Chapter Text
The Eternity of the Wheel of Suffering
The cycle of rebirth that catches up with every soul. Samsara. The ancient Hindus clearly knew a thing or two about drama when they came up with this concept — an endless wheel of death and birth, turning with the monotonous grind of an old millstone. How amusing that this karma finally caught up with Katerina Petrova. With the woman who, five hundred years ago, outsmarted the devil himself in the form of Niklaus Mikaelson, ran from him, hid from him, survived him, thrived despite him, and generally considered herself untouchable.
Irony? Fate? Or just another nasty little trick from the universe that absolutely hates it when someone gets to laugh last for too long?
The ritual that involved her murder in 1492 and Niklaus’s transformation into a hybrid only led to one thing for our fugitive: escape. She ran then. She ran later. She ran always. Running became her second nature, her religion, her only way to exist in a world full of monsters, hunters, and men who held grudges against her.
But you can’t outrun karma. Not even with vampire speed.
“Twill,” Katherine’s voice came out like an order pretending to be a request.
She settled into the Mystic Grill, at that same corner table she used to call her favorite. Now it was just a table. Just a bar. Just another night in an endless string of nights that had already stretched across five centuries.
The new barmaid had made an impression on her. Then again, what difference did it make who she fucked tonight? Or last night? Katherine had long since lost count of how many times they’d slept together over this long stretch since her return. Since she got the chance to get Stefan back.
Too bad that poor bastard turned her down.
Of course, he immediately got a knife shoved into his gut from the side for it. Katherine still smiled remembering his twisted face. She wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone. Well… maybe just a little. Okay, fine — lying to herself was pointless — she would wish that pain on plenty of people. Especially Stefan. Especially in that moment.
Katherine sighed, swirling the bourbon in her glass. In Mystic Falls, it was the best kind of alcohol available. Then again, in Mystic Falls there wasn’t much good at all, except this bourbon and a couple of vampires she had already used and discarded.
“Remind your lovely Mrs. Pierce one more time what your terms are,” she said without looking at Twill.
Oh right. Forgot to mention that part.
Katherine’s goal and desire — to atone for her karma. Or maybe just to have some fun and create fresh new problems for the Salvatore brothers. She did want Stefan to run, didn’t she? She never quite specified. Maybe after her. Maybe away from her. Maybe in circles like a hamster on a wheel. Who cares — as long as he ran.
Twill. A young nineteen-year-old barmaid with eyes that had seen far too much for her age. Then again, in Mystic Falls that was normal. Everyone here had seen too much.
She rolled her eyes, leaning on the bar counter and wiping yet another glass after her shift. The rag slid across the glass with lazy monotony, betraying exactly how she felt about the whole situation.
Twill would have happily thrown Katherine out with magic. Tossed the arrogant vampire bitch straight onto the street along with her bourbon and her endless demands. But Petrova turned out to be persistent. Especially after she slit Twill’s sister’s throat.
Revenge is a dish best served cold. But sometimes it’s served with a smile and a glass of bourbon, pretending nothing ever happened.
“Redemption for your suffering,” Twill said casually, placing the clean glass on the shelf.
Her voice was flat, emotionless. As if she were discussing the weather instead of the life and death of an ancient vampire.
“One simple ritual will still be required. But there’s a price.”
At Twill’s words, Katherine irritably rubbed her temple. A gesture she only allowed herself in moments of extreme annoyance, when no enemies were around to exploit the weakness.
“For the third time I’m asking and humiliating myself in front of a witch,” Katherine’s voice rang with metal that promised nothing good. “What’s the price?”
She didn’t hide the rudeness. Why bother? This girl knew exactly who she was. Knew that Katherine Pierce had survived five hundred years of hell running from the most terrifying monster in the world. Knew she would stop at nothing. Knew that if Twill didn’t answer, she would find another way. Bloodier. More painful.
