Dark Purpose
By V. C. Turner
Chapter One: The First to Fall
Most people fear the darkness, but that fear is unreasonable. After all, we spend nine months surrounded by darkness and silence until we're ripped from that abundant peace and thrown into a world of light … and pain.
Humans go through great lengths to avoid the darkness, whenever possible.
They've been conditioned to park next to streetlights to avoid criminals.
They instructed to never walk alone at night, as if evil only attacks the solitary.
They carry flashlights with them so they can peer into the unknown, without a clue as to how to face that unknown.
They shudder during the coming thunderstorm, readying their candles as if it will burn away the wicked thing that awaits them.
Perhaps it's because people fear what's coming.
They should.
I'm coming.
Their efforts to secure their own safety are meaningless to me, but it's nice to see them try.
I don't want them to run, but it is nice when they do.
I don't need them to scream.
The fear in their eyes is enough; at least at the start.
I don't fear it.
Darkness is neither my ally nor my enemy.
Darkness is simply necessary.
I wrap myself up in it like a cloak, but never allow it to touch me.
I'm not evil.
I, like Darkness, am necessary.
When I chose the first one, I wasn't looking for a weakling. There's no fun in that. I wanted a fighter. It gets the adrenaline pumping and helps me focus.
Focus is important when you plan to turn an ordinary killing into a statement.
I need to make a statement.
The First to Fall broke all the rules that night. He walked alone. He parked a little too far away from the light casting an orange glow around a 30-foot area of the parking lot. He maneuvered his six-foot frame at a slow, steady pace.
He was bold. I had to give that to him.
He never sensed my approach; too busy punching commands into his phone that he didn't see me coming.
They never see me coming.
He struggled. He lost.
He looked me in the eye. I smiled.
My smile was the last thing he saw.
Then – darkness.
See. Nothing to fear.
Bonnie Bennett cocked the 9mm Reuger, and aimed at her target in an effort to take him down as quickly as possible. She locked her wrists and elbows in position. She gripped the gun firmly. She tuned out every other sound. Her nerves settled.
She fired.
The bullet quickly blew through the center of the forehead, leaving a hole slightly larger than a centimeter in the front and one twice as large in the back.
Matt gave her a congratulatory pat on the back as he removed his goggles. His sweet manner hadn't changed over the years. Pride showed in his bright blue eyes.
She removed her goggles too and looked at the paper target that hung 50 feet away.
"Nice shot, Bennett," Matt said, "You sure you don't want to join the force?"
"Thanks but no thanks – Donovan," she smiled back.
Bonnie laughed at her long-time friend. He always sounded like a police academy brochure – motivated, optimistic, and with a touch of testosterone that wasn't entirely annoying.
After entering the field of law enforcement, Matt developed a habit of calling everyone by their last names. She adjusted to this change quickly, knowing that eventually he would swing back to calling her "Bonnie" when the novelty wore off.
Tyler joined the police department at the same time as Matt, but he wasn't nearly as indoctrinated. He triggered his werewolf curse two years earlier and since then, he focused his efforts on controlling his temper for at least 29 days out of the month. He followed the rules and moved through the ranks.
Tyler preferred to walk the beat and catch bad guys.
Matt, however, aimed to be in charge. Perhaps it had to do with all those years of fighting against supernatural foes. Bonnie guessed that he needed to feel in control of something.
Still, serious crime just didn't exist in Mystic Falls.
A vandalism here. A trespassing there. Nothing really earth-shattering.
Humans lived fairly innocuous lives, and Vampires always covered their tracks well enough to diminish risk of exposure to the outside world.
"I will just stick to what I'm doing," she told him, "You catch them. They release them. I track them. That's how it's going it go."
Matt, aka Detective Donovan, nodded in agreement. Bonnie adored the goofball even though he tried to recruit her on a daily basis. She knew he just wanted to keep a closer eye on her, and she respected that.
Bonnie, however, could take care of herself. She wielded her magic with more control than ever before, yet her emotions continued to play a role in the intensity of that magic. Her spells no longer overwhelmed her, however anger and fear could intensify her powers; turning a simple spell into a dangerous one.
Bonnie didn't need to carry a weapon for her job as a Parole and Probation officer, but she requested a Conceal and Carry permit several months ago and was granted it after completing all the necessary training and red tape. Magic was fine, but she preferred to take down people the old fashioned, and less suspicious, way.
Nevertheless, carrying a gun made her a target. She accepted that. She was used to being a target.
