.
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game
The lowering sun blazed liquid gold on the gilded domes, glowing over the Piazza de Popolo as it stretched beneath them, the ancient obelisk like a needle piercing the amber sky with the dome of St Peter's Basilica crowning the horizon. The hot night was laden with the scent of the Pincio gardens, the air heavy and dry. Beautiful as it was – and Klaus had attempted to capture the awe-inspiring scene in his paintings, but nothing could compare to the reality, no matter how artfully recreated – he had seen this view countless times; his eyes were drawn elsewhere.
Caroline had fallen asleep on the flight to Rome's Fiumicino airport, looking touchingly young and innocent curled up in the black depths of his jacket. The remnants of childhood dreams still clinging to the soft edges of her mouth (for once not pursed in quiet disdain), in the dewy brightness of her eyes that blinked at him with vague surprise on landing, as though she had forgotten where they were. Almost impossible to remember this was the same girl that had killed people, had snapped necks and drawn blood and massacred twelve witches. But Klaus hadn't forgotten.
He remained still, silently appreciating the aesthetic vision she made. The pre-Raphaelite curl of her hair, the white skin of her shoulders glowing against the pale gold Versace dress she had selected (and demanded he pay for because he had foolishly agreed to no Compulsion). Klaus hid a grin (she had exquisite taste – why was he surprised?) The blushing sunset a perfect backdrop to her elegant silhouette, so often hidden beneath denim jackets and conservative high-buttoned cardigans. His fingers ached to hold a brush in order to capture the coral shade of her soft lips…
Her sharp words cut through his reflections. "You're staring," she said, without turning around.
"You're very worthy of being stared at."
Her hands went behind her head to pin her hair back, but he said hoarsely, "No. Leave it down."
To his surprise, she complied, hands dropping to her sides.
"Nice view," she said.
"Is that all?"
Finally, she turned to face him. The sunset painted streaks of crimson on her pale cheeks. "Okay, it's stunning. Beautiful. What else do you want me to say?"
"That'll do to be going along with."
He moved to stand beside her. Drawn in by the bright sunburst of her vitality, yearning to see the candid wonder on her face that he had felt six (seven? eight?) hundred years ago, cresting the Monte Pincio to stand on this very spot. Klaus inhaled the night air, tinged with the scent of the perfume she had dabbed on the pulse points of her throat and wrists (like an invitation). He wanted to run his fingers like whispered promises over the smooth skin of her shoulders, the ivory column of her throat. But time enough for that later.
It gave him peace for a moment, being able to watch her, open and unguarded. There was a simple beauty in appreciating the moment, to momentarily forget the hatred and anger that had sustained him through a millennia. To remain in a place knowing he would not have to run the moment he heard rumours of his father pursuing the trail of bodies and blood he inevitably left wherever he fled to next (Elijah had always bid him be cautious, but Klaus had gloried in the destruction he left behind, exulting in the satisfaction of laying all the guilt at Mikael's door). Too many deaths to care about, or remember. All banished to the crimson-stained mists of his memory. The worst of it all, he could barely remember Henrik's face, just the warmth of his limp body as it lay lifeless in his arms (the first of my brothers). The memory of Kol (and Finn, never forget Finn) possessed him again, and with it, blinding fury at the entire Gilbert-Salvatore clan – he envisioned scenes of vengeance, blood pouring from torn throats in a rich fountain of red, the jumping pulse of a heartbeat in his clenched hand –
No. He had other, more pleasing distractions to occupy him now. He would stay his hand for her sake, nothing more. She had no idea of the restraint he endured for her.
"This could all be yours, Caroline," he whispered into the curve of her shoulder. She tensed and Klaus inwardly gloated, taking anything he could get. "You need only ask."
"I would get bored of it eventually," she said stiffly, and he wasn't sure whether she was lying to him or to herself.
"I've lived a thousand years," he said softly. "It hasn't bored me yet."
She remained silent; affecting not to hear him.
"Think about it," Klaus continued, watching carefully for her reaction. "All the things you could see and experience… I could show you them all. I would leave Mystic Falls, Tyler would be free to do as he pleased… no Hybrids, no Doppelgangers… only us and all the world at our feet."
"And how many other girls have you said that to before me?" Caroline asked, a little sharply.
"My my," he said, a smirk flitting across his face. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"
"As if," she said scornfully, blonde hair flying over her shoulders as she tossed her head dismissively. "You can do what you like with whoever you like, I don't care."
A sly pause. "Then there's nothing to be angry at, is there?"
The ringing echo of her silence resounded in his head like a battle cry.