Twill paused for about three seconds. The bar was quiet; only somewhere in the back an old jazz record played — the saxophone mourned simpler times.
“Once every few hundred years,” Twill began, her voice taking on the tone of a lecturer reciting ancient history, “there comes a specific alignment of the moon and stars. A constellation the ancients called ‘The Flesh of Samsara’.”
She paused, letting the words sink in.
“When a witch — and through the Petrova line you are both a traveler and, essentially, a witch, and a doppelgänger on top of that…” Twill narrowed her eyes, studying Katherine’s reaction. “You can reclaim your flesh. Become human.”
She allowed herself a small smile.
“But not forever. Just one night. Maybe the best kind of entertainment for you. Get drunk in some overpriced bar without the risk of someone jamming a stake through your heart.”
Katherine listened in silence. Her fingers tightened slightly on the glass — the only sign the information had actually hit home.
“Or for other kinds of entertainment,” Twill added with a meaningful pause. “The kind your perverted mind is already thinking about.”
Katherine ignored the jab. Her brain was running at processor speed, calculating options, possibilities, risks.
“I asked for the price,” she said, and that familiar steel entered her voice — the kind that made even ancient vampires tremble. “No ritual happens without a price. I need to know it. I’m not stupid.”
Twill turned fully toward Katherine. Face to face. Only the bar counter separated them, but the tension between them could have been cut with a knife.
“I mean, sure, I’m your lover and all that,” she bit her lip lightly, pretending to think. She wasn’t much of an actress, but she tried. “But first let me ask you, clever Katherine Pierce. How does a nineteen-year-old girl know all the rules of the wheel of samsara?”
“You’re a witch,” Katherine answered without hesitation.
Twill smirked. The smirk came out bitter, almost grown-up.
“I’m a witch, not a psychic who can guess your consequences.” She placed the glass precisely with the others. The movement was exact, controlled. “I’ll only help. You have to perform the ritual yourself. And it would be best if you spent that single night and its hours doing good deeds and acts.”
Katherine snorted. The snort came out as venomous as everything else she did.
“You think I give a shit about Hinduism?”
Twill looked at her with a long, studying gaze. There was something ancient in that look — something that shouldn’t exist in a nineteen-year-old barmaid.
“If you didn’t care,” she said quietly, “you wouldn’t have come running to me.”
And she smiled lightly.
Silence hung in the bar, thick and heavy like syrup. Katherine stared at her reflection in the dark glass of the tumbler and saw a woman who had been running for five hundred years. Running from Klaus, from herself, from her fate.
And now fate had caught her.
Samsara. The wheel of suffering. How ironic that she — Katherine Pierce, who outsmarted everyone and everything — was about to become its next victim.
“Fine,” she said at last, and the old cockiness was gone from her voice. Only exhaustion remained. The kind of exhaustion that builds up over centuries. “When?”
Twill pulled a small notebook from under the counter and opened it to the right page.
“Three weeks. Full moon. Special stellar alignment. You’ll have time to prepare.”
“Prepare for what?”
“For the fact that for the first time in five hundred years you’ll become human again.” Twill closed the notebook and looked Katherine straight in the eyes. “At least for one night.”
Katherine said nothing. Thoughts, memories, fears raced through her head. Being human. Feeling real pain again. Fearing death again. Being vulnerable again.
“And what am I supposed to do that night?” she asked.
“Whatever you think is right.” Twill shrugged. “Karma is a subtle thing. If you spend the night doing good deeds, maybe the cycle breaks. If not…”
“If not?”
“Then the wheel keeps turning. And the next life will be even worse.”
Katherine smirked. The smirk came out crooked, almost insane.
“Worse than being a vampire hunted for five hundred years by a psycho hybrid?”
“Worse,” Twill answered seriously. “Trust me. It gets worse.”
They stared at each other across the bar counter, and in that look was everything — hatred, respect, fear, and a strange mutual understanding.
