by Julie Plec
He could hear shouting outside, still a long way off but moving closer. Rebekah had nailed the curtains down over the missing windows, and Klaus tugged apart the ones by the door. He couldn’t see any werewolves yet, or witches for that matter. But some ugly-looking clouds were rolling in fast, blotting out the stars, and Klaus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he saw them.
They were moving too fast. The night had been dry and peaceful, with nothing but a light, warm breeze to stir it. The clouds did not belong, and they seemed to be coming for him just as quickly as the werewolves’ cries were. It might well be him and Viv against the entire world at this rate. “Let them come,” he whispered aloud, and Vivianne startled to attention at the sound of his voice.
“They will,” she warned him hollowly. “They are.”
He turned swiftly and kissed her, unable to tolerate the empty sound of her voice. He would do anything to keep her safe and with him, but she needed to stay with him. She could not succumb to fear or doubt. He would not allow it. She was slow to respond to his kiss, but after a few moments her lips parted and he could taste some of her usual fire returning.
By the time he gently disengaged, the first torches were visible among the trees. Soon there were dozens of people outside, and the shouting was near enough that he could distinguish a few words here and there. Traitor featured heavily, along with monster and vengeance. It would seem that the time for negotiation had passed, although even Elijah would see that coexistence had never been a real possibility.
Werewolves had been hunting their family since they were human, and Mikael’s furious rampage had made the blood equally bitter on both sides. Mikael had started this war over his wife’s betrayal, Klaus remembered with a sneer, not from any noble intention. Even after the werewolves had killed one of his sons—one of his real sons—he hadn’t dreamed of attacking them. It wasn’t until he learned that Esther had strayed that he’d finally gotten murderously angry.
Perhaps Armand felt the same betrayal now as Mikael had so long ago, Klaus realized, and the possibility tied a grim little knot of satisfaction in his chest. A point to the Mikaelsons, even after all these years. Because no matter how angry the werewolves were, they could not exact the same kind of revenge that Klaus’s stepfather once had. Killing one Original vampire had proven to be too much for the entire pack. Killing two would be impossible, and the attempt would cost them dearly.
They were surrounding the house but looked more cautious now. They couldn’t know about the protection spell, but they had to know that rushing the home of a vampire was unwise. They milled about, the light from their torches gleaming oddly off their formal gowns and coats. Most of the fine fabric showed some staining and tears, and Klaus noticed more than a few injuries among the throng. It would seem that the witches had held their own, at least for a while. Until the werewolves had remembered that their real enemy had already left the party.
Solomon Navarro prowled around the perimeter, looking more animal than man under the moon. He must know the house was defended, but he was reluctant to attack without knowing exactly how. Klaus could only imagine Sol’s outrage at the irony; a witch could have told him everything about the protection spell—if it had any vulnerability, if there were a way to attack it without losing half of his wolves to some invisible trap. But that very night Sol had lost the goodwill of the witches.
Still, Klaus did not like his position in this fight any better than Sol seemed to be enjoying his own. There were enough wolves to set an extended siege around the house, and eventually Klaus would get hungry. And of course they would do whatever they could to chip away at the protection spell while they waited. Most important of all, Vivianne could be killed. Klaus would do whatever was necessary to protect her, but the werewolves would know that, and he was sure they would try to use it to their advantage.
The first werewolf stepped onto their land, and a wail seemed to emanate from the barrier itself. It was an eerie and unnatural warning, and Klaus was relieved when it stopped.
“They cannot come inside,” he reminded Vivianne, who went deathly pale at the sound.
“They will not need to,” she said, and he knew that her thoughts had run parallel to his own. “They will starve us out or smoke us out. All they have to do is wait, if they even have to wait that long. Spells can be broken.”
For a moment, he wondered ruefully if he had really needed to fall in love with such an intelligent woman, but there was nothing to be done about that now. She was right: They needed a plan. Something better than just sitting in the dark room and waiting for something worse to happen.
The werewolves had an army, which they most certainly did not. Rebekah had failed completely in that minor task before sailing off to wherever it was she had gone. But they were not, he remembered suddenly, unarmed. The house’s previous owner had traded in weaponry, and Klaus had seen evidence of that thriving business when he had found Elijah in the cellar. Perhaps they could thin the pack’s ranks without having to leave the safety of the house, which would improve their odds considerably.
“We need to inspect the cellar,” he announced, glad to have something to do. He did not like the way she sat so still; it made him uneasy. Thunder rolled in the distance, but not so far in the distance. “There are things we can use.”
He lifted the iron ring set into the floorboards, and an even blacker patch of darkness opened at their feet. Neither of them needed candles to see in the dark—Vivianne now had the sharpened eyesight of a wolf—but Klaus lit a taper anyway. Its light would be comforting to her.
Her silver dress gleamed gold in the light, but it could not warm the drawn whiteness of her face. “We should talk to them,” she suggested, barely more than a whisper. “If they understand that I won’t go back, that it has nothing to do with you...”
