by Julie Plec
The powder wasn’t only painful, she realized: It was controlling her. The last words he had spoken to her were no mere suggestion. Tomás had ordered her to remain beneath the tree, and his horrible trick had compelled her to obey. When she was able to move at last, it was only to step backward, toward the tree and Luc’s prone body. Every time she decided to follow Tomás her muscles locked themselves in place again, frozen while she burned.
He had turned the tables on her, she realized. Tomás had objected to the vampires’ rule over his city, and now he was establishing a rule of his own over vampires. It was a perversion of the natural order of things, and it made him far more than the petty annoyance she had believed him to be at first. But until the spell wore off there was nothing Rebekah could do except take care of Luc, who still shivered in the throes of the same searing pain.
Luc’s eyes were open a little, but they stared into nothing. Rebekah brushed back some of his blond hair that had slipped loose and fallen across his face, and even that small movement made her feel light-headed.
The pain was easing a bit, but a strange numbness was flooding Rebekah’s limbs in its place, and she was beginning to see more stars than just the ones in the sky. She fought against the heaviness of her eyelids for as long as she could, but she could tell it was a losing battle.
She awoke curled protectively around Luc’s body, as if to shield him from whatever dangers still lurked around the White Oak tree. The crescent moon winked at her, much lower in the sky than it had been before. Hours had passed, and Rebekah seethed at the thought of how far away Tomás had probably gotten by now.
Rebekah couldn’t figure out what kind of magic he had used. She had never heard of a substance like this one, and Tomás had enough of it to throw around. As she looked up at the moon, Rebekah thought about what this meant for her and her loved ones. Tomás had promised to destroy everything she loved, and for the first time Rebekah had to consider the possibility that he might actually have that kind of power at his disposal.
She had come to Mystic Falls seeking the means to kill Klaus, full of the conviction that he was a danger to all she held dear. But the world had always been full of dangers for her, and the one she had discovered tonight might be even more urgent than the one that had brought her here in the first place. Klaus was violent and erratic, truly a loose cannon—but he was still family. Tomás had the air of menace that came from having a plan, and from possessing the means to carry it out.
Luc stirred, and Rebekah straightened, focusing all her attention on him. He’d been unconscious much longer than she had, and she could only imagine how much pain he must be in.
“It’s all right,” she murmured, resting a cool hand on his tanned cheek. “I’m here.”
Luc groaned, and his eyes went wide. He looked at her and grabbed her wrist, twisting it away from his face. He sprang to his feet so quickly that Rebekah was knocked backward, landing among the twisting roots. He stared at her for a moment, squinting as if he could barely make her out.
“Luc?” she asked, unsure if he could hear her. She held her hands up, palms out, hoping to calm him, but he trembled violently, and she could see sweat beading on his forehead, even in the cool night.
“Abomination,” he rasped, and she could almost hear Tomás’s voice speaking to her through Luc’s familiar lips. The planes of his face were hard and drawn, and there was a hollow look in his eyes.
“We were bewitched,” Rebekah told him carefully, waiting for him to recognize her voice. “It’s going to be all right, Luc—this will pass.”
A deep, bone-rattling shudder passed through his body, and then he sprang at her, every trace of his confusion and stiffness vanishing in an instant. He landed a crushing blow on her left temple, then lifted her by her throat and threw her against the tree trunk.
Rebekah felt her teeth snap over her tongue and tasted blood. Luc bared his fangs and rushed at her again, and she could see pure madness glowing in his bright blue eyes.
It had to be the powder—more of Tomás’s mind control. Rebekah couldn’t bear the thought of killing Luc over something that he couldn’t help. But she still had to fight, and so she blocked his next attack with enough force to send him flying through the air.
He crashed to his knees on the grass a hundred yards away, but he kept his eyes riveted on Rebekah the entire time. He circled sideways, watching her for any opening or sign of weakness.
