The Originals: The Loss Read online

  He had no choice but to turn and leave the hall. A slight, brown-eyed girl shrank back from the doorway as he passed, and in the strong planes of her face Elijah recognized Ysabelle’s features again, one more generation removed. Even if he managed to get rid of Lily, there was another Leroux—a perfectly healthy one, he couldn’t help but notice—just waiting to take her place. It was exhausting.

  Witches would continue to rise and fall, but his real problem was Klaus. Gravel crunched under Elijah’s feet as he approached the palisade gate, and in his bleak mood it sounded like the grinding of bones.

  CHAPTER TEN

  KLAUS FEATHERED PAINT onto the canvas with his brush, spreading little arrows of shadow into Vivianne’s throat. Painting her from life was nothing whatsoever like the desperate work he had done before. It was as if she poured herself into the images, giving them a movement that he had never managed to capture while she had been gone.

  It was soothing, too, which was a pleasant change from his encounter with Elijah. Klaus was sick of all the suspicious, accusatory looks, and that afternoon Elijah had taken the accusations too far. His implications had been offensive and insulting, and Klaus was ready to enjoy an evening alone with his bride-to-be.

  “Can I see it yet?” Vivianne begged, laughing. Her black hair tumbled unbound over her shoulders, and one slim leg had slipped out from the filmy fabric of her shift. Every time Klaus looked up from his work he longed to hold her, to drink from her, to make love to her, to possess her entirely.

  There would be time for all of that, though—to enjoy each other in every possible way again and again. After everything Vivianne had endured, what he wanted most of all was for her to feel safe again, comfortable with him. He could wait for the rest until she was ready.

  Vivianne raised her wineglass to her lips, which were as red and luscious as the liquid. “Don’t move so much,” he chided, and she giggled and waved her arms above her head. “I mean it!” he insisted. “I’ll start over. You’ll have to wait for this masterpiece as long as it takes.”

  Vivianne watched him from beneath lowered eyelids. “I think I’ve had enough of waiting for a while.”

  Klaus cursed his choice of words. It seemed he was always doing that, relaxing into a happy moment and then ending it with a careless reminder of Vivianne’s absence. “I can paint you from memory, love,” he replied. “There’s no need to stay still any longer.”

  They had barely spoken about what she had experienced during the long, dark years she had been gone. He couldn’t bear the way her light dimmed, the way her sharp gaze softened and drifted away. Most of the time he could almost believe that Vivianne was untouched by the years she had passed in her tomb, but now and then he could see the memory of them filling her like a storm cloud. It was obvious that it pained her, and Klaus tried his best to spare her by steering clear of the subject...which was proving nearly impossible.

  Klaus turned the canvas toward Vivianne without a word, letting her see the portrait that was unfolding. She gasped, and jumped up from her chaise to look more closely at it. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, tracing its lines with a finger that hovered over the surface of the wet paint. “Is that how you see me?”

  “That’s how you are,” Klaus told her, watching her face absorb the image.

  She smiled, and it almost reached her eyes. “Maybe on the outside.”

  “I have lived centuries with only two siblings who distrust me, and two more I’ve had to keep daggered in their coffins,” he said to Vivianne, pulling her close. “Believe me when I tell you that you’re special. I have never met anyone else like you in all of my existence.”

  “I just feel like I’ve failed everyone.” Vivianne sighed, surprising him. “I went about things all wrong. I should have just told my family about us, and trusted them to understand I could never marry Armand once I had met you. Perhaps if I had, that ugly night would never have happened. My heart is still wracked with guilt.”

  “Vivianne, you can’t blame yourself for failing to keep the peace when all we’ve ever done is go to war against one another. Their deaths are not your fault.”

  “I wish I could make up for it somehow, even if both sides of my family have renounced their ties to me....” She trailed off and put her head against his shoulder.

  Klaus supposed that Viv wouldn’t be herself without her overwhelming sense of responsibility, but he wished she could see how inevitable the war had been. As he looked down at her, he could discern the outline of dark circles beneath her eyes. “It’s just that...once, they all thought I would be the one to unite them under one banner of peace. I wish that I could now give them everything they were meant to enjoy.”

  Klaus considered how unappealing that sounded. New Orleans was better off under Elijah’s rule, and the Mikaelsons had no reason to miss the days when they had fought for any scrap of power. They were flourishing now, with no restrictions and no one to answer to.

  “Once you are my wife, you’ll be able to help the witches and the werewolves if you so desire,” he improvised. He couldn’t imagine wanting to do such a thing himself, but if it was important to Vivianne he supposed he could look the other way. “You’ll be the queen of New Orleans. They may never quite forget their grudge, but they will respect you, and in time they will come to love you. Just as I do.”

  He pulled them onto the chaise, so that she was sitting sideways across his lap. Holding her hands between his, he felt that her skin was soft but cool, not quite as warm as he had expected it to be. Touching her, he felt keenly aware of her otherness.

  “You have always been my champion,” Vivianne remembered dreamily. “If I had simply listened to you from the start and broken off my engagement when you asked, none of this misery would have happened.”

