A/N: So...here we go...and for once the title of the chapter will be posted at the end of the chapter instead of the beginning. You'll understand why when you read the chapter.

Enjoy!

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Disclaimer : I own nothing.

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Warnings : M rated story that may occasionally include dark themes.

Many thanks to the amazing Anastasia Dreams for her beta work! And for her patience and neverending support!

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Songs used as inspiration for this chapter :

Gimme Shelter by Paul Brady & The Forest Rangers

(Additional version: By The Rolling Stones)

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Chapter 12

Oh, a storm is threat'ning
My very life today
If I don't get some shelter
Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away

...War, children, it's just a shot away

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The view of the city from the side of the river they had parked by was spectacular. The area was remote, almost hidden by trees and bridges but the lights shimmered in the far distance.

The engine of the car was humming and the faint sound from the radio was almost an echo that could not break the silence of the night that surrounded them. The soft glimmer from the sidelights she had left on illuminated the area around them, engulfing them in rays of dim light and shadows.

Caroline felt Klaus' presence behind her as she stood a few steps further from the car and watched the dreamy view. After calling his cleaners and the cops on his payroll to cover the mess they had left behind and make sure the car accident of their guards wouldn't become public knowledge Klaus had allowed her some silence. It did not feel awkward or tense. It felt natural somehow. Soothing.

Him taking her here, letting her drive them here, may not have been an impressive gesture but for her, it was more than that. At least now she felt that she could breathe somewhat easier and Klaus somehow knew she needed that. He had seen she needed to get out of his house. He had seen she needed to breathe.

She was not naïve enough to not see how she was suffocating because of him in the first place but she wouldn't be here right now without him. And as much as she hated being dependent on him, she acknowledged how much she needed this. The drive had been exhilarating.

She acknowledged the fact that she should be feeling guilty for what she did but somehow she didn't. Klaus told her that aside from some broken bones and minor injuries the guards in the car crash would be fine.

Caroline knew this would bring a whole lot of trouble in her doorstep. With Mikael, with Montavaro, with Damon. Yet she couldn't make herself care no matter how much she tried.

All she knew what that right now she felt calm.

This moment right now was relaxing. It was giving her a sense of peace and all Caroline wanted was to feel the soft breeze. To inhale it in. To let her lungs expand. To unravel.

The air was caressing her face, her hair. It was a cool sensation and she should feel the chill right down to her bones but Klaus' scrutiny was mixing heat with the crispy briskness.

Instinctively, she pulled her jacket tighter, knowing all too well that the shivers that passed through her body had nothing to do with the breeze.

"Feeling any better?"

Klaus' voice finally broke the silence and even though it had a comforting cadence, she said nothing.

It was an illusion. That sense of gratitude she felt towards him. He was throwing her crumbs of decency and she was starving for them, but they were nothing but one more manipulation and she had had enough. This conflict inside her when it came to Klaus had to come to an end. His schemes were the reason she was breaking at the seams. She didn't want his concern. She didn't want his pity. And, she didn't want his help. Or at least she didn't want to want all that. His mercy was not even mercy. Not when he was the one responsible for her needing mercy, to begin with.

Most of all she didn't want everything that was him to invade her senses the way he did, especially now that she felt as if she was unable to hold her guard up. The drive had given her a taste of fleeting freedom but now that the thrill had passed, she realized how she was ready to hold on to that because she was not strong enough to face reality. The reality of her actions.

God! She was messed up. In all the ways a person could be messed up. Her logic and her emotions, her fear and her need for control were in a constant battle with each other and Klaus was turning the battle into a full-fledged war.

She closed her eyes and tried to regain some control. It was slipping from her hands and she could not function without it. And, Klaus was always there to chip her control in pieces. He was demolishing every piece and she had to get those pieces back. They were hers. She couldn't exist without them. But the more she tried the more she failed and the more she failed the more Klaus came closer. So close to messing her up; soon there would be no more control, no more her.

And now…he was so close. Too close.

She didn't have to turn around to see that he had stepped closer. That his shadow was falling over her, taking her in, devouring her. Every muscle in her back tensed. Her spine locked.

Klaus Mikaelson had that uncanny ability to walk without making any noise but she felt him. She always felt him whenever he was near. She was constantly bombarded by an onslaught of emotions whenever he was closing in on her. She knew that Klaus was the kind of man that demanded attention. He had a commandeering presence but it was more than that for her lately. She could close her eyes, turn blind and deaf, and she could still tell whenever he stepped near.

The first few days after their wedding, when she barely knew him, it had been fear and uneasiness that made her tense whenever he came close to her personal space, but this had somehow changed into something she could not explain. Ever since he decided they were to share the same bedroom her senses had become attuned to him.

It was his scent. His proximity. His nearness always did something to her. It put her on edge. It awakened her.

He was so close now. The hair on her neck stood up. She knew that if she was to take a deeper breath the movement would cause her back to graze his chest.

Why wasn't she moving away?

"No?" he wondered softly and she tried not to move at all even though she felt the warmth of his breath close to her hair now, "Not at all?"

She blinked.

Right. He had asked her if she was feeling any better. As if he cared.

And what was worse was that deep down she knew that in his own twisted way he probably did care. In all the ways he shouldn't. In all the ways she shouldn't want him to. And knowing that created havoc in her. She wanted to scream, and she wanted to whisper, and she wanted to do so many things but instead, she stood still and only wrapped herself in her jacket and hoped for the world to stop crushing her under its weight.

The small pebbles in the dirt shifted under Klaus' soles and she saw him in the periphery of her vision. He now stood by her side. No longer in the darkness behind her. But right next to her.

She scowled but kept staring at the view that all of a sudden seemed less impressive. It seemed…less. Klaus made everything seem less whenever he was close. It was as if he was sucking all the life around him and becoming the center of attention.

"All this silence, sweetheart," Klaus chided, a slight amusement coating his sigh, "I don't think this is our thing."

She couldn't help it.

She snorted. But at least she did not roll her eyes. A hard task if you asked her. They did not have a thing. They could not have a thing. Klaus Mikaelson did not have "a thing" with anyone and more so with her. And if she had a thing with anyone it sure as hell would not be with him.

Klaus moved forward and blocked her view. He lowered his head to level his gaze with hers and looked at her with what she could only describe as a blend of anticipation and heady expectation.

"Talk to me, Caroline! Come on get to know me!"

His voice was pleading but there was so much boyish charm in it. Which was weird because Klaus was a killer and there was nothing childish about him. He was not a boy. He was a man. A dangerous man. A dangerous…very good looking man.

'No, no! Don't go there!' she internally berated herself and remained stubbornly silent despite Klaus' efforts to get her to talk to him and lighten up the mood between them.

Klaus sighed but his eyes were lit with mischievousness. He checked his phone and snickered.

"I bet our guards are definitely not having the best of time right now," he changed the subject pointing his phone at her. It was bombarded by texts and calls from his henchmen before he turned off the ringer again, "I guess I should really update our security. If they can so easily lose you," he told her, his tone playful and holding something akin to pride despite his comment about suffocating her more with more of his guard dogs, "but I do admit you are an exceptional driver," he complimented her, and Caroline realized this had been a bad idea.

It had been a bad –horrible- idea to leave with him and come here. What was she thinking? Was she thinking? They were completely alone. With her so exceptional driving she made sure they'd be left all alone. And now Klaus was trying to break her defenses by being normal and flirty and she was barely holding it together trying not to peek at his face and those damn dimples. So villains with dimples did something to her. Go figure.

"One more talent of yours I didn't see coming but I am thankful for," he continued and then with two strides went back to the car, "my girl here surely deserves to be treated nicely."

Caroline frowned and curiosity got the best of her because there was something in Klaus' tone. Something close to…worship?

When she turned her head to follow his movement she saw him caressing the hood of the car reverently and Caroline could not help but arch a brow.

"A girl?" she blurted, finally caving in and talking to him. At least it was good to know that he was not that different from any other guy that was obsessed with his car.

She then suppressed the giggle that threatened to escape her throat because her amused disbelief actually had Klaus looking almost offended.

"She is way too beautiful to be anything else than a she," Klaus clarified emphatically and this time Caroline could not help it. She rolled her eyes and Klaus dimples grew bigger because his indignation wavered, and he smiled at her reaction.

His smile was contagious because the edge of her lips curled upwards and she felt drawn to him more than ever. His lightness seemed more alluring than anything else and that realization made her almost lose her footing. Klaus was like quicksand and he was pulling her in. These had been some of the worst days of her life and here she was tonight getting trapped in his web as if nothing had happened.

Caroline inhaled deeply realizing how easily her control had slipped again and she shook her head and turned around to see the river in the distance. Only this time she didn't see it. She glared and wanted to stomp her foot down stopping only the last moment realizing that she wasn't five and acting like that in front of Klaus would not gain her any brownie points.

Why couldn't she ignore him like she used to do with every other man in their circle? She grew up with men like him all her life. She could do it with everyone else really. With the goons in her home and out of it, with the men of her father and the friends and flunkies of her brothers. She was never affected even from the worst of the worst and in the world she lived in, that said something. She could block out anyone she wanted. She had built her bitchy reputation around that particular skill and yet Klaus always managed to get under her skin. She was like a livewire around him ready to snap.

Maybe that was because he wasn't like every other man but that didn't mean that she should allow him to influence her in that way. She was better than that. She had to be. Now more than ever. Girly Caroline getting stupid butterflies fluttering million of wings in her stomach at the first sign of affection and interest by a man like Klaus Mikaelson would not do. She had to brace herself for what was to come. This was war and she had to turn to steel that would not melt, bend or break.

The moment her demeanor changed back to unyielding resolution the air shifted between them. It became electric. From both sides.

She didn't know how but she knew the moment Klaus felt the change in her. It was as if he could see right through her and she felt his determination pouring out of him in waves. Waves that threatened to drown her.

Klaus clasped his hands behind his back and came next to her again. He tilted his head pointing where she was looking at.

"Have you ever been here before?"

Caroline ignored his politeness by casting him a sarcastic look.

"You know I've never been to this side of the city. Mikaelson territory and all," she mumbled bitterly. She grew up hating those ridiculous restrictions. Hating the danger. Hating knowing that one step to the wrong side of the map could cost her life and even stepping to her family's territory was just as dangerous.

She grew up hating this city because of it. She always wanted to get out. She did get out only to get sucked back in. And supposedly her marriage to Klaus broke the divides in the city and both their families could now freely roam everywhere they wanted.

Such a lie. Now it was as dangerous if not more so than breaking Chicago in half and fighting for gaining control. This war was far more sinister. Far more dangerous.

Her indignation didn't make Klaus smile this time. He smirked.

"Half a forbidden zone is nothing in front of what truly waits for you, Caroline. The whole world should you want it," he enticed her, "far beyond the borders of a city."

"Or of a graveyard," she threw back at him unable to mask her resentment.

Klaus' smirk intensified and he pushed his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"Empires are always built on graves and blood. You knew this before that wedding band ended up on your finger. It is in your blood as it is in mine."

She scrunched up her nose in disgust and turned around to leave but his voice stopped her.

"You didn't mind shedding blood tonight. You knew what could happen if the cars crashed; and days before in the gardens you didn't run," he remarked, "from what you are. Who you are. You didn't back down…you stood your ground."

Caroline halted completely. Time itself seemed to stop all around her.

Klaus' words were a snare. Dangerous. Lethal. She was caught in its lure and she couldn't break free. She was straying from sanity. It was not just what he was saying. It was the way he spoke and what he truly meant. Klaus' accented voice held a dazzle of pride as if he was fascinated by what happened. More so he sounded insightful. He was exposing her darkest sins and secrets and was leaving her bare to face them.

She still struggled to come to terms with what happened Jessie but Klaus was impressed. It was a game in which he was thriving, and she was losing herself in it only for him to relish in the carnage, the aftermath left behind.

That day in the gardens was marked in blood. There was no more hallowed ground for her to step on and he knew it. And so, did she.

She had to put some distance between them and an end to this. Whatever this was. But she couldn't. She couldn't, not even when Klaus approached her from behind. Not even when his breath wafted close to her ear.

"Do it again," his whisper beguiled her, "here. Now. With me."

She closed her eyes. Standing her ground in Klaus' world meant burning all the bridges to hers. There would be no more peace. No more dreams. The future she had wanted would be no more. Maybe it already was destroyed. Only she could not accept this. If she did there would be nothing to fight for. It would all be for nothing. Everything she was doing now, all that darkness, had to count for something. Otherwise, Klaus would win and she would be forever lost.

"This isn't me," she whispered back, mostly saying this to herself than to Klaus, and she savagely bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted iron in her mouth.

Her hands turned to fists and she drew more blood when she sank her nails in her palms. Blood. So much blood. She could not stop tasting its metal and smelling its gore.

No. This had to stop.

She had to hold on to her control. Somehow. She had to hold on to something but she was in a freefall and what terrified her was that she should be terrified of the impending crash but the fall made her feel alive and this couldn't be her. This couldn't be who she was.

"And who are you exactly, sweetheart?" Klaus drawled and pushed her hair back from the side of her neck exposing the column of her throat, "do you even know?"

She kept falling and Klaus was not there to catch her. He was there to give her the final push. He was there to destroy all her safety nets. He had wings of his own and she had none. She could not stop falling. Straight into him.

His fingers skimmed the pulsing skin that beat now faster and faster. His thumb traced the throbbing vein in her neck only to follow the line of her jaw and sneak under her chin. He gently turned her head to his side bringing her closer to him. Demanding her attention.

"Shedding a little blood won't undo you, Caroline. Not you."

She opened her eyes. He was so close. His lips were so close to hers. But it was his eyes that did her in.

"I am not a killer," she denied and there was nothing kind to Klaus' smile. It was diabolical and cruel.

His thumb touched her lower lip.