“This won’t last forever,” she promised him. “The pain will pass, and you’ll realize who I am—who you are.” Rebekah felt nearly like her old self again already, as if each breath she took cleared the last traces of the powder from her body. Luc might not be as strong as she was, but eventually he would shake off the spell.
Luc snarled at the sound of her voice, as if every reminder of her existence enraged him.
“Come, then!” Rebekah shouted at him, losing her patience. “If we’re meant to fight, let’s fight.”
Luc crouched and then sprang, reminding her of a lion in the middle of a hunt, his golden hair waving loose around his shoulders. She twisted out of the way just as he reached her, and Luc staggered, holding the gnarled tree trunk for support. And then he reached up and caught one of the White Oak’s lower branches. “This is what we came here for, isn’t it?” he asked, and she heard the sound of splintering wood. Realizing her mistake, Rebekah ran at him, but it was too late: The branch snapped off in his hand, the stake’s jagged point aimed straight for her heart.
Rebekah turned just enough to catch the stake in her shoulder. It felt like an icicle tearing through her flesh, but she ignored the pain and wrenched her shoulder back, hoping to surprise Luc enough that he would lose his grip on the branch.
Instead he shifted it the opposite way, a tight smile playing on his lips as he forced the wound open wider. “And to think that I once thought you were invincible,” he hissed. “Now I can’t imagine how you’ve managed to live this long.”
Rebekah heard some small bone in her shoulder break, and she felt panic rising in her chest. She swung wildly at Luc’s face with her good arm, unable to form any coherent goal except to get the stake out of her body and away from her. She heard him grunt and felt a satisfying pop as his nose burst into a fountain of blood.
He punched her back, and she blocked the blow only to see his eyes shift. It was just a distraction from the real threat: the stake. While Rebekah knocked aside his right hand, his left fist drove the stake toward her heart.
Rebekah forced her left arm to catch Luc’s wrist, and she bent it back, twisting so hard that she heard a snap. He bellowed in pain, and his fingers spasmed around the rough wood. Rebekah watched her own fingers close around the branch, and she gritted her teeth against the pain in her shoulder as she gripped the stake as hard as she could. She wrested it from his grasp and then slashed the jagged end across his cheekbone. Luc stumbled back and Rebekah pressed her advantage, slicing viciously at his face and body as he struggled to defend every part of himself at once.
She could barely see the wounds she inflicted through the fury that all but blinded her. Would she never learn? She had meant to spare Luc’s life, and that sentiment had put her in mortal danger. Luc was a pleasant enough lover, and along their journey she had imagined that they might truly grow close, but he wasn’t worth her life. Especially when he wasn’t even himself anymore.
Luc faltered under her onslaught, and the roots of the White Oak tree caught at his feet, tripping him. Rebekah drove her knee up into the pit of his stomach as he wavered, and he fell heavily to the ground. She was on him in the blink of an eye, one knee on either side of his hips. “This is how I’ve survived, you son of a bitch,” she told him, her voice hoarse and rasping from the exertion of the fight.
Luc’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw his stake in her hand, positioned just above his own racing heart. The alarm on his f
ace reached her even through the haze of her anger, and she hesitated, still hoping against hope that she might not need to use the stake. But if she waited too long, the sun would rise above the trees around them and take the decision out of her hands.
“Hurry up and come back to me,” she whispered urgently, hating her own lingering doubt as much as his stubborn inability to shake off the effects of Tomás’s powder. “There’s just no more time for this.”
“Rebekah?” he said, and she could feel his body relax ever so slightly beneath hers. “Is that—? I can’t see you.” His voice was softer, less certain, with none of the cold hatred it had held before.
“I’m here,” she answered, leaning back a little. It seemed almost too lucky to be true. But magic was nothing if not capricious, and above all else Rebekah wanted to believe. “Luc, you need to shake this off now. That man did something to you, but it’s going to be all right.”
“That man,” he repeated, and he lifted his head a little as if he was trying to find her. “Are you still there, Rebekah?”
