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.

“I will be here with you,” she vowed, resting her forehead trustingly against his cheek. “I would never leave you, Klaus. I love you.”

In that moment, whatever waited for them outside, whatever they would have to get through next, would be worth it as long as they were together.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE WEREWOLVES POURED out of the banquet hall first, looking worse for the wear but with their rage still unquenched. Elijah waited for the last of them to leave, then crept inside. He was half sure he would find all of the witches dead, but he hoped against hope that some had survived.

There were more alive than he had expected, and he wondered what had lured the werewolves away. There was still more fighting to be done here if that’s what they wanted. But then he realized what might be waiting for them elsewhere, and he clenched his jaw in frustration.

Klaus would almost certainly need his help soon. He would have taken Vivianne to their house to regroup. Elijah would join them, but he would have to fight his way in through the wolves.

Elijah could see casualties scattered around the hall, but the witches didn’t look beaten. The ones who were left standing, in fact, looked downright warlike. A few of them chanted in the center of the long, candlelit room, and even as Elijah watched, more were gathering to join in.

He grabbed the arm of a short blonde witch as she made her way toward the circle, but she shook him off angrily and moved on. A few others passed Elijah without a glance, so focused on their spell that they didn’t care about the presence of a vampire. He could not understand the words they were chanting, but all of their energy and attention was devoted to this one spell, and he could feel their power building in the hall like static. Whatever they were doing, his instincts told him it was something bigger than simple revenge on the werewolves.

Thunder rolled in the distance, and several heads turned toward it. Elijah had not expected a storm that night, but it looked to him like the rest of the hall’s inhabitants knew it was coming.

He caught a tall young witch with a prominent Adam’s apple by his crisp, purple coat. The young man tried to shake free, just like the blonde girl, but Elijah was ready this time, and he held on tightly. “I don’t want trouble,” he explained, seeing the witch begin to whisper something under his breath. “There’s no need for that.”

The man hesitated, but the prospect of an angry vampire was enough to get him to agree with a nod.

“What are they doing?” Elijah demanded, jerking his head toward the growing circle of witches.