A/N: This chapter will make or break this story. Considering the fact that Elijah and Davina are not a popular fanfic couple, I face a big challenge convincing my readers to believe in their romantic potential. I might just remove this story and turn it into something more original to post on another platform that caters to a bigger target audience in the dark romance/erotica genre. My narrative might be too dark for a fanfiction between a very unlikely pairing, though I see a super sexy chemistry between them—undiscovered on the show.

But… the ball is in your court, lovelies. If you want this story to survive, please voice your support. Those of you who already have, thank you so much and I truly appreciate it! I guess my confidence is just wavering a bit at this point. I'm feeling a little ambivalent.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Music Inspired:

Edge of Dawn- Denial

Depeche Mode- In Your Room (2006 Remastered Edition)

SOHN-Proof

Chapter Eleven

Heart of Darkness

DAVINA

All my life I felt like I was nothing but a burden, passed down from one person to another. It was a shitty feeling, to say the least. Ever since my Gran died, I became government property, in and out of foster homes at only seven years old. No one was ever kind enough to leave a positive impact on my life. I had horrible foster parents and the sad part was that most orphaned/abandoned children were just paychecks to these rotten people.

Glossing over my shitty childhood, when I reached my thirteenth birthday, a woman named Juliette Leroux tracked me down, claiming to be my "long-lost" aunt. She wasn't, though. Lying about her identity and providing fake documents seemed to be the only way she could adopt me and get me out of the foster care system. Living with her wasn't any better. Juliette was a mean old woman who only needed me because of my magical-blood line. She taught me everything I knew about ancestral magic and brain washed me into offering myself as a Harvest witch for the summer solstice sacrifice.

It still disturbs me when I think about how naïve I was. Marcelle had been the one to save me. Even though I didn't believe it at the time, he rescued me from certain death. There was no resurrection. It was all a lie that was told to every Harvest girl to make the slaughter easier. I was only fourteen years old when Marcelle abducted me. Why would a vampire care about a stupid teenage witch? I thought about that hundreds of times when he took me away. He'd been too late to save the others, but he saved me.

At the time, he'd explained that whatever the elders were planning, it wasn't going to be good for other supernatural creatures, that's why he sabotaged the harvest ritual. Hating vampires had been part of my indoctrination, but that slowly changed when I realized that Marcelle actually cared about me; a blood sucking vampire did have a soul, and the Ancestors were wrong. That's when I decided that I would no longer fight for my coven in New Orleans. My loyalty was to Marcelle and him only.

Once the elders discovered I was still alive, they sent mercenaries to kill me—a majority were warlocks that had gone rogue: contract killers.

By fifteen I had become so powerful, and I was more than capable of protecting myself, but Marcelle didn't trust that I could handle twelve covens of hundreds of witches on my own. Within a three-year time-frame he hid me away in several places until he found a more permanent location: Father Kieran's church. I stayed there in solitude for months… until Klaus came to town.

Moving in with the Mikaelson's had restored some stability in my life. Spending time with Klaus made me happy. As much as it gave birth to constant anxiety, it was impossible to fight what I felt. We seemed to have so much in common. Klaus shared a love of art, as did I; we both loved to paint. He'd spent a majority of his childhood feeling unloved, abandoned, and unwanted, just like me.

I'd spent countless nights going over all the reasons why we belonged together. At only seventeen, our age gap never bothered me, nor the fact that he was a hybrid vampire. He'd shown me a vulnerable side to him that he didn't show to anyone else. I guess that's why it really gutted me to see that he was still in love with an old flame. Elena was a Petrova doppelganger, of course he'd fall in love with her. He'd fallen for Tatia all those years ago, but she didn't want Klaus, she loved Elijah.

It seemed that the only factor I had against me was my physical appearance. I should've been grateful to have inherited my mother's side of the gene pool, but I didn't look like Elena. Maybe things would have been different if I did. Maybe Klaus would've opened his heart to me and given me a chance.

But I digress… no point in ruminating over hypotheticals.

My only escape from reality while I lived in that attic was music, art, and reading. Marcelle always brought me anything I wanted. I fell in love with literature, especially the classics by writers such as: Poe, Stoker, Faulkner, Jane Austin… the list goes on. I'd transformed into a self-proclaimed book worm. I'd read so much that I was almost positive I was light years ahead of my peers when it came to English literature.

I used to fantasize about what it would be like to go to college and make new friends, go to parties, and meet a nice boyfriend… but it all seemed to belong to another world I wasn't allowed to live in. So, I spent my days in that lonely, rundown attic, sketching, reading, living in teenage fantasies while strengthening my magic for a war that would surely come.

