He throws Bonnie's clothes into a duffle bag while she sleeps, hangers swinging back and forth as he yanks slinky dresses and frilly tops, crumpling them into the overstuffed leather bag and zipping it closed.
Minutes.
That's all he has really before the red marker circles New Orleans.
It is not quite dawn, but Klaus has packed up her little world into two leather monogrammed bags and has finessed a clearing for their private plane to fly them out of the Crescent City in the next half hour.
In his distracted fury to pack he has overlooked the beginnings of an altar Bonnie has created on the dresser. The open grimoire, candles burned down to nubs, fresh flowers and trinkets recently acquired and arranged in a circle of salt. Her own practice.
Glancing at the clock, he braces himself and pushes her gently. "Wake up, Bonnie." He says, his mind racing for the ploy, he will make a game of it, have her pick anywhere in the world for them to travel, she had mentioned somewhere by the sea last night, he will just get her to believe anything other than the fact that he is kidnapping her again.
Her crooked mouth cracks a smile, open and genuine. She sits up on her elbows and he saddles down the bed beside her, leaning in for a kiss. His lips brush her forehead as her eyes adjust to the sight of the room. The opened closet, empty hangers, and ajar dresser drawers. He understands that there are definitely questions but there isn't any time.
Mystic Falls is awake.
"We have a plane to catch, my love."
Bonnie blinks, "Wait, what?" She asks, confused scrambling onto her knees, brushing her hair from her heart shaped-face. And the rapid-fire questions begin, like what is he up to, where had he been, where were they going, why were they leaving now, and the blue and red veins throb at her temples and wrists and along her neck, and he squares his shoulders as his lower-half hardens and his gums itch, aroused by her strong emotions.
"We can discuss this on the ride over to the airstrip," He taps his wrist as if a watch were there, "Now are you going in the nude, love or shall we pull something from the bag? He says hopping up from the bed as if that were the end of the conversation. He knows full well that it is not but he does not have the time to go back and forth with her when they have such a tight window to escape New Orleans.
She doesn't budge from the bed.
"You loved the idea of me taking you away last night," He stresses with a forced grin, his broad hand gripping the side of her neck, his thumb pressed against her full pout to quiet her from asking another question as the bed-side clock ticks and he imagines a teary-eyed blonde reading a eulogy that he wrote and a deranged vampire running into the packed memorial service to yell that the deceased was really alive.
"No." She whispers.
"Come again?"
"No," She says more confidently, throwing the covers from her bare legs, "How else do you want me to say it?" She spits, eyebrows raised, "How about, HELL NO."
He expected her to argue with him, sure, but he had not expected this. And he immediately realizes his error, that he had not thought this through, and it would take more to get her leave on his whim, to be on his impetuous side even though she declared love, she was still Bonnie Bennett, and he wants to laugh, reminded of Mama T's words to him that he would have to give her something to make her come be with him, give her something to leave the dead. And he opens his mouth to speak it, to say the thing but there could be a blue Camaro barreling its way to them at this very moment, and he doesn't have the time, and he entertains the thought of just throwing her over his shoulder kicking and screaming.
Running his hand through his hair, he finally opens his mouth to say the first thing that comes to mind, "Bonnie, I know this is an abrupt change in our plans, but you will have to trust me, while I was away I had considerable time to contemplate my moves in obtaining this rule over this enigmatic city, "He starts, his hand falling to the side of her, enclosing her, "And I do not want it."
Her entire face falls at his admission, and she shakes her head in disbelief before sticking to her guns and saying, "We got him, Klaus, you may not want this crown anymore but we are taking it. And if you don't want it then I'm doing this for the witches, "She says, and he can see the water forming at the rims of her eyes, "I have endured only a glimpse of what the Nola witches are going through here and I just can't leave them like this. We have a real shot to free this city and give its supernatural community a new life, one where they don't have to live in a fear anymore. "
He bristles at her use of we, with it meaning his brother and not him and he is frustrated at her loyalty, at her good heart, at the light of dawn ready to blow his cover, and at his naiveté at thinking he could pull off a coup with an amnesiac Bonnie Bennett. "That was not a part of the plan, Bonnie. You were brought back to this world to secure my authority over the city, not to free the witches, love, let them handle their own battle among their own."
"Am I still only a weapon to you?"
"No, no you are not only a weapon to me, but what is concerning to me is that I am the one who saved you from an eternity of darkness and I am the one who spent hours upon hours training you and developing you to hear you decline my offer to try at a rebellion to free these ragtag witches from my protégé'. That was never the goal."