Caroline followed his finger with her eyes and shivers went up and down her spine when Klaus rested his other hand on her hip.

He traced the curve of her waist guiding his hand up. It was slow and it was seduction but his eyes held only darkness and maybe that tempted her even more.

And maybe she should have known better.

"Just because you didn't pull the trigger does not mean you are not a killer."

She froze. His words were like ice on her skin casting away all the warmth his touch had ignited.

"Not where it truly matters," he added and his finger pointedly tapped the leather of her jacket, an inch away from her heart.

She glared at him and shoved his hand away.

"This little getaway is over. Take me back," she coldly said and tried to walk past him and go sit to the passenger's seat, but he didn't let her.

He moved faster than what her senses could perceive and blocked her path to the car with his body. She couldn't walk past him and she couldn't walk away. So she did what he wanted. She lifted her chin and faced him straight on.

She stood her ground.

She glowered at him and stopped resisting the hate and the anger. She was straying from all her morality because now more than ever she wanted to wrap her hand around a gun and point it at him.

The sound of the gunshots from the garden still echoed in her ears. Such a sound. Hollow. Deafening. Carrying only death. It would be enough to break all hearts. Even Klaus'. It sure as hell broke hers.

"Do you want me to ease your guilt, Caroline?" Klaus mocked her, "to coddle you as I wanted to do when you pretended to be my demure little wife? I offered you that kind of life sweetheart but you didn't want it," he reminded her, "in fact, you fought tooth and nail to make sure that wasn't an option."

His words stung. Badly.

She tried not to let her shoulders slump but she was losing this battle and she knew it. And she hated it. She hated him. She hated herself.

She hated.

Caroline crossed her hands in front of her chest and looked away not wanting to dignify what he was saying with a response. Not wanting to feel that corrosive emotion. Hatred seemed to be just as powerful as love and just as addictive.

She pressed her lips. The view was so ugly now. Everything was.

Klaus now watched her with keen eyes. He suppressed his need to flinch at what he saw shuttering inside her eyes.

"I want to share many things with you Caroline but a guilty conscience is not one of them," he relented and realized that there was not an ounce of dishonesty in that statement.

Caroline had that unique gift to turn everything inside him in a battlefield. The things he wanted and how much he wanted her were starting to clash with each other. Logic and insanity fought and he wanted to be both her enemy and her haven.

He still held on to his plans. To end Mikael. To gain full control. To make Caroline fall for him and use her to fulfill these plans. But now his endgame had shifted because he also wanted Caroline in his future. She was as much as an important victory and a trophy as anything else he had desired for so long. But for his plans to work, he had to break her to pieces and keep the pieces for himself. To force her to his side, if not by force then by the nonsense of love people like her held on to but none of these plans were coming to fruition in the way he wanted them too. And it was not just because she was such a great challenge. He was sabotaging himself. He could barely follow his own strategy because instead of satisfaction for the successful moves he was making against her he felt regret and shame. Confusion was taking over.

With that dead soldier of hers he knew he had pushed her to her breaking point using guilt as his weapon of choice. But deep down he knew that the wounds he could inflict were skin deep, just scratching the surface, leaving scars that she would eventually turn into her own weapons. Even against him. But for those scars to even register, she had to bleed first and he had to let her only…he couldn't. This was why tonight when he saw her pain in his house he knew he had to get her out of there. He had to give her room to breathe. Because she was suffocating and it hurt him to see her light tarnished in that way.

He was swaying between madness and sanity's shores with this woman. Parts of him were unraveling. He didn't know if he wanted to break her or break for her.

She seemed fragile now. Like a fractured glass ready to break into million pieces but he knew better. There were glasses that were bulletproof and that was what Caroline was. And it made him want to test her limits and see what her breaking point was but at the same time he was starting to reach his. This pull and push was affecting him in ways he couldn't explain. He didn't know why this was happening.

All he knew was that he couldn't stay away. Something was always drawing him closer. Something that demanded him to comfort her. To heal the wounds he was inflicting. Something that did not want to share hate and a guilty conscience with her. He wanted the exact opposite.

"You would need to have a conscience, to begin with," came her fast reply in a sneer.

Her words, laced with so much disdain and scorn actually gave him relief. Because Caroline was indeed bulletproof. And at the same time, the relief transmuted to despondency.

Caroline's insult would have felt more like a compliment some time ago. He was a predator so he enjoyed when his prey was putting up a fight and he relished in the hate he provoked in others. But Caroline was not like any other he had met and destroyed. She was not prey or easily destructible. Her words only bounced in the void inside him and vexed him. Her honesty never faltered; neither did her fierce dislike when it came to him. Both were warranted he assumed but he felt like he was breaking his fists on her walls. Walls she had raised to protect herself from him and from herself. And with good reason. But he could not help but to want to demolish them. To have nothing between them. To turn her betrayal and her hate to devotion and desire. And she was right. He didn't have a conscience because he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. And he wanted her. On his own terms.

"Very true," he agreed with a knowing smile, "if only I had one. But alas…I am still me and you are you and here we are," he accepted solemnly and there were no more games to play in what he told her now. He was too tired for them anyway.

When had he become so tired? Probably a long time ago. More than he could count. And Caroline was like a breath of fresh air and teaching her how to hate was the last thing he really wanted. She was life and beauty and light and it only made him realize how exhausting his life was. How lonely. How much he craved someone like her by his side.

When her eyes found his that craving became longing. Profound. Limitless.

Caroline seemed startled by his jaded reply but there was nothing jaded or weary in the way he felt now.

Everything he wanted was staring him in the face.

Power. She was.

Vengeance. She could be.

The kingdom he dreamed of all his life. She could help him build it.

The Queen he never knew he wanted by his side till now. An equal. So she was.

Caroline's eyes, those brilliant green eyes were locked with his. And the accusation seemed to expire from her gaze as she seemed to search for something in him. What it was he didn't know. He only knew that once she found it her anger seemed to soften and the despair under the surface filtered through and he hated seeing that in her eyes. He hated that he had put that emotion there. That there were so many others in her whole life that had put it in there and he was no different from them. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be different. Different to her.

So, when she asked him, this time gently, with a voice as soft as the vulnerability that shimmered under the strength she showed, he couldn't help but be honest with her.

"Does it ever stop?" she asked him, her throat bobbing delicately as she swallowed down the breath she seemed to be holding. A sign of hopelessness. Hopelessness he knew all too well. He had lived it. Ever since he was a child. Ever since he could remember himself. And he was still living in it. That relentless hopelessness Caroline dreaded so much. He had tried to pillage it and reign like a King on its ashes but it still savaged him every day."Living like this?" Caroline clarified and she seemed to be hanging by a thread. She seemed to want him to give her hope. Only he couldn't. Not in the way she expected. Not in the way she wanted.

His answer was curt. And her hope was dashed.

"No."

Damon Salvatore rolled his shoulders and uncorked the lid from one of Giuseppe Salvatore's hard liquor expensive bottles.

His bottles now.

Giuseppe collected expensive booze for years. He only opened the bottles to treat his guests or the dead men walking. It was hard to distinguish which was which when Don Salvatore offered them a drink. It was a scare tactic that always instilled terror.

Giuseppe Salvatore was a cold fish, though. He never drank in order to leave nothing clouding his judgment despite his vast collection of alcohol, a collection that Damon was on his way to wasting. It gave him a perverse satisfaction to know that with each swallow his father's corpse was probably rolling in its grave.

He didn't bother with a glass. He drank straight from the bottle.

Damon frowned when he realized that the pink tint that colored his hands still lingered. Washing off blood was a bitch. Ever since he had become the Capo of the Outfit he bathed in it. He made one bloody statement after the other to make sure he would be feared in the hopes that the terror he instilled would keep his traitorous uncles and the Underbosses in line. The last thing he needed was a coup. He knew many wanted to overthrow him but he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

He had to be careful, though. If he kept this up his resources would wane. He needed his men to show him respect because he couldn't kill them all. Not right now anyway. And with the constant attacks from the Lockwoods and the Triad and the constant need to one-up the Mikaelsons the profits were waning too. No wonder he turned to murder more than usual. He had to vent somehow.

Today that should have had the desired effect but instead, he felt more frustrated than ever.

Usually, after going on a killing spree and spending hours in one of his whorehouses he was in a better mood but returning home only to find an inconsolable Elena ensured that his night would turn to shit.

He stared at the brandy bottle and grimaced. He'd need something stronger for sure.

He pulled his phone from his back pocket and checked it. No messages yet.

How many did he have to kill for his orders to be instantly obeyed?

Jeremy Gilbert was still on the loose and for some reason, Damon cared about that little shit more than he should. Elena cared for her brother and his black as tar heart couldn't stand her pain. It cut him deep. It shouldn't be this way. Elena was his brother's wife. He shouldn't want his brother's woman but here he was.

The knowledge that Elena was in Stefan's arms, worrying, unable to sleep or eat anything, didn't sit well with him. Of course, Stefan, her white knight in shining armor was consoling her the best way he could but until Jeremy was found something told him that nothing Stefan or he could say or do would have any result.

After the Vick bitch fiasco, Elena's brother wasn't the same and that affected Elena and her compassionate heart.

He had offered to take care of her brother and lock him in the basement of their house until he cleaned up but Elena insisted that her baby brother needed professional help and he wasn't an animal to be chained in a basement. Of course, Stefan had to agree with her so for the hundredth time Jeremy had run off from the rehab center and now Elena was crying and he had his soldier's on the hunt searching for her brother.

Oh, he would find Elena's brother alright. And then everyone who handed him drugs would lose their heads to send a message. He had done it once for Stefan and he was only but a Made Man back then. He had shown no mercy and dragged his baby brother back from the edge. He'd do the same for Elena's brother.

He would cut off Jeremy's sources if it was the last thing he'd do. He normally wouldn't give a shit if one of his initiates was a junkie. He'd torture them, kill them off for screwing his business and make an example of them but Jeremy was Elena's brother. He should have been inducted already and yet he fell in love with the crack whore and things went down to hell from there especially after that Vick bitch overdosed.

Jeremy finding her corpse was not meant to happen but he had to sneak away and go to the hospital because of his Romeo and Juliette puppy love with that whore.

In retrospect, Damon realized that maybe he should have handled it better.

The fucking Hydra Effect.

Giuseppe Salvatore had warned him about it many years ago. The old man's condemning words echoed from the past.

"Your plans have potential for the immediate and ostentatious effect but are at best half decent for the long term. You never bother with the consequences so you end up with the hydra effect. Dealing with one issue only to create multiple in its wake"

Damon shook his head and walked outside to get some fresh air.

He stood in front of the softly lit pool.

The blue glow of the pool shimmered in the night under the soft moonlight. He stared at the water and tasted more of the stale brandy.

"In the end, the consequences will be too many and your worth too little to handle what you wrought upon yourself."

His father's bullshit taunted him beyond the grave.

Damon spat the bitter aftertaste the alcohol had left on his mouth and threw the bottle away.

This was just bad timing. If anything happened to Jeremy, Elena would break down and he couldn't worry about her and still have his head in the game. His men were getting killed in Klaus' house. The Lockwoods and the Triad were still after their heads. Not to mention the MCs Jeremy loved to mess with when searching for his next meth shot were starting to riot and on top of that he had to make preparations for his engagement to the female version of Klaus Mikaelson. Rebekah would be an annoying pain in the ass and at the same time, he had to also use the engagement to solidify his position as Capo. Fucking great.

Not to mention he couldn't reach Caroline. Even in Jessie's funeral she had avoided him as if he had the plague and he couldn't move on with his plans if his sister was stubbornly ignoring him. Especially now that Klaus' attention seemed to be solely devoted on her. And to add insult to injury it was obvious that Caroline communicated with Montavaro and treated him as an afterthought.

Times like these made him wish of different simpler times when all he had to deal with was the Mikaelson Famiglia and the Bratva attacks.

His mouth twisted. Of course, Klaus Mikaelson had chased out the Bratva from their territory.

Damon had lost count of how many times Giuseppe had all but praised Caroline's psycho husband making Damon often believe that if Giuseppe could adopt the Mikaelson bastard and put him in charge of them all he would.

Of course, Giuseppe Salvatore cared more to show respect to the worth of his enemies than the worth of his own sons.

Damon pulled from the pocket of his jeans the last piece of his father's chess set. He had burned the board and the rest of the handmade pieces but kept one. The Black Queen. His father's favorite piece.

The only missing piece was the White Queen. It had disappeared before his father's death. Something told him his father had gifted it somewhere.

Damon stared down at the piece he had kept.

The bluish glow from the pool reflected on the shine of the obsidian as he twirled it in his hand.

Damon couldn't help but remember. He always remembered. He was always haunted by the dead Capo that during his life had given him tons of abuse to harden him for his birthright. But no matter the abuse, the scars, the pain, in the end, no matter what he did it was never enough for Giuseppe Salvatore.

Damon's mind traveled back. Years ago, to when Don Salvatore was still strong. Back then, Giuseppe was still ruling with an iron fist and had Damon under his thumb. Back then, he always went on with his tedious preaching and condescending lessons and loved to rub into Damon's face how he basically viewed him as incompetent.

Many times, Damon had wondered how it was that Giuseppe hadn't gotten rid of him and allowed him to remain his heir. Probably because he had enjoyed torturing him ever since he was a child and he knew that despite the flaws he saw in him, in the end, Stefan would be a far softer version of him as Capo and if anything was to be said, Giuseppe Salvatore didn't tolerate anything soft unless it had the name Caroline attached to it.

A few years ago

Damon had lost most of his afternoon waiting in line for his father's Underbosses to give him their reports and to ask for favors or propose solutions to problems that most likely they had caused to begin with.

He didn't stand by his father's side. That was Uncle Giovanni's place.