  She hadn’t been ready when he had first asked, though. They might have lived happily ever after, but they were stronger now. To have lost her and gotten her back made Klaus treasure Vivianne all the more.

  A log crackled in the fireplace, warming the room. He caressed her bare arm, and saw goose bumps rise on her cool skin. “You’re here now,” he told her. “That’s all that matters. All we can do is look forward, and soon enough we will be wed.”

  “I don’t want to wait that long,” Vivianne whispered, turning her face up toward his. He could see the glistening of unshed tears in her eyelashes, and without thinking he bent to kiss them away.

  She leaned back so that his lips met hers instead of her tears, and suddenly every memory of every night they had spent together was as fresh in his mind as if they had happened only moments before. He had not wanted to rush her, unsure of what she might be feeling after so many years apart. But this kiss...It spoke of the same passion he felt, the same longing he had endured for decades of seemingly endless separation.

  “I don’t want to wait,” she repeated, then kissed him again. He lifted a hand to cup her jaw, and she shifted so that her legs draped around his waist. “I missed you so much.”

  He lifted her easily and carried her to the canopied bed beside the glowing fireplace. Her eyes gleamed, and he pretend not to see the hint of sadness that still lingered in their dark depths. He could chase it away; he could make her forget her pain.

  He laid her gently on the silk coverlet, and she pulled him down onto the bed after her. He could feel heat beginning to suffuse her skin now, radiating out to wrap around him like a pair of inviting arms. He could get lost in it, drunk on it. She was different, there was no denying it. But she was also the same. His Vivianne, his heart.

  She reached up to touch his face, stroking along the stubble that lined his jaw with an expression almost of wonderment on her face. He caught her fingers with his mouth, kissing them, keeping them, unwilling to let the smallest part of her go unclaimed. She sighed, although she didn’t quite smile.

  He wanted to forget w
here she had been, but he owed it to her to help her forget it first. She had spent forty-four years in the darkness because he hadn’t been able to bring her back sooner, and every moment of her pain was his burden to lift. He longed to make her bright and joyful again, and over the years Klaus had learned a number of ways to produce that effect in women.

  She tried to pull his mouth down to hers, but Klaus resisted, instead turning her hand to brush his lips across her palm. He moved to the sensitive skin on the underside of her wrist, then continued up along her arm, improvising with his touch the way he liked to do with the strokes of his paintbrush.

  He feathered his mouth along her collarbone, her throat, remembering that she had once vowed he would never drink from her. Perhaps this second chance at life would change her mind about that, but the salty, sweet taste of her skin was enough for him for now.

  He slipped down the shoulders of her shift, caressing each new inch of skin that was exposed. She twisted under his touch, the unshed tears still sparkling like topazes in the light. When her undergarments finally revealed the place her legs parted, he bent his head again, pressing his mouth to just the spot he knew would make her moan.

  Her back arched, and her fingers caught in his hair, but he remained where he was, attending to his masterpiece. Her sounds of pleasure grew louder, and without seeming to realize it she pushed her hips up toward him.

  Finally, taking advantage of his unnatural speed, he rolled, pulling her suddenly on top of him and undressing himself as he did. She laughed to find herself astride his naked form, and then she leaned back, her body gleaming in the light of the fire, and found a rhythm they could share.

  The fire was nothing but embers by the time they finished and lay, still naked, above the coverlet, with their bodies twined together so closely that Klaus couldn’t tell where his ended and hers began.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE CEREMONY TOOK place at midnight, just on the cusp between one day and the next. The musicians found their places on the emerald lawn, testing their instruments for pitch while the guests chose their seats. Klaus stood motionless before the fountain, now half-covered in moonflower vines bearing white blossoms drinking in the New Orleans air.

  Rebekah’s loving attention to every detail showed, and even the weather had submitted to her will. The night was sultry, and the sky above the Mikaelsons’ mansion was an endless canopy of stars. Cicadas sang outside the ring of light cast by the thousands of candelabras, and laughter echoed off the house. The guests were in a lively mood, lulled by champagne, blood, and the anticipation of the momentous event to come.

  When things went wrong, it would be because Rebekah had planned it.

  Elijah emerged from one of the side doors, immaculate in his formal black coat, with a heavy, jeweled goblet held loosely in one hand. Rebekah had barely seen him between his endless research and his forays out into the countryside in search of his morts-vivants. He was obsessed, but Rebekah had yet to see them with her own eyes. Part of her wondered if they were even real.

  Her brother went to stand beside the front door, and Rebekah took her place by Klaus’s side. Klaus’s eyes never left the doorway as the first strains of an old, familiar tune began to take shape and the last stragglers hurried to their places. The moment caught Rebekah’s breath in her throat, no matter how cynical she had been before. Her brother was getting married, she realized. How strange, after all these centuries they had journeyed together.

  Vivianne appeared, framed by the house and haloed by the light that spilled through the open doorway. Her dress was an extraordinary confection of white and red silk that clung and billowed and moved like a living sculpture around her slim body. Her black hair was piled high on the crown of her head, then spilled down in thick, shining curls over her bare left shoulder. She carried an armful of red and white roses, and in the moonlight her pale complexion and flushed, excited cheeks seemed to mirror their color.

