Trigger Warnings - Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Kidnapping, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent

Uninvited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head, so I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name, like tears, soft, salt on my lips, the sound of its bright syllables like a charm, like a spell.

Carol Ann Duffy

January 1919

Mystic Falls

The following week was normal, there were no odd, unexpected meetings and yet, she had the sense that something was slithering beneath her skin, a restless energy, an unfulfilled expectation that she might find him again. Turn a sharp corner and come upon his person - hair shining, lips tinged slightly too red and curled into something amused, even though it was just the two of them.

It hadn't escaped her notice, how it always seemed as if it was just the two of them.

Most of her time continued to be occupied by her sister, by a seating chart, a wedding to plan but her fiancé away. She would pour upon all the names of the guests, an important yet menial task and would find her mind drifting like a leaf in a strong current. An inexplicable want growing within her, deciphering him, dissecting their interactions. Every time he had spoken to her, he had ensured to keep the conversation brief. His eyes rarely gave anything away. Yet, not a single person she had met spoke about him. The reason for it evaded her; he was charismatic, more than she'd ever admit to noticing, his aura captivating. The air around him seemed like the air around her, but the further she thought on it, the more ripples she seemed to find around his.

With no one who shared her curiosity of him and a resistance to mentioning him herself, her mind turned inwards.

Thoughts of him plagued her, and on two nights, his eyes haunted her in her dreams. Peering down at her almost possessively. His hands, thin, long fingers would lay hot and cold upon her exposed skin. His mouth weaving charming words, entrancing her. Like he had done that first evening they had met.

Her days were filled with Samantha who had taken one look at the newspaper one morning and had started muttering about 'blood' and 'death'. Her uncle had frowned at them both, and Elena had taken her back to her quarters. She had been like this for four days now, and when Elena had looked at the newspaper that had caused such a ruckus, the ink already fading and staining her fingertips with dark charcoal, it was to see an article about unexplained disappearances in a nearby town.

Details were not given, but she did not need them. Samantha was fragile most days. A change that occurred suddenly after Elena's father had passed a few months ago.

It had scared Elena, five council members had met gruesome deaths just a week after he had died, and now it seemed as if similar things were happening nearby too. It might have brought back bad memories for her sister just as they did for her.

She pushed that aside though, choosing to spend her days tending to Samantha instead. She never needed much, a warm cup of cocoa, a book to read, and a hand to hold if the images in her mind turned dangerous.

That afternoon, they were engrossed in a game of chess. Elena had been reluctant to agree but Samantha left her bed for it, and it took up the time. It also took up space in her mind, forcing her to think a step ahead, something she struggled with still, even though she had gotten better at playing the game.

Even as she was staring at the board, it was never about it, but about the opponent.

"You should be careful." Samantha said, her voice serious, dark hair sweeping across her neck and back. Her hand was hovering over her knight, and Elena debated on which of three potential moves she could make.

"I am careful - besides," she said feigning disappointment and hope all at once, looking at her white pieces scattered by the board, "I haven't lost yet."

"There are beasts everywhere." Samantha's tone was at it always had been, her eyes still light, a jarring contradiction to her words.

"Yes, I know there are," she couldn't help the way her voice softened slightly. She'd been instructed to be firm should her sisters delusions return, to not entertain them, yet Elena couldn't find it in herself. She never did do as she was asked. "But they aren't here now. It's just you, me, the cook and the maid."

For a moment, she was unsure that she had mollified Samantha successfully, but she went back to her game easily.

"It will be safer once uncle Johnathan comes back."

Elena forced a smile onto her face and nodded. "Yes, it will." She didn't have the heart to correct her about his death. Let her stay in the safety of her delusions.

Elena could only wish she had similar, if fleeting, moments of respite.

She could never quite forget the stench of death.

They took a quiet dinner after Samantha defeated Elena again. In the silence of the room, she watched the waning fire in the mantle.

"Have you spoken to George?" Samantha asked in between bites of her chicken and Elena shook her head.

"Not yet, he only came back yesterday." The ring on her finger glittered as she spoke and she looked down at it.

"He's a beast too." Her sister said and she laughed at that.

"Hardly. Marianna called," Samantha's attention was on her at once, eyes clearing slightly, "she said she'll visit in a few days." It was a good thing too, Elena thought as some colour returned to Samantha's cheeks.