Damon waited close to the bar but he had to contain himself from drowning in one of his father's scotch bottles. He wasn't allowed to partake in any of them. Only Giuseppe's friends and enemies were. Besides getting drunk in front of his father, his entourage and Giovanni Montavaro would not do him any favors. Especially not since he had to give his reports for the profits of the drugs, he pushed into the clubs he was responsible for. His numbers had risen but he doubted he would get a pat on the back.

It would be a cold day in hell when Giuseppe Salvatore would congratulate him for anything or recognize any success of his.

He stopped himself from yawning as the hours passed. Times like these he missed Stefan. Father had sent him to Italy to whip him into better shape and for Stefan to keep the family's connection with their Italian roots. It was a rite of passage. Every Salvatore son was subjected to it.

Of course, when his father had sent him to Italy a few years ago he had sent him to Calabria and later on to Sicily and gave him to the most traditionalist and brutal members of the Salvatore clan in Italy. Stefan, probably due to his recent addiction issues was given directions to follow a different route. Supposedly for the family to renew more connections throughout Italy but he knew better. After Stefan's massacre incident in Monterey, their father worried. He didn't want to mix Stefan with the Sicilian culture of their family. Somehow in Giuseppe's mind, Stefan had to retain his humanity while he, as his eldest son had to lose it.

Damon didn't object to that, though. It was one of the few times he agreed with the old goat. Stefan needed to find control and balance. Pushing him towards more cruelty would do him no good. People already called him the Ripper after Monterey. Even their father had been horrified and Damon could still hear Stefan's withdrawal screams from the basement they had locked him. Stefan never had the heart to become one of them. To murder, to kill. He broke under the pressure.

Damon remembered all these days all too well. It was the one and only time he and Giuseppe were in absolute agreement. They had brutally killed together all those that provided drugs to Stefan. They sent a message to everyone that would dare oppose their will. They had also lied to Caroline about Stefan being sent away to Italy at first. His sister was the only one who didn't know the true nature of her good brother. Something Damon didn't object to either. Stefan would lose it if their kid sister saw him as a monster and judged him as such. As if Caroline didn't know already they were all monsters.

He missed Stefan though. He wished he could see him in person instead of talking to him through the phone. Lately, even their calls were sparse but he knew Stefan was clean. Their contacts in Italy sent both him and Giuseppe weekly reports over Stefan's progress and state of mind.

Soon. Soon his brother would return. Eventually, he'd have to take his rightful place in their family too.

At least if Stefan was here now he would have covered for him and Damon wouldn't have to go through this agony of boredom. At this point, he'd rather listen to his sister's annoying nagging about the last party she wanted to go to but was forbidden to attend than sit through this, and that said something because he couldn't stand Caroline's girly grating bullshit for more than a second at a time. He would even offer to help Care sneak out if she would come here and distract their father, giving him a chance to slip away. Damon was half tempted to strike a bargain with her for the next time he had such a tedious meeting.

Although at this point, Caroline had mastered the art of sneaking away on her own. It drove their father mad but of course, the punishments he doled out to his precious princess were never that harsh or lasting. While he would hand him and Stefan their asses for disobeying him in the slightest he seemed almost fascinated by Caroline's ability to manipulate her way into anything she wanted and Damon begrudgingly had to hand it to her too…she could. Not with him even though she had her moments where she could sway even him into spoiling her occasionally. But Caroline Salvatore could very easily have everyone fawn over her, only for her to step over their weaknesses and pretend to be the innocent, naïve teenager who was able to get away with everything. Fucking annoying.

"If you don't need me anything else, Giuseppe," Giovanni's strict yet respectful voice broke through the haze of his thoughts, and soon enough Damon watched as his father dismissed his Consigliere. Everyone else had already left.

Giovanni Montavaro acknowledged his presence by giving him a curt nod before he left, leaving him alone with the Don of the Outfit. His father.

Damon waited patiently until Giuseppe waved for him to come closer without raising his eyes from the papers he had in front of his desk.

Damon approached the desk but knew better than to sit in one of the leather chairs. Instead, he started giving his report to his father and he knew that Giuseppe was listening. Multi-tasking was one of the Capo's talents. His father was a cold businessman. As capable of attending to the financial part of their business as he was at handling the killing part.

Damon kept talking. Their profits went up. He knew he wouldn't get congratulations but as always his father was fast to remind him that their earnings, of course, would rise since the Bratva was not a concern anymore.

"Which does not bode well for us," his father commented coldly and Damon tried to school his expression to a neutral one.

It came as no surprise that the cold fish he had for a father would turn an accomplishment of his to a failure.

"Why ever not?" Damon countered, "we get the results without getting our hands dirty or losing anyone while the other sides fight between them. It's a win, I say."

This drew Giuseppe Salvatore's attention and he finally looked at Damon. His father's cold penetrating stare made him feel uncomfortable but he had learned to hide his emotions by now.

"A war always has a winner coming on top victorious Damon, remember that," Giuseppe reminded him, his voice rigid and detached, "and when the time comes the victor always claims his winnings."

Damon refrained from sighing. He could tell this was fast becoming one more of his father's long drawn out and overly dreary coaching attempts on how to become an ever more boring version of a Boss than him.

"A battle-weary winner tending wounds from battle," he argued and then braced his arms on his father's mahogany desk and leaned forward, "The perfect opportunity for us to strike now."

The hard look his father gave him spoke volumes.

"You crave war when you can't even strategize."

Damon straightened his body and replied to his father's condescension with a patronizing look of his own. One he knew would irritate his father the most.

"My plans are perfectly fine, father."

The bitter twist of the Capo's lips felt like a success but it was short-lived because as always Giuseppe had to have the last word.

"Short-lived, I am afraid. That's your blind spot, Damon. Your impulse. Your plans have potential for the immediate and ostentatious effect but are at best half decent for the long term. You never bother with the consequences."

"I bother," Damon shrugged, "I just prefer to deal with them when they arise."

Giuseppe scowled at him.

"So you end up with the hydra effect. Dealing with one issue only to create multiple in its wake."

"Is this getting philosophical?" Damon mumbled snidely, conveying his boredom directly, "because I may need lots of booze for that."

"Am I tiring you?"

A slow smile curled on his father's lips and given how unsettling it was it made the hair at the back of Damon's neck stand. Giuseppe saved his smiles either for his daughter or for when he was carving his enemies from head to toe.

That smile shouldn't affect him. Damon had risen in the ranks. He had been a Made Man for years. He had learned to enjoy the thrill of danger, he thrived on violence and yet his father had the unique ability to inspire terror with one look alone.

Admittedly, if there was one thing Giuseppe's sadistic harsh treatment had taught him was never to show your enemy any fear or any emotion they could take advantage of.

So it wasn't that hard for him to hide his emotion even when he had to face his father's smile. Usually, his sarcasm was the best tool to do that but baiting his father with indifference also seemed to do the trick.

Damon simply shrugged knowing this attitude of his would frustrate his father but the hell with it. If he was going to go down at least he would enjoy the ride and do it on his terms. Giuseppe and his propriety could go screw themselves.

Don Salvatore's lips thinned.

"I won't always be here to deal with your messes, Damon and you won't always have a secure amount of resources to use as a safety net; be they human resources, money, or ammunition," the Don lectured him with a tone of immense displeasure. His father was old school and they'd never see eye to eye. "There is a chain of command you'll have to respect and understand instead of disregarding every chance you get. From the soldiers to the Underbosses. You won't always be the Prince," Giuseppe's words were clipped while he eyed him in a way that made it clear that not only he disapproved of his ways but also believed him to be nothing but a failure, "there will come a time you'll have to act as a ruler and not as an unpredictable playboy. Your position is a privilege not earned."

That reminder almost made Damon grimace but yet he kept his expression of placidness despite how his father's reproach hit a nerve.

"When the time comes to sit in this chair you'll have to prove yourself not simply by name but by worth. What then?"

Damon gave his father a tight smile.

"You believe me to be worthless, father?"

"Worthless? No," Giuseppe replied, surprising him but the next words stung, "but can you face me and honestly tell me that you believe your worth to be substantial, son?"

Damon's body went taut and he felt the familiar wave of incompetence wash over him. He tried to hide it as best as he could but he knew that his father's inquisitive stare could penetrate his defenses. His father's eyes examined him warily and Damon felt like a kid again. A worthless kid who cried when he had a nightmare and then his father would beat that weakness out of him until there were no more tears, no more vulnerability.

It wasn't enough. No matter what he did it would never be enough. He wouldn't be enough, good enough. He would never be the good son. No matter how much he tried. He didn't even know why he cared anymore.

But he had spent so many years enduring Giuseppe's abuse, both physical and mental, in order to be shaped into the son he wanted and it was all for nothing.

Damon had accepted Giuseppe forcing him to start from the bottom, despite him being his son; He had risen in the ranks and showed his worth. His soldiers looked up to him. He had found his calling. Any useless emotion of his was replaced with unparalleled cruelty and he relished in the violence.

And now as his father's regarded him with undiluted rejection the scars burned, and the wounds reopened.

Any retort he had was crashed by the knot that had formed in his throat and Damon faced the Don of the Salvatore family with a blank expression.

"It is enough," he got out, remaining expressionless as if he didn't care.

"Enough to carry our family name and not lead it to extinction?"

Damon lifted a shoulder and something deadly flashed in his father's eyes.

"This is the root of your problems, Damon. Your worth," the old man criticized grimly, "that's always been my issue with you. I am very well aware of your reputation and your virtues or… lack of them. I wouldn't mind a limited scope if you at least tried to extend it. Hard work can compensate for any deficiency. If I saw you put some genuine effort into bettering yourself…" Giuseppe sighed with a wistful yet bitter expression. Damon could see that in his father's eyes he was a losing battle.

Giuseppe regarded him carefully now and Damon felt small for some reason. He was a grown-up man and his father made him feel like a bug ready to be squashed under his shoe.

"I am your father after all and believe it or not I care for your progress."

Giuseppe ignored Damon's snort and continued.

"My treatment of you may have been harsher than of your siblings but you are meant to inherit my position. They aren't. A position you seemingly desire. Do you?" the Capo's expression turned intense and calculating. Most of all it turned challenging. His father provoked him to deny his claim, "Do you desire to become my successor, Damon?"

Damon's lips curled before they settled in a tight line. He swallowed his pride and admitted what his father knew.

"You know I do."

It was his birthright. He hadn't gotten through all this shit only to give it up. He wouldn't do Giuseppe that favor.

His father scoffed.

"And, yet, you are sitting here wasting your time and mine because you have it all sorted out and you'll bother with the consequences of your actions when they come while you'll keep acting up," the Don said, his tone veiled in sarcasm and reproach, "In the end, the consequences will be too many and your worth too little to handle what you wrought upon yourself and if you were on your own that would be your choice but you have a family that for better or worse one day will come to depend on you."

Damon could see how much his father dreaded the day when he would be gone. Not because he feared death. That was the one thing Giuseppe Salvatore did not fear. But, Damon could see that his father considered him to be a letdown. He believed that when the time came for him to become the next Capo, their family would be led into destruction and ruin. He truly believed that he would leave their legacy in shambles.

A part of him wanted to do exactly that. To spit at Giuseppe's legacy and dismantle it only to taunt his ghost.

"You are born with blessings other people can only dream of. Charm, intelligence, a position which grants you power, influence, honor," his father said the words as if he believed that he didn't have even an ounce of any of it.

"And here you are," the eldest Salvatore waved his hand at his son dejectedly, "squandering your talents; which is worse than not having them in the first place."

His father, at that moment, looked as if he was jaded but any emotion that might have dared to come to the surface was quickly dismantled by the unyielding expression of repudiation.

"Incompetence based on lack of innate abilities and intellect I would understand but on impulsiveness and a feeling of entitlement?" the Capo's face seemed to transform into stone, "that I don't forgive."

His father couldn't be more straightforward than that. He would never forgive him. And those Giuseppe didn't forgive, he annihilated.

For a moment, Damon believed that Giuseppe's murderous intent matched his own. The desire to kill each other was reciprocated.

"You want to strike? Start a war?" his father questioned him with a low voice that could very well have been a roar. Only the Salvatore Patriarch never raised his voice. Never. "We have been at war with the Famiglia for decades! Men far better than you have tried and failed," Giuseppe remarked with a deadly voice, "Why not learn from their mistakes to succeed where they haven't?"

Damon's eyes flashed with anger. He felt it swarming inside his veins like a hive of bees. He wanted to return the sting his father had needled inside his soul. To pass the same venom. To do the same damage.

"Where you haven't, Father."

His father's eyes flashed with something dark and twisted. No one else would have dared to remind him of his failures.

Only Damon was his father's son after all and it felt good to snap back at him like this even if what he accused his father of was a petty reminder and only half the truth but Damon wouldn't back down from its truth.

His father was not just a Capo. He was his Capo and in the years he'd became a Made Man Damon had learned to respect his Boss' efficiency as much as he despised him. His father was a war leader. The only one of the last generations of their family's history that had managed to drive the Mikaelson's out of Chicago for years. That success had added to his terrifying reputation. It was something not even Damon's grandfather and their ancestors had managed to do. Only it didn't last long. After Finn Mikaelson's death, the Mikaelsons returned with a vengeance in Chicago and his father had been unable to keep them out.

Silence loomed between Damon and his father. It stretched. Long. And Giuseppe Salvatore regarded him carefully before he leaned back in his chair.

"How would you succeed where I failed Damon?" Giuseppe asked him in congenial tone as he pointed at one of the chairs in front of the desk gesturing for him to seat, "enlighten me."

Damon observed his father's assessing expression. He knew all too well the mind games his father played. He was a mastermind at plans and at messing with his opponents' heads and for a moment Damon felt pride by the fact that his father actually considered him a worthy opponent. Worthy enough to dedicate time to analyze him and confront him. After all, as his father himself had told him, to the past a man's worth was just as great as his enemies were.