What she wanted now was to reserve her powers for use against supernatural creatures rather than human ones.
Bonnie started her job three weeks earlier and settled into the position quickly.
She was the only female Probation Officer in the department, so she started work receiving more than her fair share of scrutiny from her colleagues. She didn't let that bother her. She refused to let it bother her.
Grams always taught her to use a no-nonsense approach to everything she did – professionally and personally.
"Don't you take crap from anybody," she'd say, "You're probably twice as good as they are, so you show them what you're made of."
Bonnie always took her Grams' words to heart. She missed the older woman's sharp tongue and even sharper senses.
Bonnie soon earned the respect of most of the office staff; including her direct supervisor – Mr. Forrester.
She inherited her caseload from a newly retired officer named David McLaughlin, who was cleaning out his desk the day she started. She remembered his chipper manner as he packed away his things and prepared to go on a cruise with his wife after years of planning and saving.
"I'm sure you can handle it, Bennett," McLaughlin told her when referring to his old cases, half looking at Bonnie and half skipping out the door with boxes of pictures and awards earned over the years. He behaved as if he'd hit the lottery and couldn't wait to pawn the job off onto some fresh meat.
She watched him exit the office he once shared with another probation officer, Charles Benedict.
Benedict reminded Bonnie of her father in many ways. He sported the same short haircut, round face and big brown eyes. He had a daughter whose picture adorned every flat space in his work area.
He always packed his belongings by 4:59 each day. Home called to him and he answered quickly.
To be honest, Bonnie wished her own father were as dedicated to her when she was growing up. Rudy spent so much time on the road that there were days she forgot she had a father.
Despite his frequent absence, her grandmother, Sheila, made sure Bonnie grew up with as much love as possible. She was the one who encouraged Bonnie to shoot for her dreams and not allow other people's perception of her gender or race to stop her.
Bonnie spent her first weeks getting adjusted to the online database system and familiarizing herself with the caseload of 55 ex-offenders. About 80 percent of them were men who had served time or had been charged with some type of assault, theft, or DUI. Others had minor drug offenses or destruction of property in their backgrounds.
None of them seemed more than she could handle, but she still decided that getting into shape would be a good idea. After all, her 5 foot 2 frame wasn't exactly intimidating, even with the additional two inches given to her by the dark brown boots she donned.
Bonnie's college coursework focused more on theory, conflict resolution, and case management. The professors at Whitmore didn't teach her how to physically handle herself with potentially aggressive people.
For that, I turned to her friends.
Matt taught Bonnie handgun skills, showing her how to hold and fire a variety of weapons in self-defense. He drilled her on how to think on her feet and improve her reaction time. He taught her well and she learned quickly.
Tyler helped Bonnie with hand-to-hand combat training. She hoped to never need them, but she wanted to build up some muscle to go along with the firepower.
They practiced every morning before work. Tyler seemed to take a perverse pleasure in flipping her over his shoulder on a daily basis. Bonnie gave him plenty of lumps too, often taking him by surprise. What she lacked in strength, she made up for in speed.
Matt and Tyler were like big brothers to her, which was nice since she was terribly short on family.
They were all short on family.
The darkness that encompassed Mystic Falls orphaned all of them, so they stuck together as much as possible. They hang out most weekends whenever one of them didn't have a date. Tyler got the most action, but that wasn't really a huge surprise. He had a goofy charm about him along with a perfect body to match.
Matt buried himself in work, but Bonnie got the feeling he had a girl on the side that no one knew about just yet.
Then there was Caroline. Caroline finished her internship with The Washington Post and was set to return home to start her career as a Cops and Courts Reporter for the local newspaper. Leave it to Care Bear to find a job where no one can legally stop you from being nosey.
Bonnie loved them all.
Bonnie moved into her first place just after her job started. Her tiny apartment complex stood proudly on Congress Street.
The owner, Georgia Fell, waived the security deposit since she was an old friend of Grams.
The rent was reasonable and Bonnie's small apartment sat parallel to a lush rose garden. She parked on the street, but didn't mind since there very little traffic flowed through Mystic Falls.
Bonnie hadn't met any of her neighbors yet. Mrs. Fell said that one worked construction and the other worked at a bar. She doubted she'd see much of either of them and couldn't remember their names.
Her apartment building also boasted an obscenely large laundry room.
Bonnie didn't enjoy doing laundry, but since the washers and dryers lined only one side of the room, she had the freedom to dance or exercise downstairs any time she wanted.