“Three weeks,” Katherine repeated, standing up. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Twill nodded.
Katherine headed for the door. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor, measuring steps that led her into the unknown. At the door she stopped, without turning.
“Twill.”
“Hm?”
“Your little sister was delicious.”
Silence. Then a quiet voice:
“Go to hell, Katherine.”
A smirk touched the vampire’s lips. She stepped out into the night, leaving behind the bar, the girl, and another chapter of her endless story.
“Go to hell, Katherine,” Pierce repeated as she walked the night streets of Mystic Falls, rolling her eyes and smirking at her own reflection in the dark shop windows. “Should’ve wished it on Stefan instead.”
She rolled her eyes irritably, adjusting her perfectly styled hair — a habit that hadn’t changed in centuries. Appearance had always been her weapon, and even now, with no one around to appreciate it, she maintained a flawless image.
Three weeks.
For three weeks Katherine Pierce studied everything she could find about the Petrova line. Her family — the one Klaus slaughtered in revenge against the young Petrova. The poor girl was only seventeen then. A poor Bulgarian girl who arrived in England, met Lord Elijah and Klaus.
Memories crashed over her suddenly, as the past always does — without warning, without permission, mercilessly.
She remembered that day so clearly it might as well have been yesterday. The smell of the old castle, the damp stone walls, the polite smiles of servants. Elijah — the embodiment of nobility, charm, danger disguised as perfection. And Klaus…
Katherine remembered clearly that back then there hadn’t even been real chemistry with Klaus. He looked at her like prey. Like a means to an end. Like a tool.
With Elijah, though — there had been chemistry. Real chemistry. Otherwise he wouldn’t have let her escape when Klaus began the hunt. Otherwise he wouldn’t have looked at her like she was something more than just another girl in his endless parade of lives.
She still remembered the blood and the flight. Remembered praying to every god for help, just so Niklaus wouldn’t find her. Remembered the moment she realized the only way to survive was to die.
She hanged herself to keep herself safe. Died with vampire blood in her system. Then, ignoring Rose and Trevor, she did it again — hanged herself to complete the transition.
Rose and Trevor wanted to beat the shit out of her afterward. They were facing a death sentence from Klaus and Elijah, and of course they blamed Katherine for their fate. Classic — the runaway is always the runaway, and everyone always blames you for their problems.
Still, those beautiful conversations with Elijah when she was still young and he was already five centuries old — she remembered every word. Every look. Every promise he never kept.
Katherine shook her head, driving the memories away. The past was the past. Right now only the present mattered. And the future. And the chance to finally stop running.
She entered the woods where they had agreed to meet Twill. The night was dark, but vampire eyes didn’t care. She saw every leaf, every branch, every shadow.
“Look who showed up,” a voice came from the darkness.
Twill stood with her back to her, staring somewhere deep into the forest. She didn’t even turn — she knew it was Katherine. Knew from the footsteps, the breathing, the special aura that surrounded the ancient vampire.
“I hope you understand which spell you need to recite,” Twill huffed, finally turning fully toward Katherine. “It’s June second, after all.”
Katherine tilted her head, crossed her arms over her chest, and approached the witch with that feline walk — the one that made men’s knees buckle and women’s eyes twitch.
“I’ve studied everything I could,” she replied. “Now I…”
She rolled her eyes in irritation. Admitting vulnerability felt disgusting, like teeth grinding.
“I need your help.”
“Whoa,” Twill raised her eyebrows, and a pleased smirk spread across her face. “Petrova herself asking for help. Has the world gone mad? Or am I dreaming?”
Katherine shot her an irritated look. The kind of look that usually made normal people start praying to every god at once.
“I need to know how to perform this ritual,” Pierce snapped. “And I wouldn’t advise pissing me off, witch.”
She took a step forward, closing the distance.
“I want to teach Niklaus Mikaelson a lesson. I’m sure you have reasons too.”