Damon wasn't sure how to proceed. He believed this to be a trap but his father was waiting and a flicker of recognition passed through him when he realized that Giuseppe was finally giving him the chance to prove himself.

He took his father's offer. He sat down and leveled his gaze with the Don's.

"Give me some time to prepare and I'll give you a cohesive plan in a few days," he said in his most serious tone, 'If you support me-"

"A few days," Giuseppe echoed interrupting him, "you make it sound so easy."

"You make it sound impossible," Damon snapped back.

His father's eyes now held condescension in their depths. It was far worse than any other insult.

"Hate to tell you this Father," Damon drawled, "but impossible is simply a word to describe what hasn't been achieved…yet."

"And in a few days you'll have mastered the impossible when you yourself know it would take you years but you are too proud to admit it," his father condemned him in a stern voice that made it obvious that Damon had once more let him down. "And, yet, here you are allowing your pride to dictate your decisions at the expense of our family. You don't care for the impact of a disastrous outcome as long as you do what you want."

Damon's face twisted in rage.

"Klaus Mikaelson is not a threat," Damon exhaled his anger harshly, "he is brutal, I'll give him that, but so am I," he reminded his father with one of his notorious smirks, "and despite how he carries himself he is new to Chicago. An outsider despised even among his own," Damon pointed out, his lips curling in disgust, "this is our turf which gives us the advantage."

Giuseppe placed his palm on his desk almost reverently. Damon knew this desk had come from Italy. His father had made it from scratch. He was the one that had polished it too.

The one time that Giuseppe had found him sitting on his chair with his feet propped on his desk he had whipped him bloody with his belt.

"Klaus Mikaelson returned from New Orleans and single-handedly eradicated the Bratva threat," Giuseppe stated, "where we all failed, you included, he succeeded. Without his family's support."

Each phrase, each intonation of each specific word meant to taunt Damon and push him down felt like acid being poured on him.

But he couldn't deny that his father was right.

Klaus fucking Mikaelson had made them look like fools. Damon couldn't wrap his mind around it.

How in Hell had he managed to do it?

Sure, the carnage Klaus created was now written in history as one of the worst, but it was still unbelievable that Niklaus Mikaelson would manage such a miracle in all their territories. It was too good to be true. And all that just as he had returned from exile. Klaus sauntered into their city as if he owned it and then he had turned Chicago into his playing field in a matter of months and even humiliated them by granting them more profits as if he was doing them a favor and they owed him gratitude. As if he knew that they were not worthy opponents and he could destroy them just as easily if he wanted to.

Damon bit his tongue to stop himself from lashing out. He wanted to crush Klaus Mikaelson and he wanted to destroy Giuseppe Salvatore. In some twist of fate, his father now regarded Klaus as a top-notch rival and he was quick to remind Damon that whatever Klaus Mikaelson accomplished was not because of his background and family but despite it.

Giuseppe made it sound like an achievement. The fact that Klaus Mikaelson didn't wait for Mikael's permission was something inspiring and yet if he did the same Giuseppe would not act as if it was a success but would respond to his actions as treason.

"He is cleaning up the board," his father continued, "one player at a time."

Giuseppe paused and cast him a pointed look.

"Who will you think will target next?"

Of course, they were next. Damon didn't need his father to point that out but nonetheless, he scoffed.

"We can handle him."

"Can we?" his father wondered and then retrieved a file from his drawer and slid it towards his direction.

Damon's eyes narrowed in question but he opened the file and checked its content.

Inside there were photographs, newspaper articles, dates, and gathered information on Niklaus Mikaelson from their contacts in England. From the age of five until the day he left London.

Damon assumed this was only one of the files his father had on Klaus Mikaelson. After all his story continued far beyond England and his father had the habit to thoroughly keep tabs of his enemies.

"Mikael sent him as a child to exile," his father reiterated Klaus' history, "to weaken him if not kill him and he returned stronger than ever. An accomplishment." Giuseppe stated the fact almost proudly, "the background check on him from our London connections, however, came out clean. They spoke of an artist, Damon, a far cry from Mikael's footsteps."

Damon's eyebrows rose incredulously while his eyes kept glancing at the file's information.

"An artist?"

"A painter with a passion for collecting horses," Giuseppe clarified while he ran the second knuckle of his index finger over his lips thoughtfully.

Damon smirked mockingly, "Klaus, the sensitive," he chuckled, "imagine that."

His father didn't seem to share his amusement.

"The background check gives the impression of a teenager pacifist growing into a young man of art and culture."

Damon exhaled loudly with a bored expression and threw the file back at the desk.

"So?"

"Check the file Damon!" his father prompted him with a hint of impatience that drew Damon's attention.

"It's as if Klaus Mikaelson went on holiday in London, cultivating his English accent to spite his father, fooling around doing nothing, and yet at such a young age, despite Mikael's opposition, he reinvents himself, returns to New York and infiltrates every layer of the Underworld," his father emphasized everything Klaus had done proving to him that he indeed kept a close eye on Mikael's bastard.

"Somehow he now appears to be as bloodthirsty and as savage as the worst of any of us can imagine being," Giuseppe continued, his brow drawn pensively, "such brutality is not a sudden switch you turn on," he said, his expression becoming intent, "Despite one's nature it always has to be nurtured and cultivated. It takes time, effort, certain training. It makes…noise."

Damon felt as if something was starting to crawl all over his skin. Something was unsettling in the way his father's gaze had turned sharp, too sharp, but most of all had hardened to something expressively dark.

"You hear anything but silence, Damon?"

Damon said nothing. His eyes moved between his father and the file.

Giuseppe Salvatore tapped his fingers on the surface of his desk and his features were scolded back into a mask of perfect calm.

"He had the chance to return to Chicago earlier but he didn't, why?" his father asked him as if he was a teacher examining him for a math test. Shit, he hated math.

"He didn't like the climate?" Damon joked but it was obvious Giuseppe's patience was running thin. This time Damon refrained from pushing his buttons any further and shrugged lightly.

"He fell under Mikael's orders."

"If so, he wouldn't be here running the show with the Bratva," Giuseppe turned his argument down, "Mikael would have him on a tight leash. One that has obviously snapped."

Damon felt the impulse to snap his own leash too but restrained himself and tried to follow his father's train of thought.

It was said that it was Mikael that had forced Klaus back so to neuter him and deprive him of power but was it true?

Damon couldn't rely on rumors. Rumors that most likely Mikael himself let out to the streets.

"Why didn't he return sooner, Damon?" his father repeated the question in a tone that told him that he had the answer but wanted to pressure him to find it on his own.

"He preferred the Underbelly of the Big Easy," Damon theorized, "it is not as if he is the first son. If I had the chance to break free from Chicago's restrictions," he paused giving a knowing look at Giuseppe not bothering to hide that he meant his father's restrictions, "I'd do it too."

His father gave him an unrestrained smirk, acknowledging his provocation but not bothering further with it.

"Stefan is in Italy," Damon pointed out implying that even Stefan preferred staying there too since he could have returned months ago but chosen not to.

Damon found himself almost daydreaming. Maybe he could have been free too if only he was born second. Hell, if only he hadn't been born at all. He'd take that over the cards he was given.

"And yet Naples has not declared for your brother," his father counteracted his argument without batting an eye, "Klaus Mikaelson turned New Orleans into his playground from the moment he stepped inside its borders. It is his branch, not the Famiglia's. He mastered all the power there and now he has the Underbosses from the Syndicate he created ready to swarm into Chicago at a moment's notice and take Mikael by storm and maybe us with him. More to it, he has Families from London ready to declare for him too."

The atmosphere had turned frosty, each word of the seasoned Boss foreboding and ominous but at the same time, there was an undercurrent of pride in his words.

It was almost as if his father admired Klaus Mikaelson and that shocked Damon enough, he fumbled for words.

"You said the check for London came out clean," Damon said confused.

"Exactly Damon!" Giuseppe Salvatore exhaled, looking as if he was finally getting his message through.

"He was just a child there," Damon reminded his father and when he faced the Capo's arched eyebrow he gave his father an incredulous expression.

Not this shit again. Half of Chicago whispered of it in terror and awe and he had enough of that bullshit.

"Come on now, father," Damon groaned, "don't tell me you believe the Hybrid rumors Klaus is spreading too? It's bullshit!"

"It is contradictory," Giuseppe corrected him, "but it fits the profile," the older man surmised, and beside the vague admiration in Giuseppe's voice, there was something else Damon couldn't detect. Maybe he would have been more inclined to dig in deeper into his father's fascination for Klaus Mikaelson if he wasn't sure that it was just one of his father's ways to insult him.

"From the age of ten?" Damon deadpanned dryly, "there are kid wonders and then there's that."

"If what's been revealed is true then Klaus Mikaelson is one of the youngest Made Men the Famiglia has seen in decades," Don Salvatore stated, his words making the rumor sound as an irrefutable fact rather than a lie, "He got in at ten and by the age of eleven he had made his first kill and hasn't stopped ever since."

Damon huffed loudly not caring for decorum. Next thing his father would have him believe in fairies.

"This knowledge comes from him!" he rose his hands derisively. How could Giuseppe Salvatore of all people believe that crap, Damon wondered peevishly. Maybe the old man was finally losing his edge, "He kept it under wraps and now throws it to our face. Next, he will have us believe in the Loch Ness monster," the youngest Salvatore mocked but his father didn't seem willing to share his disbelief.

"If," Damon argued shaking his head, "and that is a big IF," he noted, "the fairytale of Klaus' initiation is true then it's probably because Mikael wanted an excuse to torture and kill him. Why else would he initiate a defenseless ten-year old away from the protection of his family?" he wondered and a part of him shuddered. Mikael seemed to be a worst father figure than Giuseppe and that said something alright. If that was true, then Mikael gave Giuseppe a run for his money and that almost had Damon pitying Klaus. Almost.

Something hard passed through Giuseppe Salvatore's eyes but then it settled into something detached.

"In either case, Klaus Mikaelson ain't a child any longer," Giuseppe noted coldly, "what he is, is a born and bred killer who understands and abides by one simple truth."

"Which is?"

The coldness in his father's eyes turned the air around them even colder. It was as if Damon were suddenly standing in the middle of a storm just a second before the clouds gathered into a hurricane.

"That what is buried and hidden underneath is always far more dangerous than what the surface shows."

"Father the only simple truth here is that Klaus is a lying son of a bitch."

Damon watched as his father got up from his chair and went and served himself…a drink.

What the actual fuck?

"Nothing is more dangerous than an enemy who knows how to become invisible, Damon," his father remarked before he drank his brandy and walked towards the table with the board of chess laid out. "One who knows how to hide in the shadows and when and how to come out from them."

Damon was speechless. He had never seen his father drink before. Not unless it was a celebration or a family affair that called for it. And then, he favored their family's produced red.

"Trickster or not," his father carried on as he sat in the leather chair in front of his chess game and stared at the pieces, "Klaus Mikaelson may prove to be the strongest challenge Chicago has seen in a long time and for now he doesn't have an Achilles heel."

"Everyone has a weakness," Damon disagreed.

His father took a piece from the board and studied it. The Black King.

And yet his eyes were zeroing on the White Queen.

"But some manage to hide it better than others," Giuseppe noted before he set the black piece down, his eyes set on the chess as if he calculated his moves against an imaginary enemy with whom he had started playing in his head.

"Klaus Mikaelson is a threat on the rise we can't afford to underestimate," his father warned skeptically.

"He hasn't risen yet," Damon refuted.

His father turned his attention to him again and pointedly held his gaze.

"So he is a consequence to deal when it arises?"

The Capo's sarcasm cut him deep.

"It will be too late by then Damon."

"You don't want me to strike him, yet somehow, I am at fault for acting on your order and waiting?" Damon snarled but Giuseppe wasn't impressed.

The Don swirled his drink in the glass and drank the last gulps of it slowly.

"If you were ready you wouldn't need my permission, you know that."

Damon rose from the chair very slowly and approached his father. He stopped only when he towered above him.

"Father," Damon muttered warningly and before he could stop himself for once he allowed his mouth to share his thoughts with his father, "it is a thin line to cross telling me this. Unless you aim for my betrayal to have an excuse to get me out of the way."

His father angled his head, staring at him as if he was considering this possibility and Damon's insides churned.

That was a favor he wouldn't grant the old fucker, not after all the torture he had endured in his hands.

He would inherit the Salvatore seat of power. He'd step over his father's dead body to do it.

It was tempting thought though, he wouldn't deny it. To tear Don Salvatore apart limb to limb. To bathe in his blood and set fire to his bones.

He wouldn't, though. He didn't give a fuck for tradition or unforgivable sins. Becoming his father's killer would be his greatest achievement yet, but he wouldn't betray his father, not only because he didn't want to deal with the fallout of becoming a Boss of Betrayal who would have to face Giuseppe's followers and wannabe usurpers but also because he knew that for some inexplicable reason Stefan loved their father. So did Caroline. He couldn't hurt them like that and he didn't want to have to deal with their anger towards him in the aftermath.

If Giuseppe was right about anything it was that they were a family. They had to remain united and he needed Stefan as an ally. As a brother and as a friend. Even his sister was an asset he couldn't afford to lose. Caroline's future husband could prove to be a comrade and ally or a problem and he knew his sister well enough to know that when she grew of age whatever poor bastard she'd get to marry she'd have him wrapped around her little finger in no time and he'd follow her commands first.

Unless of course Caroline was left to his mercy and he gave her to a psychopath he could take advantage of until Caroline got humbled a bit. Then, she'd owe him big time for leaving her a widow when he was done using her husband.

Only that didn't sit well with him either. His first instinct if anyone hurt his sister, anyone but him that was, would be to cut them to pieces and feed them to a beast he would then gift to Caroline to keep as her pet. But from a practical standpoint using Caroline as leverage for his future power was a thought he couldn't dismiss so easily. Only Giuseppe and Stefan would never allow it. If he knew his father well, he had already planned Caroline's future as he had his and Stefan's and none of them would have a say on it.

