“Oh, but it has,” she whispered, her wicked smile blocking out everything else in the decadent ballroom. She reached up to touch him, caressing the corner of his mouth with one long finger. He turned to kiss it, to devour it, but she pulled back out of his arms, and he saw that her fingertip had come away red. A forgotten bit of the serving girl’s blood; it must have been there all along.

Vivianne was halfway across the ballroom by the time he thought to follow her, and before he could move, horns gave a celebratory flourish. Frustrated, Klaus waited, impatient but confident there would be a better, more private opportunity to catch her soon.

“Ladies, gentlemen, distinguished guests,” a voice cried, silencing the chatter around them. “It is my great pleasure to welcome you to this happiest of occasions. I have the honor to present to you, for the first time as a betrothed couple, Armand Navarro and Vivianne Lescheres.” Vivianne reached the side of the werewolf Klaus had seen her with earlier, sliding her arm through his as if they had never been apart. Her smile was absolutely brilliant as she raised one white arm and waved to the crowd.

The ballroom exploded in a frenzy of applause and cheering, but Klaus was utterly still. Suddenly, the party made perfect sense. They weren’t just celebrating the end of the war; they were sealing it with blood. The Navarros were the premier werewolf family in New Orleans, so a Navarro was marrying a witch—and for them to agree, Vivianne must be an extraordinary witch.

Klaus narrowed his eyes. Extraordinary, indeed. She must be the one he had heard about: the daughter of both a witch and werewolf. He’d always dismissed the rumors as foolish, and yet the daughter of both clans stood before him with a beating pulse. When Elijah had mentioned this party, he had certainly failed to include some key details—and the only reason Klaus could think of was that his brother didn’t trust him to stay out of the deal that was being struck under their noses.

But someone should intervene. Klaus felt safest when his rivals hated one another at least as much as they hated him.

Besides, Vivianne was far too good to waste on a werewolf.

“She’s not for you, Niklaus,” Rebekah snapped, appearing beside his elbow. “This alliance has been a generation in the making. Interfering with it is absolutely out of the question, so just forget she exists.”

Klaus watched Vivianne dance with her fiancé. Her lithe body moved gracefully across the floor, her skirt following a moment later like a white echo. He didn’t answer Rebekah; there was no need. They both knew her warning had come too late.

CHAPTER TWO

THE BALLROOM AROUND Elijah hummed and spun with happy chatter and lively dancing, but underneath it all he couldn’t stop looking for trouble. What would be the first sign that would allow him to be faster, smarter, and more prepared than everyone else? From the relative peace of the darkened corner, he watched the wallflowers, the whisperers, the outsiders. But of course, as he turned his gaze to the dance floor, he realized he was looking in the wrong place. The trouble was right in the thick of the party, dancing with the bride-to-be. His fair head bent close to her dark one, listening, his expressive mouth smiling and murmuring in a way that conveyed instant intimacy. Why did Elijah ever bother looking anywhere but at Klaus?

Had it been a mistake to keep his impetuous younger brother in the dark about the werewolves’ terms for peace with the witches? Like all worthy feuds, this one was ending with a wedding between the two families, and Elijah had promised that the vampires wouldn’t disrupt their arrangement. He’d thought the key to keeping Klaus in line would be to divert his attention away from Vivianne and her betrothal, as his brother seemed to have an unnatural penchant for wanting what wasn’t his. But that plan had failed miserably.

Vivianne Lescheres, the rare child of both a witch and a werewolf, was a woman with a destiny. The fragile new peace of the city’s supernatural denizens depended entirely on her impending marriage, and the Mikaelson siblings depended on that peace. Rebekah had argued passionately and convincingly that telling Klaus a beautiful young woman was off-limits to him would only guarantee that he would seduce her, but apparently not telling him hadn’t helped a bit.

“Do you see that?” Rebekah sighed, rounding a column to join her brother in the dark. “Trust him to find a way to get in the middle of everything, without even knowing what it is.”

“We have to tell him now,” Elijah growled, sure of their mistake. “He’ll be even worse if he finds out on his own.”

“Has he ever been better, in order to become worse?” Apparently content with that parting shot, Rebekah returned to the dance floor, her gown sweeping across the polished floor. She frequently made it clear that she believed there wasn’t a way to handle Klaus, but Elijah refused to stop trying. The three of them had managed to stay together and survive this long—for almost a thousand years. There was no future for them without one another.

He tried to signal to Klaus, but only managed to catch his attention for a short second before Klaus returned his eyes to the half witch. Elijah wondered what the girl was saying to him; somehow he doubted that they were discussing her fiancé.

It would be too insolent to interrupt now. He could only watch as the trumpets sang and Vivianne left his brother’s side to join her future husband’s. From the reckless flush on her cheeks, Elijah felt sure that she had been toying with Klaus. Considering that Klaus had probably intended to eat her, it was hard for Elijah to hold a grudge, but it looked like Klaus wasn’t the only one who would require some careful watching.

“I understand the witches struck a deal to let you stay in New Orleans,” a voice rumbled in his ear. “If it had been up to me, I would have thrown you right back into the Saint Louis.” Solomon Navarro was the sort of man who wore his true nature on his sleeve. Huge, burly, and sporting a wicked scar down the right side of his face, he looked more like a wolf masquerading as a human than the other way around. Not even his impeccable coat could give the illusion of civilization winning out over savagery.

“Congratulations on your son’s engagement,” Elijah replied politely, struggling with all of his will not to show his fangs to the massive, glowering man. “You must be very proud.”

Elijah had felt that it was more important to be seen there, paying their respects to the powerful local clans, than to get hung up on the fact that they’d snuck in. Perhaps he had underestimated the tension of such a happy occasion.

“She thinks and acts like a witch,” Sol growled, nodding contemptuously at Vivianne. “Her father died too early to have any hand in raising her, which was an opportunity lost. But as a symbol, her parentage will be useful. Unless that thing you brought in with you gets his teeth in her, obviously. Have you ever considered curing your brother of his wretched immortality?”

“Niklaus will not be a problem,” Elijah assured the giant man, with a quick glance at his brother. Klaus was well out of earshot, but he still always seemed to know when his siblings weren’t entirely on his side. Klaus’s belief that he didn’t belong in their family—being only a half brother—was the poison that divided and endangered the Originals. Yet, despite his best intentions, Elijah could never quite convince his brother otherwise.

Still, Sol’s anger was somewhat justified, and not just because of the ill-advised dance in progress. Klaus had begun his time in New Orleans hunting werewolves. The witches had turned a blind eye, requiring only that the Mikaelsons make no new vampires. But with the wedding, the balance of the supernatural landscape had shifted. A massacre—even a small one, even one that had been over for years—could be held against them now by the witches and the werewolves both. In retrospect, the Mikaelsons really should have skipped the party after all.