Twill smirked. The smirk came out strange — pleased and frightening at the same time.
“I’m a witch,” she said, her eyes glinting in the dark. “I have no reason to harm an ancient hybrid.”
Pause.
“But it’ll be interesting to see how you do it as a human.”
“Whatever,” Katherine cut her off, not wanting to go deeper into it. “Let’s start.”
They began.
The most important piece of information Katherine found, she wrote down in the Petrova family book. Stolen from little Elena Gilbert. As usual. Signature Katherine — nothing personal, just business.
Carnis Revelatio.
She had never seen or heard this language before, but learning never stops. Old lady Pierce wasn’t about to quit self-improvement just because she’d hit five and a half centuries.
Ingredients:
1. Katherine’s blood — not just a few drops, but nearly a lethal dose. She had to bleed out during the ritual so her vampire nature would “believe” the body was dying.
2. A mirror of polished obsidian — it doesn’t reflect the physical body, only the soul. It had to be large enough for Katherine to see herself full-length.
3. Ashes from a letter she wrote herself and burned. The letter had to be addressed to the one person she never dared tell the truth. The content didn’t matter; the act of confession burning did.
4. Soil from three continents — Europe (where she was born), Asia (where she wandered), and America (where she found temporary peace). Symbol of her wanderer’s path.
5. Moonlight reflected in water.
Everything was ready.
“Right, roll up your sleeves and take off your socks,” Twill tilted her head lazily, eyeing the vampire. “We need blood.”
“Bitch,” Katherine hissed, but obeyed.
She rolled up the sleeves of her perfect blouse, exposing pale forearms. Removed her socks — an important part of the ritual, standing barefoot on the earth, feeling the connection to nature, to the elements, to life itself.
Twill stepped closer, took Katherine’s hand, and began examining it. The witch’s fingers were warm — surprisingly how much heat a regular human could carry.
“What’s this?” Twill frowned, tracing a barely visible scar on the palm.
“Witch’s mark, as you people call it,” Katherine answered casually, as if discussing the weather. “Since childhood.”
There was no nostalgia in her voice. No pain. Just a statement of fact — yes, she was a witch once, yes, there’s a mark, yes, that’s all in the past.
“Perfect,” Twill nodded.
She handed Katherine an ancient dagger with a black handle engraved with symbols Katherine didn’t recognize.
“Left hand,” Twill said. “Along the scar. Straight. And deep. The blood has to flow into the bowl with the water from three continents.”
She stepped back as Katherine took the dagger.
Katherine stared at the blade. Cold, sharp, ready to inflict pain. She wasn’t afraid of pain — five hundred years had taught her to endure anything. But this was different. This pain wasn’t punishment; it was the key.
“Got it,” she said and slashed across her left palm.
The blade sank into flesh easily, meeting almost no resistance. Blood poured out immediately — dark, thick, hot. Katherine directed her hand toward the bowl, letting the blood flow into the water mixed with soil from three continents.
The water began to change color. First pink, then red, then scarlet, then almost black.
“Now,” Twill said when she saw the water had turned completely. “Speak the incantation.”
Katherine gathered her strength. Deep breath. Exhale. And began.
“Samsara chakra, rotate aeternum,
Audite vocem sanguinis mei.
Quinquaginta saecula fugi,
Sed caro mea dormit in pulvere.”
Her voice was steady, but tension ran through it. The words flowed from her lips, and with each syllable the air grew heavier.
“Rakta, rakta, vita mea,
Redde mihi quod perdidi.
Per ossa, per venas, per cor,
Aperi portam carnis.”
Katherine repeated it again and again. The blood in the bowl began to glow — dull red, pulsing in time with her words.
The air around her thickened, became almost tangible. Pressure built, as if invisible hands were squeezing her from every side.
Then she felt the eyes.
Thousands of eyes watching her from the darkness. The eyes of everyone she betrayed, killed, deceived. The eyes of those who died because of her. The eyes of those who wished her dead. The eyes of those waiting for her in hell.
