WHEN TIME FRACTURES || HOPE MIKAELSON x RYAN CLARKE

Chapter Twelve

The entire day was well spent collecting information about Destiny's shears.
MG had slept through most of it, while Hope had cast a cloaking spell that would supposedly keep them off Atropos' radar, but there was no telling how long it would last.

She was almost back at full strength now, but although the legendary tri-brid, she had no idea what kind of match she could possibly be against a deity -and she couldn't even find her aunt to get her help on this one.
The older witch was probably sound asleep in the deepest confines of the late Dowager Fauline's mansion in 1934's New Orleans, waiting to be awakened to finally meet her long-lost immortal family. In other words, Hope had to forget her pain and focus on the matter at hand with the only trustworthy help she had, baby vampire Milton Greasley. 

However, after reading every book that they possessed on the topic, neither one of them had any more clues on how those shears worked.

On one hand, cutting Aion's wings ought to be simple; a forceful clip to cut through something real and compact, however bloody and alive -she'd done it many times with knives and other sorts of sharp objects.

However, Greer's fate was not palpable.

What were they supposed to cut there?

Hope didn't see herself scarring the poor girl or even worse, maiming something important or striping her of her bodily autonomy, but until they did find out what exactly they were meant to do, they had to remain close to her.
That would be a fairly easy task, the easiest she'd had in days, and it almost felt like a breath of fresh air.

She'd already sworn MG to secrecy, and he'd reluctantly agreed not to let any important intel slip -because heroes always do the right thing.
She didn't know anything about that, but she would do the only right thing if it meant shutting that rattling chest permanently in the farthest corner of her deeply troubled mind.

As they winded up in Gloria's that very night, the vampire wasted no time to look around, desperately trying to catch sight of the familiar shock of blonde hair that hadn't left his mind for days.

But a hair-tingling feeling of dread washed over him when he realized that Greer was nowhere to be found.

''Maybe she's just home. I'm sure she'll be here soon.'' Hope said, trying to calm his frantic nerves. What were even the odds that Greer had been kidnapped and taken back to Portland?

''We have to find her,'' he said breathless, ''Now.''

''MG,'' she caught him by the elbow, forcing him back inside the building as he tried to turn, his heightened emotions leading his wrong path, ''Even if we did find her, how are we supposed to change her fate? We don't even know how those shears work.''

''We'll find something. In your books,'' he persisted. She'd never seen such worry in his eyes before -not when the numerous Malivore monsters had tried to come after them, not even when Lizzie had been turned to stone.
No, they'd been through thick and thin together, and yet, this was personal and beyond everything else -more important than anything else, ''You're the witch, come on!''

''There's nothing in there about how they fun-''
''Well then, ask Clarke!'' his breathing was shallow as he panted heavily, his senses working all at once.
He could hear it all, the soft melody of the piano, the kitchen's deafening brouhaha, and most importantly, the hearts.
Every heart in the room, including his, beat so fast he thought they might burst from their chests and create an endless whirlpool of warm, delicious blood.
All for him.
He shivered deliciously as his cheeks throbbed and spidery veins crept up beneath his lashes, releasing the predator inside him.