“They will,” she warned him hollowly. “They are.”
He turned swiftly and kissed her, unable to tolerate the empty sound of her voice. He would do anything to keep her safe and with him, but she needed to stay with him. She could not succumb to fear or doubt. He would not allow it. She was slow to respond to his kiss, but after a few moments her lips parted and he could taste some of her usual fire returning.
By the time he gently disengaged, the first torches were visible among the trees. Soon there were dozens of people outside, and the shouting was near enough that he could distinguish a few words here and there. Traitor featured heavily, along with monster and vengeance. It would seem that the time for negotiation had passed, although even Elijah would see that coexistence had never been a real possibility.
Werewolves had been hunting their family since they were human, and Mikael’s furious rampage had made the blood equally bitter on both sides. Mikael had started this war over his wife’s betrayal, Klaus remembered with a sneer, not from any noble intention. Even after the werewolves had killed one of his sons—one of his real sons—he hadn’t dreamed of attacking them. It wasn’t until he learned that Esther had strayed that he’d finally gotten murderously angry.
Perhaps Armand felt the same betrayal now as Mikael had so long ago, Klaus realized, and the possibility tied a grim little knot of satisfaction in his chest. A point to the Mikaelsons, even after all these years. Because no matter how angry the werewolves were, they could not exact the same kind of revenge that Klaus’s stepfather once had. Killing one Original vampire had proven to be too much for the entire pack. Killing two would be impossible, and the attempt would cost them dearly.
They were surrounding the house but looked more cautious now. They couldn’t know about the protection spell, but they had to know that rushing the home of a vampire was unwise. They milled about, the light from their torches gleaming oddly off their formal gowns and coats. Most of the fine fabric showed some staining and tears, and Klaus noticed more than a few injuries among the throng. It would seem that the witches had held their own, at least for a while. Until the werewolves had remembered that their real enemy had already left the party.
Solomon Navarro prowled around the perimeter, looking more animal than man under the moon. He must know the house was defended, but he was reluctant to attack without knowing exactly how. Klaus could only imagine Sol’s outrage at the irony; a witch could have told him everything about the protection spell—if it had any vulnerability, if there were a way to attack it without losing half of his wolves to some invisible trap. But that very night Sol had lost the goodwill of the witches.
Still, Klaus did not like his position in this fight any better than Sol seemed to be enjoying his own. There were enough wolves to set an extended siege around the house, and eventually Klaus would get hungry. And of course they would do whatever they could to chip away at the protection spell while they waited. Most important of all, Vivianne could be killed. Klaus would do whatever was necessary to protect her, but the werewolves would know that, and he was sure they would try to use it to their advantage.
The first werewolf stepped onto their land, and a wail seemed to emanate from the barrier itself. It was an eerie and unnatural warning, and Klaus was relieved when it stopped.
“They cannot come inside,” he reminded Vivianne, who went deathly pale at the sound.
“They will not need to,” she said, and he knew that her thoughts had run parallel to his own. “They will starve us out or smoke us out. All they have to do is wait, if they even have to wait that long. Spells can be broken.”
For a moment, he wondered ruefully if he had really needed to fall in love with such an intelligent woman, but there was nothing to be done about that now. She was right: They needed a plan. Something better than just sitting in the dark room and waiting for something worse to happen.
The werewolves had an army, which they most certainly did not. Rebekah had failed completely in that minor task before sailing off to wherever it was she had gone. But they were not, he remembered suddenly, unarmed. The house’s previous owner had traded in weaponry, and Klaus had seen evidence of that thriving business when he had found Elijah in the cellar. Perhaps they could thin the pack’s ranks without having to leave the safety of the house, which would improve their odds considerably.
“We need to inspect the cellar,” he announced, glad to have something to do. He did not like the way she sat so still; it made him uneasy. Thunder rolled in the distance, but not so far in the distance. “There are things we can use.”
He lifted the iron ring set into the floorboards, and an even blacker patch of darkness opened at their feet. Neither of them needed candles to see in the dark—Vivianne now had the sharpened eyesight of a wolf—but Klaus lit a taper anyway. Its light would be comforting to her.
Her silver dress gleamed gold in the light, but it could not warm the drawn whiteness of her face. “We should talk to them,” she suggested, barely more than a whisper. “If they understand that I won’t go back, that it has nothing to do with you...”
“They will have no further use for you,” he explained, prying the lid off a case of musket balls. The muskets they belonged to must be around somewhere, and he kept an eye out for a box that would be about the right size. “Viv, they have only wanted to use you all along. Convincing them would be no better than throwing your neck onto their claws.”
“I’m one of them,” she pointed out, sounding angry rather than scared now. “Even after my father died, Sol always told my mother—”
“Lies,” Klaus interrupted brutally. He hated to hurt her, but he needed to fuel that anger, to keep her ready to fight. Fear and numbness were every bit as dangerous as the wolves outside. “Being half one thing and half another makes you neither, not both. Sol lied to your mother because he wanted you to be a werewolf instead of a witch.”
He could hear the breath hiss in through Vivianne’s teeth; he had been harsher than he meant. “Cynicism is probably easy when you know you’ll live forever,” she snapped, and as absurd as it was to be lectured by a woman a fraction of his age, he was pleased to hear some life returning to her voice. “The rest of us have to live and die with each other, and so we cannot afford to simply slam doors the way you do.”
He had finally located a cache of muskets, ready to load and fire. But he set them aside and took her firmly by the shoulders. They felt so slight between his hands, and he was reminded of how fragile she was. “I admire your faith in people,” he conceded. “I suspect I have been the beneficiary of it. But if you want to remain alive, you will stay inside. If you bring up this idea of negotiation again, I will lock you down here until I’ve killed every single werewolf waiting outside to tear you to shreds.”
She stared defiantly at him for a moment before jerking her chin into a nod. “I understand.” It was not quite the same as agreement, but it would have to do for the moment. He could make good on his threat, although he would rather not have to fight a war on two fronts.
“Good.” He shifted his hands to draw her close, kissing each of her eyelids first and then her unresisting lips. “Because this unending life of mine is meaningless without you.”
She softened a little then, knowing that he truly meant it. She would never admit that he was right about the werewolves, of course. Her pride wouldn’t allow it, and maybe she really did believe that a peaceful solution could still be found. But he knew she could see how deeply he loved her. Perhaps she could even glimpse how terrifying it was for him to watch her walk through the world, vulnerable, like a child who had not yet learned to be afraid of the dark.