“Noctem unam, horam unam,
Respirare sicut mortalis.
Non pro vita, non pro amore,
Sed pro veritate.”
Pain pierced her entire body.
Katherine screamed but didn’t stop. Bones broke and re-fused — she felt every crack, every splinter, every healing. Veins throbbed, tearing and mending in frantic rhythm.
The heart.
The thing that hadn’t beaten for five hundred years gave its first, timid thump.
Thump.
Katherine fell to her knees. The cold earth under her bare feet felt almost scalding. She kept reciting, choking on her own blood, saliva, tears.
“Karma vidit, karma scit,
Karma nunc iudicat.
Accipe sanguinem, accipe lacrimas,
Accipe totum quod sum.”
The words tore from her lips along with screams. The pain became unbearable, all-consuming, absolute.
“Et da mihi noctem—
Unam noctem vivere!”
The polished obsidian mirror standing before her cracked.
It didn’t shatter — it cracked. Cracks spread like a web, and in each one Katherine saw her reflection. But not the one she was used to. In each crack was a different Katherine. Human Katherine.
Young. Alive. With a beating heart. With color in her cheeks. With tear-wet eyes.
Then everything went still.
Katherine knelt, breathing hard, staring at her hands. The blood on her palms was real, but the wound… the wound didn’t heal instantly. It simply stopped bleeding, like a normal human’s, then closed quickly, completely — for one night.
She pressed her hand to her chest and froze.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Her heart was beating. Rhythmic. Strong. Alive.
Katherine Pierce was human again.
And she didn’t have to wait long.
Niklaus’s appearance for the ritual — now with Elena there — caught her completely off guard. She had thought Klaus would never show up for her again and she could carry out her plan in peace. Not so fast.
Katherine was caught.
Katherine decided to skip the foreplay. She leaned forward and kissed Niklaus.
“Wanderer Katerina…” Klaus’s voice rolled like thunder through the night silence, low, vibrating, with that special intonation that made normal people’s knees buckle.
He raised an eyebrow with a cold smirk, approaching Katherine. Every step was measured, calculated, perfect — like a predator who knows the prey has nowhere to run. His fingers closed around her chin, lifting her face, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“How many runs has it been,” he said, tilting his head to the side.
His gaze held everything — five hundred years of hunting, five hundred years of hatred, five hundred years of wanting to finally end this endless game. And something else. Something Katherine couldn’t name.
Terror shone in her eyes.
Real, animal, primal terror. The same one she felt in 1492 when she first realized this man wasn’t a man — he was a monster wearing a human face. The same one that made her hang herself to escape. The same one that haunted her nightmares for centuries.
But deep down she also felt certainty.
Revenge had to happen. She had managed to become human for one night, but invisible chains still weighed on her — she couldn’t use magic against him. The ritual had stripped her vampire strength but hadn’t fully restored her witch power. Just a spark. Just the memory of who she once was.
“Niklaus,” Katherine began with a heavy exhale, narrowing her eyes slightly.
Millions of options flashed through her mind in a fraction of a second. If her thoughts could run as fast as her body used to, she’d already be on another continent.
Good deeds. Does sex count as a good deed? In a world measured by blood and death, where every action has a price and karma counts every breath — sex with Klaus Mikaelson… is that a sin? Or not? Katherine got tangled in these philosophical thickets, but one thing she knew for sure — it would be damn good.
No, not like that. It would be fucking incredible to sleep with Klaus Mikaelson without preludes, without long talks. Without games, without lies, without running. Just sex. Wild, animal, desperate.
“I’m not a vampire anymore,” Katherine declared, and the words sounded like a verdict.
A verdict that could throw off even bandits, even ancient hybrids, even the devil himself if he were standing nearby.
“I’m human,” she continued, looking straight into Klaus’s eyes. “Vulnerable. Mortal.”
