The Last Petrova

Preview

 "Where is she?" Klaus roars.

He hasn't spoken to me this way in a really long time. The amused, sarcastic tone I've so grown used to hearing is gone, and there's only a layer of pure fury remaining.

"Where did she go?" he yells. I let out an involuntary groan as he stomps down on my stomach. I roll away, and jump up before he can kick me again.

"She's gone, Klaus. And this time, you won't be able to find her ever again," I spit. I don't know why I'm provoking him- it's only going to lead me to a more painful death. But I can't help but mock him as I tell him that Katerina Petrova has slipped through his fingers yet again.

I grab a piece of the broken car window, and jab the glass into his stomach. I vamp-race into the woods at the side of the road, and I hear him coming after me.

"Running away?" Klaus shouts. "It's the only thing you Petrovas have ever been good at, isn't it?" he leers.

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 "Remember, Klaus," I say, as I stomp down on the part of the three where the branch is connected to the trunk, "I'm not Katherine."

The branch tumbles to the ground, and I do as well. I land on top of Klaus, and before he has any time to react, I grab the branch and ram it into his gut.

"Goodbye, Niklaus," I spit in his face. Then I sink my hand into his chest and pull out his heart. 

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"What are you going to compel me to do?" I ask. Elijah doesn't answer. "Elijah!" I yell in frustration. "Elijah- bloody hell, would you please just look at me?" I shout.

He finally turns around. Within the blink of an eye, he is standing in front of me, and I immediately curse myself for trying to get his attention. His stare is cold and unpredictable... For some reason, I find myself thinking of the first time I saw the horror beneath the man in the noble mask. Four hundred years ago. In the small mansion in the secluded woods of France. Elijah had ripped out the hearts of fourteen guards, and had told me I had nothing to fear from him.

I let out a gasp of pain as Elijah grabs the end of the stake embedded in my gut and begins turning it clockwise. He's mad at me, of course he is. After all, it was I who condemned him to a fate worse than death one hundred years ago...