"It is for me," She states, shoulders squared, "Elijah and I —"
"You and Elijah?" He laughs manically, his pupils darkening, the irises yellow, "And pray tell what does my brother think of your freeing the witches?"
Their eyes meet, and he sees the face that left him hanging in the parlor.
"You bring me here and train me as your soldier, you thrust me off on to your brother, you leave me, and now you want me to ditch it all because it's a Saturday and you don't want to be King anymore," She spits between hot tears, unzipping one of the bags. She pulls out a wrinkled dress and slips it over her naked body, and grabs her purse from the nightstand before dropping to her knees to pull sandals from under the bed.
"This is not up for discussion." He states as a matter of fact, as he realizes he will have to procure another plane for they have missed their window.
"I have to go," She mutters bypassing the hybrid, "I have an appointment with the tailor about my costume." She opens the bedroom door but he slams it shut, hovering over her, crowding her from behind, his menacing frame pressing her into the wooden door, his breath taunting on the back of her neck, "I am not asking you," He breathes, one hand threaded into her hair, his hot mouth on her, his fangs scraping to pierce into the smooth caramel skin as frenzied magic rolls into him.
"Then tell me why, why the change?" She says. He can hear the bewilderment, the fresh tears.
"Leave with me and I will show you, "he says as an almost plea, "Every day I will show you why having this city, the state, the whole god damned continent would not satisfy me." And he thinks of time, how inconsequential it has meant to him for so, so long, and how it was driving his every word now as he fears there is not much of it left with her. "You belong to me."
And in the small space between them, she turns around under his embrace to face him, and she places her hands on either side of his face, the dark veins stretched under his yellow eyes forming dark rivers over the planes of his chiseled cheekbones and she kisses him, her lips pressed passionately against his and she whispers when their embrace breaks, "I don't want to be a piece on your chessboard anymore, Niklaus."
BKBKBKBK
Elijah will chastise her for her tardiness but she will just have to hear him bitch because she has to make a stop before arriving to the masquerade.
Over the phone earlier in the day, they had spoken in code about his brother's return, while she was fitted one last time for her costume.
"Um, yeah, I think, um, "She started and stopped, "I think it's best if I stay away for a while, you know, maybe have a spa day or something, isn't that what people do before balls?"
Elijah assured her that that is what ladies did.
"I will speak to him, Bonnie. But let me be clear in stating that most men would not like to hear of their fiancé's running off with their brothers, but I believe in this case if you decided to do just that, I would find some way to soothe my broken heart.
Bonnie laughed into the tailor's store phone.
"Send the car for me please. I will meet you on Royal, "She said before hanging up the phone and returning back to the stool with pins and needles pricking at her skin.
Like a fairy-tale. Her vampire lover told her she had till the stroke of midnight or he would swoop in on the ball and drag her away from killing the prince, whether the job was done or not.
It was nine now, the ball had started.
And she frantically stalks the streets of the quarter because she has to see her friend and let her know that by end the end of the night the witches would have their victory over Marcel, she was going to end the binding spell he held over their magic.
And also, to say goodbye.
Her feet carry her swiftly through the waves of drunken people and their strewn beads and spilled beer. She peers down alley way after alley way until she sees the red back door of Antoinette's tourist shop.
She raps on the metal intently.
The alley is empty and her knock echoes but no one answers the door. Sighing, she scrounges through her bag, flipping over a receipt, pulling out a pen to scribble, "Meet me at the Mikaelson Gate,'. And she bends down to slip the piece of paper between the weathered crack of the door and the metal frame, and above her a distinct caw, stills her heart, as if the bird was right over her shoulder, and she looks up at the night sky and at the single crow perched above the razor wrapped fence dividing the alleyway from the old townhouses next door.
"Hello," She says, her eyes narrowing on the bird, and then the bird cocks his head as if it understood her, and then the murderous caws of a flock, thousands of them swarm the alley, and she ducks as they beat their wings and fill up every inch of space, a hurricane gust of black wings blind her and blow up her golden shawl over her head. She crouches down under the pain of their pecking, beaks poking at her skin, her shawl becoming sticky with her blood.
"Mort!"
And there is a sudden thunderous pelting of birds against concrete, falling from the sky, carpeting the alleyway. And Bonnie stooped and startled, waiting out her spell of dead birds, braves a peek through her splayed fingers and sees tell-tale boots in front of her, boots she remembers, and she peers up at the outreached hand and the cool blue eyes.