If only Giuseppe Salvatore died before his plans for them could come to fruition. Tempting…so tempting.

Maybe one way.

In a way that wouldn't incriminate him.

"If I wanted you gone you wouldn't be here today, Damon," his father sighed tiredly, forcing Damon's murderous thoughts to a halt, "I want to prepare you for what is to come and explain to you that in order to strike you need to be ready."

Giuseppe pointed at the empty chair. The chair Damon hated. The one he had to sit on when his father taught him how to play chess.

"You know as well as I do that I don't need to get into these long-winded explanations of the obvious with you. And here I am trying," Giuseppe insisted, only Damon didn't know if he wanted to convince him or Guiseppe himself, "Not only as your Capo but as your father."

'A little late for that,' Damon thought bitterly as he sat opposite to his father, the chess standing between them.

"It always depends on the strike Damon," his father discussed strategy as he set the pawns and slid a piece on the board, "I don't want you to charge with guns. I want you to work the problem. Find the most effective strategy," he proposed and gestured towards the board waiting for Damon to make his move.

Damon reluctantly faced the chess set.

"You'll always have the chance for bloodshed but an alternative that won't put you in a precarious position and will grant you more results is always better. Mind over brawn," Giuseppe lectured him and Damon tried to concentrate both on their chess game and on what his father was telling him, "once you manage this then feel free to shed as much blood as you desire to send any message you want or to end your boredom."

Damon smiled at his father's careless tone when it came to bloodshed. That was the one thing his father never denied him. Yes, he wanted him to be smart or at least smarter than their enemies but he also wanted him to be brutal. If anything it was Giuseppe Salvatore who'd nurtured the killer inside him.

"But choose the opportune moment for your vices and the ideal solutions for your problems," his father counseled and then fixed him a serious gaze, "if not ideal then find the best alternative until you get to the ideal part."

Damon's mouth twisted when after his move his father pushed one more piece on the board and captured one more of his own.

He didn't know which move to use now.

"Work the problem," his father encouraged him and Damon nodded begrudgingly.

"He has his siblings," Damon mentioned, his fingers lingering on a pawn before he reached for it, "It is said that he especially shares a strong bond with his brother, Elijah."

The name of one more of their enemies fell from Damon's lips effortlessly. He had done his research on the Mikaelsons too. He knew that Elijah had protected Klaus as much as he could. If his sources were right then Elijah had to be Klaus' Achilles heel. Klaus' older brother had become both a brother and a father for him especially after the years Elijah spent in France and grew into his own man. Elijah's dealings with the Corsica Union had shaped him into a feared man who valued family and honor above all, something that even Giuseppe Salvatore respected.

"You want to target that?" his father questioned and Damon lifted a shoulder.

"If I have to."

Giuseppe moved his bishop and Damon grimaced.

"And in retaliation, Klaus and possibly Elijah too will strike at your bond with your brother."

Damon glared at his father.

"Me and Stefan can take care of ourselves."

"Stefan is in Italy. Who is to tell you Klaus Mikaelson hasn't any connections with the Camorra too?" Giuseppe warned Damon and the subtle negative energy that existed between them turned erratic as Damon had the sudden urge to throw away the chess pieces, "he managed to spread through two continents already after all," his father commended with a blank stare as if he didn't care if anything happened to Stefan, "Klaus Mikaelson has been in Europe for most of his formative years."

"Klaus is not Italian," Damon spat, "he'd never be accepted."

Giuseppe's jaw clenched. He seemed unfazed but his expressionless mask cracked at the seams, making Damon's eye narrow in question.

Then he noticed that his father had realized that he had walked into a trap. Damon smirked. He would win this game of chess.

"The Mikaelsons are called the Famiglia for a reason," Giuseppe disputed, "They have marriages with Italian blood in their bloodline."

"Too few," Damon waved away his father's concern and moved another pawn, "too spread out and not to mention Klaus is a bastard. Everyone suspects as much. He probably has far less of Italian blood than his siblings share."

Something sharp passed through Giuseppe's eyes.

"Racial pride?" Damon's father asked sarcastically, "so you base your confidence on nationality alone?"

"Stefan is not the boy he used to be," Damon faced his father, his demeanor now serious and stern, "after Monterey he changed and his years in Italy have turned him to steel. He can take care of himself and we are at our strongest together. Our front can stand."

"So can the Mikaelsons'" the Capo parried back, "but we already knew that. Which brings me back to the same denominator, Damon," he hinted gravelly before he added, "the unknown factor."

Damon watched as his father contemplated his next move. He knew Giuseppe was a masterful strategist but for once even he could see that he had lost the game.

"Elijah poses a great danger too but his path is clear as it is ours," one more move and Damon hid his smile, letting his father walk his way into defeat, "You rely on your strength with your brother as you should but when it comes to the bond of the Mikaelsons the balance is both divided and enhanced by more siblings and unfortunately, no matter the ties he shares with Elijah, Klaus is the unknown factor here. Or more so his motivations seem to be. He has created his regime and what does he do? He comes in and becomes Mikael's savior. He takes the Bratva threat off his back. Why would he do that?" Giuseppe questioned him and Damon frowned, realizing his father surprised him with a move he hadn't expected. It could change the tide but he wouldn't let it.

"Why?" Damon echoed his father's question as he tried to figure his next move.

"You tell me."

"He wants daddy to like him?" Damon snorted, making his move which prompted his father to retaliate taking one of his pieces, making the rest of the pawns rattle on the board.

"He wants his father's allies to like him, Damon!" Giuseppe's tone was sharp, "you said it yourself. He is an outsider and he is changing that step by step. For a man known to be temperamental, he is quite methodical and patient. He is doing what I'd do if I was in his place actually."

Damon scowled at the wistfulness in his father's observation.

"Which is?"

His father's smile was feral and in that moment it reminded Damon why his father was who he was. Why he was feared, why he was a war-time leader, why he won over his adversaries every single time.

"He gains gratitude, respect, support and targets those that don't take his bait and paints them as ungrateful and incompetent after how he aided them too by taking the Bratva off their backs," the Capo simply laid out Klaus' plan. "He is buying his time, he is slowly dividing. Which if you had deigned to pay any attention to everything I tried to teach you," his father derided in his most austere tone, "you'd have realized by now that after dividing comes conquering."

"Imagine that," Damon snickered, refusing to allow his father to insult him, "A power-hungry mobster. That's shocking," his irony was as evident as was the fact that he wasn't impressed.

"I fear Klaus Mikaelson is not after power, Damon," the Don predicted solemnly, "not in the superficial sense of it. He is after ultimate control and that's very different. The one goal seeks power for the sake of it, is seduced and controlled by it but the second uses and manipulates power, true power, as a tool and that's not something many can do."

Giuseppe Salvatore stared at the chess, that served as a barrier between father and son, skeptically. It looked as if he was daydreaming. Only Damon knew better. His father never bothered with dreams. He was analytical and focused only on the crude reality.

"And ultimate control means only one thing," Giuseppe whispered and Damon was taken aback by the worry in his voice, "For him to gain it we have to lose it."

Fear?

Was that fear in his father's eyes?

Damon stared at the chess. One more move and he'd win.

The old man was finally slipping. He was becoming weak. That realization didn't bring him the comfort he thought it would. Instead, it made Damon realize that maybe it was time for him to step up.

"Give me the green light and Klaus Mikaelson won't be a problem anymore," Damon promised his father, determination, and confidence coursing in his veins. It's power so potent and addictive that even Damon feared that should he not be careful he would never come down from its high.

He knew that Giuseppe would disagree with him but it didn't matter. Not when Giuseppe was growing weak, giving the chance to scum like Klaus to grow strong. His father may believe that a good murder would not solve their problems in this case but he didn't have to agree.

Damon looked at his father who now shook his head in obvious disapproval of him. It was as if he had let him down. Again.

Damon pressed his lips.

"Even his father despises him," Damon insisted, hoping that for once Giuseppe would heed him, "Mikael will owe us a favor for killing his bastard."

"And then what?" Giuseppe wondered with a blank stare.

Damon narrowed his eyes not understanding the question.

"What do you mean?"

His father sized him up with an eerie gaze that Damon didn't know what it meant. He only knew that it unsettled him profoundly.

Giuseppe moved his attention back to the chessboard. His eyes now set on the Queen.

"You were never good at chess son."

Damon blinked in disbelief when his father called checkmate.

Damon Salvatore stared at the pawn in his hand. He gripped it so hard that it's polished edges dug into his palm, breaking the skin and drawing blood that dripped down his wrist in thick rivulets.

He should have burned this one too like the rest of them.

It didn't matter. Giuseppe Salvatore was dead and he was now Don Salvatore, the Capo of the Outfit. His father's memory would fade into ash soon too.

Damon threw the Queen in the pool letting the blood coated piece slowly sink inside the glimmering blue waters leaving a trail of watery crimson in its descent.

He didn't know for how long he stayed there watching the still waters, letting the soft bluish lights of the pool reflect in his eyes. For some reason, he felt half tempted to dive into the cold water and reach for the chess piece that had sunk in the depths of the swimming pool.

The vibration of his phone eventually demanded his attention and Damon didn't bother wiping the blood from his hand as he picked it up with an impatient huff.

He had expected this phone call for hours. His men had probably located Jeremy Gilbert.

Damon stilled when he realized the call wasn't about Jeremy.

Instead-

"My sister did what?"

"No."

That simple word. Only two letters. It echoed in Caroline's mind and for such a small word the impact was huge.

"No."

This was not a word she was accustomed too. As the daughter of Giuseppe Salvatore, she did not encounter many that would deny her anything. No was not a word that was used against her in any form and if it was, she knew how to overcome it. Same with the false pretenses and lack of honesty she faced from all those that saw her name, her family, the danger that surrounded her.

But it didn't matter. None of it ever mattered. It never did.

Because Caroline Salvatore was always an overachiever. She could succeed where others failed and that was because when someone told her that she couldn't do something she strived to prove them wrong. When someone told her no she knew how to dismantle those two letters, that oh so very small word. Resignation was not in her vocabulary. To that, she had no match. Not Elena or any of her friends. Not her brothers. Not even her father for as long as he had lived.

But standing across Klaus now. Facing that brutal honesty. That cold admission. That unrelenting pragmatism. Facing that word dropping from his lips. A word that denied her of the things she wanted the most. Of the normalcy, she craved. Of a future that would not be bathed in death and blood.

It broke something in her. She couldn't do this. She could barely function from day to day. She could not imagine having to live like this forever.

She had to face the facts. This war she was waging was against people that knew how to fight it far better than she could would end up with her as one more victim. She may not end up dead, which was still not even certain, but she could lose far more than her life. And then what?

She would have to live like this?

Her shoulders slumped. She relived the past days in her mind and she felt defeated. She went back to the day Jessie died. The last gunshot. The blood. The death. She was not a stranger to all that but this time it was on her. And Klaus, with his games and lies and truths, had made his point. There would be another time and another and another. She could not stop the landslide now that the first rock had fallen.

She wanted to hold on from something. To find the silver lining to it all. To argue and have hope but the only word that was taking over every argument in her head was…no.

"Living like this," Klaus repeated her words with a soft voice, "it can become more than a curse if you let it."

Caroline eyed him and she didn't know if she wanted to start laughing or start screaming.

"Right," she mumbled not believing him.

Not believing any of it. She couldn't believe that Klaus wanted to comfort her right now and to teach her. To teach her how to exist in his world. To give her pointers for the future killings and messes she would have to work through.

Of course, Klaus would relish this world. It was in his nature. He thrived in that world. Living every day like this for him would probably be a blessing and not a curse and he was trying to make her like him.

"All you need to do is lay it all on the line and be honest with yourself," he advised, "but if that's too much you can always start by being honest with me."

The voices in her mind stopped at once and she gave him an exasperated look. How was it possible to always turn the tables around her and get her to where he wanted?

"Seriously?" she complained with a tired exhale.

Klaus only shrugged.

"Here's your chance, love," Klaus now challenged her, "ask me one thing tonight and I will give it to you."

Caroline watched him curiously. It was too good to be true anyway but she could see in his eyes that his challenge was sincere and she felt drawn to it. She should know better. A deal with the devil was always a deadly trap.

"In exchange of what?" she found herself asking before she could stop herself.

"Your honesty," Klaus simply said and Caroline opened her mouth to turn him down once more but she didn't have the chance.

"I asked for your trust," he prevented her rejection. He was serious now. Steady. "Your alliance. None of which you gave," he reminded her and she pressed her lips only to tense when his gaze softened, "so give me at least that."

It was the way he asked that struck a chord inside her and she realized she couldn't refuse him.

"What do you want to know?" she sighed.

Klaus approached her and his eyes gleamed in the darkness. The way his piercing gaze locked on her made her feel as if she was standing in the eye of the storm.

"How did it feel?"

That gravelly voice delivering that question so smoothly made her mouth dry.

"How did what feel?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to have to face Klaus and try to find ways to justify herself for the death she carried in her hands now. She didn't want to tell him how it felt to be responsible for what happened with Jessie even if she knew that he was the one pulling the strings. She knew that she had provided him the strings, to begin with and in this game to which she aimed to be the puppeteer she had turned into a puppet too. It hurt, and she didn't want to see Klaus' smugness as he would confront her with that fact.

Only he was more unpredictable and far more cruel. Instead for her obvious fears, he went straight for the heart.

"When you stabbed me in the back," he pressed, "how did it feel?"

This time the way he was confronting her held no anger, not even dismay. She knew her alliance with Mikael must be a constant source of rage in him but he kept it contained and right now he only seemed to be curious. And it made her feel uncomfortable and uncertain. An irate Klaus when it came to this, she could understand but this version of him was unpredictable.