…
The long curtains stirred faintly in the nocturnal breeze, a momentarily relief from the stifling heat that had been radiating from the sun-scorched stone. Caroline leaned against the balustrade of the balcony, looking out. She had the whole world open, right in front of her. Marble columns and ornate terraces and wide steps leading into squares with stone fountains, the white gleam of an old church. Faint music drifted in from a distant building with a floodlit classical exterior that might have been an opera house.
She turned back to the hotel suite. It was like something out of a fairy-tale, high-ceilinged and lavishly furnished, the kind of grandeur that the old Caroline of frothy and saccharine girlish dreams would have thrilled at. Even now, it was hard not to be reluctantly impressed (that someone was doing all this, for her). It was like a honeymoon, although she pushed that thought away before it settled too comfortably in her head. Reminiscent of luxury and old things and danger.
And Klaus himself, sprawled in one of the chairs like a depraved rake of the tattered paperback romances she and Elena and Bonnie had giggled at in their early teens. Back when petty social rivalries and high-school societies had been the centre of her existence. Her world had been shallow, but it had been safe. Simple. She hadn't asked for this life. She had wanted normalcy, routine –
(Liar, whispered a voice in her head, like a lingering caress. You wanted it all. You wanted to be queen).
She should have been like Elena, desperately wanting the cure to return to her humanity. Deep within was that awful sense of guilt, because Caroline knew that she wouldn't take it back – the people she had killed, the torture she had undergone, all the passion and pain – she didn't regret any of it. She couldn't go back to being the vapid cheerleader she had once been. Not now she had tasted something more. Deeper. Decadent. Delicious.
Don't underestimate the allure of darkness. Even the purest hearts are drawn to it.
Caroline told herself sternly that the darkness was lonely and miserable. But there were parts of her that disagreed. Her life had been bright and airy and innocent (glossy, vacant and empty). Adolescence had brought something else. Vampires and Hybrids, hunger and blood. She had been turned, and suddenly she lived more, hurt more, loved more. Every narrow-minded assumption turned on its head. The heroes turned out to be monsters, and the villains turned out to be…
Her gaze was drawn reluctantly to Klaus, who was slouched lazily back in his seat. Regarding her with glittering eyes, his mouth red and sly. An ingenious parody of an aristocrat, a gentleman savage, both courteous and wild. He must have been a good man once, but that thought was too uncomfortable to dwell on – no, easier to believe he had always been the bad guy (and always would be). A lopsided smile and an impeccable dress sense wasn't going to change that. She didn't care that he had saved her life or once thought of being human – he might not be completely evil, but that didn't make him good by any stretch of the imagination.
Yet so far, they had both managed to be carefully polite and civil to one another. Unnervingly so. But Caroline knew that something was going to happen to shatter this façade of peace. Putting them in a room together was like dynamite. It was an achievement to have even a simple conversation without fighting because they always, always had conflicting agendas. Their whole relationship had been a series of fits and starts. No one else had the power to drive her teeth-grindingly crazy and then make her laugh a moment later.
Klaus unfurled himself from the chair, leaning forward to pluck a bottle from the ice bucket and setting two glasses down before them on the rosewood table.
"Can I offer you a drink?"
She shrugged as a sign of indifference (that was a subtle consent, and he must have known it).
He handed her a glass. Graceful, calloused hands (too tender for a murderer). The subtle graze of his fingers on her own could have been unintentional (but no, with him, everything was thought out with diabolical precision). Caroline set the crystal flute down, flustered. Pushing down that troubling, persistent feeling that she was getting in way over her head. Get a grip, Caroline.
Plucked and pencilled brows narrowed as she glanced at him sharply. "If you try anything funny –"
Klaus held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Wouldn't dream of it."
He swirled his drink lazily in the glass. Drank long and deep and it was as though his mouth, his teeth, were at her throat, draining away her resistance.
Caroline sat stiffly, her heart tight in her throat. Her own glass remained untouched.
…
The taste of rich wine rolled on his tongue, heady and potent. Klaus tilted his head back, savouring the lingering dregs. A thousand long years and he still found it hard to resist drowning in the intoxicating hedonism of his own heightened senses. Never before had he felt the need to. Denial did not come naturally to him, a creature who never denied himself anything and answered to no one.
His memory drifted idly back to Chicago in the twenties, all flash and brass with ill-gotten, illicit wealth, the generous flow of liquor and blood, sharp suits and cocktail dresses, jazz crooning from the smoky, dark corners (you would've liked the twenties…) Or the vibrancy of New Orleans, a swirl of noise and lights and colour. It was just a small taste of what immortality had to offer. Already, he suspected she was beginning to realise that a small-town life couldn't satisfy the things her soul craved for. And he wanted to show her everything. Everything.
