BKBKBKBK
"Because you need me?" She repeats; and although he is not looking at her; not observing how she shifts in her seat; he can hear her skin prickle, her heart beat about to explode; he inhales the delicious scent of fear excreting from her pores.
He is a predator. And her terror is potent, choking the air between them, and his eyes won't relax into blue; they remain glowing, dilated and roused by her fear.
He closes his eyes, imagining dead things, her being one of them, and his fingers deftly run over the console until both of their windows are rolled down and the night air clears his lust.
Composing himself, he runs his tongue under his canines that rapidly retract, and tugs at the center of his jeans, then placing his hands innocently back on the steering wheel, he faces the witch with the dried mud crucifix on her forehead, crackling in pieces as she furrows her brow.
"Yes. You were needed hence why you are alive, breathing, sitting inside my vehicle in my shirt." He states, annoyed by the dirt cross's presence and being on her specifically. The symbol had never warded him off, and there had been many souls who had held it up upon sight of him, a demon, praying that the power of the god they worshipped would save them, right before he drained them and tore them apart. And on impulse he wipes away what is left at the center of her forehead, expecting her to cringe under his touch now that she knows who he is, but when she does not, when she allows his hand to linger and trace down the side of her face, he can't help but laugh at how the tables have turned.
"Mama T said you would need some time to get acquainted with your former self," He says, examining Bonnie, as he has never done, because before, her looks were clouded by what she represented, his thwarted revenge, his obstacle, she wasn't a face, she was a tangle of vexations.
"Humor me," he says, his fingers doing what they want, the pads gingerly trailing the shapes of her face, "Do you have any clue of who I am?"
"Klaus." She says, her eyes locked on him, "That is the name you gave when I came back and that is what Mama T called you. Klaus."
His thumb rubs circles over her veins, "But there is no recollection of that name?" He whispers, wanting to press his mouth where his hand rest, on her artery, and he wonders just how far he can go with her.
"Should there be?" She says, earning a genuine smirk from Klaus who withdraws his hand from her neck, not quite sure if he would need to quickly snap it, which would be dreadful due to all the trouble he went through obtaining her, or if he should continue caressing her, which is what he desires at that moment.
Bonnie Bennett might be a newborn but she is aware of intrigue and this excites him.
"Well, I will not spoil the surprise for you, Bonnie," He starts the car, the engine humming over the silence on the dead street, "But I will tell you who you are and why your life is invaluable to me." He turns down narrow alleys and trash-filled backstreets, "You are a witch," He says, glancing at her in awe of their surroundings as he drives through the fabled French Quarter with her Creole homes and Spanish courtyards, avoiding the police blockades and rambunctious crowds of Bourbon Street, "To be truthful, you are a prodigy, one of the most brilliant witches to grace this time period, unfortunately for you, you were using your talents unwisely and died " He states matter-of-factly, "You see, Bonnie, a prodigy cannot fulfill her potential without training, and where I come into the grand scheme of your resurrection is that I have a little problem, a meddlesome issue with a friend of mine in this city. So I needed a witch, and I can only have the best, and the best was no longer alive, so, Voila. I gave you your life back; and on top of this gracious act, I will mentor you, for dear Bonnie, I have known some of the most powerful witches over the thousand years I have been on this spinning rock, and I was even cursed to have been born of one, so you see, only with me will you exceed your potential. And all I ask in exchange for my generosity is that you will eliminate my adversary. Do we have a deal?"
He waits for her to give him her word, anticipating her yes like it was binding. But she is looking out the window at the drunk revelers, decked in beads and showing skin, and she grimaces and asks, "Where are we?"
And he possessively places his hand on her thigh, "New Orleans, love. Your new home."
BKBKBKBK
Inside the stately antebellum mansion, Elijah Mikaelson drinks aged-scotch, riffling through yellowed parchment paper and broken wax-sealed letters next to the sleek apple laptop, on the hand-carved mahogany desk, in the crimson damask covered walls of his younger brother's study.
Although he is freshly arrived to New Orleans off an eleven hour flight, no one can tell, mainly because he is a vampire, and fatigue is non-existent, but also because he is another rare being, one who also manages to keep himself un-ruffled. His black, finely tailored suit is still impeccable, his Italian shoes are un-scuffed, and his cuffs are white and crisp, and fastened with the polished heirloom cufflinks of his family's crest.
He was in Florence, visiting a recently acquired estate and dear human friends who were living, and he had intentions on traveling to Rome for holiday and then an extended stay in Prague, but the last correspondence he received from his mercurial sibling left him unsettled, and he booked the first flight to Louisiana.
He sips his drink, the alcohol burning his throat and temporarily resolving his concerns as he thumbs through the letters, and picks up one from their sister. He reads up to the part where she tells Niklaus she will not be rushing home at his request because her and the bus boy from Mystic Falls had not yet reached Amsterdam, and she could not end their European excursion without him having visited the red-light district, before he hones in on the heavy footfall of his brother's boots swaggering up the palatial granite stairs to the imported floral-etched double doors of the front entry-way.