The sounds of his voice broke her heart. He had been so strong, so vibrant and vital, and it was almost physically painful to see him reduced to this. “I’m here,” she repeated, reaching out with her free hand to touch the side of his face.
He struck like a viper, whipping his hand around her other wrist and twisting it brutally. The White Oak stake fell from her hand and clattered away among the roots. She dove for it.
“You really are a fool for love.” Luc’s boot struck Rebekah hard in the lower back just as her fingers closed on the stake, and she tasted blood and earth as she collapsed face-first on the ground. She rolled to face him, but Luc ignored her and aimed his next kick at the stake. It flew out of her hand again, and she couldn’t see where it landed.
He hit her just as she jumped to her feet, a crushing backhanded blow that sent her spinning against the trunk of the tree, stars exploding behind her eyes. Rebekah blinked, trying to clear her head, but it was too late. The next thing she saw was Luc looming before her, the broken branch in his hand once again.
He didn’t hesitate. Luc brought the stake down straight and true. It slid between Rebekah’s ribs at a perfect angle and pierced her heart as if it were coming home.
CHAPTER NINE
ELIJAH FOUND HIMSELF walking down the narrow street that led to the Southern Spot, a pit in his stomach. He had to know if it was true—was his own brother truly plotting against him? It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had sought to undermine one of his brothers.
But Klaus conspiring with the Collado pack? Didn’t he still blame them for the death of Vivianne Lescheres? Klaus wasn’t the type of man who forgave easily, although he was known to let go of a grudge when it benefited him.
Away from the alluring sight of Alejandra and the persuasive sound of her voice, Elijah thought over what she’d told him. It was possible that her information was wrong—a terrible misunderstanding. But she was a very intelligent woman, and if she had believed such a wild tale it must have sounded convincing. Elijah hoped that he and Klaus could sort it out over a few tankards of ale and then resume their balance of power.
One of the brothel’s windows was smashed and glass littered the cobblestones, glinting in the predawn light. Anyone could have broken the window, but the timing was too coincidental for it to have been a drunken accident. Elijah moved closer, silently crossing the empty lane and checking to make sure no one was watching. It was strangely quiet on the street—nothing stirred in the early hour, no drunks tumbled out onto the street, no liquored-up brawls reached his ears.
Had they gone to celebrate somewhere else? Or worse, was this a trap, and were they waiting for him? He crept closer. The voices inside the Southern Spot were so low that he couldn’t distinguish them until he reached the broken window. But once at the window ledge, he immediately recognized one of the speakers.
Klaus was there, just as Alejandra had said he would be, but that didn’t mean that the rest of her information was accurate. The brothel was usually the best place to look for Klaus.
Then the other man spoke. Elijah closed his eyes for a moment. Half a dozen small, unimportant mysteries came together to form a brand-new truth. Sampson Collado was sitting inside the Southern Spot, proof that Klaus hated his own brother more than he hated his ancient enemies.
“—been pulling all our strings,” Sampson was saying. “Truth be told, I’m surprised you went along with it for so long.”
“For the sake of our new friendship, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Klaus drawled. “I had good reasons for what I did, and better reasons for what I will do next.”
“Fair enough,” Sampson agreed, and Elijah could hear that the wolf was in no way intimidated by Klaus. Apparently the two of them were getting along quite well—far better than Elijah expected. “But you won’t be doing it alone. We’re talking about someone who has resources, connections, and a plan. You and I act in the moment, but he’s looking at a much bigger picture.”
“A plan is no match for a hearty dose of chaos,” Klaus said, and Elijah could picture the sardonic way his jaw shifted sideways as he said it. “I would think that this meeting alone is already a substantial change to the big picture.”
“I doubt an alliance between the two of us is something anyone would have foreseen,” Sampson rumbled appreciatively.
The room around them was full of rustling sounds, clearing throats, glasses tapping on tables. Two armies sat waiting on their generals, ready for the moment when the orders were handed down.