  Klaus looked like he might faint.

  Rebekah steadying him with one hand on his elbow. She could see his muscles relax ever so slightly, and she knew he was glad that she was there.

  Vivianne began to descend the steps of the porch, her gown spreading around her to float down to the lawn. When she reached the grass, Elijah bowed and offered her his arm, and together they walked to meet Klaus and Rebekah at the fountain. Elijah stepped back, and Klaus took both of Vivianne’s hands in his own.

  In other times they might have asked a witch to preside over a ceremony such as this one, but the couple had simply written vows, trusting in their own authority to seal the pact. Klaus was to speak first, but Rebekah had to elbow him, gently at first and then rather more sharply, before he seemed able to begin.

  “Vivianne,” he said, the play of water in the fountain lifting and carrying his voice across the lawn. His voice was rough with emotion, almost hoarse at first. But as he went on, it grew stronger and clearer, and Rebekah could hear the clarity of his emotion in every word. “I have lived a very long time, and seen more of the world than most people ever will. In all that time I never thought I would meet a woman as extraordinary as you. Your intelligence, your kindness, your beauty, and your pride speak to me and touch me in a way I had never experienced in all my life. I told you once that meeting you ruined me, and it’s true. I cannot be whole unless I’m with you. But my feelings mean nothing without your consent, your love. So this is my pledge to you, Vivianne: I will be yours for the rest of my days. I will cherish you, protect you, and honor every request you make of me. Whatever your happiness requires, I will find a way to provide it. I will never give you a reason to regret your faith in me, even for a moment. I will be your family and your home, and I will spend the rest of my life showing you what it means to me that you have chosen to be mine.”

  Rebekah dabbed her eyes discreetly with the handkerchief she had hidden in the pink folds of her gown. Standing like this, Klaus and Viv could have been any human couple, exchanging vows while their loved ones looked on. But they were so much more, and had been through so much more together. In spite of Rebekah’s concerns about Vivianne, her rage at Klaus’s hubris, and the accumulation of more than a thousand years of grievances and slights and unforgivable offenses, Rebekah found herself moved by the depth of their love.

  “Niklaus,” Vivianne replied, her voice quivering with tears. “From the moment I met you, I knew that our connection was something rare. I was afraid to admit it at first, scared that I would be swept away by you and lose myself in the process. I had always intended to meet the world on my own terms, and the force of you—your chaos, your power—seemed overwhelming to me. When I let down my guard and began to learn about your heart, your true nobility, your loyalty, and your fierce, passionate spirit, I realized that you didn’t want to divert me from my true destiny. Instead, you were its instrument, showing me an entirely new path I would never have dreamed of on my own. I trust you, and I believe in you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and any others I may have after this one. I pledge to give you all of my love, to bring you every joy. I vow to be yours, Klaus, forever.”

  They kissed then, so fervently that Rebekah could not have said which of them moved toward the other first. The crowd of vampires erupted in cheers and whistles, drowning out every other sound in the midnight air. The kiss lingered, and she exchanged a rueful smile with Elijah. It had taken a few centuries for their stubborn, difficult brother to grow up and find his true love, and it looked like he was planning to enjoy every second of married life now that he had his bride in his arms at last.

  Elijah took Rebekah’s hand and led her toward the house. “Please join us inside for a meal to celebrate the union of this happy couple,” Rebekah called as they walked between the guests. She assumed that Klaus and Vivianne would simply join them when they were ready, which might not be for a few more minutes given their current state.

 
Now that the moving, emotional portion of the evening was over, it was time to put her sentimentality aside and attend to the more entertaining part of her plan. Klaus could be happy with Vivianne for the rest of eternity if he didn’t find a way to cheat himself out of it, but he owed Rebekah one night of small, satisfying revenge. She couldn’t let this chance for a bit of fun pass her by. A little dose of humility would be good for Klaus, and the harmless prank would fortify her against the next time his antics became almost unbearable.

  Rebekah hurried to the kitchen, pretending to sample dishes and inspect garnishes while one hand worked the stopper loose from the little blue vial she had concealed among the rose-colored folds of her skirt. A large pot of thick potato soup rested on one side counter. Rebekah leaned over as if she only wanted to smell the curls of delicious steam. Then, with a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, she tipped the werewolf venom into the pale, creamy liquid.

  “It will be ready in minutes, mademoiselle,” a cook assured her, appearing so suddenly beside her elbow that Rebekah startled in shock. The vial slipped out of her hand, and she didn’t dare attract more attention by grabbing for it. It rolled away into a gap between the two pots, invisible but definitely, damningly there. “We will pair it with the Riesling and the Romanian virgins’ blood for the first course. Would you like to sample some?”

  Rebekah eyed the pot and then the cook. The venom had seeped into the soup quickly, and he didn’t look as though he suspected anything. But tasting the soup now would make her sick—not as ill as it would make a common vampire, but enough to notice. There could be questions, and the whole plan might unravel. She couldn’t risk it; she couldn’t even try to recover the empty vial. “I’m sure it’s fine,” she told the man. “I look forward to tasting it along with the rest of our guests.”