“It was part of the pact,” she admitted haltingly, “that they wouldn’t ask me—that I wouldn’t have to—”

The witches had been wise, but it may have been all for nothing. The werewolves weren’t as interested in the pact itself as they were in using it to gain the upper hand. “That you wouldn’t need to kill a human and become a full werewolf,” he finished sternly, wanting to make her hear the full measure of what she was considering. In order to activate her werewolf side, she’d have to commit murder, and then she’d change on the full moon...and every moon after that. “I can’t imagine anyone who loves you wanting that for you.”

Not to mention that there were those who believed it was bad enough to be one type of supernatural being, and the thought of two active powers living in the same body sounded hellish. Klaus himself had killed thousands of times, and yet he could not become a werewolf, because his mother had prevented it. She had cast a spell to cut off that part of him, locked it away forever and called it “balance.” Her magic honored nature, except when her pride or infidelity perverted it. Because of Esther’s hypocrisy, this was a path down which he could not follow Vivianne, should she choose to go.

“I don’t want it for myself,” Viv retorted, her lovely face betraying her agony. “But I want it for them. For us. For New Orleans and my parents and the werewolves and the witches and the humans who won’t be caught in the crossfire anymore. Becoming a true werewolf is the only way I can ever really be a part of their pack, so that they will listen to me and accept my marriage.”

Why would they bargain for it if they didn’t intend to accept it, Klaus wanted to ask her, unless it was to spring this on you when the moment grew near? But she wasn’t ready to hear that truth, he knew, and it would only drive her away from him. “If they do not want you as you are, they do not deserve to have you,” he growled instead, and then wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her near to kiss her again, despite her halfhearted resistance. “Come with me tonight, and leave this trap before it can close around you.”

She rested her forehead against his collarbone, closing her eyes, struggling with herself. “This has to end, you and me,” she argued, and her voice was rough with tears. “I felt like I had to tell you in person, but I am sorry if that only caused you pain. It hurts me more than you know.”

“Then undo it,” Klaus said. “I will forget that you ever said these things, and you can do the same. Nothing is done yet. No one is married; no one is dead.”

“It is done,” she argued, pulling back and staring up at him earnestly. “It was done as soon as I was born. I can’t know what is required of me and walk away. How can I? You don’t understand what it’s like, to live between two warring worlds like this. I never asked for the responsibility, but there is no one else who can accomplish what I can. If I refuse now, it will ruin everything.”

She was as right as she was wrong: Klaus’s dual heritage had started a war, just as Vivianne hoped that hers would end one. “I am already ruined, Viv,” he told her. “Meeting you has ruined me. What do I care if the rest of the world burns as well? Having you with me would be worth any price.”

Light and laughter spilled out into the garden from an opened door, and Klaus shrank back against the wall, pulling her with him. “Vivianne!” a merry voice called. “Darling, where have you gone? You’re needed at cards—my mother has made a fortune off us in your absence.”

She gave a panicked start and pulled violently out of his arms. “Klaus, please, don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she pleaded, but if leaving him was difficult for her then he was certainly not going to make it any easier.

“Vivianne Lescheres,” he began, then paused long enough that she stilled to listen, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I have never had the pleasure of meeting a woman like you, and I’ve lived long enough that I would know if there were any. For you I’m even willing to beg: Please don’t break my heart quite yet.”

She gave him a hesitant little smile despite herself, and when she looked up at him again her eyes held a gleam that had nothing to do with tears. “Be careful what you wish for, Klaus,” she began, and then gave a small sigh. “Perhaps we could meet again, if only so I can tell you no once more.”

“My dear, I promise you that the only thing you’ll be saying with me is yes, and you’ll say it more than once. I’d be more than happy to prove it to you, if you’ll meet me again tomorrow night. Here?” Klaus felt reckless, ready to risk anything to keep from losing her.

“Vivianne, where are you?” the voice called again, and Klaus would have been happy to gut its owner with his fingernails.

Vivianne bit her lip, her entire body tense with worry, but she leaned up to give Klaus one more kiss. It lasted a second longer than a polite good-bye, and Klaus took that as the only answer he needed. He’d be here tomorrow night, and every evening after, until Vivianne made good on the promise of that kiss by meeting him again.

She struggled out of his arms and he watched her silhouette run across the grass, toward the light and the tall, thin figure waiting for her in the doorway.

Klaus didn’t have to see his face to know who it was. If he could kill every living being who was unworthy to speak her name, he would have started right then with Armand. It would end up as a massacre...which, now that Klaus thought of it, actually seemed rather appealing. He wondered how many werewolves were in the festively lit mansion before him—Armand and his mother, apparently, but from the voices and sounds of clinking glasses, probably quite a few more. It would not be worth facing Elijah’s wrath unless he succeeded in killing every one in the house—in the city, actually—this same night.

A worthy goal, but an unlikely one, and so he vented his rage on the high wall of the garden instead. His fist was unharmed, but the wall cracked and crumbled, leaving a satisfying hole in the mortared stones. It was a physical reminder that he would not give up Vivianne without a fight, even if it could not be the bloody battle he’d have preferred.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE CEMETERY WAS darker than Elijah remembered. Clouds concealed the moon and stars, and it seemed there were fewer lit candles than during his previous visit. A cool wind blew in from the sea, picking up the murky scent of the bayou as it came.

Elijah weaved his way through the tombs on foot, careful not to disturb any of the stones. A mournful howl drifted toward him on the wind. The covered moon wouldn’t be full for a few more weeks, but the skin on his arms and neck still prickled at the sound. There was something happening in the cemetery, some kind of magic, and it was clear that outsiders would not be welcomed.

He’d rather be anywhere else, but he’d made a vow to Ysabelle Dalliencourt to prove her wrong. With Hugo’s will and the deed to his house, Elijah intended to show the witch that she had underestimated him. Hopefully, she would be impressed enough by his resourcefulness to reconsider her position on granting favors to his family. The service he needed now was much smaller than a gift of land.

Ysabelle wasn’t home when he’d gone to look for her, so Elijah had guessed that the only other place she’d be was the witches’ graveyard. After searching through the enchanted maze for the better part of an hour, Elijah’s sharp eyes finally found Ysabelle in the center of a ring of candles. She was dressed in a lilac shift with her reddish hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, but she did not look at peace. If anything, she looked angry.

Elijah hung back and watched as she muttered to herself then opened her eyes and began to furiously mix some substance in the copper bowl that lay at her feet. She straightened again, closing her eyes and looking as though every part of her body strained against some invisible force. He wasn’t sure what she was trying to do, but he could see the moment when she failed. Based on the slump of her shoulders, it looked like she’d been attempting the spell for a while without much success. Her frustration was just another asset to him.