That night she dreamed of the same cool eyes again, his silken, drawling voice echoing within her ears, hands searing on her bare arms. As though he wanted to peel her skin and take hold of her very bones. She woke up before he captured her lips with his.

She wouldn't admit to it if asked, but as she left her house the next day, her stomach was flipping. It was because George had come back; it had been bad enough staying away from him during the war, a constant worry, but him leaving recently to visit his brother had not been pleasant. Despite the way she missed him, there was a strained quality to them now. He wanted the best for her, yet, he did not seem to understand that she why she wanted to push the wedding ahead. To have it so soon after she'd come out of mourning felt like a betrayal.

Eyes darting about, she saw no one who stood out from the crowd particularly, except when she waved a gloved hand at one of the Fell sisters.

She was on the lookout for him, so she might avoid him before he had time to weave glowing webs with his words.

But she never did see him, wandering down the sidewalk until she reached the imposing mansion. Woods surrounded it, tall branches yearning to touch the sky while low grass laid before it, lining the pebbled path that led to the ornate door. Several times, her heart had picked up its rhythm, her eyes darting about as she waited for something.

She felt relief when she approached the door, a smile at the ready when she hadn't run into him at all. She refused to notice that there was something strained in the way her lips were stretched.

She knocked twice and waited before the door was opened by one of the servants. The purpose of her visit was already clear to him as he led her into the parlour, having taken her coat. She adjusted her mesh gloves and the blue dress before she stepped inside the room.

And stopped abruptly.

He was there. Perhaps, she thought as she watched him, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, whatever Samantha had was contagious and she had simply conjured him up in her mind. Why else would he be at her fiancés house, sipping tea?

Her smile was less strained for a few seconds, before she banished it off her face entirely.

"Elena!" She turned to face George as he walked up to her. She had forgotten how much she had missed him, him and his easygoing smile. He grabbed her and kissed her cheek, heat spreading across her face. "I missed you." He said when he pulled away from her and she smiled up at him. It always surprised her, just how he towered over her slightly, the top of her head just barely grazing across his chin.

He had, for the lack of a better word, all the characteristics of a Lockwood man, brown eyes and dark hair, slightly full lips with a clean shaven, angular jaw, yet it was someone else who wished to commandeer her attention. She longed to twist her neck to look at him, but she stayed rooted before George.

"I missed you," she replied easily and then manoeuvred out of his hold to wave at a lounging Marianna. "How was your trip?"

"It was lovely Elena!" Marianna rarely spoke always gushing in excitement instead. "We had the best time, you'll join us when we go next, and Samantha too." Warm touch upon her elbow kept her from responding, and she was turned towards him, Nik, he had told her his name was. She had protested, as though his name didn't suit him, but now she couldn't hide her curiosity.

When he walked towards her, she had to remind herself that George was still holding on to her. That his touch was just as heated, just as searing.

A pretty, desperate lie.

"This is Klaus," he said, his breath warm upon her skin, smelling like coffee and a hint of cigar smoke. In the afternoon, she thought as she kept herself from pressing her lips. "We met doing business. And this is Elena Gilbert, my fiancé."

Something felt wrong.

Elena had known George half her life; she had difficulty seeing the two men as friends. For one-

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Klaus said as he held out his hand. She slipped hers into it and felt his lips along her knuckles through her thin gossamer gloves. She smiled tightly at him; she had known he was lying about his name and he was lying now as well, not telling George about their earlier meetings. She could tell him, but something held her back from revealing that truth. It wasn't as if there was anything special or important to tell.

"It's good to meet you as well." She pulled her hand away from his and walked over to the couch to greet Marianna, taking a seat next to the other brunette.

Marianna had the kind of face most woman envied, perfectly aligned and round, red lips and striking green eyes. She was aware that George had settled into the couch opposite hers with his friend, but she made it a point not to look over at them.

"We had a good time with Joseph," Marianna was saying, fixing a cup of coffee for Elena, "at least one of my brothers is going into a noble profession."

"You just like having a lawyer as a brother." Elena said as she attempted to relax in her seat.

"I do like that," Marianna said someday solemnly, "who would rescue me if I ever go to prison?"

"Why would you go to prison?" Elena asked with a slight laugh, "your father used to be the mayor of the town."

