[3 Oct 2021]
Relationship tags are strictly Leah/Klaus - no Hayley/Klaus here.
Our feet are silent over the paved pathway, the occasional crunch of a stray pebble sounding in our mutual silence. Damon is sure in his steps, familiar. Somehow, I doubt he is happy with this, his hands clench ever so slightly at his sides and his jaw tightens as we near the front door. If I knew him longer, if I had spent more time gazing into the coldness of his eyes, perhaps I'd understand. But I haven't and I don't.
He takes the two steps up to the porch one at a time, landing lightly on the balls of his feet and easily breaking into step to close the distance to the door. His sure-footedness reminds me of the Cullens, launching through the forest with no fear of falling – so sure that once their feet left the ground, the air would guide them into landing.
I follow him slowly, dragging my feet. My visibility decreases exponentially on the porch, surrounded as I am by decorative shrubbery and Doric columns. There's the slightest possibility Damon is leading me to a barbeque – wolf a la entree. Somehow I don't think I'd taste great with a glass of homeless-man's-blood.
A chilly wind brushes my neck, tugging at stray hairs and making leaves rustle. Night-time gloom worthy of a Stephan King film. It's anything but silent though, there's the buzzing of late night bugs swarming toward the lit windows of the house, branches creak and footsteps thud behind closed doors. There are cracks in a floorboard that Damon steps around, a floorboard that would groan under his slight weight.
He pauses barely a second as his hand lifts to knock.
His reluctance has been palpable since we left the Grill, something which was easily overlooked until now. I stand a few feet behind him, at the top of the stairs, and shift my weight.
Now that I'd spent more than a few minutes in Damon's company, it's easy to notice that the underlying scent of blood and earthy dryness curls up stronger here. Vampires.
I imagine what Jane's face would do if she was the one to open the door, indifference or self-satisfaction? I swallow and cock one knee, feeling the press of the wooden porch under the balls of my feet.
It's not them though, it's not the Volturi. If there's anything I've learnt since arriving here, it's that these vampires are different – if only in scent. Nevertheless, the time and effort that would be needed to chase down an errant wolf, that has no essential link to the coven, is ridiculous. I realise that the only reason she attacked me was because I was planning to attack her. She was on pack land, a threat to Renesme. Outside of Forks I'm nothing to the Volturi.
That does not stop my heart from beating faster though.
Damon hasn't even finished knocking yet when there's a flurry of sound behind the door. I watch from my position.
The door swings open, squeaking loudly, scattering light over the porch and illuminating Damon's leer. Even after having known him for only a couple of hours I can see that it is fake, it rankles of sullenness.
In the doorway a new vampire stands, back straight and plucked brows raised. She's the picture of annoyance. Even so, she leans her weight the smallest amount forward, eyes focused on Damon as much as Damon's is focused on her. They stare and stare, to a point where I wrinkle my nose and consider leaving.
Eventually, before I can leave, she tuts and tilts her head, brows lowering and hands folding loosely across the Wonder Woman pajama shirt. "It's past eleven, Damon. What do you want?"
Damon throws his head, hair flopping around his forehead, and offers a smirk. His eyes seem to hold new light as he leans forward, hands in pockets, encroaching on the other vampire's space. His voice, when he speaks, is almost sultry – reminiscent of a cat's purr. "Why, don't you look nice tonight, are you having a sleepover? Mind if I join?" He punctuates this with an exaggerated wink.
I cringe. Oh, god. Have I stumbled upon some vampire mating ritual? I try very hard not to wrinkle my nose and fail.
In the girl's defence she doesn't bat an eyelash. Her arms drop to her sides and she sighs, lengthening her words. "Damon, what is it?"
Damon's smirk wavers, but keeps its presence. "I need a favour,"
The girl tenses, her brows slamming down further over her eyes. Her hand twitches up to the door ready to smash it in Damon's face. "No,"
He scoffs "Elena," and pauses, smirk falling away, "please." It doesn't sound like an entreaty, more like a threat.
Elena. I look to Damon and back to the girl, repeating the course twice before I settle on examining the girl – Elena. The cause of those oh so familiar looks. She's pretty, in the conventional way – like a student body president and charity gala debutante. But not perfect: her one eye is the slightest bit smaller than the other, her skin clear but not unmarked, and, while her hair is long and straight, fine wisps stand on end, dancing in the breeze.