His fingers on her chin trembled. Just a little, but Katherine felt it.
“You can kill me right now,” she said, and there was no fear in her voice. Only challenge. Only truth. “But before death I want one thing — for once in our lives, no lies between us. No running. Just you and me. Exactly as we are.”
Her voice carried solidity. A certainty she probably hadn’t felt in her entire life.
Klaus froze.
Stunned.
Seriously. Truth from Katherine Pierce was an extremely rare gift. He hadn’t even asked for it, but here it was, dropping into his hands like an overripe fruit.
Why not? Violence can be fun. But this… this was something else.
“And what are you offering, Katerina?” he asked, slipping back into that special tone — a mix of caress and ice, tenderness and danger. Sexual.
Devilishly sexual.
He leaned closer to her face, casting a light shadow. Only centimeters separated them. The air between them crackled, melted, burned.
“Answer me,” he whispered, his breath brushing her lips. “Look me in the eyes.”
Katherine looked.
In his eyes she saw everything — five hundred years of hatred, five hundred years of hunting, five hundred years of desire. And now something new was mixing in. Something she was afraid to name.
For a girl like Pierce, sex with Klaus Mikaelson was a massive humiliation. Sleeping with the enemy. With the monster. With the man who murdered her family. With the one she’d fled from for half a millennium.
But also benefit.
There was a chance.
Maybe steal the white oak stake from him. The one that nearly killed him once. Still kept somewhere in his trophy collection. And at the right moment — drive it through his heart.
Or just survive the night. Survive. Again.
Thoughts raced through her head at vampire speed:
“He’ll kill me if I refuse. He’ll kill me if I agree, but later. He’ll kill me either way. So what’s the difference?”
“Sex is just sex. The body doesn’t matter when your soul has been in hell for five hundred years.”
“And besides — it’s Klaus. A thousand-year-old hybrid. They say he’s got talent…”
Katherine almost laughed at the absurdity of her own thoughts. Standing on the edge of death, and she’s wondering if he’s good in bed.
“I’m offering you something you’ve never had,” she said aloud, her voice steady, without a tremor. “Truth. The real kind. No masks, no games, no running.”
She paused, letting the words soak into the air.
“I have one night, Niklaus. One night when I’m alive. Real. Not hiding. Not running. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not asking for love. I just want to know what it’s like — to be with you. For real.”
Klaus was silent.
Something stirred in his chest, beneath layers of centuries-old armor. Something he couldn’t name. Anger? Desire? Curiosity?
“You’re lying,” he said, but the certainty was gone from his voice.
“For the first time in five hundred years — no,” Katherine answered.
And it was the truth.
She stood before him — defenseless, human, with a beating heart and warm blood. No magic, no speed, no strength. Just her. Just Katherine. Just a woman.
Klaus looked at her and saw that same Bulgarian girl. The one who once danced at a ball in England. The one who smiled at Elijah. The one who looked at him with curiosity instead of fear.
He reached out and touched her cheek.
With the back of his hand, slowly, almost tenderly.
“You’re trembling,” he noted.
“I’m human,” Katherine answered.
“Humans tremble.”
“From the cold?”
“From you.”
His fingers slid down her neck, finding her pulse. Rhythmic. Strong. Alive. Real.
“Incredible,” Klaus whispered. “You really are alive.”
“Only tonight,” Katherine reminded him. “And tomorrow…”
“Tomorrow can wait,” he cut in.
Klaus kissed her as if he wanted to drink all her humanity through her lips — right there in the middle of the living room of his old apartment in Mystic Falls. The same one he’d rented under a false name for the third century now, because even monsters sometimes need a place to pretend they have a home.
There was no play at tenderness, no theatrical slowness — only hunger that had been building for five and a half centuries. His mouth covered hers hard, demanding; his tongue plunged inside immediately, finding hers, pinning it, conquering it. Katherine responded instantly — not surrendering, but fighting back. She bit his lower lip until it bled, drew the metallic taste in, swallowed it along with the groan he couldn’t hold back.