And she had already seized the opportunity to see what the world had to offer. His gaze fell on the shopping bags strewn around the suite. Caroline had dragged him to the Via dei Condotti, insisting that she needed a new wardrobe for college, marching them into endless boutiques with that driving, relentless purpose that wouldn't take no for an answer. Not even from him. She was a force of nature when she had her mind set of something. One fierce look from her could quell all his inner demons.
Fascinating, really.
"If I had anticipated this becoming a shopping trip," Klaus mused aloud, "I would have brought Rebekah."
Caroline laughed – actually laughed. A bright smile lit her face. Something unfamiliar stirred inside him – a lightness, almost like joy. He could make her fear him in a heartbeat, hate him in an instant, but to make her smile… ah, that was where true victory lay.
"Oh, come on." She threw her hands out expressively. "We're in Italy, the home of Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, Armani –"
There was a glow in her cheeks. She was… radiant. Not since the night of her prom had she looked so beautiful (stunning, captivating, a work of art). Klaus reflected that she had been born several centuries too late. She could have ruled empires, dominated imperial courts, commanded nations, all with an airy wave of her hand.
He knew the irresistible allure of authority and command, had spent an eternity wanting more – more Hybrids, more power. That hunting instinct settled deep in his bones. He felt such hunger, such thirst. To be a god among Vampires (to have what Marcel took from me). He could have and do anything he wanted – except her. His longing for her was insatiable. Until he had her – entirely – he would never be satisfied. If there was a way to stop this voracious craving, he didn't know how – and he didn't want to.
"I'm glad you're happy, Caroline."
She stiffened, bristling and suspicious once more (did she really think he was just going to throw her down and ravish her?) Putting her glass down on the table with a sharp clink. Bright blonde curls spilling into her sharp eyes as she leaned forward, enunciating every word. "Let's be clear about one thing. You know you can't buy me, right?"
Klaus looked at her contemplatively for a moment over the rim of his glass. Took in her flushed cheeks (possibly from the wine, possibly the heat, possibly something else entirely), the trembling poise of her bared shoulders. Her gaze no longer fixed challengingly on his eyes but on his mouth.
His other hand curled around the arm of his chair. Desire simmered in his bloodstream, fangs pressing against his tongue and he tasted the tang of metal, sanguine and so, so sweet.
"I wouldn't dare," he said, smiling.
All the sinners saints
The heat of his gaze was burning into her. Caroline refused to look away, determined not to let Klausmake her feel self-conscious. He was looking at her like she was someone grand and important, rather than a former cheerleader who had spent most of her life living in the shadow of Elena Gilbert. Even Stefan – one of her closest friends these days – would always put Elena first (and had left town without so much as a word) –
But she was lying to herself if she thought that her friends not being around was the only reason she was here. It was pathetic (a remnant of the old insecure Caroline), but she had practically jumped at the chance to get out of Mystic Falls and escape the craziness that always seemed to find them. And who would she be safer with than a thousand year-old unkillable Hybrid?
(You know that I would never hurt you…)
She had had a taste of freedom and now she wanted to see it all; St Peter's Basilica, the Spanish Steps, the Bocca della Verità (she had always fancied being Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday) but she should have been doing these things with Tyler, Tyler who was half a world away from her, probably stranded somewhere in the middle of the Australian outback where there was no cell reception. Even contemplating the thought that she might be enjoying this felt like a betrayal.
She jumped when Klaus spoke, as though reading her thoughts.
"You can't live forever doing what's expected of you or stop yourself from leaving behind everything in your life in search of something more, something in a world worthy of you beyond cheerleading and high-school dances."
"If I recall, you went to one of those high school dances," Caroline snapped.
"And I believe I made you an offer there. Tell me, if I asked you again, would your answer be the same?"
"Yes," she said fiercely. Her nails bit crescents into her palms that healed a moment later. "Yes."
"Then why are you here, love?" he asked softly.
"Because I'm –"
"Feeling bad about Tyler? A very convenient excuse."
She scoffed, turning away. "You're deluded."
"Am I? I've seen the way you look at me. With allurement, attraction… no matter how much you might fight it and deny it to yourself."
Caroline rocked back on her heels, momentarily unsteadied. She tried to control the flush rising beneath her carefully-applied makeup. But when she looked at him, her voice was steady and calm. "You know I love Tyler."
