[Edit: 17 Oct 2021]
[A/N: this was abehemoth to edit. The chapter was so long and riddled with OOC, irrelevant dialogue, etc. It's not perfect now, but it's better.]
Hayley, the female wolf, leads me up a set of grand curving stairs to the second floor. Our footsteps echo in the silence of the mansion.
I want to ask her...so many things, but this place has my hackles raised. I try not to look too twitchy following her. Now that I cannot see him - Klaus, my soulmate - the sheer absurdity of this situation has me feeling nauseous. This is the stupid shit that horror movies are made from, the decisions that have us yelling at our TV screens in dread.
She leads me down a hall, and pushes open a door.
The room is big. I wince. No, that's an understatement, the room is bigger than my home on the reservation. The ceiling is high and the floors a warm, varnished wood. Honest to god chandeliers drip their crystals from above me, glittering as the light from the windows shift.
I don't move to go past her.
There's something viscerally wrong about this. My body sings with the want to leave, run, go back. This is not how people live, I think to myself, not how people should live. This is a museum, not a home.
Hayley cocks an eyebrow at me and I swallow, shuffling past her in the doorway. Her shoulder brushes mine and there's no comfort in it, no familiarity.
In the chamber, because it is a chamber - something plucked from historical novels or essays on colonial living - there's a wine red carpet laced with faded blue and cream patterns (I'm not sure what it's called but I've watched enough television to know this is the fancy shit). The bed is too large for two people and decked with trimmed pillows.
I stand awkwardly at the edge of the carpet, too afraid to walk on it and get it dirty, and not sure what to do with myself now that I'm here. I can feel Hayley's eyes on the back of my head, watching for something or maybe she doesn't care. I peek at her, momentarily thrown by how in place she looks there in the doorway to this extravagant room.
My mind blinks back to that morning - the vampires framed in morning light, the twist of my stomach at the sudden self consciousness. I want to shrug off the feeling that creeps right back up through my ribcage, but it's persistent and Hayley continues to watch me, face carefully blank.
She's his beta.
It goes without saying a man like him would only want the best.
I wonder as we stare at each other whether this will always be it. Him and her, with me skulking in the background - if they let me stay. I'm no stranger to being a background character, but for a brief moment I had hoped… no. It's stupid. And I ache to think that if they don't like me - gritty nails, uneven hair, bad conversationalist - they could throw me out. Just like that. Whoosh out the door.
And it would be Sam all over again - but this time so much more and less and everything. Everything.
"Impressive," I offer weakly, hardly gesturing toward the claw footed dresser and wide, drape framed, windows.
Hayley offers a silent snarl in response. She either does not find it impressive or is unimpressed with my response to it. I decide to accept it as general discontent and not ponder the possible ramifications of an invasion on what clearly falls within her territory.
I realise then, with sinking hope, that any ideas I had about us being kindred spirits (female wolves! Can you imagine?) or at least passably amicable house mates was too long a stretch. She doesn't like me - understandable. I'm in her space, demanding to be part of her pack - okay, wow, pushy. I bombarded into her life, not considering before this moment whether she and Klaus were anything more than members of the same pack - fucking rude.
And whether she is his mate or not, whether she claims any right to his space or time or anything, she was here first. By rules of the jungle either we fight it out or I am accepted into a subservient position until I prove myself.
I'm so tired of fighting. So fucking tired of holding on with the ends of my nails, clawing to be accepted and worthy and seen. I doubt I could fight her, not like I am now, not when I have the knowledge that she is his in a way I may never be.
If I'm accepted into the pack, even temporarily, then I cannot afford to fight for her position. It might have been so much easier - no, it would have been - if he were not the alpha, if he were a mid tear pack member. But he isn't, so I'm bottom of the barrel all over again. This time though it would be so easy for him to kick me out. Hayley need just say the word.
Will he believe me? When I tell him…
Most days I could hardly believe the imprint was real and I'd spent a good long time surrounded by those afflicted. As the seconds tick by I become more unwilling to face that I must tell him and that he may not believe or may disregard it. Like I had tried so vainly to do on that beach so long ago.
"You'll be staying here, for now," the hybrid bites out, looking none too pleased at this. She waves a hand toward the large, thickly quilted bed and an adjoining bay window, half-hidden by ruby drapes. "Don't get too comfortable," she snipes.
I bite back a snarl of my own, trying to remind myself of the fragility of my position in this place. I turn my face away rather, drinking in the room once again. It's...so red. Opulent and crimson, like the fanciful retelling of a bloody revolution. I sigh even as the hair on my arms raise - guess I'll just have to get used to it for now.
(The truck is awful to sleep in. Not that I'm sleeping much. But the windows are frosty and the radiator smells more of burning oil than any other feasible thing. I run hot, but that doesn't make this cold comfortable.