She's…normal, in a way the vampires I know are not.
She stands still for several seconds, finally her lashes flutter. She breathes deep, in and out. The tense line of her shoulders melt, giving in to a minor slump to the right. The movement creates space, an opening into the house. Damon too relaxes, but his hand twitches helplessly at his side, neither reaching out nor hiding itself in his pocket.
The effect is obvious, the staring resumes. Is this a lover's spat resolving? Are they going to kiss and hold hands and whisper sweet apologies? I might just throw up. Sappy sap. Too sappy. So what if other people's happiness makes me sick? I get a free pass as a passenger of the jilted-ex train.
I huff out a breath.
Elena's eyes flicker to me and the smile disappears, "Hi,"
I lift my hand in silent greeting.
"So?" Elena turns her gaze to Damon, colder than a moment before.
He acknowledges my presence with a tilt of his head. "We could use your help,"
Her eyes narrow, "Did she bite you?"
I gape. Why the hell would I want to bite Damon? I mean, he's good looking for a vampire, but that doesn't mean I had any intention of eating him. Is this some dig at me being a wolf? I'm not entirely sure whether I should be offended or not.
She doesn't seem to need an answer though, ploughing on "Is she pregnant? Is Klaus up to some stupid trick again?"
"Hey!" Damon scrunches up his face, "No! She just needs a place to stay tonight,"
"Oh," she sounds disappointed.
Damon makes an effort to roll his eyes as obviously as possible – my eyes hurt just from seeing it. "Would you mind?"
Elena side eyes me. Okay, offended. What the hell? "Send her back to Klaus. Or if you really want her, keep her at your house."
Again with the Klaus business. I try not to come off as peeved, I probably fail, by the way Elena purses her lips. "No one gets to 'keep' me, Barbie."
After an awkward pause she leans toward Damon and asks, without lowering her voice, "Did she lose her memory?"
Damon snorts, "She's from out of town; believe it or not, she isn't one of his hybrids."
"But," her brows furrow, "She smells like one. Wrong. It has Klaus written all over it."
"Not one of his pets," Damon mutters.
"She could be acting."
"Then she's an amazing actor and Klaus has my kudos."
I snarl, stomping a foot. "Well, excuse me. Rude, aren't we? Can you not speak about me as if I'm not here? Because I am and I'm sick of all these 'Klause' and 'hybrid' and 'pet' comments. I'll have you know I'm a darn good wolf and I'll fight you for the title."
It's silent for a long moment, just my huffs breaking the sounds of the night. Elena smiles at me after a moment and steps forward. "Uh, I'm Elena," she holds out her hand, but when she sees my scowl and my reply never comes she looks at Damon. He supplies her with 'Leah' and she turns back to me. "Well, Leah, I'd rather not fight you here on my porch. And while I doubt you're bad at being a wolf, I hope you can understand why I can't just welcome you into my home."
"Elena, Caroline's here and Leah's harmless,"
"How do you know?" Elena and I ask at the same time.
Damon gifts me another eye roll, but he addresses Elena. "Would I ever let anyone hurt you?"
"I don't need your protection, Damon." Damon just continues to stare at her, eyes wide, guileless. The female vampire's face softens, "I know."
She sighs and looks me over, eyes scrutinising. "You can stay, but I'm warning you, I will not hesitate to disregard the rules of host-guest hospitality if you give me any reason to."
I consider turning her down, curling up on the seat of the old pick-up. My back hurts in sympathy. "Fine,"
Seemingly placated with my answer, she steps to the side, but before I can be escorted inside Damon grabs my wrist. I turn to him with a frown, a snarl on the tip of my tongue, but he says something, eyes seeming to grow both darker and lighter in the porch light. He releases me, fingers a cool imprint on my skin. Air rushes back to my lips, I wasn't even aware that I had stopped breathing for that short moment.
I blink rapidly, reaching down to rub at the cold imprint of his fingers along my wrist.
Damon steps away, his eyes land on Elena briefly and he nods his head. Barely a second later he is disappearing into the shadows. From whence he came and all that hokum. My mind churns, stuck between some Dracula references and genuine unease.
I turn back to Elena. Her brows are knitted together and her lips turned down. Disappointed teenager pout 2.0. Yippee.
