The Howling ▹ Klaus Mikaelson

03.

THE HOWLING.

03. CHAPTER THREE : calling out to saint christopher (n.e)

     It was as if someone was sitting right next to her, whispering in her ear, Rowan. Her eyelids fluttered open before instincts kicked in, and she sat straight in her bed, muscles tense. Her room looked the same as it did the night before; the silver pendent in the same place as well, on the floor, next to her vanity. Rowan stared at it for a moment before throwing the blankets from her body, and walking over to it.

It was cold between her fingers, and her eyes clouded over as she held it between her nimble fingers. Shaking her head, Rowan carefully placed the necklace on the table, staring at him for a moment longer before going to her closet.

Her phone repeatedly dinged with notifications from Caroline, and only one from Bonnie, about being in town early to help decorate for some festival. There were too many to remember the names of them all. Ignoring them, Rowan continued to sift through her clothes until she hands stilled, and her hearing focused on outside of her door.

She could tell from the smell of cologne it was Tyler, and she could hear the rustling of his shirt as he, she assumed, lifted up his hand to knock. She heard him take a hesitant breath before a knock rang through the wood.

"I heard you the second you walked out of your room, Tyler. Come in," Rowan said as she took a shirt from her closet and examined it.

The door opened and then closed, and Rowan turned to see a grimacing Tyler. The Lockwood's were proud creatures, never ones to apologize, aware of this Rowan rolled her eyes. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Tyler's mouth opened and closed before he answered, "for being a dick."

"Are you apologizing just to not feel guilty or because you're actually sorry," Rowan sighed at the shirt she was holding, reaching in and pulling out another. "Because either way, I don't want to hear it." Tyler faltered, and Rowan quickly reworded. "No, I mean I literally don't want to hear it because you're breath is insanely bad. And from living in a town filled with vampires, I've picked up on the telling if blood is fresh or from a bag, and you've been drinking from the vein, Tyler. So write me an apology letter, and I'll probably read it, but if you do, you should know it'll probably end up in the fire."

Her voice was even as she spoke, and the door slammed hard as she went into the bathroom with her decided wardrobe. Meanwhile, Tyler stood, shocked, in her room before leaving, looking defeated.

Inside the bathroom, Rowan took a deep breath, hanging her clothes on a hook. She and Tyler rarely fought, but when they did, it was a doozy. Clearing her head, and grabbing her toothbrush, Rowan sighed. She could already tell that much like her fight with Tyler, this day was going to be a doozy.

☾

Being a werewolf had its advantages, aside from the obvious disadvantages. Stamina was one of them. Driving took so much concentration. To name one of the disadvantages with being a werewolf and also a Lockwood, easily angered. And driving brought out the fatal road rage of Rowan Lockwood.

Living in Mystic Falls also had its perks. Although one could possibly die just as they cross over the county lines, the town itself was beautiful. Old buildings, little patio tables set out on the street, and the people weren't to bad looking either. It was a tourist's dream, you know, aside from all the murder.