“They will have no further use for you,” he explained, prying the lid off a case of musket balls. The muskets they belonged to must be around somewhere, and he kept an eye out for a box that would be about the right size. “Viv, they have only wanted to use you all along. Convincing them would be no better than throwing your neck onto their claws.”
“I’m one of them,” she pointed out, sounding angry rather than scared now. “Even after my father died, Sol always told my mother—”
“Lies,” Klaus interrupted brutally. He hated to hurt her, but he needed to fuel that anger, to keep her ready to fight. Fear and numbness were every bit as dangerous as the wolves outside. “Being half one thing and half another makes you neither, not both. Sol lied to your mother because he wanted you to be a werewolf instead of a witch.”
He could hear the breath hiss in through Vivianne’s teeth; he had been harsher than he meant. “Cynicism is probably easy when you know you’ll live forever,” she snapped, and as absurd as it was to be lectured by a woman a fraction of his age, he was pleased to hear some life returning to her voice. “The rest of us have to live and die with each other, and so we cannot afford to simply slam doors the way you do.”
He had finally located a cache of muskets, ready to load and fire. But he set them aside and took her firmly by the shoulders. They felt so slight between his hands, and he was reminded of how fragile she was. “I admire your faith in people,” he conceded. “I suspect I have been the beneficiary of it. But if you want to remain alive, you will stay inside. If you bring up this idea of negotiation again, I will lock you down here until I’ve killed every single werewolf waiting outside to tear you to shreds.”
She stared defiantly at him for a moment before jerking her chin into a nod. “I understand.” It was not quite the same as agreement, but it would have to do for the moment. He could make good on his threat, although he would rather not have to fight a war on two fronts.
“Good.” He shifted his hands to draw her close, kissing each of her eyelids first and then her unresisting lips. “Because
this unending life of mine is meaningless without you.”
She softened a little then, knowing that he truly meant it. She would never admit that he was right about the werewolves, of course. Her pride wouldn’t allow it, and maybe she really did believe that a peaceful solution could still be found. But he knew she could see how deeply he loved her. Perhaps she could even glimpse how terrifying it was for him to watch her walk through the world, vulnerable, like a child who had not yet learned to be afraid of the dark.
“I will be here with you,” she vowed, resting her forehead trustingly against his cheek. “I would never leave you, Klaus. I love you.”
In that moment, whatever waited for them outside, whatever they would have to get through next, would be worth it as long as they were together.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE WEREWOLVES POURED out of the banquet hall first, looking worse for the wear but with their rage still unquenched. Elijah waited for the last of them to leave, then crept inside. He was half sure he would find all of the witches dead, but he hoped against hope that some had survived.
There were more alive than he had expected, and he wondered what had lured the werewolves away. There was still more fighting to be done here if that’s what they wanted. But then he realized what might be waiting for them elsewhere, and he clenched his jaw in frustration.
Klaus would almost certainly need his help soon. He would have taken Vivianne to their house to regroup. Elijah would join them, but he would have to fight his way in through the wolves.
Elijah could see casualties scattered around the hall, but the witches didn’t look beaten. The ones who were left standing, in fact, looked downright warlike. A few of them chanted in the center of the long, candlelit room, and even as Elijah watched, more were gathering to join in.
He grabbed the arm of a short blonde witch as she made her way toward the circle, but she shook him off angrily and moved on. A few others passed Elijah without a glance, so focused on their spell that they didn’t care about the presence of a vampire. He could not understand the words they were chanting, but all of their energy and attention was devoted to this one spell, and he could feel their power building in the hall like static. Whatever they were doing, his instincts told him it was something bigger than simple revenge on the werewolves.
Thunder rolled in the distance, and several heads turned toward it. Elijah had not expected a storm that night, but it looked to him like the rest of the hall’s inhabitants knew it was coming.
He caught a tall young witch with a prominent Adam’s apple by his crisp, purple coat. The young man tried to shake free, just like the blonde girl, but Elijah was ready this time, and he held on tightly. “I don’t want trouble,” he explained, seeing the witch begin to whisper something under his breath. “There’s no need for that.”
The man hesitated, but the prospect of an angry vampire was enough to get him to agree with a nod.
“What are they doing?” Elijah demanded, jerking his head toward the growing circle of witches.
The young man glared at him with renewed hostility. “They are cleaning up your mess,” he said, and Elijah relaxed his grip on his collar just a little. “They are doing what needs to be done.”
“That’s vague,” Elijah growled warningly. “You can do better than that.”
“They’re cleansing the city,” the young man explained reluctantly. “We’ve had enough of you, the werewolves...all of it. The foundation of this place is rotten; there’s nothing that can be saved here. We’re going to raze New Orleans to the ground and start over.” Thunder pealed again, much closer this time, and the witch grinned morbidly. “Nothing will be left but the swamp.”
“The storm that’s coming,” Elijah realized. “That’s your work?”
“No ordinary storm,” the young man sneered, pulling free of Elijah’s unresisting hand. “What’s coming now is a hurricane like this city has never seen. And I’m going to help,” he added, straightening his coat and joining the chanting throng of witches.