And that made her angry herself. Because he put her on edge. She didn't know where she was standing and far more she hated that he considered her actions to be a backstabbing as if she had owed him her devotion.

"I didn't-"

Klaus gave her a challenging look.

Her nostrils flared as the shaky breath she was holding was let out at once.

Damn him.

No point in denying it. She had stabbed him in the back.

And yet now he was not exactly accusing her. Now that the shock and the surprise and the rage were out of the way and all was said and done, he was watching her with intrigue. And maybe with a little bit of hurt under the surface. But mostly with uncontained eagerness to find out how she felt. As if she had piqued his interest beyond logic and expectations.

She knew that if she lied he would know. She didn't have the advantage of distraction. And her pride would not allow her to give him the satisfaction of backing down. Funny how fear was not present now that they were all alone and they were starting to show some of their cards.

She chose the safe alternative, cowardly as it may was.

"It felt good," she replied stubbornly, holding on to what she knew to be half a truth and half a lie.

It had felt good. Any plan coming successfully into fruition felt good. Especially with everything that was at stake.

And yet, even so, she had spent many sleepless nights thinking of that dinner in the Salvatore mansion. Thinking of Klaus as he had realized what she had done to him. Sleepless nights where something deep in her gut coiled tightly. Nights when she remembered her need to defend Klaus against Mikael when she had spoken with that horrible man. Nights when Klaus slept on the couch and she doubted her sanity.

Nights like this now that everything inside her had become a vicious symphony of conflicting emotions that she had to physically find a way to swallow down or drown in them. Every inch of hers was protesting in ways that confused her, terrified her and angered her. The kind of anger she had never felt before in her whole life. Anger that was targeted to everyone but mostly to Klaus and…herself.

And yet she persisted. She did not yield to that vicious feeling. Not even as Klaus seemed to watch her carefully, with all his senses attuned to her.

That look he had on his face felt so intrusive. It was as if it had claws that were reaching inside her tearing apart all her truths and lies. She didn't falter but Klaus smiled. He slowly smiled. His features now a mask of pleased delight as if he had not faced her hostility but a declaration of love.

"Something tells me you are confusing empowerment with good," he corrected her, and she glared at him.

"It felt truly good," she insisted, defying him with everything she had knowing how she was playing with fire.

Klaus hummed and then stepped closer and she was no longer in the eye of the storm. The storm was fast changing to a hurricane and she was suspended in the middle of its force.

He was so close. So, so close.

"And now?" he questioned her and he was precise in the way he seemed to call her out but his voice held a tenderness that only his soft gaze seemed to battle, and when he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear she finally felt the fear. So much fear. He made her afraid. She was terrified of him. Of the way he made her feel. Of the way he made her feel trapped inside her own skin, "how does it feel now?"

She swallowed down and her chest rose and fell. Once, twice. She willed herself to open her mouth. To speak. To deny him. To steel herself. To exchange that fear with the anger once more.

Only she couldn't lie. He could tell if she did. And even if he couldn't, she still felt as if she couldn't lie.

But she had before. When she distracted him. When she had stabbed him in the back. Why couldn't now? Now that he was asking for her honesty? Now that everything she had wanted for her life was hanging in the balance?

Only she couldn't. It was as if she was fighting against gravity. She couldn't resist. She couldn't escape.

She tried. So hard. But she… said nothing.

"That's what I thought," Klaus drawled satisfied and his words burned.

They burned her pride, her confidence, her self-respect but most of all they burned through her biggest insecurities and turned them once more against her. No one had ever done this to her before. It left her unhinged. Unsure. Klaus was seeing parts of her she never showed anyone, and he was there to break them down and possess them. Only the satisfaction his words carried seemed to vibrate with another emotion. It was not smugness or arrogance. There was something more to his tone. Something sweet, warm…doting.

Something so sincere, something he was not using against her. Because it was not satisfaction, to begin with. It was relief. A revelation. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders and he could finally breathe again. As if there was an inkling of hope he wanted to grab onto and not let go. As if what was eating her up alive was feasting on Klaus too. It was haunting him. And that wouldn't be able to happen unless-

Her heart started beating like a drum.

She saw his face. Illuminated half in light half in shadow by the lights cast from the car. And he was there…with her. And he wanted her. And there was so much fondness and longing and truth in his eyes. A glimpse of humanity.

It was in that moment that she truly saw it. For the first time.

'He is not incapable of love.'

Caroline shook her head as if she was struck by lightning. She sucked in a violent breath and almost stumbled back.

The world became non-existent. Everything she thought she knew and wanted crumbled. It shook her to the core.

"You thought wrong," she uttered weakly, her voice barely echoing fading in the darkness as embers seemed to spark to life between them.

She didn't know if she said that to him or to herself. But the sparks kept coming.

Sparks so bright and so hot that turned everything inside her into molten lava. It came at her in waves. Blazing. And it burned. She had never felt like that before. It was turning her control to ash. It was taking her heart by storm and it was busting her open leaving her raw and exposed and bursting with so much need. A need for things dark and dangerous, for things that would make her feel alive for the first time in her life. For things that would kill her.

Everything began and ended in the connection she had with Klaus and she could no longer pretend as if it wasn't there. It was there, binding her to him, making her see parts of him no other was seeing and it was making him see parts of her no other had ever seen. A connection that had a life of its own and made her see the good in him and the bad and his ability to…love.

Only she shouldn't be so naïve to think that was enough or that it made a difference. But that didn't stop the fire from building up inside her and what she saw and felt right now terrified her. She was terrified of Klaus.

This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening to her. She was way out of her league. What had she done?

She tried to step away. She had to put some distance between them. To stop whatever was happening between them. Now before it would be too late.

Unless it already was.

She turned around and only managed to move three steps away before Klaus' voice mercilessly pulled her back.

"Are you raising a white flag, love?" Klaus dared her, "backing down so soon?"

She halted. Completely. She closed her eyes and counted. She counted, praying for her control to slip back to place. For the world to stop spinning and burning. Only that spin was becoming faster and wilder and had no mercy to give and neither had she.

She swirled around to face him, her curls falling in her eyes and that grin he gave her now pissed her off.

"You want my honesty?" she lashed out as everything inside her turned to poison she had to spit out, "Why? When you can't appreciate it!"

Klaus tried to protest, only this time it was her that didn't let him. She stormed at him until he stood facing her wrath only inches away from where he was with his legs braced and the edges of his lips hardening.

He looked intimidating. Only there was no reason left in her now. The anger had returned. Stronger than ever and she didn't care. She didn't care if he would see her vulnerability. She would make it her strength because no matter the glimpses of humanity she saw in him, it did not change who he was. What he was capable of. What he had done and kept trying to do to her. It didn't change the reasons that made her side against him.

"My honesty doesn't matter to you unless you can use it to manipulate me," she bitterly bit out, "I told you why I did what I did. I won't stand down and let you control my life until there is nothing left from it. And with Jessie you proved me right," she threw back at him and felt a perverse joy when she saw him flinch under her scathing stare, "you can fool everyone but we both know this is one more game and you are pulling the strings to get back in control," she accused him and Klaus didn't bother denying it. They both knew she was right. They both knew it because she would do the same to him. She had done the same to him.

They were the same.

And being the same meant that there was no more going back. There was no room for surrender.

Caroline went up against him and Klaus' eyes slowly followed her. From head to toe. Slowly. And her disposition changed. She felt the change as if she was another creature altogether. As if she was human no longer. As if she carried claws and darkness and she craved the blood and the destruction.

She sized Klaus' up in the same way his eyes were taking her in. As if she was mirroring him. Her eyes slowly took him in and in response, he tilted his head to the side following her movement cautiously. It was as if he could smell danger and it was coming from her. Not only coming from her. It was as if she was the danger.

And she was. She felt it. She knew it. It was part of who she was.

They stood against each other. In silence. Observing. Assessing the threat.

Not one but two. Two predators ready to hunt. Two predators choosing each other for prey.

"So know this," Caroline declared with quiet menace, flashing him a grin to match his, "I will never forget it. I will find a way to pay you back and trust me when I say that… it will feel good again," she promised him.

Only it was more than a promise. It was a vow. Unholy. One that she would never break. No matter the price she would have to pay. No matter how it would bind her to him. She would pay the price. She would make him pay. This was now personal more than ever. She would dance with the devil and she would take from him his Kingdom and the crown he so much wanted and it would feel good.

Klaus gave her a serious nod.

Not just that. He acknowledged the threat and did not perceive it as idle. Caroline saw it in the way he watched her. It was a rare moment. One she had not experienced before.

It was unspoken but it was there.

She had his respect and he would prepare for when she would strike. He did not ridicule her. He did not belittle her. It was an untold agreement between them. He viewed her as his equal or at least as a viable threat and they were both honest now. No matter the weapons they would use, no matter the defenses and the schemes and all that was at stake.

This was war.

And nothing was fair in it.

"I'd expect nothing less," Klaus accepted and in his own twisted way honored her promise.

Their gazes battled and Caroline could tell that Klaus was ready to use every weapon he had in his disposal to come out a victor in this war. Manipulation, seduction. Any weakness, any advantage. Any leverage.

And so would she.

It was Klaus this time that took the first step back.

"Ask me," he relented and Caroline scrunched up her nose confused.

Klaus smiled at her reaction.

"I promised you one thing for your honesty did I not?" he playfully reminded her, "what is it that you want Caroline? Protection? Safety?"

Caroline's lips compressed into a thin line while he mocked her with all the things, she had tried to gain by betraying him. With all the things she desperately wanted.

She didn't miss a beat as she gave him the answer he wanted knowing all along that he would not give her what she wanted but her answer would not change.

"My freedom," she threw at him and stood uncompromising when it came to this.

"Ah yes," Klaus snickered, "college and… a sweet boyfriend," he added giving her a knowing look.

Caroline stiffened but tried to remain unresponsive as she thought of Matt. Did Klaus know of him? Did he know about Matt?

She tensed as she realized what that could mean. Damon's threats she could handle but she couldn't handle Klaus and she would never be able to protect Matt from him. The man she had married in the first place to protect her boyfriend. She tried to shake away and hide the goosebumps that rose on her skin.

But all worry and fear turned to disillusion when she realized that she hadn't truly thought of Matt for so long. Not truly. Wanting to protect him because he was in danger simply by his association with her was not the same as thinking of him. As of loving him. He was becoming a vague memory.

"Things that by the end of give or take two semesters will bore you to death but you will be too stubborn to admit it," Klaus continued sarcastically, "so you will keep pretending that you truly long for the white picket fence, a dull husband, 2.5 children, and a dog."

Caroline glowered at him refusing to take the bait. He didn't know her. Those things mattered to her and he didn't belong in her plans.

Klaus prowled closer and the hairs at the back of her neck rose.

"Mark my words, Caroline," he drawled but there was conviction in his prediction, "Small-town boy, small-town life. It won't be enough for you."

"You know nothing of who I am, of what I want," she breathed out, but her tone was faltering.

There were parts of her yielding to the weakness and the nagging doubt that flickered inside her. And she hated how her voice sounded. There was a lack of determination that Klaus would for sure take advantage of but every time he probed deeper into her skepticism that had already existed in her from before she even met him, he was planting more doubts.

So much that his words tempted her and made her question her own sanity.

"Ah yes," Klaus chuckled, "neurotic naïve innocent Caroline. Insecure right to the bone, superficial, shallow. So sweet and harmless," he trudged on taunting her, "that's how you go around fooling everyone, no?"

Caroline lifted her brow.

"But not you I guess?" she played along using her most sarcastic 'innocent' look, "oh wait!" she gave him a knowing look reminding him that even though he acted as if he had her all pegged out she had used the same tricks against him. She excelled in playing the blonde distraction and using such tactics and Klaus had fallen for it. Everyone had.

Klaus beamed at her sarcasm.

"A mistake I assure you I won't make twice."

Her unladylike snort in response only seemed to amuse Klaus.

"If you say so," Caroline shrugged condescendingly.

Klaus' smile slowly turned to deep apprehension. His eyes were gleaming but the amusement was replaced by something darker and weirdly enough sincere. Almost like a unique blend of ominous warning and adoration.

"You are so used to people not seeing who you are under the surface, sweetheart, but don't make the mistake to think I am like them," he warned her, his tone confident and filled with devastating certainty that sent aggressive shivers up and down her spine.

His gaze was intense and was reaching into places she hid from everyone her whole life.

There was bitterness inside her. Playing the easy distraction was easy because people always underestimated her and they did that because they never saw her worth and even though she knew how to play this to her advantage it didn't mean it did not hurt. And Klaus could see that all too well and this was what was scaring her the most. That Klaus did see right through her. It was the weirdest sensation she had experienced. As if she couldn't rely on her defenses. As if her control was like sand falling through her fingers and no matter how much she tried to hold on it was still fading away. She would have expected him to be the most oblivious of them all only he wasn't.

And that made him a threat. A real threat.

Klaus kept pushing and probing and chipping away pieces of her plans and dreams and of the life she has so carefully built for herself and she was in a free fall that felt both thrilling and terrifying at once.

"You long so much to break free that you hardly see what it is that you are truly running away from. Not me. Not our marriage," Klaus figured out, "it's your darkest desires. You were born in this world love and what scares you the most is that you belong to it. You are not as trapped as you pretend to be. You are just one step away from embracing it all. And when you finally do you will be magnificent and I plan to be here when that happens. By your side."

"By my side?" Caroline snorted, "what happened to the doting wife you wanted? The one that should follow close behind, do what you say or suffer the consequences?"

Klaus couldn't help it. He threw back his head and laughed.

He was enthralled. There was so much fire in this girl. No. Not girl. Caroline was not a girl. She was a woman. Stubborn, passionate and full of light. And he wanted to bathe in all she had to offer and everything that made her who she was.