He pulled away just enough to growl straight against her lips, voice low, vibrating, thick with the dust of old wood and the bourbon smell that always lingered here:
“You smell like fear… and desire. Both at once. God, how I’ve missed that smell, Katerina.”
She laughed — short, hoarse, almost mad — and the sound echoed off the high ceilings with cracked molding.
“And you smell like blood, rage, and the fact that you’ve already got a hard-on like a steel rod. Five hundred years of abstinence, Niklaus? Or has no one else managed to piss you off this perfectly?”
He grabbed her hair at the roots — hard but not painful — yanked her head back and ran his tongue along her throbbing artery, feeling the human heart pounding beneath the thin skin. Fast. Alive. Real.
“I’ve fucked hundreds. Thousands. But none of them were you.”
Katherine dug her nails into his shoulders through the dark-green leather jacket, scratching the fabric until it squeaked.
“Then prove it was worth chasing me for half a millennium.”
He tore her blouse open — buttons flew across the parquet like small shrapnel, ringing and rolling under the furniture. The thin black tank top underneath was immediately shoved up to her neck, exposing her breasts — full, heavy, nipples already hard, dark, almost painfully sensitive from the chill of the room and the adrenaline. Klaus bent down and took one nipple into his mouth — sucked hard, bit down, tugged until Katherine arched like a bow, clutching his hair and pressing his head harder against her.
“Yes… bite… harder, you bastard…”
He switched to the other one, leaving red bite marks and hickeys, while his second hand was already undoing her belt. The metal buckle clinked loudly in the apartment’s silence. The zipper of her jeans slid down with a wet, obscene sound — the fabric between her legs was already soaked through before he even touched her.
Klaus dropped to one knee right on the old rug — not to kneel, but to rip off her tight black jeans along with the lace panties in one yank. The fabric tore with a loud rip, exposing thighs already covered in goosebumps. Katherine stepped out of the puddle of clothes barefoot onto the cold parquet. Her skin prickled, but she wasn’t shivering from the cold.
She was shivering from him.
He spread her thighs with his hands — rough, commanding, fingers digging into soft flesh — and dragged his tongue along her entire slit in one long, greedy stroke. Katherine hissed through her teeth, grabbed his hair so hard the scalp pulled tight.
“Fuck… yes… just like that…”
He found her clit — swollen, hot, throbbing — and attacked it with his tongue fast, hard, merciless. Sucked it, grazed it with his teeth, flicked the tip of his tongue over it until her thighs shook uncontrollably. Two fingers plunged into her suddenly, all the way to the knuckles, curled inside, and started pressing that exact spot in time with his tongue.
Katherine screamed — no holding back, no acting, real. The sound bounced around the empty apartment, off the walls, off the old fireplace, off the heavy curtains. Her knees buckled, but Klaus caught her with his free hand under her ass, pressed her harder against his face, refusing to let her fall.
“Come,” he ordered, never leaving her clit, his voice vibrating straight against her flesh. “Come on my tongue while you’re still human and can feel it for real.”
She came almost immediately — sharp, convulsive, with a scream that broke into a ragged sob. Wetness flooded his tongue, his chin, ran down his neck.
Klaus didn’t stop — kept licking, sucking every spasm out of her until she went limp in his hands, breathing hard, eyelashes wet with tears.
Only then did he rise.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
Her wetness still glistened on his lips, his eyes burned with blue fire.
He yanked off his jacket in one motion, threw it on the floor. The dark-green T-shirt followed — the fabric ripped at the shoulder from his own pull. His body — muscular, scarred from old wounds and covered in new tattoos inked across centuries — gleamed in the dim streetlight filtering through the gap in the curtains. His cock was already straining so hard against his black pants that the fabric stretched to its limit, veins outlined clearly.
