“I always called it a curse,” she whispered, so softly that he might not have even been able to hear. “Until I met you.”

The black sky above them was covered in endless layers of stars, and the waxing moon had just begun to rise above the clouds to the east. Rebekah leaned against Eric’s solid body and watched the bayou slide by. The thousands of torches, candelabras, and chandeliers in New Orleans blurred together into one bright, shining island that grew smaller as she watched. Soon it would be out of sight entirely, swallowed up by the shadowy, teeming swamp on either side.

“We could go and wait below,” he suggested after a short while. When she tore her eyes away from the shoreline to look up at him, his smile was suggestive. “I’m sure we can find a way to pass the time.”

Of that there was no doubt. She took his hand and led him to their little cabin, her heart pounding as she descended the narrow ladder. For a brief moment she remembered another ship, on her way to yet another new life, with nameless men dying in front of a ladder just like this one. But there would only be one death on this ship tonight, and it would be a beginning rather than an end.

Although it was true that the sailors would not reach their destination alive. Eric would be ravenous after the change. Compulsion would keep the survivors from noticing their missing comrades, and by the time they sailed into port there would be no one left to notice. She had paid extra for a captain who ran with more than the bare minimum of crewmembers for just that reason.

In their cabin, Eric reached behind her and took her by the waist, and she forgot one kind of hunger for another. She began to turn around, but he held her where she was, kissing her neck lightly at first so that she shivered. Then his mouth grew more ardent, and he deftly untied the long line of bows that ran down the back of her dress.

Impatient with even his quick work, she tore the last of them to simply remove the thing, then did the same with his starched white shirt. The rest of their clothes followed onto the floor, and Eric lifted her by the hips and threw her gently onto the bed. The ship rolled a bit as he moved to follow, and she laughed as he overbalanced and fell on top of her.

He smiled, with a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes, but he did not laugh. Instead he took full advantage of his position to taste every inch of her skin, drinking her in as if he were already a vampire tasting his first blood. His mouth explored her collarbone, then moved across her breasts and her belly, working lower while she sighed in pleasure. He did not linger long, although she wished he would....He continued to explore along her thighs and even her ankles, appreciating each new landscape of her body in turn.

Then he rose again, attending to her pleasure in such thorough detail that she thought the sailors on the deck must hear her cries. And when he finally entered her, it was with the desperate need of a man who knew it was the last thing he would do in his life. She welcomed him and moved with him, swaying with the roll of the boat and rising up against it until they were both entirely spent.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

KLAUS WAS GLAD of Elijah’s ridiculous pursuit of safety as he spurred their horse onward. Vivianne clung tightly to his waist, and together they struggled to keep their seat on the agitated animal. Klaus could not hear the sounds of the chase yet, but it was only a matter of time. Not even Elijah’s diplomacy could hold off the wolves for long.

The house rose up before them, and their skittish horse shied away. Klaus jumped to the ground, pulled Viv down after him, and slapped the beast on its rump. It cantered away gratefully toward the forest, eager to leave its supernatural charges far behind.

Inside, Vivianne scanned the door to bolt it shut, but Klaus took her arm and led her to a chair. “No one can get in besides the two of us and Elijah,” he reminded her, then added, “and our sister as well, but she is no longer in the city.” He wondered if there was a way to exclude someone from the house after they had once been allowed in. If Rebekah no longer wanted to call this her home, then she should not be able to simply walk in unannounced. Perhaps Vivianne knew some tricks—it was handy having a witch around who actually liked him.

He could hear shouting outside, still a long way off but moving closer. Rebekah had nailed the curtains down over the missing windows, and Klaus tugged apart the ones by the door. He couldn’t see any werewolves yet, or witches for that matter. But some ugly-looking clouds were rolling in fast, blotting out the stars, and Klaus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he saw them.

They were moving too fast. The night had been dry and peaceful, with nothing but a light, warm breeze to stir it. The clouds did not belong, and they seemed to be coming for him just as quickly as the werewolves’ cries were. It might well be him and Viv against the entire world at this rate. “Let them come,” he whispered aloud, and Vivianne startled to attention at the sound of his voice.

“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.