White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter Thirty-one

   Haru came closer to her. "Why do the heads always fall off when you eat?"

   "I'm a ripper," she said, her thoughts going back to the past. She thought of Klaus and Elijah, the Originals she had last seen several months after her humanity was gone. Out of the two her thoughts lingered on Klaus, the man that kissed her with a mouth full of blood, that made her moan in an alley, that scratched her back and pressed his fingers to her waist. She could remember every little detail vividly, a smirk rising on her lips. "I indulge in the hunt."

   "You're the second ripper I've ever heard of," Haru said as he followed behind her. "There was this one guy that was totally addicted to blood and slaughtered a whole village of immigrants; they call him the Ripper of Monterey."

   Eleanor let out a hum. "We'd make a fantastic pair, don't you think? Two rippers, slaughtering town after town. I think we'd be feared more than the Originals." An amused laugh escaped her mouth as she entered the loud bar. 

   The bar was hundreds of conversations told in loud voices, all of them competing with the rock music that dominated the atmosphere. The crowd distinguished from underage drinkers that paid a twenty to the bartender, young university students, the older crowd that wanted to drink and spend time with their friends. Eleanor wound her way through the warm bodies to the bar to order a drink—whiskey on the rocks. She leaned on the bar, her blonde hair lying over her shoulder, and slightly pursed her lips.

   "Eleanor Fraser," a voice breathed, the owner taking a seat besides her. "We meet once again." It was a man that was in his early twenties, with curly black hair and dazzling brown eyes and an oncoming beard. He was tall, with a lean and well-toned chest. In other words, he was handsome in every sense of the word. 

   She sighed and let out a nod. "Gabriel," she said, her tone indifferent, "fancy another fight?" The last time they had seen each other, over a month ago, they fought until both were left bleeding and one had to be sent to the hospital.

   "Not tonight." He grabbed the beer the bartender had laid in front of him and took a long swig. "Tonight, I kill you."

   The young vampire almost let out a boisterous laugh, but instead chuckled and shook her head in amusement. "Of course you are," she sarcastically said. "Although, isn't that what you've been saying for the past three years?" She grabbed her whiskey and pushed herself closer to him, shoulders touching. A smirk decorated her lips, red from lipstick and blood. "See, Gabriel, after we had sex in the restroom over there, you haven't been able to kill me. What makes you think tonight is any different?"

   "The full moon is in a few hours," he said, taking another swig of his beer. "Instead of killing you as wolf, I'll kill you as a human. I'll have the pleasure of sinking my teeth into your pretty little neck and watch as you go insane." He turned to her, brown eyes ablaze with anger.

   For the young vampire, seeing a werewolf angry at her made her feel powerful. If she wanted to, she could reach into his chest and pull out his heart, but where was the fun in destroying a playmate so fast? She nodded and took a sip of her whiskey, enjoying the taste combining with the blood that was leftover on her teeth. "You're so sure that tonight is the night," she said with amusement laced in her tone. "Maybe, just before you bite me, we have sex in that restroom again." She pointed to the restroom across the room with her chin. "And afterwards, just when you're buckling up your pants, I'll rip your heart from your chest and toss it in the bin." She leaned closer to him, her lips brushing close to his ear. "You can make empty threats to me, Gabriel, but this is a promise."

   Eleanor pulled away from the werewolf and sauntered towards the table Haru was sitting at. She took a seat on the empty chair and leaned back, almost putting her feet up on the table. With no humanity, there was no sense of right or wrong—just pleasure in the wrath of man. There was no Elijah to plead for her to turn back her humanity; no Klaus that revered in the fact that she wanted to kill and have fun; no Thomas Cummings to make her feel ordinary; no Gianni D'Agourn to make her still-beating heart ache; no kind monster to Nikolas Nakov. The young vampire was a shell of a girl that used to be, the same face and smile, but all with different meanings.