Katherine stared at him — breathing heavily, mouth open, lips swollen from kisses and bites.
“Undress me,” he said quietly, almost gently, but steel ran through the tone. “Or I’ll tear everything off you.”
She stepped forward. Her fingers trembled — not from fear, but from wild, almost painful arousal. She undid his belt. The zipper. Shoved the pants down along with the boxers. His cock sprang free — heavy, thick, veined, the head already slick with pre-cum, a bead sliding down the length.
Katherine wrapped her hand around it — hot, velvety, pulsing. She stroked up and down, squeezed at the base, rubbed her thumb over the frenulum. Klaus growled through clenched teeth, head tipping back for a second.
“To the bed, Katerina. Now.”
He didn’t wait — scooped her up like she weighed nothing and carried her across the room to the wide bed in the corner. The old wooden frame creaked as he threw her onto the mattress. The sheets smelled of him — bourbon, blood, skin, loneliness.
Katherine landed on her back, tank top still shoved up, breasts heaving. She spread her legs herself — wide, shameless, challenge in her eyes.
“Fuck me already, Niklaus. Or are you scared I’ll break?”
He loomed over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head. His cock rested heavy and hot against her stomach, leaving a wet trail.
“I’m only scared of one thing — that you’ll run again.”
He thrust in with one brutal stroke — all the way to the hilt. Katherine screamed — from the sudden stretch, from the fullness, from the way he slammed into her deepest point in a single motion. Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper.
Klaus started moving — hard, deep, with such force that the heavy bed creaked and banged against the wall with every thrust. Every withdrawal left a throbbing emptiness inside her that the next slam immediately filled.
“You’re dripping… like a bitch in heat…” he growled into her ear, lips pressed to her neck. “Feel how I’m stretching your tight little human cunt? How you’re clenching around me?”
“Yes… take me… harder… deeper…”
He wrapped a hand around her throat — not squeezing, just holding, controlling every breath. His other hand slid down, found her clit, and started rubbing it with his thumb — fast, rough, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.
Katherine stopped talking — only moaned, sobbed, screamed. Her body shuddered with every impact. Her nipples rubbed against his chest, leaving red friction marks. Sweat ran down her temples, between her breasts, mixing with his.
“Come on my cock,” he ordered, staring straight into her eyes. “Show me how much you want me, Katerina. Show me this night isn’t a lie.”
She came a second time — even harder, even louder. Her pussy clenched around him in spasm after spasm, milking his own orgasm out of him. Klaus roared — low, animal — and came deep inside her, filling her with hot pulses. She felt every twitch, every spurt, every throb of his cock buried inside her.
They froze — him still inside her, her legs still wrapped around him, both breathing hard, sweaty, trembling.
Klaus slowly pulled out, leaving behind emptiness and the warm slide of their mixed release down her thighs, onto the sheets.
He dropped beside her, rolled her onto her side, pulled her back against his chest. His hand settled on her stomach — possessive, but almost tender.
Katherine breathed heavily, heart hammering like it wanted to burst out of her chest.
He brushed a finger across her cheek, catching a tear — not from pain, but from overflow.
“You’re alive,” he said quietly, almost reverent, lips brushing her temple.
Katherine turned her head, looked at him over her shoulder — wet lashes, swollen lips, still defiant gaze.
“And you’re still a monster.”
He smiled — slow, almost gentle, but the darkness still lingered in it.
“Yes. But tonight… tonight I was your monster.”
She snorted — weakly, tiredly, but with that same spark that never died.
“Don’t get used to it.”
He leaned down and kissed her — softer now, but still tasting of blood, sex, and something neither of them wanted to name.
Outside the window, Mystic Falls slept.
The room smelled of them — sweat, sex, hatred, and a strange, almost impossible closeness.
And they lay there — naked, broken, alive — in silence.
Because everything that needed to be said, their bodies had already said.
And the night wasn’t over yet.