Oh, how she made him feel alive. How long has it been since he had felt that way indeed? Invigorated? He had almost forgotten how it felt. Ever since he was a child he fought for survival. He survived but didn't live.

This now was so different from the thrill of blood and murder he was using as a substitute. Caroline reminded him of things he had forgotten. Things he believed had drowned in his endless sea of rage and regret until he only existed but Caroline was something else. Such a long time before her he'd endured but not truly lived.

"That train has definitely left the station," he accepted and chuckled, "and who knows…maybe I changed my mind. I do love a good challenge after all. Maybe the prospect of having an equal by my side is far more alluring than having a docile blushing bride."

Caroline's eyebrows lifted as she threw him a disbelieving stare.

"Now it's an equal that you want? So this is what you give me in return? A distorted sense of freedom that is as fake as our marriage?" she scoffed and the lightness inside him turned to darkness once more.

He hated the disregard and cold dismissal she was showing when it came to their marriage. He hated when she called their marriage fake and all he wanted was to erase that absurd idea from her head. And he would. She was his wife and that would never change. Their marriage was real and he would make sure it would soon turn more far more real.

"And not to forget, a dead boy to haunt my dreams and remind me who is in charge?"she vented and Klaus' shoulders lifted in a careless shrug.

"You wanted to be more than a sidepiece, no?" he mercilessly reminded her, "more than just a possession? Well, here you are, darling wife. This is what comes with the Mikaelson territory," he told her emphasizing the last words, pointing out that she was now a Mikaelson too. She was his wife.

"Power games, blood and death?" Caroline laughed sourly, "sorry to break it to you but that came along with the Salvatore territory long before I ever met you and I am hardly tempted by it."

"If you say so," he teased her firing back at her her words.

Caroline's lips curled to a grimace of distaste.

"You can't twist me into something I am not, Klaus."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he assured her, relishing in her defiance, "but maybe you and I are not as different as you believe we are."

Caroline scoffed indignantly at that.

"You wouldn't stand a chance against me otherwise. I have killed others for much less."

"I am shocked," Caroline muttered unimpressed and he grinned.

Klaus stalked closer and there was something exciting about the way that Caroline's eyes followed his every move. She wasn't like his victims that would be looking at him in terror as he approached like that. No. She was proving exactly why she wasn't like all others.

She was…magnificent.

He stood close, close enough to take in her scent. And it felt like a narcotic his system needed. Every night was torture. To be so close to her and yet to have to sleep on the couch. Having her so close now was boiling his insides.

He circled her and stopped behind her and she looked at him over her shoulder.

"But all these others…all of them lesser men; and here you stand," he whispered as he leaned forward and smiled at how she didn't look intimidated by him, "you can feel it don't you?"

He couldn't resist. He twirled one of her beautiful silky curls around his finger. The thread seemed as if it was glowing as Caroline's hair was caught in the light that was coming from the car. The car he had let her drive and there had been something extremely erotic in seeing her handle his car. She loved the speed, the danger, the thrill. Her eyes had lit up and he could feel that laughter and that excitement of adrenaline that was building inside her. She was untamed and free and he wanted her by his side.

And now he was being honest. In his own way. He had tried to belittle her when he had first joined her in their room. To frustrate her and make her feel less than what she was. Something he did with most of his opponents to get the upper hand. Only with them, it was the truth. With her, it was a lie. There was no comparison. She was young but he could teach her. The things he could teach her! He had already started, and she was an excellent student despite how reluctant she was. And once she gave in…Together they could conquer the world.

"All those that fear me and you don't," he stated, wonder lacing his voice, "Oh, I do scare you, my Caroline, but you are not afraid of me. I scare you because of the way I make you feel."

"Repulsed?" she grit out and swatted his hand away, her curls falling over her shoulders and he smirked.

He went and leaned over his car.

"I'd say hate is the more apt description," he corrected her with mirth and she narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"It is," she carefully agreed and then his smile widened as she fell in the trap giving him the opening he needed.

"Hate, such a powerful emotion. It burns doesn't? Especially when you hate me for all the darkness I see in you and how I see the way it calls to you," he pointed out and Caroline cast him a murderous glare.

"You are delusional!"

He chuckled and then looked up. At the sky. At the stars.

"The darkness…Addictive isn't?" he wondered not expecting an answer from her, "that is where all the guilt comes from," he explained to her and saw how she looked forlorn now, "but there are is much more that comes along. Incredible things, none of which is what you feel now. I know. Should you give it time, however, this will soon change. You can aim for the stars, should you want them," he promised her and the wanderlust that flashed through her eyes before she could hide it was one of the most amazing things he had seen.

He loved the way Caroline tried so hard not to look at the stars, not to reach for them only to fail. She wanted it all. Him included. She was just too busy fighting against the parts of herself that scared her to see it.

To see that she wanted the stars with all their light and with them she wanted the darkness too. Oh, how she wanted it them.

"And you do want them," he marveled.

Caroline opened her mouth probably to turn him down once more but she closed it without saying anything. She rocked on her heels uncertain, her cheeks burning with color before she wrinkled her nose and he smiled at how cute she now looked.

"I always found the stars to be very cold," she muttered almost petulantly and he shook his head unable to stop the chuckle that left his lips.

"Are you really feeling the cold, sweetheart?" he wondered and after a moment of contemplation he glanced at her with an uneven smile, "I suppose you do."

Caroline tapped her foot to the ground using the edge of her shoe to play with some small pebbles.

"They are dead," she mumbled and Klaus narrowed his eyes at her questioningly.

"The stars," she explained, her voice sad, "many of them are just flashes of light from the past. Dead echoes. They've really gone cold."

He had her attention now and he wasn't going to waste it.

"But first they burned so bright," he pointed out, "they didn't waste their light. If they had it wouldn't reach us now."

Caroline turned her gaze back to the sky as if she was considering his words.

She was like a star born. She burned so bright. If only she could see it.

"All that coldness you feel doesn't come from all the death. It comes from the realization that the cold is now melting from your bones and should you give in to that feeling…to me," he intoned, his eyes boring into her, "you will only be giving in to who you really are and what you truly want. And you want it all," he mused, recognizing a kindred spirit in her, "you want me. You want the blood and to hold life and death in your hands. You want to live. To truly live."

Caroline took a step back. Defensively.

"You are wrong," she denied.

He got up, sauntered closer and smirked when he saw that for each step he was taking forward she was taking one backward.

"Here's the thing, sweetheart. You don't feel just the cold. You feel more. So much more, you burn with it. Most men would never come back from that high. That fear. That addiction. The guilt. But not you. It terrifies you because you can own it and deep down you know it."

That flicker in her throat satisfied him because she could not hide who she really was from him anymore. He had to have been blind to have not seen it before.

"A little bloodshed….a lot of death," he cajoled, "the high and the regret are not as lingering as they may feel now and the heartache doesn't last forever, sweetheart," he assured her in his most comforting tone, "in truth such things are only tools to get what really matters. Power. The kind of power that will give you the kind of freedom you are afraid to even dream of but deep down you long for the most. The one I will give to you. Real freedom. No limits. No Frontiers. You and the endless potential of being who you truly are. Free. Strong. Fearless."

Caroline hated the way she was hanging from his every word. How he was weaving that web all around her. The mighty spider that would devour her like a fly and now looked at her with eyes that twinkled with hunger and knowledge. He was ready to eat her alive and he was sharing all that knowledge he had gained with all the blood he had shed. Not just the drops that stained her soul. Rivers and oceans of it. And he was swimming where she was drowning.

And he was right. She did hate him. She hated that he saw the darkness inside her and held a mirror in front of her forcing her to confront it and…embrace it. He was a monster and if monsters attracted each other then what did that make her?

Because his words were cutting deep. More than she wanted to admit. She knew it then beyond any shadow of a doubt that Klaus was vicious and dangerous not because he was lethal and a murderer but because he was a whisperer. With his honeyed words and his enticing promises. He could seduce a saint into sin. And he could do effortlessly. Every dream and vulnerability she had he could wrap it around his little finger and use it to his advantage. He was insightful and liked to break others with words and truths that were nothing but lies.

A part of her admired him for this. She wanted to learn how to lie with the truth too. How to enchant. How to beguile and kill with without drawing blood and just maybe she could do the same. Maybe he was right after all.

Maybe she didn't have to pull the trigger to be a killer.

Caroline smiled going closer to him and she felt a rush of adrenaline pass through her when she saw the way his eyes momentarily narrowed in suspicion at her reaction. There was a crack in his armor too. He didn't trust. He was paranoid. But he was all that because he felt danger and the danger was her.

Only there was more. There was more when she stepped close enough for their scents to mingle and her hand to trace the leather texture of his jacket over his forearm. His eyes followed her movement and Caroline saw how mesmerized he seemed to be by her smile and her approach.

Her smile didn't drop but her eyes hardened.

"You are good," she admitted, almost playfully, "very good. But here's the thing. I am too smart to be made a fool by a man like you," she declared, meeting his gaze straight on.

Klaus' lips slowly colored a smile in his face that widened in what seemed to be a wicked delight. He was enjoying this.

"That's why I like you," he confessed and the way he looked at her now had her lungs constrict painfully refusing to supply her body with oxygen. His eyes gleamed with adoration and affection.

Only she wasn't fooled by it. She couldn't be. Because either way, this was dangerous territory. And she felt it was safer for her to believe this look to be a lie because if it was true then she was about to get entangled in a game with Klaus Mikaelson that would never end. He would never let her go. And the point of no return would be that it could be so easy to fall into that obsession herself too. Would she let him go then?

"Do you always break those you like?" she fired back, her voice dripping acid and she dropped her hand from his arm as if the touch alone had burned her.

Caroline saw Klaus' fingers unfurl by his side. As if the absence of her touch left him with yearning. That yearning was a flicker in his eyes for so long. She kept seeing flashes of it every time he watched her from the couch when she stayed on the bed and he kept vigilant only a few meters away. Never overstepping. Never invading her space. Only existing in perpetual tension like a guitar string strung up too tight ready to snap. And now that flicker in his eyes was quickly turning to flame but it was her words, that loaded statement that meant to extinguish that flame to ice that had Klaus' jaw clenching.

She took in every response he had. She took in the way the color of his eyes darkened and the way the muscle in his face jerked. She knew others would cower now but she didn't.

And maybe that was why there was a hint of a smile on his lips as they stood opposite to each other with her question hanging between them like a bullet fired, still in the air searching for its target.

The light from the car's sidelights cast a divide of brightness and shadow between them. Like a definitive line in the sand that put them on opposite sides and from his side, Klaus was now assessing her. Not as prey. But as an opponent and that send a thrill spiking in her veins. It made her to want to run and it made her to want to fight.

"Are you broken?" he finally asked her.

It was a direct no-bullshit question and she felt as if that metaphorical bullet found its target now. Klaus had turned the tables against her but the bullet bounced off the way she had turned her heart to steel and Klaus saw it.

He saw it, nodded pleased and then he stepped forward, closer. No. He stepped into her.

He passed through the line of the light. Through the darkness. He broke at that invisible divide and he was so close. The car's light now blended their shadows in one and encased them both in a glossy ablaze. He was so close that his lips hovered just above hers.

He had lowered his head as she had craned hers up. Their gazes battling.

"Or… are you stronger?" he whispered.

It was a soft purr that had her body responding immediately. Shivers darted across her skin and her breath stalled when Klaus reached to her, intending to touch.

Without taking her eyes away from his she grabbed his wrist mid-air just a few inches away from her cheek before he could cup her face.

Her heart started racing when Klaus crooked his fingers and his knuckles grazed her cheek either way. He didn't pull his hand from her grip. She didn't let go. Time was suspended between.

"This won't go down the way you want, Klaus," she swore speaking softly but the challenge in her declaration was there.

It was there as Klaus was there. Only a breath away.

His lips stretched to one of the most beautiful smiles she had seen in her life. And that he was. He was beautiful. A beautiful man in the most destructive way beauty could exist in a person and it was breaking her. He was breaking her.

Only she wasn't broken and he knew it.

"Stronger it is then," he marveled and there it was again. That affection. That pride. That pull that was drawing her closer.

"Good," he simply said and then the breath that was separating them evaporated when his lips melted on hers.

Time stopped. And that was it. That was the moment where everything stopped.

And when everything began.

Caroline gasped. Her eyes widened for a second and her fingers wrapped around Klaus' wrist tighter. Every particle of her body screamed, got magnetized. The moment Klaus' lips touched hers, her body electrified with another kind of energy.

Only this wasn't a kiss. Not yet.

It was a light feather touch and there was no movement.

What this truly was, was a choice. It was an invitation.

It was Klaus asking for permission. He was soft and gentle and nothing of what she would have expected from Klaus but all expectations flew out of the window. She was being pulled under. Sucked into that brush of his lips on hers. She was on the precipice of a need that thrummed inside her and the temptation was too much for her to resist.

Her nails dag into the soft skin of his wrist drawing blood and bruises but Klaus' fingers uncurled reaching to touch the side of her face. Under her cheek. Grazing her neck. And Caroline felt the need to lean to his touch. Her grip around his wrist loosened and when she let him go, his hand fell from her neck and Caroline felt the absence and it hurt. His lips still covered hers. She was dangling between desire and uncertainty still and all she needed was a nudge.

Her eyes were still open. Still searched him. Klaus seemed to know this because he was careful with her as if he was treating a scared deer caught in headlights.

Lights danced in her eyes as Klaus hands carefully rested at each side of her waist. He didn't pull her closer but she didn't pull back. She couldn't. And she felt safe in the knowledge that she could if she wanted to…but she realized that she didn't want to. Her hands instinctively wrapped around his hands but she didn't detach them away from her body. She steadied herself using the strength of his arms as leverage.

She sighed softly. He had kissed her before but not like this. Now it was real. Now it was just the two of them and it was nothing like before. The pressure of his lips on her mouth was not unwanted as she would have expected it to be. It was taunting. It was sweet and maddening and all the anger and the hate she had felt the past days and hours faded away. The surprise and the shock faded away.