One Wednesday evening, Bonnie decided that she had put off her least favorite chore long enough. She filled her laundry bags to the brim and headed to the basement, bringing her music with her. Dancing helped clear her head, which, in turn, focused her magic.
A couple of bags of laundry wouldn't take too long, she thought, even though they were both stuffed and she kept reaching down to pick up the socks and bras that that toppled out in their futile escape attempt.
Bonnie tossed her things in the nearest washer then pulled out her iPhone and Bluetooth Speaker. She removed her shoes because she danced better without them.
She turned on her new playlist and a smooth, mid-tempo R & B song began to flow out of the speakers. She turned up the sound because she knew it wouldn't carry beyond her laundry room sanctuary.
Bonnie spun and moved to the music; her body turning and twisting to the rhythm in perfect synch with the beat. Her Grams told her that she should have been a dancer, but she knew she couldn't make a living from it.
Besides - preferred the freedom of dancing when, where and how she wanted.
Glad no one watched her, she spun, twirled, and jumped through the air while pointing her toes like an amateur ballerina.
The song faded out and her movements slowed. She knew the next song was a love song by Ed Sheeran. With no one to dance with, her heart sunk a little.
Bonnie closed her eyes, and swayed to the music with an imaginary dance partner. The song played through the room, but she didn't want to think about romance. She just didn't have the time or the prospects.
That's when she felt it – just after the word "romance" skittered across her brain. Warm hands attached themselves to her waist. She should have jumped at the unexpected contact, but she didn't.
Long fingers attached to male hands held her as she felt a solid chest press against her back.
Bonnie wondered when she had slipped into a dream without realizing it.
She soon realized that she was dealing in reality after a strong chin brushed her ear and she felt the intense sensation of turned on by a man she couldn't see.
He moved fluidly with the music as unreasonably naughty thoughts entered her mind.
She could smell his expensive cologne.
She felt his warm breath on her goose pimpled neck. She feared turning around believing that he'd vanish if she did.
Unable to fight the urge to see his face, Bonnie turned to look at her mystery dance partner.
Her face nearly came in direct contact with a half unbuttoned shirt displaying a small cluster of dark hair perched atop a well-muscled chest.
She looked up to see him – a six-foot Viking god staring down at her with a slight smile playing across his face.
The soulful brown eyes gazed into hers; the color almost matching the shade of his tousled hair. His angular face showed a smile of kindness attempting to cover the bad boy thoughts he appeared to be having.
He scanned her face for recognition, posing an unspoken question from one supernatural creature to another.
Bonnie broke from her reverie.
He was a vampire, and he knew her witch identity.
He quickly backed away, giving her a slight bow, and then returned to stand in her personal space.
He took Bonnie's hands and positioned one on his shoulder and the other he clasped his own hand as he led her into a waltz.
For some reason, she allowed him the dance without fully understanding why. Vampires, especially handsome ones, could not be trusted. In fact, Bonnie trusted only a select few of their kind.
She considered the possibility that he could compel witches, but she pushed that theory aside for a few moments so she could enjoy the feel of him sweeping her around the room.
His practiced and graceful movements hypnotized her. Bonnie felt lightheaded around him. She promised herself she wouldn't look into his eyes again. She wanted to focus on the dance, and make sure she didn't trip over her own feet. But she couldn't help it. She needed to see his eyes again – to search them for a threat, but when she did – she saw nothing but want and mischief.
He stared at her like as if appreciating a work of art at a museum.
Bonnie attempted to remain calm, knowing the dangers of being aroused by a vampire.
The song started to fade and she dreaded it for two reasons: First, she didn't want the dance to end. She enjoyed the sensation of being held, lifted and carried like Cinderella. Second, once the song ended, she would need to say something to him. She had no idea where to start since her words vanished the instant he touched her.
As the song ended, he lifted Bonnie high in the air and her stomach lightly pressed against his face. She felt his hot breath ignite the skin around her belly button, sending jolts of sexual electricity to her core.
He lowered her slowly, so that her body brushed against his during each sensual moment of Bonnie's descent. Once her face became level with his, dark brown eyes search her green ones for permission.
She tried not to gaze at his mouth, but she did, noticing that his tongue slipped past his luscious lips to moisten them just as her feet touched the floor.
An impish grin appeared in his handsome face as he graciously bent down, taking her hand. He brushed his warm lips against her skin and looked up at her with lethal smile, only she knew she wasn't in any danger …well, perhaps parts of her were.