"Well, you never know Elena."

"Do you intend to commit a crime?" Klaus' voice cut in to their conversation, like a knife across a ripe apple, sharp and quick.

Marianna looked as if she was mulling the question over, "well, I couldn't tell you that if I was." He smiled at her and then turned his gaze to Elena.

Her neck almost creaked with how sharply she turned it, evading his gaze and any conversation he might want to start. Eventually, Marianna asked her about the wedding, and then somehow, the topic of conversation turned to Samantha. But that was to be expected, her sister and Marianna had always been closer than most friends were. There was a time when Elena had been almost envious of their friendship, but green had never suited her much.

When they stopped, Marianna suggested lunch, playing hostess.

Fingers grazed across her inner wrist as she was walking out of the parlour.

"What?" She turned abruptly to look at him, and he had the audacity to look almost bashful. Somewhat sincere. She thought she could peel it away from his face if she really wished it.

"It seems as though as you're upset with me."

"I wonder why that could be, Nik." She ground out the name as she turned but his touch upon her wrist was suddenly insistent. Holding her in place.

"Is that why you're upset?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were here to stay with my fiancé?"

"I didn't know who you were in the beginning, you see. And when I found out I thought I'd rather not just spring that upon you, so to speak. Besides, would you have believed me?" She sputtered at that, the answer turning to ash upon her tongue as she realised it was a resounding denial.

"Is that your explanation for lying about your name?"

"My name is Niklaus."

"Oh. That sounds rather…."

"German. European at the very least. Not a very popular sentiment at the moment, don't you agree?"

She stared at him for a moment, and she couldn't help but feel slightly strange.

"We should go for lunch. It is rude to keep people waiting." She pulled her hand away from his grasp.

"You do care a lot about that. Propriety."

"Don't you?" She could feel a hint of something slipping into her house unbidden.

"No, not particularly."

It wasn't surprising.

They went to the dining room together and Elena was glad to see it was the informal one. While the Gilbert's, and her, had never really wanted for anything, she couldn't deny that the Lockwood Manor was all extravagance.

While she slipped into her chair, she spied Nik, or Klaus rather, whisper something to the footman in a way that seemed as though it was almost insistent. But when he turned around, he seemed normal.

He fit in perfectly. He flirted with Marianna in a manner that was just shy of inappropriate and he laughed at George's jokes and reminisced about their week in New Orleans. And yet, there was a sense of je ne sais quoi around him.

When they shifted to their second course, she caught his eye.

"What brings you to Mystic Falls?" Her question was drenched in curiosity not unlike the bread in her soup, and he smirked at her. He picked up his wine glass by the stem, taking a sip as he looked at her.

"Well, I was informed there was great beauty here to be admired. And so I found myself here, in your curious town." There was a glint in his eyes as he tipped his glass slightly towards her, "which one of you will do me the honour of showing me the ever talked about Falls?"

George took over the conversation again, and she had a feeling that Klaus let him.

It was only while she was being served during the third course that something caught her attention again.

"What happened to your hand?" Elena asked the footman. There was a fresh cut on his wrist, it seemed clean but she knew it wasn't old because of the slight swelling around it.

"Just an accident with the kitchen knifes ma'am." She nodded and then turned back to her plate. Caught Klaus' eye again, bright blue glinting in amusement as he drank his red wine with more panache than necessary, arm slung informally over the back of George's chair. A trick of the light made her think his wine seemed thicker than the contents of her own glass.

When it was time to leave, George wrapped her coat around her tightly, and walked her home.

There were numerous things for them to talk about, but the first chance they got, they were sneaking. Stolen kisses from her lips, his skin flushed under her hands; she'd forgotten how much she missed him, wanted him. When he pulled away from her reluctantly, she was sure her skin was red. It felt heated enough.

"How was your trip? Really?"

"It was fine but I missed you."

"I missed you too." That she had, even though her mind was increasingly being occupied by another. That, she thought, would be at an end now. She'd only really been thinking about him because he was mysterious, and she'd always been too curious for her own good. She knew things about him, the mystery that he seemed to have been shrouded in had fallen away this afternoon. "Why didn't you tell me about your friend coming to visit?"

He looked at her strangely, confusion evident in the small lines that were beginning to form around his eyes. "I didn't? I'm certain I did tell you."

