.

Stefan clenched his fists tightly. He had finally figured out exactly what Klaus and his "new friends" had been doing down there all that time, and it made him sick. "They're all transforming," he said, rising abruptly from the couch.

"Into werewolves? But . . . it's not even a Full Moon," Katherine prodded, cocking her head sideways, so that she could better discern the source of the noise.

Stefan punched a pillow so hard that his hand came right through the fabric, sending a shower of feathers across the couch. "You don't need a Full Moon to transform . . . when you're a hybrid," he replied.

6:15 p.m. – Fangtasia "Executive Office"

Eric Northman sighed deeply, as he leaned back in his desk chair, stroking his chin with consternation. As the head of the American Vampire League, Nan Flanagan was arguably the most powerful vampire in the nation . . . more powerful than any of its Kings and Queens . . . and certainly more powerful than Eric, a mere Sheriff. She was a distinctly unpleasant woman - at least as far as the Viking Vampire was concerned – one who lacked any sense of humor or fun, and had probably not smiled once, since the Birth of Christ. Eric knew full well that Nan generally wasn't the type to make house calls . . .

So, when this all work, no play, woman materialized in his bar, just moments after sundown, Eric was mentally prepared to receive bad news. Unfortunately, he had underestimated just HOW bad that news would be. Not one for small talk, Nan cut right to the chase . . .

"Mr. Northman, are you familiar with these individuals?" The AVL enforcer inquired sternly, slapping a photograph of Stefan and Klaus down on the desk in front of him.

The photograph was a candid shot, one that had clearly been taken without the knowledge of its two subjects. The pair was seated in a booth in the back corner of Fangtasia. Eric was with them.

The Viking Vampire studied the picture for a few moments, before looking Nan directly in the eye. There was no use lying to someone like this . . . someone who already knew everything about . . . well . . . Everything. "The older vampire, Klaus, is an old acquaintance of mine," Eric explained emotionlessly. "He was in town on business, and asked if he could stay with me for a few days. So, I obliged. The younger vampire I just met last night. He's one of Klaus' associates."

Nan nodded her head impatiently, while Eric spoke, as if she already knew exactly what he was going to say, and was annoyed at him for taking so long to say it. She then sat down in the chair across from Eric, clasping her hands in front of her, as if she was praying. "It seems you have failed to inform your little friends about the way things work around here," Nan began bitterly. "And, as a result, these friends have made certain choices that threaten to destroy our way of life. So, of course, you will have to destroy THEM, immediately . . . or, I will destroy YOU."