After taking a breath of the chilly night, Elena gestures for me to follow her inside. I follow her, my feet moving almost of their own accord, like floating. It had taken me years to cross the Cullen threshold and even then it hadn't been my own choice. Vampires, they don't smell right. I mean, they're dead so…there's that. But here I am, the vampire shutting the door behind me.
My heart beats slow and sure, like I'm already asleep. The floor is soft under my feet, or maybe I'm not touching the floor. It feels like it. Like flying. A dream.
I'm led up the stairs, past a blur of rooms and doors. Photo frames and trinkets. The scent of popcorn woven deep into the walls and something distinctly floral in the carpets. Peculiar, but not bad. Not Volturi-bad, or Sam-complicated. Not Cullen-sterile.
"Sorry for the mess," Elena - has she been here the whole time?- says, waiting at a hip presses against the wooden jam, is part of it. "I wasn't expecting guests." She stops and smiles, I wonder if she can feel it, the softness of the air, the lazy hanging of dust. "Well, other guests, anyway. I'll introduce you to Caroline in the morning, she won't bother you tonight so don't worry about that,"
I'm nodding, sitting on the edge of a bed. Sleep sounds good. "Caroline?" I yawn over the word, I don't know it, my head is already on a pillow.
"My friend," Elena straightens from her lean and floats in space, walking up the walls. "I'm really sorry about this, Damon tends to be rather…protective, and you can't blame him for the compulsion."
Compul-whatwhat, I hum a reply, my eyes closed and my body settling deeper into the blankets. The darkness shifts, becomes darker and a door, maybe, snicks shut.
XXX
Sunlight burns my cheeks, doing little to dispel the sleep fog. I groan, trying to turn away from the heat, eyes creaking open. Reluctant and dreading being awake for even a second.
Mornings suck. Mornings mean getting dressed and making an effort to look like I wouldn't rather be asleep. Some mornings it's not worth it. Most mornings.
It takes me two minutes and a whole symphony of groaning to roll onto my side and get my eyes open. It's only then that I realise, with sinking trepidation, that it's not my room. It's not Seth's room or Sam's or Billy's spare. In fact, wherever this is, it's much too sunny to be anywhere in Forks.
It smells wrong, the air is too light, too sweet.
Despite the initial shock and, quite literally, falling on my face, twice, in my haste to get out of the bed, the world manages to steady. No more spinning or fighting the sunlight, I half-crouch at the foot of the bed taking in everything - from the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner to the bare dresser, the quilted bedding, and picture-less walls. Micro-systems of dust bunnies inhabiting every square inch of space.
I can hardly breath around the pressure in my chest.
Stupid, stupid, goddamn stupid.
My hands tremble in their fists.
The room is remarkably empty, nowhere for a threat to hide, but my ears rush with sound. Because there could have been. There could have been, and I would have been lying there defenceless. Defenceless and practically begging for someone to kill me. How'd I let this happen?
I settle on my haunches, wracking my mind for how I got here. The long drive, night and nights at stale motels and cramped into the front seat of the truck, they feel like years ago in comparison to dinner and meeting Damon. Damon composed grainy, sound saturated images of dark hair and sarcasm. Even less clear is a dark haired woman silhouetted in a doorway. After that…after that it's the smell of detergent and popcorn, darkness. My mouth trembles into a hard line as I straighten from my crouch.
Birds create an eerie cacophony outside, morning songs, mating calls, and shrieks at insects trying to get away. Cars growl and leave heat trails of rubber along asphalt. But the world outside isn't enough to drown out the clanking of pots, familiar, laughter below my feet. I tilt my head to the side, focusing on listening to the sounds within the house. Her house, the woman. Vampire. Elena.
Elena, my mind supplies, and someone, who? It doesn't matter.
I look at the door, it's been left slightly ajar, the curtains across the room sway in front of an open window. She must have come in here while I was sleeping. I'd slept right through it; she could have drained me dry as I slept. I would not have been able to do anything.
The way my knees shake as I take my first step toward the door has nothing to do with fear.
Getting to the stairs takes too long. I have no memories of them from the night before, but I'm sure they aren't as far as they seem.
I take them slowly, making sure to keep them silent, my ears trained on the laughter still sounding from below. Perhaps the caution seems unnecessary considering they could have killed me while I slept. Perhaps it is the laughter that keeps me on edge, the sound of someone so deliriously happy while my head feels like it might explode. Or it's something else, something much more visceral.