"No you didn't. I would've remembered if you had." She searched her memory, trying to remember if he had told her.

"I did tell you." She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head, "you must've forgotten in all this chaos planning for the wedding. There's only so much you can remember."

She frowned at that, the comment hitting her lightly, like brushing exposed skin against a blunt nail, the consequence of which was nothing more than a small scratch. Insignificant in the grand scheme of things. She decided not to pay any mind to it.

"Maybe." She bit the inside of her cheek when his palm curved into her waist, and leaned back against the wall. The building they were hiding behind. A small grocery, voices being carried out the window with the wind. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

"What?"

"It's about the wedding." When he didn't interrupt her, she continued freely. "I was thinking about asking Samantha to be the maid of honour."

"Elena," there was something reproaching in his tone, and she curled her toes within her sandals.

"It will be fine."

"No, you know I like Samantha. I've grown up with her, but don't you think she's a little too unstable for this?"

"She isn't!" His look turned sharp at the tone of her voice, but he didn't say anything, "she's in control almost all of the time."

"Almost." He repeated and she shook her head. "Her last episode-"

"It only lasted fifteen minutes." She reminded him assuredly, "and it wasn't even that bad. She was just a little-"

"She was pointing at empty spaces in the room, and accusing them of wanting to drain her blood."

"These new pills - they're very good. She hasn't done anything like that in weeks." She refused to divulge that Samantha was having a bad week. She didn't care if her sister made another scene at the wedding, she'd always wanted Samantha by her side when she got married. "And if she isn't alright on the days leading up to the wedding, then I'll ensure she won't be in it." She'd never expose her sister to the ridicule of the town. "I'm just saying-"

"Why not Valarie Fell? You're close to her."

"Yes, but Samantha is my sister." He pursed his lips, and she knew what he was thinking without him saying anything. Her neck pulsated wildly with each beat of her erratic heart, and she shook her head. "Just think about it please." She leaned against the wall slightly and looked up at him, her eyes pleading until his softened and he nodded. She smiled at that and drew him into another kiss.

When she reached home, it was to learn her uncle would return late at night. She handed her coat to Gwen, the maid, after George left. He didn't even walk the path from the cast iron gates to the wooden door, refusing to set foot inside the gardens as he muttered about getting his coat fixed from the tailor and getting home in time for dinner.

Once he had disappeared beyond the gates, Elena stood in front of the fireplace in the living room. Despite the small walk, the weather remained cold and slippery, windy in a way the town only experienced for a few months within a year. She thought back to lunch, to George and how insistent he'd been in his mistrust of Samantha. When she gave it thought, she couldn't find it in herself to blame him, but she had hoped he'd listen to her. She still hoped he would.

She asked for dinner in Samantha's room again, and when she knocked on her sisters door, stepping inside lightly, and taking off her gloves, she saw that Samantha was sitting up reading a book.

"You aren't supposed to read. Or to exhaust yourself." She said as she crossed over to the bed.

"Will you tell on me?" Samantha asked, sounding more like herself than she had all week, and Elena smiled as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"Perhaps." Samantha drew her in and Elena arranged her head on her sisters lap, in the way they'd done since they were children.

"I'll have to tell on you then," Samantha said, "after all you are the one who sneaks in these books."

"Hmm. Best not say anything then. What are you reading? Jane Eyre?"

"Yes." Elena sighed and shook her head. "What's wrong with you?" Samantha asked, sounding much as she did before. Before this disease had set its roots inside her like an old tree in the soil, digging past everything superficial and clinging to something deep within.

"Nothing."

"Lena." Samantha put away the book and started massaging Elena's forehead.

"It's nothing. Just a little fight with George."

"A little?"

"Yes."

"And?" Elena looked up at her, and she shrugged. "There is more to this, I can tell."

"Some friend of his is visiting."

"What friend?" Samantha asked and Elena shrugged. "What else?"

Elena sighed. "Why doesn't anything ever slip past you?"

"Nothing slips past me."

"I don't know why we need to have the wedding so soon. Just three months away. I really wish we could have it later."

"And did you tell George?"

"I tried, but he's too excited about the wedding."

"Try again, if you truly want it." She nodded reluctantly, and Samantha didn't call her out on the lie.

Dinner was a small affair, and she heard her uncle come back just as she closed her door.

