She was inclined to agree with the smug-faced bastard. Every morsel that Hayley lifted to her lips was gloriously delicious and quieted the rumblings of her stomach. She had torn through plates upon plates and two empty wine jugs sat defeated next to her glass. It was an entirely different experience eating without a corset squeezing her to death and she relished it, watching the loose, shimmering satin of the robe that covered her flat stomach plump just the tiniest bit.

Except for the soft scrape of silver against fine china, all was quiet in the magnificent dining room. Klaus had not spoken a single word the moment she had picked up her fork and he was silent still, eyes boring into her over his wine glass. After several more uncomfortable bites, Hayley downed the remainder of her spiced wine and cocked an eyebrow at him. She dropped her fork onto her plate, sighing as she did so.

"Enough with the staring, Klaus. I know that your questions are burning on the tip of your tongue. I do possess the ability to eat and talk at the same time."

He took another hearty gulp from his goblet, then studied her carefully, blue eyes contemplative. "Most women would consider that poor etiquette."

"I am not most women," Hayley snapped, the immeasurable amounts of mead and wine shortening her temper. "And I don't give a damn about your blasted etiquette. But, of course, it is you that needs the answers that I hold."

"Very well, then." He poured another generous helping of rum into his goblet. "Where is Katerina?"

"In the Lockwood stronghold. Is it not obvious?" Hayley replied, her response somewhat garbled as she swallowed a bite of decadent rum cake. She reclined back in her chair, propping her elbows onto her knees.

"And what protections does the Lockwood stronghold have?"

"Against vampires? Everything. Even though they are in control of a vampire horde, the entire building is doused with vervain and only Katherine and whoever she chooses are allowed within. They have stake-loaded crossbows stationed at every parapet and thousands of guards."

"Well, then it's quite simple, is it not? With some brute force, I can lay siege around their walls and simply batter the damned thing down."

Hayley's lips quirked a fraction. "I think your plan is in need of improved preparation. You cannot starve them out; there are endless tunnels and caverns located underneath their walls. Several of them are enchanted and the Lockwoods have magic on their side; they could hide for years."

"What?" Klaus said, a furrow appearing between his brows. "They have witches?"

Hayley hesitated, then lifted the goblet to her lips instead of an answer. The large gulp of liquid courage warmed the icy chill that had washed into her blood and she licked her lips slowly. "The Lockwoods always did. But…I believe they have acquired a new witch, though this is only speculation. I have suspected such ever since Katherine formed an alliance with the Lockwoods. How else is she able to keep her army protected from the sun? Or manage to fill our home with wolfsbane?"

"And how do you know about the existence of such witches?"

Hayley swallowed and looked away, green eyes darkening at the memories flooding her mind and bombarding the backs of her eyelids. She took another large swig from her goblet, closing her eyes against the sharp burn as the alcohol seared down her throat. The room was starting to spin and her pulse was pounding a hollow into her throbbing skull. "When I lived with the Lockwoods, I was examined by a witch once every fortnight."

Klaus' head cocked in curiosity, while his wine glass dangled dangerously from his fingers. "For what?"

Hayley leveled him with a hard stare and shook her head, wild brunette curls brushing her flushed cheeks. "No, you cannot pry that from me. The deal was that I give you information about Katherine, not myself."

"True, but as of now, you have given me nothing of value." Leaning forward, he studied her, blue eyes burning into her own. "You are withholding something from me and I demand an answer."

There was far too much wine in her body. It was a similar experience to the one she had at the ball—the room was starting to spin and she closed her eyes against the whirling furniture, willing her brain to think of something—anything, except what Elijah had told her in confidence.

"She's trying to create hybrids," she finally blurted, sighing quietly in relief. That simple sentence was the truth, though thankfully not the one currently searing a hole through her brain.

Klaus' stare hardened, his eyes darkening into hard sapphires. "What?" he growled lowly.

"Katherine knew that you didn't have the ability to make more because the doppelganger you used had been killed in the sacrifice. There's an overabundance of male werewolves in the Lockwood household, so she made use of them with the witches that were loyal to the Lockwoods."

Klaus snarled, brandishing a fork at her. "Any success?"

Hayley tipped the remainder of the jug into her goblet, eyes fixated on the silverware in case his temper decided that it would be better to drive the fork through her forehead than having it hanging from his fingertips. "Obviously not. The Lockwood witches were never capable of such dark magic and the results were abysmal. They died fairly quickly—bleeding from the nostrils and eyes was a fairly common occurrence. But with a new witch by her side, who knows what Katherine would be capable of?"