I curl against the driver's window, staring out into the trailer park. There's some kind of party happening a few vans down - lots of yelling and singing and the occasional smash of glass bottles. No one batted an eye at my truck earlier and it's been dark enough tonight that no eyes trailed toward me in it.
High above, in the inky sky a few brighter stars peek through the trailing wisps of night vapor. There's no moon tonight and the edges of the horizon are smudged oranged from the distant city. I crack open the window, just a bit, and instantly smell a hint of rain, the ripeness of cow patties, and the sour of burning gas.)
"Are you coming?" Hayley asks, her eyes betray her annoyance even if her face is suddenly blank. She shoves herself from the doorway and turns. "Klaus doesn't like to be kept waiting."
As if some switch has been flipped, the room seems brighter. His name acts as a call to the heavens, light seems to stream through the windows, glinting off crystal and softening the harsh edges of the lavish room into something warm and welcoming.
He's not even here, I muss. He's a stranger, but...is the mere mention of him (now that I'vve met him, seen his face, heard his voice) really so impactful? Will this be how it always is? I thought, after the initial imprinting, that maybe the buzzing of my skin and the swell of longing in my ribs would dissipate. It's still here though.
I cringe, maybe it's still too early.
The gooeyness of this whole thing felt too eerily similar to those perfect months pre-Emily. Absolutely nothing good could stem from starry eyes and a fluttering heart – Sam proved that to me the hard way.
Hayley walks like a woman on a mission back through the passageway and to the stairs. Since I've noticed the grandiose of the place I can't seem to stop. This floor seems to be mostly carpeted, our footsteps lost to the world. Portraits of stuffy, rigidly posted people wearing dated formal attire line one wall, interspersed with hanging ornaments. By contrast the stairway is minimalist, but no less a design feat.
Hayley glides down it in the way of romance novels and princess films. I shuffle my way behind her, eyes darting across the expansive entrance. Truly taking it in for the first time.
Klaus is seated at a surprisingly small, paint-chipped table; a blatant contrast to the rest of the house and the room it was in. He is leaning over a page when we come in, but as soon as we set foot through the archway he neatly folds it in half and pushes it across the table. To replace the abandoned paper he reaches for a decanter and pours himself some of the scarlet liquid.
I loathe to let my mind wonder at it and so keep my eyes on the hybrid instead of the glass he's cradling. He doesn't look up, merely waves a free hand in our general direction and smoothly supplies Hayley with an order to leave us alone. I would gloat at the sour expression that crosses her face, but our earlier frustration at each other seems to vanish in Klaus' presence.
Alone with the Original I'm nervous. The fear from earlier simmers in my belly, waring with the undiluted yearning that comes with seeing him.
Go to him run away,
hold him your not safe,
be at peace I'll never know peace.
I wait silently on my spot, torn, waiting for an order? Permission? A threat? I don't know. I don't iknow/i.
"Leah, was it?" he asks eventually and his voice has the buzzing rise to a cacophony of dizzying euphoria.
I shake my head, nod, shake my head again. It's like I can feel his voice, a clandestine ringing of distant bells - persistent and beautiful and whywon'titstop. "Yes," I sort of half-breathe, trying to focus on his words rather than the effect of them. I clear my throat, it doesn't do much to help, "Leah Clearwater,"
Klaus falls silent for a moment. His gaze is assessing and every inch of my body warms with it. He makes a low humming sound and sips from his glass, staining his lips red for a moment. "You're native?"
Instantly I'm not spellbound but bristling. The question makes me want to snarl and yell and demand what he means by that. But his tone is monotonous, not judging or really even curious. It's just a question, I tell myself, he doesn't mean anything by it. My lips twitch anyway and I run a hand through my hair, wishing I had tied it up. Wishing I could go and keep going until whatever this is stops and leaves me and lets me breathe and I just don't want to be here. "If you mean American, then yes, I'm Native American," Pure with three bloodlines running through my veins, best you'll get from anyone running away from any reservation.
His lips tighten minutely. "Attitude," the one word is punctuated by the clear allure of his eyes; cold, hard and unfeeling, also grudgingly admiring. "You're not Pamunkey or Mattaponi," Before I can respond or even think of demanding how he knows this, he continues. "New comers are rather uncommon here; the only ones who come and go are those who wish to kill or be killed. And you do seem rather keen on aligning yourself with beasts. I could sense the dread on you the moment you set foot in my study. You must not understand what you've gotten yourself into, Ms Clearwater."
"That's a rather wide assumption," he raises one perfect brow and I grunt in displeasure, "Okay, so you're right. I'm not from here, I don't know what the fuck is going on. But here I am."
