3

Klaus slides out of the bed with the elegance worthy of any predatory feline, grins at her almost impishly as he covers himself with the chrisom silk robe over the leather armchair in the corner.

"I have missed you."

His lips brush her forehead, his arm surrounds her shoulders to bring her against his chest, and it is a bizarre parody of a gallant embrace between father and daughter.

Katherine barely tenses in his hold, her dark eyes remaining trained on his arrogantly handsome face, but she remains acutely aware of the two women still in the room, passed out on the king-sized bed.

The hitch to kill them underneath her skin reminds her that they don't belong here, in this picture that frames her with her sire, and the blood in her veins that screams out like a child 'father, stop hurting me'.

Moments like this, Katherine feels she should go back to Damon and prostrate him to her feet, to force him to acknowledge that she did to him a great courtesy, by leaving him alone for whole a century to cradle and cherish his little dream of her. So easily she could have taken him to New Orleans instead, to dance with her and Klaus. To be killed horribly, because Klaus did not share, or to live and be the cause of her punishment, for the very same reason.

Like I would be ever that masochistic.

To get attached to him or Stefan was never the plan, but with Damon … parts of him were just too much like the woman she used to be for her to either truly care or stay indifferent. She has liked him and wanted him, but she could never have loved or respected him. Hencefore, between them there was never a chance of it ending any differently.

"I didn't go that far away."

Or far enough for my taste.

Her smirk is saucy and malicious, a studied reflection of the one he bestows occasionally on his bed-warmers. Flirty, but also a weapon to distract and ensnare. She knows it will get his blood going.

"And yet, I find your reports of Mystic Falls only made me envious I could not be there with you, to enjoy the scenery and the entertainment."

He opens the cabinet, takes out twin flutes and a bottle of sparkling white wine. From the slightly fruity scent, she recognizes it as a favorite brand. It's a welcome she favors over any empty pretty words.

Yet, the tang of iron lingers in the air, along with the slow sound of their heartbeat, and Katherine can't relax or enjoy it properly, not even as she sips the lovely offering. Those off-key details grate on her nerves like a repeated wrong note spoiling a decent symphony.

She might be over the jealousy or the delusion of believing in his love, but the constant realization that her sire aims his sadism her way does things to her spirit she can't quite define. It's not quite pain, but rather the ghost of an old, worn suffering visiting and keeping her on the edge.

She doesn't fear him anymore but he is still danger.

"Well, you will be there soon enough, and I suspect you will enjoy what I sowed in Elena Gilbert more than in your old boyfriend. "

Lie, lie, lie.

Elena is soft, tender, and a bit vain like the Tatia even Elijah gets nostalgic over, on occasion. Klaus will enjoy that.

Stefan is an addict hopelessly in denial of his affliction, with a monster sleeping under his skin, waiting to be awakened with a kiss or lulled with an illusion of goodness. Both are delicious perspectives for Klaus' collection.

Katherine has done what she was getting paid to do – to divide the group before the conqueror could sweep in and reap his new toys- but she mostly applied herself out of self interest. The more Klaus gets interested in them, the less he is likely to focus on her.

"Will she be powerful, by what you saw?"

Those baby blue eyes are already glowing with impatient greed.

"Oh, she has every promise of greatness. Just … spoiled by a good heart and aspirations to decency. Of course, she adores Stefan. Once you get him, she is likely to follow where he leads."

Maybe. Katherine has a feeling her double might be far less mellow than she appears, and not at all a stranger to the art of subtle manipulation. But Klaus doesn't need to hear it or to guess it, right now.

"Sounds like perfect prey! – he laughs, pleased- The Bennett witch?"

"I made you a proper necromancer. Be grateful."

"I am."

He leans in to kiss her, and it is not at all the sort of gratitude Katherine craves, but she takes it, melting against his mouth for a moment.

Her mind is still on Spain, or maybe Paris, but there's a kind of release and warmth to be found in her tongue battling for dominance with his. It's familiar but it is not home. It's gravity but not comfort.

In the background, she can hear them stirring. She pretends to not.

AN: You may be wondering why I wrote K/K at all in this chapter. I felt a need to explain how Katherine ended up the way she did in the SG epilogue, despite being such a survivalist at heart, and to give a different perspective to her feelings for Damon.