He stood suddenly, the magnificent oak chair skidding out from behind him. Stalking over to Hayley, he laid a hand on her shoulder, calloused thumb sweeping over her collarbone and dark gaze boring into her own. "Consider the debt paid in full."

A light squeeze and he was gone, a door somewhere in the house slamming behind him. Hayley inhaled an unsteady breath and tipped her head back, draining the remainder of the alcohol down her throat. She rested her head on her knees, knowing that she should be concerned with what Klaus could possibly do with the information that she had supplied. But with the copious amounts of alcohol swimming through her blood, she could not quite bring herself to care.

Another desperate cry tore itself from Marcel's mouth and Stefan stepped back, smirking widely. He tossed the bloodied axe to the ground, kicking aside the digit that had been detached by his hand. The evidence of torture had been wrought into the battered vampire's figure, carved open his heaving chest and resplendent in several bloody stumps on his feet. Moving towards his wall of torture, Stefan plucked a long, narrow knife from the wall, twirling it experimentally in one hand.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, running its blade delicately down Marcel's lacerated chest.

"A misericorde," Marcel mumbled, split lips fumbling over the words.

"And what does it do?"

"The coup de grâce. It delivers the death stroke."

Stefan shook his head, sadistic grin widening. "Don't think that you should be so lucky. We are immortal, are we not? Let's have some fun."

He rammed the blade under the dangling vampire's exposed arms, twisting the handle slightly as Marcel writhed in pain, arms desperately yanking against his restraints to no avail. Stefan pulled back and the dagger released Marcel's flesh, sliding gruesomely out of his body. "I think that was your heart, was it not?"

"Why?" Marcel suddenly roared, swinging forward and rattling the shackles. "I have given you everything. I have nothing left that Katherine could possibly want."

"Oh, of course not. Katherine has been quite busy as of late with her hybrid creations, and I needed some amusement. So here we are."

Several piercing screams rang through the chambers nearby, as though in response to Stefan's words. Harsh, garbled words accompanied the sound of violent thrashing of flesh against stone.

"Won't your father come looking for his precious son?" Marcel snarled, eyes darting towards the source of the tortured cries. A tiny ripple of movement caught his attention and he squinted into the inky darkness. Cloaked in shadows, a small figure stood at the doorway to the cell, a hood shrouding any discernible features from view. One small hand rose, and an index finger graced pale pink lips, wordlessly pleading for his silence. Though he tried to fight against it, the bloom of hope's blossoming tendrils took hold. The monotonous thuds of other imprisoned heartbeats pounded in Marcel's ears and he concentrated, finally distinguishing the insignificant flutter emanating from the petite creature at the door.

"You needn't worry about my father. If all goes according to plan, he'll be dead within a fortnight. And then I will be the ruler of all England."

"The Lockwoods will not concede to having a vampire as their king."

Stefan shrugged. "Katherine always has a plan. Her little witch slave, Davina will see everything to fruition."

Marcel's dark eyes narrowed and he spat, as more of his blood trickled out of his mouth. "She has a witch?"

"Of course she does," Stefan replied nonchalantly, wiping down the misericorde's bloody blade. "Katherine despises the idiot child, but she's immensely powerful and willing enough."

The figure suddenly darted away into the gloom, cloak swirling silently around its retreating body, taking Marcel's optimism with every fading step. He closed his eyes as Stefan's mace cracked against his sternum, sealing his fate within the chamber's bloodstained walls.

The dark colors washed themselves over the canvas, melding together in inexplicably rich tones. His hands worked feverishly, the many hues blossoming from under the silken stroke of his paintbrush, whirling into a dark dance that he found somewhat familiar. It was strange; the black swirls likening themselves to dark, unruly curls, the slight flashes of green like emeralds or wolf eyes.

Klaus stopped. The paintbrush jerked to a standstill and he laid it gently at the base of the easel, retreating slowly from his work. Blue eyes wandered over his newest creation, absorbing every detail.

It was different, he supposed. Not a tranquil landscape or a pretty maiden on a horse. A replica of her that he had somehow put to canvas. Dark and twisted, lovely but frightening. And Klaus Mikaelson did not take well to being frightened, especially not from himself.

Lunging forward, he grabbed the canvas and marched to the roaring fireplace. His eyes flickered over the painting and he held it over the greedy flames, ready to release it to their orange maws.

"Please, don't."

She stood there, hand resting delicately on the doorknob, wide eyes fixated on the rapidly heating painting. He slowly lowered his hand and she stepped forward, taking the warm canvas from him.

"I like this one," she said quietly, surveying the other paintings displayed throughout the room. She set it down gently on the table littered with thousands of sketches and nubs of charcoal. Green eyes snapped up to his, alcohol-induced mischief in them. "It doesn't make me want to vomit."