Elijah didn’t know if Ysabelle’s protection spell would guard against a hurricane, but they had no better place to weather the storm. He turned and ran.
Outside, he could tell that the clouds were rolling in unnaturally fast. Elijah tried to outrace them, plunging between the trees at breakneck speed. But the first drops of rain struck his back just as he saw the werewolves around his house.
Elijah gritted his teeth, remembering his last fight with these same wolves and the seemingly endless pain that had followed. But their backs were turned to him now, giving him the advantage of surprise, and they were trapped in their human forms. He threw himself on the nearest werewolf, tearing his throat out before the body could hit the ground.
They turned and howled, rushing toward him in an indistinct, snarling mass of brandished torches and yellow eyes. Elijah was a blur, breaking limbs, snapping necks, and avoiding teeth and fire alike. They could not hope to kill him, but they could slow him down, and he couldn’t allow that.
Without the levelheaded influence of Vivianne, her mother, or her aunt, the witches would make good on their threat to level the city. If their house could not survive the hurricane, he wanted to stop the werewolves before they were completely vulnerable again.
He snapped and hacked his way toward the small porch, unable to guess how many werewolves he’d maimed or killed. He did register Louis’s broad shoulders and meaty lips at one point, and paused long enough to snap his burly neck with his bare hands. The Navarros had caused him more than enough trouble, and their clan should feel the price of that. Elijah had done his best for years to be understanding and accommodating, but if they could not appreciate his efforts they could start losing sons.
He noticed Armand near the back of the pack, shouting with the rest, but keeping a safe distance from the actual fighting. He would have his turn, but not now. Instead Elijah spun, his fist crashing into a redhead’s jaw and breaking a young woman’s silk-covered thigh with a vicious kick. She screamed and fell, and Elijah stepped over her writhing body and onto the porch.
Another howl went up when the werewolves realized they could not reach him anymore, and Elijah smirked. However long it lasted, Ysabelle’s spell was a work of art. Then an arm shot out from the front door and dragged him inside, and he found himself staring into his brother’s blazing eyes. Their blue-green fire, along with the jutting set of his jaw, showed that Klaus was livid. Elijah was supposed to be the one who was angry at Klaus, but his brother had a knack for rewriting history. Klaus always liked to see things his own way.
“About time,” Klaus complained, and Elijah inhaled and exhaled deeply to keep from hitting him. “We’re surrounded, and Viv had all these ideas about talking to them.”
“It could work,” Vivianne sniped sullenly from the living room, and both vampires turned incredulously toward her. Her silver gown made her look unearthly in the dark room, like the ghost of some long-forgotten queen. “They’re only here because of me in the first place,” she began, and Elijah decided he had already heard enough of that.
“They’re not,” he informed her tersely. “They’re here because Klaus killed a few dozen of them nine years ago. They’re here because our father killed dozens more a lot longer ago than that. They’re here because it’s in their blood to hate us, and because Armand was humiliated and Louis is dead. This is much bigger than you now, Mademoiselle, so you’ll help us fight or the three of us may well die tonight. But if not all three of us, then certainly you.”
Vivianne blanched and bit her bottom lip, but did not reply. Elijah could see that Klaus had not had the heart to spell things out quite so bluntly. It must be true love, which, bizarrely, made him feel better about the entire wretched misadventure. His brother was the only family he had left now, and their predicament might almost be worth it if Klaus had found a partner as worthy a
s Rebekah had.
The thought of Rebekah nagged at his mind for a moment—her ship had been leaving that night. The witches’ hurricane seemed to be coming in from the ocean, and Elijah hoped that she had made it to open water in time. But there was nothing he could do to help her now. She had chosen to strike out on her own, and she would have to handle hurricanes and worse without her family to back her up.
“There’s an arsenal in the cellar,” Klaus informed him brightly, his mood improved since Elijah had taken his side against Vivianne. “We can pick them off from inside the house for a while, although we’ll need a better plan while we do.”
“They won’t wait outside forever,” Elijah agreed. “And the house might not last the night, so that plan will have to come to us in a hurry.”
Vivianne’s head snapped up. “What do you mean about the house?” she demanded. “Klaus told me it was protected.”
“Against weapons and intruders,” Elijah reminded them both grimly. “I doubt the spell will hold against the weather, and your people, my lady—your other people—are raising that against us as we speak.”
A crash of thunder punctuated his words, and the other two flinched. “The weather?” Klaus said incredulously.
“The witches,” Vivianne understood. “They could do that.” Her black eyes searched Elijah’s face, and he could see her hope fading fast. “Are you sure?”
“I have it from the source,” he confirmed. “We must deal with the werewolves now, before the hurricane hits us.”
Klaus whistled appreciatively. “A hurricane,” he repeated, grudgingly impressed. Then his manner shifted, and Elijah knew he was preparing for the fight at hand. “I have some ideas, brother,” he said. “But you’d best not run off again to play politics.”