Klaus looks me over with an intense glower, it's meant to be intimidating and it is. "I don't understand why you came. This town is hardly a place for escapism. There is nothing to appease you here, if it's excitement you seek. Mystic Falls is a tedious place, barring the seasonal balls, those are quite splendid." He pauses for a second and amends, "Quarrelling with Salvadors has its perks,too."
He does not sound particularly contrite, in fact he sounds amused. "I'm not looking to escape or for excitement. I'd like to make up my own mind about Mystic Falls, too."
"You would, would you?" The question is dry, it makes me squirm across the room. He places his glass down with a soft thunk. "Do you care to enlighten me as to why you came here?"
The air feels thinner for a moment – hope or dread? – and I decide to try my luck, I look into his intense sapphire eyes, my breath bated. "May I sit down?"
A moment pauses in which he seems to think before he extends his arm towards the other side of the small table where there is a solitary chair. "Please, be my guest,"
The phrase doesn't sound at all welcoming from him, more of a challenge really, but still manages to sound frigidly polite. If Klaus wanted to hurt me, table or not, he would do it, that was a certainty. So I take the seat with more feigned confidence than I have ever felt, shift around for a moment on the velvet cushion before leaning forward to place my hands on the wooden surface of his desk. From here I can gaze directly into his eyes. They are…colorful and tired.
The buzz from before starts once again. I discover that I want to please him, tell him everything he wants to know. "Where do you want me to start?" I choke out.
"The beginning preferably," his accent strengthens along with the tone of aggravation. Klaus leans back in his chair and brings the crystal glass to his lips, takes a sip and when the glass is set down again his mouth is stained crimson.
I sigh at the queasy flip of my stomach and tamp my fingers against the table in thought; this is going to be a long story. I skim my mind as to what could be considered the beginning. I guess the beginning of the wolves, of me, was as good a start as any. "Many decades ago, my ancestors-"
"Oh, please, no," he grouses, his full, bloodied lips turning down at the corners in displeasure, "I don't want to hear from that far back. You're here because I thought it might amuse me to keep you around. If your only goal is to bore me to my demise, then I have no need for you." He waves his free hand at me with a distinguished flourish, "Start somewhere sooner… your story,"
My cheeks puff out at the sheer unbelievable, thick-headed man and I drop my head on the table with a thud. This is exhausting and I hadn't even started. Well at least I got to skip over the sketchy details of being a shapeshifter. I breathe deep, raise my head and I tell him about my pack – my old pack – how we started phasing when the vampires came back to town and how the wolves were male, all except me. As I retell the story I'm careful to leave out the name of our reserve, our town, our people, and any names actually. Names, I believe, could be traced right back to where they belong and if Klaus ever had reason to harm me, I didn't want him to have that sort of leverage. I could still protect my family from a distance.
I explain my relationship with Sam shortly, officially his is the only name I end up using, funny how that works. I stutter over how he fell in love with my cousin due to something called the imprint, an event I don't bother to describe in detail. All Klaus needs to know is that it, whatever it was, happened. I carry on, explaining how one of our pack members imprints on a young vampire and because of the child we are forced to stand with the vampires in battle against the Voltouri.
Here is where he stops me, brows raised and clearly confused, "Again with this 'imprint'. I don't understand it. It is like falling in love, yes? And if so, your friend fell in love with a child, a baby."
His crude phrasing makes me cringe and I scrub a hand over my face. "Well technically she's a half vampire, so she won't be a child forever. But yes, the imprint is similar to the concept of falling in love, except more intense, like the bond between soulmates. A tie between people that gives their lives meaning,"
He falls silent for a moment, his lashes fluttering, "Soulmates," he looks up again and sighs, "A complete waste of able bodies. Love is a hassle, this imprint is no better." I wither slightly at his words and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from protesting when all I've done so far was call it senseless myself. "The Voltouri, they are vampires," He carries on smoothly as if he hadn't just made me want to drown myself in quicksand, granted he didn't know that these were my sentiments.
I blink a few times to orientate myself before slowly nodding my head, either Klaus knows of the red-caped bloodsuckers or he is simply very observant. Either way, his words aren't a question. "Yes, they're supposedly the 'leaders', the strongest vampires or coven, I guess. I never bothered to learn too much about them," I cringe at my own words.
Klaus seems none too impressed with this explanation and leans his head back slightly as if offended at the mere possibility of anyone being stronger than him. The angle shows off his jaw and the slightest shadow of stubble along his cheeks, "Continue from the battle." he instructs resolutely.
