expect every frame of it to appear in my elijah series

Have A Little Faith: Chapter Three

“If you’re not careful,
you’ll end up believing this is the world.”

- Antonio Cisneros

Day one of Monaco had been an absolute dream. 

Once I’d agreed to Harry’s proposition he let me go, although I could tell it was taking everything inside of him to stand and watch me leave. His face reminded me of a puppy dog’s as he stood there on the steps, flashing me a smile as I glanced at him over my shoulder. He really wanted to prove his point.

Fate, or whatever.

After leaving him I walked about twenty minutes to the small building where an elderly man and his daughter greeted me at the door. Upon entering the building there was a charming little lobby—the hardwood floor covered in a soft white rug—and the couches were expertly arranged to lead one’s eye towards the large bay windows that overlooked the ocean. Above the fireplace there was a picture of what I assumed was the family that owned the property: the man and young girl who had welcomed me, along with a middle-aged woman holding a small child in her arms.

Once I’d gotten settled into my hotel room I decided to call my mother. My parents had been less than thrilled about my decision to come to Europe on my own, and one of their “conditions” was that I phone home often to let them know where I was and what I was getting up to. 

Five minutes into the phone call, I was already being grilled.

“Mum, I’m fine, I don’t need anybody to come travel with me. It’s already been two weeks, I’ve gotten used to it…No, mum, I don’t need to talk to Dr. King. Yes, I have her phone number.”

I allowed my petite frame to fall backwards onto the soft mattress of the bed, the smell of fresh linens causing me to twist to the side and curl up against the pillows. I twirled the phone cord around my finger as I listened to my mom’s voice, eyes falling shut comfortably. 

My room was small, but just the right size for me—there was a twin sized bed and a desk at the other side of the room that I’d set my small collection of bags on, a mini fridge which had a bag of apricots and peaches that I’d purchased from a local seller. It was decorated with a series of framed pictures of different locations in the city, and I made a mental note to see every one of them.

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5

Part Two of My Little Hybrid

Collection two in the Hybrid Series       Hidden Hybrid Master List


Part One 

Warnings: Strong language


“Klaus?” Camille asked as she spotted the hybrid sat alone near the front of the church. “What’re you doing here, why aren’t you looking for (Y/N)?”

 

“Ah yes (Y/N), how is it that in just under nine months she has gone from a nameless nightwalker to a beloved member of my family.” He sighed.

 

“Klaus you can’t still be angry at her for wanting to know where she’s come from.” Camille sighed as she sat down next to him.

 

“I understand why she did it.” Klaus muttered and glared at the front of the church.

 

“Then why aren’t you looking for her?” She glanced at him and he pulled his gaze to her.

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Something Returned

A/N: Christmas drabbles in January? You bet. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! (Also, slight smut warning.)

                Her aunt and uncle had always expected that Klaus would shower her in the finest jewels and most expensive dresses. He didn’t try to compensate for anything lost with ostentatious extravagancy as they’d anticipated; rather, he showed his affection with great care and gifts that he always had a personal hand in. Hope’s Christmas gifts ran the gamut from a breathtaking new painting for her room to a coordinated display in which lanterns rose from the streets of New Orleans at the exact moment she opened one of her gifts to find an empty box. There was even one year when he presented her with the severed head of one of his minions that had been harassing her. (Elijah wasn’t too pleased with that one.) His methods may have been unorthodox, but each and every one of his gifts was an act of true love.

                No offense to Auntie Bex, but Daddy gave the best Christmas gifts ever.

                And Hope wanted to return the favor.

                It was a miserably cold day, and Hope had taken a huge risk sneaking out for a drive up to Mystic  Falls to find the girl in all of Daddy’s sketchbooks. Although she was positive she had enough strength bottled up inside to take out anyone that stood in her way, Hope was on constant alert, always feeling that at any second a group of hybrids would jump out of the bushes and drag her back kicking and screaming to New Orleans. She was jumpy and ill-equipped to deal with the weather (it was a wonder that Northerners hadn’t collectively frozen to death yet), and to make matters worse, when she arrived and started asking around for Caroline Forbes, she discovered that she had moved to New York years ago. So Hope hopped back on the highway and drove 341.2 miles to trudge through a foot of snow in search of the muse that had haunted her father’s artwork for as long as she could remember.

                Caroline Forbes’ loft was located on the top floor of a ritzy apartment complex in the Upper East Side. It had floor-to-ceiling windows along all four sides of the building, but Hope found that there wasn’t much a view as she gazed out at the entirely monochrome scenery while she waited for someone to answer the door.

                Hope was broken from her reverie when she heard a series of locks click, and then a squeaking as the door inched open.

                She was taken aback by how perfectly the girl who appeared before her fit each and every detail of her father’s drawings. Her hair was the exact same length, and curled in the exact same fashion, albeit a tad messy, having just woken up. The girl even had the same tattoos on her wrist and ankle as Klaus’ muse did.

                “Hi,” The girl prompted, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

                “Hi. Um, I’m sorry about, you know, coming her unannounced and all this, but…this is you, right?” Hope rooted around in her purse as she spoke before materializing a page with tattered edges depicting a girl laughing, dressed in a certain BCBG Max Azria dress that Caroline recognized from her first date with a certain annoying, dimpled, egotistical, and devastatingly cute hybrid.

                Fully awake now, Caroline unintentionally snatched the drawing away. (She had intended to gingerly pluck, but it ended up being more of a panicky grab.) “Where did you get this?” She would recognize those lines anywhere. It may have been eighteen years, but she knew exactly who had drawn her.

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