Dark colour suffused the harsh ridges of his cheekbones. There was a promise of retribution in those stormy eyes. "You know," he said finally, "This evening is going to be awfully tedious if you insist on bringing Tyler into it."
"Why?" she snapped, hearing the biting tone in her voice and relishing it, wanting him to feel the cruel stab of her pain, this aching emptiness she had been feeling ever since Tyler had gone (gone and not come back) – "Feeling bad that you killed his Mom?"
"You forget that two of my brothers are dead. That makes us more than even."
"And what about me?" she said accusingly, hating herself for the hint of fear that betrayed itself in her voice. "If I did something to make you angry? Would you do that to my Mom?"
"Never," he said, low and intense, a latent ferocity burning in the oceanic depths of his eyes. "I promise you that, Caroline. Even though you oppose me, defy me and deny me – I could never live with seeing you in that much pain."
"Don't –" her voice was constricted – "Don't talk like you're – like you're one of us."
"Ah," Klaus said, a sneer splashed across his face like the spattering of blood. "Still convincing yourselves you're the heroes? Is that how you sleep at night after those twelve witches you killed? And Elena, who killed my brother and his entire line without a moment's hesitation?"
"That was different," she said falteringly. "We were doing it to protect the people we loved –"
"As was I," whispered Klaus.
"No," she said, tears flashing in her eyes, blinding her. "You kill for revenge, for spite – because you want to. And I could never, ever love someone like that."
"I could," he said roughly, his voice rasping like cinders. "If it was you." Caroline stared at him. "You could do anything, say anything, become anything and it wouldn't matter to me. I would go on loving you through it all."
…
It was a show of damning weakness, laying his furiously untouchable heart in her hands, making him vulnerable – something Klaus had sworn lifetimes ago that he would never do – but it was almost worth it to see the bossy, chatty, incessantly talkative Caroline Forbes who always had an opinion on everything to be, for once, completely silenced and lost for words. A rare moment to be relished. Her confusion was delicious.
A senseless liberation overtook him. He always had been more brazen than wise. And now it was thrown down between them (a gauntlet, a challenge), she could no longer wield it over him like a weapon. It was done. He had said it. Let her decide what she would do with it. The wolf within him stirred instinctively, trying to find a weakness, something he could dig his claws into. A thousand myriad details reaching his senses; the heady, damp sweetness of her flesh, the knuckles of her hands clenched against the desire to (kill him? Kiss him?), her eyes bright and hard as sapphires.
She looked away from him, her unease evident. Perhaps she would laugh at him, scorn him, tell him how much she loved Tyler… Klaus knew better than to hope where she was concerned. But he wouldn't stop pursuing her. He would never stop hunting her. Centuries would come and go before he gave up the chase. She had no equal, no likeness. She had an innate core of strength that couldn't be measured by how easy it would be to crack her bones or rip the heart from her chest.
He had spent centuries knowing only loss, deceit, malice, hunger for power and a howling fury at the world, at all life. She was so different, so fresh and alive, even in death. Unable to comprehend the weight of the old agitations that darkened his existence. Tatia was nothing but a dim memory to him now – he was no sentimental fool like Elijah, loving ghosts century after century – he had lived long enough to know that a first love wasn't a forever love. Even Katerina had been only an amusing diversion (clad in crimson velvet, possessing a capacity for love as mad as his own), a thing to charm and beguile before he bled her dry and snapped her neck once she had served her purpose (and Elena, her insipid little shadow, was barely worth a thought), but he had never felt that burning pull of hunger the way he did just by thinking of the sunlight glancing off Caroline's bright hair. He wanted her so much his gums were aching with it. He was a connoisseur of beautiful things, he collected them, sought them out, hoarded them, but she was beyond a mere acquisition, something priceless and without compare. Power and incorruptibility. A rare combination.
The sight of her, the sound of her voice was enough to exorcise the stray shadows from his body, make him forget momentarily what he was. A creature choked on blood, resolved to vengeance and ruin. The sight of her smile, the light radiating from her made him all-too aware of the sickening realisation that he wasn't deserving of her. Almost stronger than the desire to possess her was the simple wish to just be worthy of her.
At last, she spoke. Low and careless, a dagger to his heart. "You only say that because you've done terrible things."
Klaus smiled wolfishly. There was a malicious gleam in his eyes. Not nearly good enough to deter him. A flash of memory – standing in the woods, seeing her numb and horror-struck (I just killed twelve people) –
"As have you, and all of your so-called friends. Stefan spent decades as the Ripper before he became shackled to his humanity. Even the pure Elena gave in to her darker impulses and abandoned her emotions. Good people are capable of doing terrible things. So tell me, why can't terrible people be capable of doing good?"