I suck in a breath as I reach the bottom of the steps, the laughter running clearer and louder.
From here the path dissects, right into a tidy lounge with large lumpy looking sofas and an earnest coffee table adorned with textbooks and strewn papers. To the left is the kitchen - bacon, eggs, lingering burnt sugar and coffee like it was built into the house's very foundation - and the insatiable snickering.
I list left, following my nose and, more pressingly, bracing myself for a coven of bloodsuckers. Ready to turn me into steak, or something equally as bothersome.
It's mostly sunlight - reflecting off polished and a marble island - bright and exceedingly cheery considering the anxious gallop of my heart. The windows are wide and open up to the cool morning, bird song and smell of damp soil.
I freeze where I stand. Uncertain.
The two vampires - because really, that smell cannot be hidden under coffee and bacon - are clinging to the island like shipwreckers. Heads bent under the morning light, they glow.
Elena doesn't look nearly as dull or put-upon as she had the night before. Her hair shimmers a halo of red tinged chocolate, pooled messily atop her head, in what I've recently realised is some new bizarre teenage fashion. She's wearing jeans and a yellow sweater, the sleeves rolled up, face and body crinkling with barely suppressed giggles. The blonde - tall and lithe, curving over her mug in fierce possessiveness - shines equally as pretty in the sunlight. Or rather, she looks like she's made up of it. Bright lines, white and yellow and just the smallest bit of pink. Her body quakes with a loud laugh that shouldn't be able to come from such a willowy frame.
The blonde turns her head and sunlight strokes across her cheekbones. They don't sparkle. These bloody vampires don't sparkle. They shine. But not like vampires should, not how I know them to. They look painfully human.
The vampires in Forks (and admittedly the Volturi, as my only other source) are ethereal, picture-perfect creatures. All pale skin and sculptured features. Paintings rather than people, classic Renaissance artworks rather than whirlwind realism. Fake in their flawlessness.
It was how I assumed vampires looked everywhere, not that the thought had ever plagued me. Not that I ever thought I would need to face those beyond Fork's borders. It seems obvious now, the differences. Last night Damon's skin had been tinged red from drink, his nose and cheeks the slightest bit discoloured from sun-exposure. Stunning, beautiful, but not flawless.
If I didn't know better, if I couldn't smell the faint traces of blood and death, or if my skin didn't prickle with the warning of another predator nearby, if I couldn't see the unnatural grace of their movements…I would think them humans. Admittedly, stunning ones, but humans nonetheless. Their skin has the flush of warmth and breathlessness, holding traces of hours in the sun, lips and eyes crooked and wrinkled from laughter, shoulders slumped.
They looked more alive than I had ever seen the Cullens.
A cold shiver claws down my spine, I'm well acquainted with it, jealousy, bitterness. It just seems out of place. I've never been one for dolling myself up, never been too concerned with the fall of my hair or the state of my nails. Those things had been insignificant even before I started turning into a giant hairy dog. It hadn't been important when the girls at school started paging through the glossys, hadn't been the focus of my envy when Emily stole Sam, was hardly important at all before Jane tore everything I was to pieces.
There's the sudden gut churning feeling that maybe if I had cared about these things (however unlikely and stupid), Sam would have chosen me. It's impossible, but the thought rips the dormant ache back to the surface and my stomach suddenly doesn't feel as keen on breakfast as it had a moment ago.
"Leah," Elena is still chuckling, trying to compose her eye crinkle and mouth twitch, and failing. She waves a utility knife in welcome. So blasé that it makes my teeth gnash. "You're up, good. I'm still busy with breakfast, take a seat so long."
I don't move.
The blonde turns to frown at me, capturing my stare. For a moment she looks like she might bare her teeth, human as they may seem, and the weaker, pettier side of me almost wishes she'd give me the excuse. Instead, she tosses a few strands of golden silk over her shoulder, "I don't look that bad in the morning, do I?"
I'm tempted to say yes - although it would be a blatant lie - but, my new-found self awareness singes with unlit fire. I'm painfully aware of what I must look like, especially standing opposite such paragons of unnatural beauty. My hair is hanging in bedraggled strands across my forehead and shoulders, having liberated themselves from the harsh braid I've started wrestling them into these days. I, viciously, stomp down the urge to pat at my hair, tuck it out the way, something. My fingers curl into my palms, digging claws into skin with the effort.