Elijah knew that he should be patient, learn more, choose his moment carefully. History had proven Klaus wrong time and again: A couple of hotheads didn’t stand a chance against someone with a vision. But when Klaus chuckled and Elijah heard their glasses clink together in a toast, he couldn’t stop himself.
Elijah leapt through the window, landing in a crouch on the unpolished floorboards. “My brother and I are going to need the room,” he growled.
Lisette’s clear gray eyes locked onto his and held them for an extra moment. Elijah kept his expression perfectly still, but it cost him nearly all his self-control. No matter how angry she had grown at him, no matter how bitter his rejection had made her, he had never expected her betrayal to hurt this much.
Lisette opened her mouth to speak, but Elijah had no desire to hear her excuses; he only wanted her out of his sight as quickly as possible. “Go!” he bellowed, and vampires and werewolves scattered for the doors.
Lisette moved slower than the rest, lingering as if she hoped Elijah would call for her. He didn’t, and he hoped that she shared some small measure of his pain in that moment.
Last to leave was Sampson, who cast a meaningful glance in Klaus’s direction. It was as if the two of them could communicate without words, as if they had a shared history that let them understand each other with just a look. It was as if somehow, while Elijah’s attention had been elsewhere, Sampson and Klaus had become brothers.
“Elijah,” Klaus cheered, and for the first time Elijah noticed that he was profoundly, prodigiously drunk. He didn’t slur his words, but Elijah knew him well enough to notice the subtler signs. Klaus’s blue-green eyes were unnaturally bright, and they tracked Elijah’s movements just a fraction of a second too slowly.
Klaus’s body was relaxed, draped over his chair with one leg casually extended in front of him. Elijah stepped in close, ready to intimidate his brother back into submission. “Don’t toy with me, brother,” Elijah warned. “No need for any of your lies. I always believed, no matter how outrageous your behavior, that in the end we were on the same side, but now I understand that you have never felt the same way.”
“It was just a little raid,” Klaus scoffed, swirling the last dregs of whiskey in his glass. He glanced around, and Elijah realized that he was looking for a new bottle. Ther
e wasn’t one within reach and he was obviously disinclined to get up from his chair. “The werewolves started it. They didn’t start it, I mean, so we’re all good friends now.”
“You’re even more drunk than I thought,” Elijah muttered, honestly surprised that Klaus had let himself get so incoherent. Klaus was self-indulgent, but he had also always been naturally wary. If he had lowered his guard so far while drinking with the Collado pack, their alliance must be secure indeed. “Did all that whiskey dull the shame of turning your back on your family?”
“I have nothing to be ashamed of!” Klaus shouted, his chin jutting out belligerently. It was enough to make Elijah miss how Rebekah handled Klaus. “If anyone has turned his back, it’s you. You sit perched up there on your imaginary throne, ignoring everything else as long as you can call yourself ruler. No one holds on to power forever, dear brother, unless he’s willing to fight for it.”
Elijah aimed an expert kick at the legs of Klaus’s chair, splintering three of them with one solid blow. The chair collapsed and Klaus fell with it. He swayed to his feet with less than his usual speed. “You’re in no shape to fight me,” Elijah spat, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing.”
Klaus bared his fangs, and Elijah didn’t hesitate; he closed his fist and hit his brother in the mouth with every ounce of his extraordinary strength. It felt fantastic, even when Klaus snarled and threw a nearby table at Elijah’s face in return.
Elijah grabbed his brother by the throat, and Klaus dragged at his hands, trying to break their iron grip. The two vampires fell to the ground, still struggling for purchase as they wrestled among the shards of broken glass and cracked bottles.
Klaus gained the advantage for a moment, twisting across Elijah’s body. Elijah rolled out of the way just in time, but Klaus’s leg shot out and tangled with his, tripping him. Elijah shoved, kneed, and punched, brawling with his little brother like they had when they were teenagers.