The Howling ▹ Klaus Mikaelson

18.

THE HOWLING.

     18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN : is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?

Out of all things, Rowan's teeth hurt. After over so many hours turned, she had a lot to complain about: her head, her bones, her heart. Her heart hurting was more about the fact that all of her friends, the people she tried to protect for so long, and her brother, the only person she thought would always be on her side, helped desiccate the only person she's truly felt a connection with.

You're more like me than you are them.

She could see that now. But now it was to late.

The dew on the ground and the blood on the leg caused the leaves and grass to stick to her skin as Rowan sat up. Sticks dug into her palms as she used her hands as leverage, but she paid them no mind.

The moon wasn't full, but it was still bright, and Rowan stared, through the trees, as the shadows flitted around with the wind. She remembered when she would wake up extra early in Florida and crawl out onto the roof. The air would be clean and warm, the sound of waves could be heard, and Mason's voice would call up the stairs, announcing breakfast. She wished she could hear his voice again.

A part of Rowan wondered if he was still on the other side, watching her. That maybe she wasn't truly alone at the moment. She hoped he'd found peace and moved on and was no longer stuck in limbo.

She was imagining the soothing waves in front of her when she clenched her jaw and winced. Looking around, Rowan figured out exactly where she was, and forced herself to stand, beginning her trek to the Lockwood Cellar.

Rowan didn't bother trying to stay quiet; her feet dragged on the ground until eventually, she stepped on the stone of the cellar.

It only took minutes before she was back above ground, fully dressed in a tee and sweats. Stepping off the top step and back on the ground, Rowan's body stopped cold until a familiar scent wafted through the air and she relaxed slightly.

"Hello, Rowan," the words came out in a smooth, accented voice. Rowan stayed silent, but turned to face Elijah. "I figured I'd find you here."

"I've had a bad day, Elijah, can we just get to the point?" Rowan sighed, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Yes. I was on my way to speak with Elena, and I was hoping you'd accompany me," Elijah said.

"I don't want to see Elena, and, no offense, but I don't really want to go with you." Elijah tilted his head ever so slightly. "I don't want to think about him and you just — you..." Elijah nodded in understanding, and Rowan sighed. "Are you going to try and get him back?"

Her voice was small, and Elijah watched she tried to shrink. "I'll explain on the way."

☾

     Elena was clearly surprised at the duo standing in her doorway. She could see the anger form behind Rowan's eyes as soon as they made contact, and instinctually took a step back.

"Stefan!" Elena raised her voice, finally finding it.

Rowan balled her fist, her claws stabbing into her own skin. She looked past Elena at Matt and then to Stefan.

"Elijah," the Salvatore greeted in a clipped tone.

"Hello again." Elijah had a small smirk on his face when he looked at Elena. "May we come in?" Without waiting for an answer, he stepped over the entry way, Rowan in tow.

She faded in and out as Elijah sat down and began to negotiate with the three. Elijah had already told her everything: how all they had to do was take the stake from Alaric, scatter, and the hunter would follow.