Circling around the table, she perched delicately on the edge of the chaise lounge near the fireplace, golden wine glass dangling from slender fingers. "Why did you paint it?"

He smiled—almost warmly, if that was possible. "Painting is a metaphor for control. Every choice is mine—the canvas, the color. As a child I had neither a sense of the world, nor my place in it. But art taught me that one's vision can be achieved by sheer force of will."

Hayley rolled her eyes. "Control. What an interesting concept. I've never had much experience with that in my life."

He cocked an eyebrow, settling himself at the opposite end of the long couch. "Do explain."

Her green eyes narrowed but she shifted to face him, head cocked. "And why should I? A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets."

"Secrets lie within you not because you lack eager lips…" his eyes dropped down to her moistened ones, "…but because you do not have a willing ear ready to listen." Shrugging, he leaned back against the plush cushions, arms open. "But, here I am. Willing and waiting."

Hayley's resistance was wavering, the ridiculous amounts of wine muddling her normally sharp senses. Piercingly beautiful blue eyes swallowed her, bored into her soul and she wanted to surrender, to crumble to whatever he asked of her. He was right, of course, the smug bastard. Her past had ripped apart her soul and now it clawed against her windpipe, threatening to break free. It would be easy. The words were already simmering at the surface and she need only part her lips before everything would be spilled out into Klaus' ears.

"It is a long tale, I'm afraid."

Klaus cocked an eyebrow. "We have two fortnights, surely that is enough?"

She looked vulnerable, hands fisting themselves in the fabric of her robe, knotting and unraveling the silk. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Hayley finally relented and slowly began her account.

"The Marshalls were never a prominent family, my grandfather had long fallen out of favor with the Lockwoods after some sort of ridiculous spat. Father was aware of that but he also knew that the Lockwoods were in desperate need of female wolves to continue the werewolf bloodline. Only males had been birthed for nearly a decade, and they were desperate.

However, my father was sterile…" Hayley paused as Klaus wrinkled his brow, slightly confused. "Riding accident," she replied quickly, before continuing. "He could not give my mother what she so desired, a place in court. So, one fateful evening, he discovered a squalling baby recently birthed by one of the young chambermaids sent from France, and she bore the wolf mark on her shoulder. So, he took that baby and raised her as his own; Mother even wore a cushion under her gown as though to show everyone that she was great with a phantom child."

"And that child was you."

"Yes," Hayley murmured, eyes downcast into her lap. "I am not of noble blood. Only a commoner."

"And what happened next?"

She threw him an odd look, one perfect eyebrow arched, before turning away again. "You do not show concern at my background. Does it not unease you? Sharing a seat with someone from the peasantry?"

Leaning forward, he grasped her chin, tugging it up so that her glistening green met his deep blue. "I am not my sister and I care not for such things. Blood is blood."

His palm fell from her flushed skin and she shivered, uncomfortable with the sudden lack of warmth. "My father took me to court as a babe and proudly exhibited the mark on my shoulder. And suddenly, the Marshalls were welcomed with open arms. My mother was never more elated. One flaw that my father had not foreseen in his scheming was the initiating of the werewolf curse. I had to trigger the curse before I flowered into a woman in order to produce new pups for the Lockwoods. I was a quiet child, and I did not enjoy conflict of any sort. When I reached my fifth birthday, my father began the beatings."

Klaus' hands twitched and Hayley could have sworn that there was a muscle ticking at the corner of his jaw. His eyes were liquid fire, the bottomless blue burning brighter than she had ever seen before.

She paused again and he jerked his head tightly, gesturing for her to continue.

"My father needed me to harness the rage that boiled beneath the surface of every wolf—I was no use to the Lockwoods if I was not wolf. Every chance he could, he bellowed the words that would wound me most, whipped me until my body was striped black and blue. Somehow, I believe that hurting me wounded him as well. He was never quite the same, his moods and health deteriorated beyond repair, but the violence continued. My mother turned a blind eye to it all; she cared not for anyone but herself.

I never retaliated to my father's abuse until my tenth birthday. He had his horse brought around and he ordered me fetched. I fought—the hardest I had ever fought up to that time, and I screamed for the entire household to hear. But, it was useless in the wake of my father's will. We rode to his usual hunting grounds, deeply buried within the forest surrounding my home, and he began the beatings again, only this time he was using the butt of his sword."

A stray tear flew down her cheek, and Klaus' eyes focused on the glistening diamond rolling down her skin. He made no move to touch her again, hands tightly locked in fists.