I never intended to fall in love with Klaus. It happened accidentally. When I first met him, I thought he was hot—but intimidating. It didn't take very long to develop feelings for him, and those feelings only intensified when he insisted that Marcelle move me out of that attic and into his home, under his protection. That's how I became a true ally to the Mikaelson family. Klaus offered his protection in exchange for my loyalty, and I was more than willing to give it to him.

The night of the winter ball was supposed to have been special. I'd wanted to go so badly. I wanted to tell him how I felt about him. Seeing him reunite with Elena tore me up inside. I didn't know how to deal with the hurt and jealousy. I did something impulsive and stupid. I conjured Tatia's spirit and everything came back to me a hundred times worse, like a heavy dose of karma.

"On your knees, slave… Crawl to me… Take it off. Everything…"

Elijah's voice interrupted my train of thought and echoed in my mind like a looping dark melody. I hadn't expected the sudden intrusion, especially since my focus was on Klaus.

Two weeks had passed since my discussion with Elijah in the library. I'd been avoiding him on purpose and I think he understood why. I couldn't be around him, not while Tatia was in my head.

Kora kept me company whenever she was cooking, but a huge chunk of my days was spent in that massive library by myself—reading, desperately trying to drown out Tatia's voice. Some days it was pure torture. It seemed that the more distance I put between me and Elijah, the louder her voice became.

Freya was supposed to have arrived a week ago, but due to unforeseen circumstances, she had to stay behind and help Klaus and Marcelle. According to what Elijah told me, war was breaking loose between the witches, wolves, and the vampires. Staying here was safer for me, though I much preferred to fight the good fight.

As I lay in bed, tossing and turning, I kept thinking about Tatia. Her memories had scarred me for life. I could never erase everything she showed me. Her love for Elijah had driven her to madness. He had driven her to madness. I couldn't understand how she ever fell for him and stayed with him. I could never love a man like that, a soulless monster. No matter how much he would've changed, it didn't matter. Elijah was like Jekyll and Hyde. He truly had a heart of darkness.

~oOo~

ELIJAH

"Do you believe in the nobility of suicide?"

Tatia's words had haunted me like a vengeful phantom, risen from the grave, relentlessly tormenting me. Those words had branded my heart with guilt, never to fade. I didn't deserve peace. How foolish of me to have believed that I had found it after centuries' worth of self-loathing.

I still remembered the first time she asked me that question, as if it had happened yesterday… Her body covered in gushing lacerations… I'd made her suffer my twisted love beyond her mental and physical capacity, and she wanted to die. How eloquently she'd worded it, too, like a passionate poet, ready to forfeit her life by her own hand.

"Do you believe in the nobility of suicide?"

Hearing those same words roll off Davina's tongue only brought me back to that cursed night when Tatia had whispered it to me… So broken… so crushingly broken… by me.

I knew it had been Tatia who must have influenced Davina to say it. She'd slipped away into catatonia after she asked me that question. When she had eventually regained control over her mind, she couldn't remember what she had asked me. It shouldn't have affected me as badly as it did, but I could not rip it away from my mind. I hadn't been able to sleep properly since that conversation.

All I could think about was the possible threat of Davina dying. What if Tatia wanted to finish what I had denied her all those years ago? Was this her revenge? Davina had assured me that she was not suicidal, but I couldn't trust Tatia. I could not ignore the possibility that Davina would become a victim of my crimes against my ex fiancé.

The hours quickly passed as I sat across the fireplace in the library, drinking my sorrows away into the night. For the past two weeks, I'd barricaded myself in my study in the west wing of the mansion, furthest away from Davina. She had made it clear that she needed to distance herself from me until Freya arrived. I understood why. The poor girl was overwhelmed and traumatized, sharing her mind and body with a woman who was broken and driven to insanity. I could only imagine the hell she suffered every day.

Adding to my shame, she was probably terrified to be in my presence. I didn't blame her. After everything she'd been subjected to, it was a miracle she hadn't lost her mind.

I gulped back what remained of my scotch on the rocks, welcoming the burn of alcohol chasing down my throat. My mind was a little foggy, but I held my liquor well. Curbing my blood lust was my number one priority. Niklaus would have feasted on the hired help and compelled them, though I couldn't bring myself to do that. I knew I needed blood, but I was patient enough to wait and stock up on blood bags tomorrow.

Ever since Tatia's return, I didn't trust myself to feed on the living, fearing my monster would escape from his prison, fearing I'd lose control. I felt… crippled. I was a master of discipline and control, but I knew the demon within was alive, waiting: waiting for me to screw up.