She went to bed with a clear head, and yet, when she was in the crest of her sleep, she saw him again. They were in the parlour of the Lockwood manor, only it was just them in front of the fireplace. His hand was large over her neck, enveloping the delicate skin there, thumb brushing into the hollow of her throat, his other hand slipping beneath her dress and up her thighs. She closed her eyes and sighed, long fingers entering her. Her lips parted and she let out a moan, just as the door opened and George walked inside.

He stared at her in shock, betrayal evident in his gaze.

She breathed in slowly as she woke up, her throat dry as she sat up in bed. Closed her eyes when she realised there was a wetness between her thighs. She poured herself a glass of water and then frowned.

Faint rustling of clothes and quick, heavy footsteps. She strained her ears as she got out of bed, and slipped her robe on. The floor was cold beneath her soles and she stopped just short of her door when the noise stopped. It could easily have been one of the servants or the cook. Maybe even her uncle going into the library. It wouldn't hurt to check however.

She opened the door and peered out into the hallway. In the dim light, she couldn't see anything. The door to Samantha'a quarters was closed, as was her uncles. She stepped outside, looking around for anyone else, their sleep as disturbed as hers had been, but no one was there. She was reluctant to go back into her room, but when she heard nothing, she went back in to sleep.

The next day was spent similarly, she was back at Lockwood manor and Klaus was there again. She couldn't meet his eye this time, not after the dream she'd had in the middle of the night. Not after how she had woken up with heated skin flushed cheeks. She wondered if she had even heard anything in the middle of the night, if it hadn't just been some way for her to wake up, to snap out of the treacherous dream she had.

This time, Klaus lingered with her in the dining room after lunch.

"You seem upset." She blinked at the remark and at him, wondering what was happening.

"What?"

"Is something wrong?" For once, there was something genuine in his voice as he spoke to her, although she wasn't sure about it.

"No, everything is fine." She wouldn't divulge her secrets to him in any case.

He stared at her a moment too long before he held the door open for her. When they went back, Marianna gave her a strange look for a second before it was gone. George walked her home again, and it really was the same day as the last.

She slept peacefully for once, until she blinked her eyes open blearily. Her window was open, as she had left it before she had gone to sleep, and the wind was blowing into the room, rattling the glass.

The noise was what had woken her.

When she walked over to pull it close, she blinked down into the night. A curved, spotted moon hung low in the sky, stars piercing through the thick cloud cover. The light wasn't much, but she thought she saw something move in the grounds below.

She closed the windows and tried to put it out of her mind when she heard the rustling again. Her heart beat unsteadily, throbbing in her chest as she froze by the foot end of her bed. She pulled the blanket off her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders before picking up an old oil lamp.

It belonged to the last century but her candles would melt into her palm, and it wouldn't be pleasant. She slipped her feet into her worn slippers and walked outside. Just like the previous night, there was nothing to be seen. Nothing except that Samantha's door was tightly shut, which was odd since she hadn't closed it all the way, leaving it open by a sliver.

She walked over to it and peeked inside; Samantha was sound asleep.

She looked around, prepared to go back to bed but something stopped her.

The garden.

She'd been sure she'd seen something there. She bit her lip slightly but then again, there wasn't a decision to make.

She climbed down the stairs quietly, and pulled the keys from where there were hanging on the wall, gripping them within her hand before opening the door. She swallowed nervously as her pulse drummed in her ear. Walked out of the house and pulled her blanket closer. The cover of the night was thick and her stomach twisted as she walked over to the spot she had seen the movement.

Grass tickled the exposed flesh of her feet as she navigated between moss and tussocks, unable to see anything out of the ordinary despite the firelight.

She shook her head at her own foolishness when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She blinked as her stomach swooped, walking right to the edge of the property. Her vision became clearer as she advanced, and her heart started climbing up her throat.

Her breath came in pants and she shivered, bile rising within her stomach.

There, against the brick walls was a man. His eyes were open and unseeing, and something was sticking out of his chest. Elena stepped forward in horror and morbid curiosity, holding the lamp up high until she realised it was Mr. Fell, Valarie's father. His white shirt was stained crimson, and there, in the middle of his chest was a wooden stake, half buried inside him.

Her lamp fell, and she heard a shrill, fearful scream.

She didn't realise it was coming from her own throat until the sound died.