❝I thought they were just bones.❞
❝If you truly believed that, you would have let her rest.❞
They could bury her bones, but they couldn't bury the truth.
For 90 years, Klaus Mikaelson has been haunted by the memory of the woman he betrayed.
For...
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New York, 1965
"You know what I don't understand?" Damon asked as he watched Rowan munching on her burger. The pair were sat opposite each other in a booth by the window in a small New York diner.
"I imagine you don't understand a lot of things." She mouthed between bites.
Damon screwed up his face in a sarcastic gesture. "Why you left New Orleans."
Rowan froze, and Damon took the opportunity to reach across the diner table and lift her milkshake. "You know why." She recovered.
"You were hunting witches, right." He took a gulp of the strawberry milkshake. "But you killed the last one years ago. So why leave now? You loved that city."
"It's complicated."
"I'm sure I can keep up." He flashed her a smile.
Rowan sighed, "Damon -"
She didn't get the chance to finish her sentence as the window beside them shattered, glass and bullets spraying round them as screams erupted through the diner. Damon leapt across the table, wrapping his body around Rowan's and pulling her to the ground. He overturned the diner table, using it as a shield to protect them from the gunfire. Rowan was shaking in his arms as she reached out and picked up one of the stray bullets.
"Wooden." She whispered, turning to face him, a large gash on her forehead. "We have to get out of here. Now."
Damon didn't need telling twice. He wrapped his arms around her and carried her swiftly from the scene, flying at full vamp speed. Once they were a few blocks away, he set her carefully back on the pavement. "Are you hit?" He asked, running his hands down her sides and checking her for any sign of injury. He wiped his thumb over the gash on her forehead. It wasn't bleeding.
"I'm fine." She replied quietly, not meeting his eyes.
"Rowan. Rowan, look at me." He took her face in his hands. "Do you know who did this?"