Her fingers reached up, hastily brushing away the evidence. The moisture streaked her skin and the firelight danced off her moistened, luminescent skin. "I tried to resist the fire within me, I tried to control it, but it was all too much. After all, how could I run from something that was already within me? The curse makes you strong, even when you have not become full wolf. And as my father loosened his grasp on his sword, I tore it from his hand and in my rage, drove it through his belly."

Hayley stopped, a sob interrupting her tale and tearing itself through her clamped lips. Her vision was swimming, tears overwhelming all. A handkerchief was pushed into her hands and she dabbed delicately at her wet lashes. "And so I triggered my curse. The last thing that my father told me was that he loved me and that he hoped that my mother was happy now. I hated her for what she did to him. She drove him to the brink of insanity and he never found his way back.

The next day, my first moon's blood came and I was brought to Lady Marianna Lockwood. She instructed me on everything that I needed to know now that I was being raised in her household. The one thing that she neglected to inform me about was the mating rituals."

"What?" Klaus snarled, finally breaking his rigid silence. His back was ramrod-straight, hands clenched around the dark frame of the chaise lounge, clenched fingers threatening to tear through the wood.

Though she had been teary-eyed and sniffling minutes ago, Hayley was now emotionless, her gaze steely and cold. "If I had thought the beatings were bad, the raping was worse," she said, with a humorless bark of laughter. "They needed heirs to the Lockwood family, so once every fortnight, I, along with several other girls, were taken into the dungeons and the Lockwood men had their fill. They were not gentle, they rutted like dogs. And after every one of those disgusting evening, I was sent to a witch to be examined for pups. Thankfully, none ever took."

"And your agreement with Commander George?"

"I was angry," Hayley replied flippantly, turning to gaze at the hearth. "I wanted to exact my revenge upon the people who raped me and turned my father into a monster. And all of that has lead me here."

His face was blank, unseen tumultuous emotions churning inside as he gazed at her face. Dark eyes washed over her and he rose slowly from his seat, hands clasped behind his back. "I believe that it is time for me to take my leave. Perhaps, you should as well. You have had quite a strenuous time, some rest would do you well."

With a turn of his heel, he marched out of the door, the latch clicking shut behind him. Soft green eyes remained on the door, slightly hurt and anxious. Hayley's teeth worried her lips as she plucked up the dark painting lying on the table. Running one finger delicately over the rough ridges of the dried paint, she wondered why she could not keep her damn lips sealed.

He paced in the snow, fists clenched by his sides, feet crunching through the icy crystals. He should not care, he could not care. It was not something that he permitted himself. A terrifying fury rattled him and he threw a fist into a nearby evergreen. It did nothing to relieve his anger, but rather, increased it by showering him with fistfuls of the powdery fluff coating its naked branches.

Endless barrages of visions of Hayley paraded themselves across the back of his eyelids. A thin, trembling child. Wide, terrified green eyes; glossy, dark curls; cowering in fear as her father approached. Pale, delicate skin broken and marred with pain and immeasurable amounts of suffering. Crouched over her father's body as he breathed his last breath, reminding his daughter of his love and devotion. Tortured in the Lockwood dungeons by their numerous men. That image nearly made him throw his head back and howl with rage. She was pinned down, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the sickening acts happening below.

His hatred for the Lockwoods burned ever brighter, the flames scorching his body. A thought wormed itself into his head and he grinned sadistically into the darkness. Turning, he raced into the forest.

Tonight, he would bathe in wolf's blood.

AN: HELLOOOOOOOOOOO! I am so sorry.. it's been a while since I've updated and I apologize :( School and break have been wreaking havoc on my life so I've had basically no time to write. Hopefully this chapter is up to par, it was written rather hastily.. Anyways, I want to thank everyone for all their love and support that they've shown this fic! Thank you to itslucilebitch on tumblr, who posted a really amazing, totally wonderful, made my entire freaking day, graphic depicting Klaus and Hayley. IT WAS SO BEAUTIFULLLLLLL! THANK YOU SO MUCH! Now, onto your lovely questions!

1. When are you updating?

I don't really have a schedule planned and I write my chapters one at a time, so I can't give you a definite date. But, hopefully sometime next week? I'm going to be heading up to the mountains for four days, so I won't be able to write for several days. :(

2. Is this dinner going to be the infamous 4x16 scene?

Well, you've read the chapter, so you know that the answer is unfortunately, no. I think having Klaus and Hayley sleep together right now is a smidge early.. we'll see though.. don't give up hope!

3. Are you going to hurt Marcel?

Sorry, dear. But yes, he's going to go through some hurt. You don't betray the Mikaelsons and Hayley without getting some ass-whooping.

Thank you all for your support! Please read and review! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! xx