My all-consuming thoughts evaporated when I heard a creaking noise.

"Davina?"

Your favorite innocence…

Your favorite slave.

I reached for the remote on the table next to me and pointed it at the stereo, lowering the volume.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to wake you," I said, watching her step through the doors.

I was about to get up, when she told me not to.

Her white camisole clung to her slender body, barely covering her thighs as she padded toward me in bare feet. Her long brown hair flowed over her shoulders, wild and tousled. Evidently, she was dressed for bed, though it was hardly suitable attire to gallivant around the mansion in.

I forced myself to focus on her face and not her taut… physique.

Every nerve ending in my body fired up when she suddenly crawled onto my lap and sat astride, facing me. My skin came to life when she pressed her palms against my chest, coaxing my already unbuttoned shirt to open more. Her seductive gaze burned a hole through my soul, destroying the man with morals, resurrecting the beast.

I had to put a stop to this. Davina would never seduce me.

"Tatia, we—"

"Not Tatia." She shook her head, brushing her hands up my shoulders.

Liquid lust swirled in her ocean eyes, ripping logic from my brain in half a second.

"This isn't you, Davina." I fought for control, beating back my licentious depravities while she continued to touch me like a lover.

I was slowly… unravelling.

"Stop this," I sternly expressed, grabbing her arms to push her off, but she caught me off guard when she shamelessly groped my manhood, stroking the serpent to life.

"I can't," she whispered in my ear. "I don't want to."

I couldn't comprehend what was happening between us. Was I dreaming? Was this another treacherous nightmare baiting me? Only to end up with her dying and bleeding at my feet? I couldn't trust this situation. I had to dissuade it.

Living on your breath…

Feeling with your skin…

"This is what you want"—she bit my lip hard, tugging it back—"This is what you need"—she bit me again—"Pain," Davina breathed.

My resolve was weakening at a dangerously rapid rate, and before I could prove to myself that I was truly an enemy of temptation, her soft, sultry lips crashed against mine.

I froze. I couldn't move. Every synapse in my brain was firing like mad. I had a three second window of opportunity to stop her. In fact, three seconds was far too generous. I should have prevented the kiss.

But I didn't.

And I didn't pull away, either.

All this time, the deadly catalyst to my undoing had secretly been the sensual lips of Davina Claire. I'd been in danger ever since she moved into the family home and I didn't even know it. Temptation had always been right around the corner, which explained why I'd limited my interactions with her so much.

Prevention, not the cure: I lived by this code, yet I failed to enforce it tonight.

Her insatiable lips, the minty taste of her tongue, the heat of her body pressed against mine obliterated every redeeming quality I possessed. Qualities I'd spent centuries working hard to build from the ground up: nobility, chivalry, self-control… it all went poof, as soon as she kissed me and robbed me of my virtues.

Who was I kidding, though? She didn't rob me of anything, I willingly surrendered myself.

How easily my body betrayed me: a shameless submission to her wild and illogical rebellion—unquestionably out of character. How dare I take advantage. Whatever war she fought within herself, it was my responsibility to protect her from me. Three weeks of careful calculation to prevent a situation like this, and look what had happened. How carelessly I'd sabotaged my efforts. How pathetic. A failure. I'd miserably failed Davina.

I couldn't contain the blazing inferno that had engulfed me with her kiss. And now, it was engulfing her, the longer I kissed her, the deeper I went, the more passion I poured.

We were drowning in danger and instead of being her life raft, I was pulling her down into the waters with me.

Selfish.

So. Unforgivably. Selfish.

Yet I couldn't pull away. I had to taste her lust. Tasting it wasn't even enough. She was driving me mad with desire. I feared I would burn alive in that chair if I didn't impale myself so deep inside of her. She was pushing me.

Goddammit she was pushing.

A breathy moan fled from her lips when I squeezed her thighs, forging crescent moons into her delicate skin.

Half hoping and praying that I was only hallucinating, she granted me a moment of mercy when she withdrew for breath.

I inhaled.

She panted.

I would've initiated a kiss this time, but what I saw in her eyes pulled me right out of the red fog, painfully sobering me.

"I… I'm sorry." Her voice cracked, lips quivering.

Fear? Trauma? Regret? What was it, Goddammit!

"I'm so embarrassed," Davina teared up.

She nearly stumbled as she scrambled off my lap.

This wasn't good. I had to fix this. I screwed up. It was my fault, not hers.

"Davina, wait!" I called out.

But as soon as I got my bearings, she was gone.