"Thank you for the dance, lovely one," he crooned, "My name is Kol by the way. Kol Mikaelson."
Bonnie's heart thudded beneath her ribcage as the words rolled from his tongue like warm honey. Aware of each other's supernatural identities, she continued to question her attraction to this particular vampire. Being friends with them was one thing. Dating them was something else entirely. Most were scoundrels that couldn't be trusted. This one would prove no different.
Or would he?
Bonnie knew he wanted her to say something, but she need a moment to process his affect on her. She felt her cheeks burn. She could tell that he'd noticed her nervousness as she smiled back at him.
His scent made her dizzy and she worried that if he licked his lips again, she might throw him against the wall and have her way with him.
"I'm Bonnie Bennett," she managed say, her voice squeaking a little on the last syllable of her name.
He smiled at her again. Bonnie felt uncertain if he was charmed or amused by shy manner.
"Pleasure to meet you, Bonnie," he said with an expression best described as sinful.
She noticed his accent. It sounded British, but his sharp features appeared as if he had descended from Viking ancestry.
Bonnie gathered her wits once his scent escaped her nostrils and allowed her to think clearly again.
"I'm assuming you're one of my neighbors," Bonnie asserted, noting the greater control she just gained over her voice.
She backed up to lean against the washing machine hoping it would keep her standing erect long enough to finish the conversation with a measure of dignity.
Kol stepped toward her. Bonnie then noticed his attire: a slightly rumpled tuxedo. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and appraised her once again.
Bonnie mentally pleaded with him to stop his staring at her. She started feeling hot in places that shouldn't be hot for a vampire. Her Grams would kill her for this. At least she hadn't touched him – but she desperately wanted to do just that.
Kol reached for Bonnie's shoulder-length hair, which cascaded around her beautiful face in small waves. She had no idea how it looked after being twirled around the laundry room in his arms, but he appeared to like it. He ran his fingers over a few strands and started talking again.
"Well, sweet Bonnie, tell me something," he started, "Would you have dinner with me Friday night?"
Bonnie considered his request. Witches created vampires more than a thousand years ago, but since then, the two species often hated one another. They frequently stood on opposite sides.
Bonnie looked away from him to gather the courage to speak.
"Isn't there a rule about vampires dating witches?" she asked.
His smirk sent wicked shivers down her spine. She had no power over the magic he threw her way.
"Well, I promise you, Bonnie - If such a rule existed, I'd ignore when it comes to you," he said.
Bonnie considered the fact that, before Kol was turned, he possessed only a slightly less deadly amount of charm.
Between the raspy timbre of his voice and the accent, she found herself pressing her legs together to stop the heat he evoked in her.
She began to feel a tingle in her cheeks, knowing they were turning a deep shade of red beneath her brown skin.
She started to look down and he moved to stand closer to her; too close for someone who had just met her.
Kol touched Bonnie's face; a gentle caress that warmed her and she instinctively looked up at him and waited.
He rubbed the pad of his left thumb across her top lip, then her bottom lip.
"You didn't answer my question about dinner," he said softly.
The man knew she was too shaken to refuse him.
"That – That's sounds fine," she stuttered, "What about 7p.m.? We can meet in front of the building."
Kol nodded.
"One more question then, Love," he started.
"What's that?" Bonnie asked.
"Do you ever kiss on the first date?" Kol inquired.
Bonnie thought her heart stopped. She knew the answer he wanted and I hated the fact that she was about to respond so quickly.
She gathered her resolve before speaking.
"Typically I don't," she answered, biting her lip.
He nodded, but didn't step away. In fact, he inched closer.
Bonne felt certain of only one thing in that moment: he had every intention of kissing her.
The terrifying thing was: she considered letting him.
Kok lifted Bonnie's chin, tilting her face up to his. It appeared as though he was having an inner debate. She could see his brown eyes swirl at the prospect of kissing her and discovering whether or not she would incinerate him with her mind or her body.
He probably wanted both.
His hands touched her waist again, only this time he slipped his fingers beneath her t-shirt and connected with her bare skin. Her lips throbbed. All of them.
Kol leaned in, nuzzling Bonnie's cheek as his hair tickled her forehead. He was way too good at this. She knew she shouldn't be falling for it.
A soft growl emanated from his throat. It actually sounded more like a purr. His lips brushed her ear and Bonnie swore she was about to pass out.
"I will follow your lead, sweet Bonnie," he whispered, "But you need to know that the next time I'm this close to you – first date or not – I am going to kiss you."