Biting off my interest for this reaction, I do as I'm told. I pick up when the Voltouri leave and no one was harmed, our packs reassemble. Thereafter, I make vague mention of our mental connection and how I can hear Sam thinking about my cousin – I leave out how unpleasant an experience it was, how every change felt of torture. I skip to the part where we sense a vampire on our territory and I foolishly decide to take it on alone. I am injured by the vampire, who happens to be from the Voltouri, and I'm confined to bed. One of the vampires happens to be a doctor and he assists my recovery. The vampires take me in and take care of me until I am well again and one of them helps me plan my leave. She makes specific mention of a place called 'Mystic Falls' and a coven of vampires called 'Salvatore' that may just help me. It is with her help I leave for this place.
"And here I am." I gesture around me, Klaus doesn't react much, I almost hope that it means he has no more questions. It's been an awfully long day, my throat is dry, I'm getting hungry again.
"How did you come to meet Elena and find the Salvatores?" The slight interest that was in his eyes only seconds ago vanishes, replaced by something darker.
"Oh, that," I frown at this non-detail. Is he testing me to see if any of the vampires had put me up to a scheme? "Damon, he showed up at the Mystic Grill and, after insulting me, tried to get me tipsy on shots. He introduced me to Elena and Caroline. Stephan came by this morning."
Klaus remains quiet, staring at his empty crystal glass. After a while he nods, "What amusing things did they tell you about me?"
Amusing? Sarcasm so early in our relationship, I feel honoured. I shrug, "Not much, just some stuff about Hybrids and Originals and you wanting Elena's blood for some reason and them generally not being your biggest fans." And talking circles and circles around the topic of Klaus.
"That sounds pleasant enough," he comments disbelievingly.
"Enough," I nod, paying careful attention to the tense areas around his eyes, sarcasm can't hide pain. "May I ask you something?"
"If you absolutely must," he's as eager for questions as I am.
"How is it that you're here all alone, with only Hayley as company?"
"A rather presumptuous question, you don't know enough about me to ask that yet, Miss Clearwater," His brows lift to show mild amusement, a welcome sign after all the glowering.
"You said I could ask," I remind futilely.
"And I did not say I would answer,"
"Touché," He had a point there, but there was something else bothering me. I leaned forward, closer. "You called me 'Miss Clearwater', no one has ever called me that in my life and quite honestly it's weird." My nose wrinkles, thinking of the familiarity of growing up on a reservation. "But if you're going to continue doing so, I just need to know if this mean I need to call you Mr Mikaelson,"
Klaus blinks slowly then smirks, the slightest upturn of his lips that manages to look menacing, "I don't fancy the sound of that. 'Klaus' will do for now,"
"Okay then, Klaus," 'For now', it holds the promise of more time spent here. I feel somewhat dizzy with the possibility.
He watches me, gaze searing and yet cold, he does not blink. I try to match him in whatever stare down we're engaged in, but ultimately the awkwardness of it gets to me.
"So...food?"
"Oh yes," he taps his fingers against the table in a tattoo that's strangely melodic, "You won't drink blood," He sighs heavily, sounding burdened by my clear need for real sustenance, "Hayley can make you something, I'm sure."
"No offense, but I don't trust her not to poison it the moment no one's looking,"
"None taken," he states, that smirk growing; the look in his eyes either categorising me as perfectly insane or awfully smart for not trusting the hybrid. "You may use the kitchen if you have to,"
"Thank you," I say and stay sitting. My eyes trace the fall of his hair, hand-rumpled and the curls hanging limp. I consider telling him. How though? My hands are sweating despite clouds having stolen any sunlight from the room and suddenly I can't breathe all too well, not now. I can't do it just yet… I move to stand, but pause, a very rational part of my brain warns me that Klaus can be unpredictably controlling. "May I go?"
"Yes, have Hayley show you the way to the kitchen," When he says nothing more I stand and move to the archway, disappointed and feeling entirely too stupid. "But, I must warn you, you cannot kill me, it is impossible. Many have tried and failed, there will be more, I hope for your sake you are not one of them. So if you even attempt to shove a stake, a dagger, or whatever extraordinary trinket you find, through my heart…I will abandon the rules of host-guest hospitality and kill you. I believe you would like to skip the torture that comes before death."
My lips purse involuntarily. Well, I guess if someone tried to stab me and I lived, I'd be pretty pissed too. The mere idea of it churns my gut. "Got it, no assassination attempts,"
"And one more thing, Leah Clearwater," I pause again, wondering if there can be any more threats to be said, "if you go into any of the rooms that you have not been shown or invited into, I will rip out your heart and feed it to you. I do not appreciate anyone meddling with my things or spying on me. If your life is worth anything to you, and I assure you it isn't worth much to me, I suggest you keep this in mind."
This time I scowl openly at him, offended. Okay sure, territory yada yada. But ripping out my heart was a little extreme for wandering to a room. I shove down the annoyance and manage a nod.
It's only as I'm leaving the room that it seems to sink in. He's letting me stay.