Flicking the letter back on the pile, he sits at his brother's chair, props his feet up on the rounded edge and listens to the commotion his brother stirs in the home just by setting one foot into the dwelling.
Servants bustle down the stairs, Marissa and Claude, and before the faithful and compelled housekeeper and butler are able to inform their employer that his brother is in his study; Klaus throws open the wooden door of the study and he is a sight. Shirtless and scowling, he stomps across the threshold of the room like a Medieval Lord, and considers Elijah and looks to the four corners of the room, ruling them empty, and back at his brother, always suspicious, always suspecting. And Elijah is used to such displays, and he holds up his glass, "Pleasure to see you too, brother," and he stands, and walks over to embrace his sibling when his full attention is pulled to the petite woman hiding behind him.
Elijah nearly drops his drink, the weight of it light as a feather, as he forgot he was holding it at the sight of the witch. He shakes his head slowly at the manifestation of his fear in front of him, and says, "What have you done, Niklaus?"
And Klaus's glower morphs into a sly smile, "You have met Bonnie before have you not, Elijah?
The Mystic Falls witch is barefoot and wearing his brother's oversized and dirty t-shirt, her black curls are tousled and her face is smudged with dirt, and Elijah who is never without panache and grace, stumbles over a response, and he musters a 'hello'.
"Hello," Bonnie says, and lifts a brow at the man who awkwardly stands in front of her, "We could have met before, like Klaus said, but," She adds, biting her lower lip, "I don't exactly remember much right now; Mama T says one day I will though." She says hoping that will suffice and that the expression on Elijah's face will disappear and stop making her feel she should run far away.
Elijah swallows the remainder of his drink and nods, keeping his eyes on the bottom of the empty glass in his hands, "We have met, and you were lovely then as you are now, and I hope your reason of being in our home is a pleasant one, "He finishes, shooting a dark glare at his brother.
"Such niceties," Klaus snorts, pouring himself a bourbon at the crystal-laden bar, "Marissa" Klaus orders, pointing to the auburn-haired maid with the round-face poised at the threshold of the study, "Show Bonnie to her room," and the maid grabs Bonnie's hand and Bonnie casts a look at Klaus and Klaus gestures that it is okay for her to follow the maid.
After the door is shut, and Elijah can hear the running water of a bath being drawn, he sits on the plush velvet chaise, his head in his hand and he whispers, "Why is Bonnie Bennett here, in New Orleans? In our home? In your shirt?"
Klaus settles at his desk chair, relaxing into the familiar leather grooves, and he tilts his full glass toward his brother, "Are you concerned that I may be plotting your death with the little witch as you tried to do with mine?"
"Do not play, Niklaus, what are you doing with the Bennett Witch?" Elijah asks, hoping that whatever his brother has done to Bonnie Bennett that it can promptly be undone.
"We were sans a witch, Elijah. We cannot fight a war with a punk hiding behind magic, if we do not have magic as well." Klaus says, huffing at having to explain his actions.
"What about her friends? We do not need the anguish of the Salvatores?"
"Her friends," Klaus laughs, "Her friends do not suspect a thing, per usual they are leaden with protecting the vampire doppelganger."
"And what of this Mama T she spoke of, why is it that she does not remember me?"
Smiling wide, Klaus dawdles, shooting the last of the ice from his glass into his mouth and crunching on the cubes, "She doesn't have her memories because before a few hours ago, she was dead. I dug her up out of a sewer in Mystic Falls and had a neighborhood witch bring her back. She does not know who I am, who you are, she does not even know who she is really." He beams at his brother, happy at their current circumstances, "Today is her birthday."
Elijah shakes his head again, "When she does remember, she will kill us all."
"Possibly," Klaus admits, "But we will cross that bridge when we come to it, until that time, she will assist this family in taking back what is ours," He says, wagging a finger at his brother, "Which is why there is no time to waste, arguing over whether or not I should or should not go after Marcel, when the only answer is that I am."
"This war you speak of, nothing good will come from it Niklaus."
Throwing up his hands, sending paper scattering from the desk onto the floor, Klaus bellows, "For once in your bloody life, can you be on my side?"
Elijah narrows his eyes at his brother, and gently states, "I am on your side, which is why I discourage you to seek this war with Marcel; it is not what you truly want."
He stands, and makes his way to the bar to refill his glass, "And what I do want, Elijah, pray do tell."
And Elijah hears Bonnie's soft voice through the wood floors, and sheetrock, and pipes. She is thanking Marissa for laying out a robe on the bed. And Elijah slowly stands, running his hands over his lapels, "There is no convincing you of anything otherwise, Niklaus. You have made your decision and I will honor it."
Klaus arches his brow, "Running away again?"
"No brother, I am not." Elijah says, curtly, "I am going upstairs to make our walking time bomb feel at home, and I am going to speak with the staff and have them appease her every want, and need and I am going to try my best to remedy the last impression this family made on her."
"Oh, Elijah, always the knight in shining armor," Klaus snorts, gesturing his hand to his brother that he was free to go, "Do what you must, as she is here to help this family," He adds, "But remember," his face darkening, "She is my witch."
Author's Note
Thank you for reading.