Her eyelids slowly closed.

She let go. She let go of his hands and she ran her own over his upper arms and felt his muscles flexing under her touch. She wasn't the only one trapped in the tension and in a whirlwind of emotion. So was he and that gave her the boldness she was missing.

Her hands found their way to his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble and the softness of the skin underneath. Blood rushed and turned that need into an inferno. Her lips parted and she tentatively moved them over Klaus' heated lips and she felt the world shift when his tongue swept into her mouth.

She breathed him in. His taste. A slow exploration, almost like treading dangerous waters, all black, an ocean without end in its depths but instead of drowning in coldness she swam in what felt like warm honey. A taste of caramel and chocolate, and she took it all in as she had never before.

She arched into the kiss. She took a chance. She became bolder and that was when it all changed and all that was slow turned passionate and demanding.

It was as if a bomb detonated in her mind and all her control evaporated by in the explosion. Everything that lurked inside her was coming to the surface and she couldn't smother her emotions any longer.

Klaus was both her poison and her remedy and she was so tired of fighting that feeling. Of fighting him, herself and her darkest desires.

Only this wasn't dark. She would have expected Klaus to be possessive. To be dominant. But instead, he gave her all control until she lost every ounce of it. She deepened the kiss, her tongue roamed in Klaus' mouth and it was her hands that pulled him closer.

And that was all Klaus needed because he let go too. When she eased up into the kiss, it was when the inferno in him ignited. He had given her full control but now he was taking over. He devoured her pliant mouth.

Caroline inhaled sharply and quivered under his touch. Her heart was pounding wildly. Their hands started moving. Bringing their bodies closer as Caroline started stepping backward pulling Klaus with her. Klaus who was leading her back. Who was stealing her breath. Who was ravaging her mouth and his groan was just as breathless as her moans were.

Caroline lost all sense when she felt the metal lid of the car behind her legs. Without breaking the kiss, Klaus lowered her to the hood of the car. The motor was still humming underneath. Radiating heat.

Klaus' strong arms pushed her back and she tried to bring him closer. He lifted her up just enough for her to sit up to the hood. His fingers curled in her hair, his hand warm on the nape of her neck creating that warm and tingly sensation that was starting to spread all over.

Her legs parted and wrapped around him as their kiss became deeper. She gripped the lapels of his jacket dragging him down along with her. His hands were now on her back. Their bodies crashed. His weight was over her as she laid back on the car.

The engine was humming and she felt the vibrations underneath her. So much heat coming from everywhere. She wanted to gasp for air but her tongue was dancing in Klaus' mouth and it felt so good. She couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop.

Klaus' palm rested on the hood of the car next to her reaching for support so not to crush her with his body weight only she didn't want that and she wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled him closer, making sure their kiss would not end and his body would cover hers. Klaus' groaned and his hand left the metal of the car, his fingers tangling into her hair mimicking the same need she had. To bring her closer. To keep her close. To lock their lips into an unending kiss.

This was moving too fast and yet too slow. She had first kisses before. Sweet kisses. Intense kisses. Sloppy kisses. Great kisses. But nothing like this. This escalating desire that was trickling into her in waves demanding release was nothing she had experienced before. It was all-consuming. Relentless. And when Klaus' fingers trailed over her sides making her body scream with desire as her breasts swelled and her core clenched, she realized it. She felt it.

They had been a ticking bomb ever since they had exchanged vows on the altar and ever since Klaus had unzipped her wedding dress. It was lust. It was need. It was not sweet or nice. It was dangerous. A battlefield. And she wanted more. Her hands found their way under his jacket. All the way to his back and her nails grazed the soft material of his Henley. She started pulling the shirt up having lost all sense. Her hands traveled everywhere and then her breath hitched and the kiss came to an abrupt halt.

Klaus froze above her.

So, did she underneath him.

Her eyes flew open and she met the violent blue of his heated stare. Their gazes locked and held each other. Her hand on the Beretta Klaus kept at the right side of his belt in his gun holster.

The only thing that could be heard was the almost soundless hum of the Bugatti's engine and their erratic breaths.

She felt the tension coming out of Klaus' body in waves. She felt the danger. She saw how he saw her as danger and it thrilled her more. This was not the beginning of a love story. This was war. Or maybe… it was both. And it would be so easy. He didn't move or try to disarm her. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun.

She felt the slight twitch of her fingertips. It would be so easy. To slide the gun from the leather. She could bet Klaus would let her. As he had let her drive his car. With the same abandon. With the same carelessness when it came to life and death. He would dance with death and so would she.

His words from earlier buzzed in her mind like a symphony. She didn't have to pull a trigger to be a killer; so he had told her. But right now they both knew that should she want to she could do even that. It was in her blood and they knew it.

Klaus' eyes were almost challenging her to draw his gun. To point it at him. Daring her to pull the trigger. To let the bullet crash between them.

Caroline was slipping. There was a current within her and it was like she was sinking into darkness only there was light in her veins. Like the stars above them. Born and dying all at once.

Klaus' eyes lowered to her lips. To her swollen lips that burned and craved one more kiss. And when his eyes found hers again she knew she was in way over her head. The way he looked at her was reverent. He was there to worship her.

Her fingers slipped away from his gun and she pressed a little closer. Lifting her upper body. Seeing only his lips. His smile.

When his hands cupped her face, she didn't care how much blood they carried. She didn't care how many those hands had killed. She didn't care how those hands were bathed in blood and death and how they tortured and maimed. All she cared was the gentle way he was touching her now. Such a contradiction. Such violence and tenderness all intertwined together and she needed the release those hands could give her.

Their lips locked again and this time there was no more guilt, no uncertainty. This time the night became longer and it was welcoming both in its embrace.

Klaus took his time now. It was draining all the life out of her leaving only himself inside her. Marking her. More than any wedding ring and wedding vow ever could and she didn't feel shame or anger as she did the same.

The emotion turned reckless, encompassing. Her control was gone now. Paper thin, burned to dust. There was no more sympathy as their kiss turned bruising. It turned savage. A battle.

It was… possession.

Violence was igniting in her and she felt…free. She wrapped her legs tighter around Klaus and when his grunt reverberated in her mouth and she felt the power she had over him. He had melted in her hands. She felt how hard he was. She felt how he was battling not to lose control and she smiled against his lips.

She had never tasted such freedom and pleasure before. It was fury and beauty. And all she had once wanted faded in that kiss and another ache was taking the place of her old dreams. It was madness. And she welcomed it.

They were biting each other tasting blood and Caroline lost herself in the kind of passion she knew that after tonight would forever haunt her.

And then their bodies softened. Their lips even more so. The kiss became agonizingly slow. Tantalizing. They were both riding out the waves of the outburst they succumbed to. They were both smothered under that languid kiss and opened their eyes at the same time.

Their lips parted. And they panted. Their foreheads touched and they looked at each other.

Caroline didn't know why she felt tears gathering at the edge of her eyes but what she saw in Klaus' eyes was far more wild and intense and far more gentle than what words could describe. It stole her breath away.

Klaus closed his eyes first. As if he was in pain. He moved his head just enough for his nose to brush the length of hers. Tenderly. As if she was made of glass. As if she was the most precious thing he could ever have.

He buried his head in her neck. She felt his warm breath heating up the vein that was throbbing there. His hands were shaking and her whole body was trembling as she uncoiled her legs from around him.

She didn't know what to do with herself now. How could just a few kisses do this to her? Her cheeks aflame, her chest brushing against Klaus' with every erratic breath she was taking. And it hurt. She needed more. They both needed more.

Dangerous territory. For both of them. They were both shaken to the core. Caroline felt it and so did Klaus who now picked up his head, opened his eyes and looked at her as if he had never seen her before.

His hands left her body and she felt the loss so keenly it made her feel faint. Right and left his hands now rested on the hood on each side of her body trapping her. None of them spoke. There were no words.

Neither of them knew what would lie ahead now. All they knew was that they had to stop before this kiss, their first kiss, turned into something different that none of them was ready for. Not like this. Not here.

Maybe not ever.

Caroline saw it in his eyes. He would never let her go now. And if he could she didn't know if she could walk away. And everything became a thousand times more difficult for her.

Caroline rested her hands in his chest and she felt the way his heart was beating. So fast. So hard. As if it would leap out of his chest.

And when she pushed him back gently Klaus covered her hands with his own. As if he wanted one more moment. His fingers laced with hers and she was trying to catch her breath only she couldn't.

He let go of her hands and pulled back. Just one step. Enough to give her room to move and stand.

Caroline swallowed hard and her body slid down from the hood of the car. When her feet touched the ground she felt unsteady. As if her legs had turned to jelly. Klaus immediately rested his hands on her waist, balancing her but not stepping back.

Their bodies were touching again. One more moment. One more second.

Klaus brought his thumb to her lips. He trailed the outline of her mouth. Slowly. He seemed mesmerized and when Caroline lifted her gaze to his she knew she could not outrun this. She could not hide from this. But she knew she would still try. She would run. She had to. She couldn't do this. Not with Klaus. None of what she wanted for her life included him. Not him. She wouldn't survive this.

She averted her eyes.

Caroline didn't know how she would put herself back together again. The guilt returned only this time it was different. She felt guilty for what she felt but what she felt now was all consuming. The world had shifted on its axis and she was falling. She was falling hard. For Klaus Mikaelson. And she couldn't allow herself to do that.

She pulled back and the car behind her gave her the support she needed to not to fall down.

"We should better go back," she whispered breathlessly and Klaus gave her an agonizing look before his hands fell from her body and she felt that absence.

There was no going back now. They both knew it.

She tilted her head to the side, Klaus stepped back and she wanted to scream. She wanted to scream until no voice would come out of her throat because she missed the warmth of his body. Her lips still burned. His taste was still in her mouth and his scent had wrapped around her like a blanket.

She straightened her shoulders and her body followed. She forced herself to stand straight. She tried to move to the side but Klaus reached for her hand.

Caroline looked at his hand first and then at his face.

She couldn't read him. But the hold was tentative. It was as if he wanted to tell her something. But he couldn't and so he only aimed to stop her from walking away from this. From him.

Caroline withdrew her hand first but Klaus remained hanging between them as if he was still touching the ghost of her fingers.

Without looking at him any more she moved away, going for the passengers' door of the car. She opened the door and with trembling legs she slid into the leather seat and saw Klaus through the glass of the windshield.

His demeanor changed. He pulled himself back together and followed her example and got in the car.

Caroline tensed when Klaus turned the keys in the ignition and reached to change gears.

The car slowly moved. Smoothly. Klaus Mikaelson was now collected and back to the driver's seat. He was always behind the wheel it seemed. Even when he pretended otherwise.

The taste of freedom Klaus gave her tonight behind the wheel was nothing but an illusion because now more than ever her life was spinning out of control. There was no slowing down now and she was trapped in the whirlwind.

Klaus stepped on the gas and when he floored it Caroline didn't care. It wasn't that she trusted him or felt safe.

Just as he hadn't cared when she had recklessly done the same when she drove his car earlier. Flirting with this kind of danger didn't matter when they both had a taste of what true fatal danger felt like. All wrapped in a kiss.

Death looming over them was nothing to fear. Fatal attraction was. And it would be fatal. They both knew it. They both had felt it.

Caroline pushed her head back and let the wind whip her heated face as the car broke through the road fast in blinding speed.

Klaus was taking out his frustration in the same way she had done when she had been behind the wheel. He was trying to break free. To push away the feeling of the sublime he had found and lost. It had been a breath of life and as the car's rumble shot from her head right down to her legs, Caroline knew that nothing could compare with the feeling of Klaus' lips on her own. That kind of rush was heavenly, made her want more and it now it felt like hell.

She was losing her mind. She had desperately searched for a sense of freedom tonight and what she had found claimed her in ways that Klaus seemed to want to exile from his mind too. He was driving madly. Chasing away the demons. The ghost of their kiss. A kiss that still lingered and burned.

Klaus didn't even glance at her but from the peripheral of her vision, she saw his rigid posture. The soft light from the road illuminated the side of his face. Her heart was beating painfully. He seemed like a different man now. The line of his jaw, that hard edge around his mouth. His expression was set in darkness. As if he was out for blood. Cruel, cold and unrelenting.

Only he had yielded and he had relented. She could still feel the prickling sensation of his stubble against her skin. She could still feel his mouth on hers. She still felt his kiss.

As if they had a will of their own her fingers touched her lips and the car lurched in response when Klaus pressed the gas pedal with more aggression than he should responding to what she did.

The leather of the wheel groaned under Klaus' punishing vice-like grip. Caroline closed her eyes and her hand fell on her lap. She looked down. At the wedding ring on her finger and she balled her hand into a fist.

Her lips burned. The bridges that kept her tied with her old life were burned. All her walls were torn down and others were building up but through it all there was one emotion that would not go away.

Uncontrollable.

That's how she felt. There was no more control to the battle that was coming and she was terrified. Because this was a battle. A battle that would leave no prisoners. The weapons were drawn from each side and none was more lethal than the cruelest of a kiss.

There was no escaping from this.

This was a reckoning and it had begun.

Like a car speeding out of control, the brakes were cut and there was no stopping this mad drive.

This was war. And it had started with a kiss.

Ooh, see the fire is sweepin'
Burns like a red coal carpet
Gimme, gimme shelter
Or I'm gonna fade away

War it's just a shot away
...I tell you love, it's just… a kiss away.

So this was: Chapter 12: War is Just a Kiss Away

I put the title here for you know...spoilers lol

Anyway...Let me know what you thought about it. The kiss scene was one I have imagined ever since I started writing the story and here we are admittedly...a few years later lol. I hope you liked the chapter. I am here for every thought and comment you may have and as always costructive criticism is also appreciated.