*sequel to Open Coffin*
NOTHING TO LOSE, NOTHING TO FEAR - Years after the apocalyptic events in Mystic Falls, the Salvatore Sister has risen from the ashes. Stronger and more lethal than ever she set course to New Orleans to undermine the war that...
Disclaimer: This is a sequel! Find Part 1 on my profile. For some context, I'd advise you to watch The Originals to understand some occurrences.
Ups! Ten obraz nie jest zgodny z naszymi wytycznymi. Aby kontynuować, spróbuj go usunąć lub użyć innego.
You were surrounded by pulsating air. Alive and undead hearts sinking to the pace of the drums. There was dooming danger in the air in the packed bar turned nightclub, as hunters moved amongst their prey. It would be only a matter of time before the hunters overpowered them.
On cue, the lights dimmed to a sombre shade of red and the hunters ceased their movements. You identified them through the rousing crowd, eyes veined and fangs bared - ready for attack.
Three.
Two.
One.
Midnight. Time to feed.
Your fangs punctured the delicate skin of the neck closest and the addicting crimson blood drained into your mouth. The horrid screams from the human in your grip were drowned out by the sheer pleasure of holding a life in your hands.
The brink was here. Was there hope for your prey yet?
You stepped over it, without blinking, without remorse. One less tortured soul to roam the earth. If you came to think of it, you did them a favor.
With evil on the mind and blood spatters in the air, you retreated the battlefield concealed as a dancefloor. You headed to the bar, unbothered to swipe your bloody mouth. There was no use in pretending anymore, to hide behind a mask. The world had seen what wretched thing you were, and you were unbothered by it. Let them see, let them fear. It kept them away.
Ordering a bourbon with the wave of your hand, you sat down on the remote end, further from the thumping music.
"Rough night?" The bartender tried to joke with you.
"Rough life." That answer may have been trite, but hell if it wasn't ́t the truth. And you didn't need that dimwit behind the bar to remind you of that. "Just do your job and pour the liquor. I ́m not looking for a shrink."
He backed off, hands raised in defence. The relief of silence was short-lived though as two loudly talking vampires joined next to you, their mouth tinted from their feast.
"You heard about what's happening in New Orleans?" One of the vampires said to the other.
This Bar, in the heart of Hell's Kitchen, was where supernatural gossip lived. Everybody talked and gossiped about friends and enemies alike, but none had anything to say that was of particular interest to you.
You heard about the other side collapsing, the recent change in leadership in New Orleans, even talk of Klaus ́ mystical daughter that died in a war between werewolves and the Mikaelsons. And you heard about Damon ́s death. You had to hear it out of someone else's mouth, instead of Stefan ́s. You were not even invited to his funeral, nobody tried to even contact you. Not once. So much for the unbreakable bond of family everyone kept going on about. All bullshit.