This is ridiculous.
My throat works for a moment, brain at a loss for anything less than vaguely offensive. "You don't sparkle," I choke out finally. Not the best choice, but it could have been much worse, so there's that.
The blonde's brows twitch, confused or annoyed, something about her makes me want to stick my tongue out like a three year old. She looks at Elena, who has finally managed to control her amusement long enough to sense some of the discomfort permeating the air.
The brunette clears her throat and shrugs. "She's not from around here,"
"Ah," the taller's eyes narrow, but she leans over the kitchen island to extend a hand to me. Faux smile on her lips, "I'm Caroline, and no, I don't sparkle."
Elena has gone back to butchering a block of cheese.
I hesitate, unsure. "Leah," My name sounds foreign from my own lips and I try not to wince too obviously as I accept the handshake. Her skin isn't nearly as icy as the Cullens', chilly like Damon's though. As soon as our fingers separate, I stick my hand into my back pocket. For a moment I watch her, awkward with the knowledge I do and do not have. "Why not?"
"Excuse me?"
"The vampires I know light up like Christmas trees in sunlight, but you… you don't. You look human. It's weird." I look away then back at the vampires. They're staring at me. "Why don't you sparkle? And you're not as cold. I mean, it is pretty chilly, but not freezing." I am aware that I sound insane, yet somehow this doesn't feel much different than usual.
Caroline's face twists and she snorts, "I have no clue what you're going on about. This is normal? Like, I don't have much to go on, but the Mikaelson's are the same, so…" Her gaze shifts, "Elena?"
The brunette shrugs, cheese momentarily forgotten, "I'm not sure. Damon or Stephan might know something. They have been vampires longer than the both of us combined," she reasons and Caroline supplies her affirmation through a lazy head nod. "But if they don't know either, the only other I can think of to ask is Klaus,"
Caroline hisses and takes a particularly aggressive swallow of the coffee in her mug. "I'm sure there's someone else you can ask," The way she says it is more petulant than the casual dismissal she was clearly aiming for. Abruptly, her face twists into a smile, "Tell us more, Leah. We might figure it out if we can compare stories." This time she gestures for me to sit. I follow her lead curiosity momentarily staving off the disquiet crawling around my chest.
We sit in awkward silence as Elena finishes with the cheese and replaces it in the fridge. "Do you eat onions?"
I look between the vampires, they both stare at me expectantly, I mutter a 'yes' in answer and watch as Elena returns to scoop fried onion from a pan on the stove behind her. "My brother, Jeremy, he isn't a vampire, so we always have fresh food in the house. Less so now that he is dating Bonny, they go out for dinner quite a lot."
I grunt in reply, fiddling with the frayed edges of my jeans. The silence stretches and I huff a breath. This is excruciating - perhaps sleeping in the pick-up would have been less so. I attempt to dig up some of the social skills mom had once tried to teach me, before I 'turned into a sloppy, four-legged, grump'. "Where is he now?"
"At school," she pauses and gives a hollow laugh. "Well he should be, but I never know these days. He doesn't speak to me as much as he used to."
"Because you are a vampire?" It feels like picking at a scab and I cringe. Goodbye social skills.
"Ah, yes," she simpers, but the expression is bitter, "Neither of us got to prepare for this."
I imagine the attack: the dead of night, Elena's car breaking down on the side of the road, a blood-crazed bloodsucker catching her unaware. And suddenly the venom is consuming her alive, drowning her with thoughts of blood and hunger. I want to ask if it was Damon. If he sired her and adopted her into his coven, or if he found her after. He's older by miles and miles, like the grain of the earth, she's a new seed. I bite my tongue around the thought, I'm not completely hopeless.
However, Caroline rubs me up the wrong way, I have no such desire to spare her. "Can you tell me about Klaus?"
She twitches; a hand coming up to fiddle with a golden curl. For the longest time I'm sure she will ignore it, or maybe just tear my throat out, but eventually she sighs and clanks her mug against the marble top. "I have no clue why you'd want to know about that asshole,"
I breathe in, out. "Everyone keeps mentioning him. And calling me his pet."
A/N: Please note – basically everyone who is alive in the beginning of season 4 is alive.
If anyone has questions feel free to ask.