…
Caroline felt her heart buckle. Flimsy, and easy to tear. She didn't know what to say, was scared that she had no answer for him. With such smooth ease, he had stepped effortlessly through her defences, insinuated himself into her life, and she could tell by the low intensity in his eyes that churned like the undercurrent of a sea-storm, that he wasn't going to admit defeat. Not by a long shot. It should have frightened her – and it did – but reluctant fascination was stronger than fear. He was no provincial Prince Charming like Matt or bad boy-turned-good like Tyler. He was nothing like them, and no small flicker of humanity was going to make her forget that. She refused to pity him, refused to try and understand him. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
(How can you do that, she had asked Elena once. Forgive someone in spite of everything they've done?)
She wasn't Elena Gilbert. She wasn't a saint. And she would be damned if she was going to throw aside everything she had with Tyler for the sake of sympathising with a self-confessed mass-murderer –
Caroline straightened her shoulders; a paltry attempt at resistance. Pretending like he couldn't blow her down like an icy gale before she could so much as think of fighting him (what do you know about fighting, silly Vampire girl?)
"You've had more than enough chances to show that you're a good person. You've just chosen not to."
Klaus paused meditatively, which was almost more unnerving than those flashes of murderous impulse that took over him, made him blind with rage. Those at least she had become used to.
"It's possible to live a thousand years and still make the wrong choices. Revenge over compassion. Followers over family."
She looked at him curiously, drawn in despite her better judgement. "Then why don't you change?"
"Because it's better to be feared by everyone than loved by no one. We all want to be loved… understood... it's our weakness."
"No. It's strength."
"Has Tyler leaving you made you feel strong?" His blue eyes gleamed when she said nothing. "I thought not." There was something savage in the way he looked at her. Possessive. Lethal. "It seems we've both been abandoned by those who are supposed to care about us. Friends. Family. Fathers that hated what we became –"
"No," she said hoarsely, "My Dad –"
"Tortured you. Hurt you."
"He was scared of me." That old pain rose up in her throat, tight and choking. Her hands twisted in her lap, fisting in the satin folds of gold material as she fought down the memories. Her Dad – Daddy – it wasn't his fault – "Sometimes I'm scared of me."
The shadows hid Klaus's face, long fingers steepled beneath his chin. His voice was very low. "Why?"
Caroline felt the words spilling to the surface, the wine loosening her tongue, bringing out thoughts that had been curled inside her, pervasive, for months. "I don't know what I'm turning into. I hated you for killing those Hybrids… but I did the same thing. I killed twelve witches. Twelve people."
"You see how easily the lines become blurred when you're one of the monsters. But I think even now… you wouldn't change what you are. What you've become."
Again, there was that uncomfortable truth in his words. She had the uneasy feeling he could see right through her, down to her bones. She hated that he could read her so easily, see the insecure little girl hiding behind the bold and bright exterior. "Does that make me a terrible person?"
"Terrible? No. Powerful. Dangerous. Magnificent."
"I'm a killer."
"You need never fear who you are with me, Caroline."
"Stop," she said, wearily. She didn't want to listen, didn't want to be told these things (you're beautiful, you're strong, you're full of light) – not by him. She refused to believe that Klaus of all people was the only one who understood her, not Tyler whom she loved or Stefan who had helped her through her transformation or Bonnie who she had known since she was five years old –
The air stirred and he was standing before her in an instant, hands cradling her face with unnerving familiarity.
"Do you really want me to?"
He was too close (but he had been too close for months now). Caroline could hear the pulsing of his warm blood. The memory of how it had tasted sang through her system, danced dizzily in her head. She found herself hyper-aware of his presence, the scorching heat of his fingers on her skin, the humming stillness of tautly-restrained power, the scent of pine and cologne and lowering storm-clouds. She realised a moment later that her breath was coming too fast. Klaus smiled, lines deepening around his eyes. His lips were dark as wine, dark as old blood.
"You like that I feel this way about you. It makes you feel strong, powerful… in control."
"I don't -"
"No? Even in your small little world, you crave power, status, the admiration of your peers. Even before you were turned, it was inside you. That part of you that seeks and yearns and strives, and will never be satisfied."
His hand curved around her cheek, bringing her chin up until she reluctantly met his intent gaze. His eyes an ocean of fire. "So what happens, love, when we both have to be in control?"
"We don't get anywhere," Caroline snapped, though a slight tremor tempered the steel in her voice.
"No," Klaus said on a snarl, surging forward. "We lose it."