chapter fourty-two

i heard a rumour

・❥・

JORDANNA SWAM THROUGH the small, hidden lake in the back fields as she cleared her head. It wasn't as though she wanted to take a morning swim, no, she was washing the blood off of the people who had, unfortunately for them, bumped into her that night. The amount of people she had killed didn't matter, it was simply enough to leave her drenched head to toe in blood—hence why she was swimming in a lake to wash it off.

    She was bound to receive a ridiculing from Elijah if he found out how many civilians had died. It was like being scolded by a mother. A child who had taken too much candy would get screamed at by their mother, Jordanna had taken too many lives, equals the mother in Elijah.

   But she simply didn't care to hear his complaints—if anything she'd block his voice out of her head and think of other things. Things like Klaus. She wondered if he hated her for leaving him like that . . . though she may not have left him, she didn't want him to think like that—but after all, it's Klaus we're talking about. He jumped to conclusions, even if he had been told otherwise, and that's what scared her. They hadn't talked since then, since she had told him she was going to stay with Hayley and Jackson.

Sure, they had seen one another, while it was always brief glances when she came to pick Sebastian up, it still happened. It was as though they were drawn to one another no matter the circumstance—and that magnetic feeling that attached the two? It was taunting Jordanna, it was mocking her, so she needed to clear her mind.

"What took you so long?" Marcel asked as Jordanna caught up to him as he jogged down the French Quarter. His hand subconsciously trailed up to his arm as he paused the music blurring through his ears.

Jordanna lifted her shoulders in a shrugging motion as she ran beside him, "I got hungry."

The Gerard man rolled his eyes, an amused smirk made its way onto his face. "Course you did," he shook his head, running at the same pace as the Jones.

Now you may be thinking, since when does Jordanna run? She doesn't, or well, didn't. Quite frankly, she despised any shape or form of exercise but running distracted her—whether that be because Marcel kept her company, and while they talked it kept her mind away from Klaus, or it was the sound of the music connected to her earphones that kept her sane.

"You fancy a drink?" Marcel asked after a few minutes of running in the content silence as they came up to his apartment building.

Jordanna nodded in answer. "Always." Once the two finally made their way back up to his apartment, they headed towards the bar, Jordanna squinted her eyes as she picked up a glass. She turned to the Gerard with raised eyebrows. "Okay, ew," she pointed to the lipstick smudge on the rim. "If you're gonna have people over, please, for their own sake and mine, clean these. Also, that is a disgusting shade of red, Marcel, you'd suit more of a crimson red."

Marcel laughed sarcastically. "Funny, J, real funny." He muttered before making his way over to stand besides her, a sigh escaped his lips as he realised he had visitors during his absence. His eyes trailed over to the bourbon decanter—which was emptied out.

Jordanna huffed in irritation, moving around the bar she searched through alcohol bottles to find one that tickled her fancy. She settled on tequila. Marcel picked up the empty decanter, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath in annoyance, "By all means, help yourself to the good . . . stuff . . ."

The man trailed off upon noting that there was something rattling inside the empty decanter. Marcel blurred out Jordanna's words as she endlessly complained about something, just as he tipped the decanter upside down a pair of solid gold cuff-links fell into his hand.

"-So then I told Nai, no I will not kiss you. You may be very, very, veryyyy hot, but he who shall not be named-" Jordanna cut herself off upon realising that the man wasn't listening to a word that was coming out of her mouth, the Jones rounded the Gerard and waved a hand in his face, gaining his attention before her eyes settled on the gold in his hand.

"The fuck is—" Her frown deepened as she moved away from Marcel, she walked over to the wall, finding a tuxedo and an elegant black masquerade mask hanging there. "Kinky," Jordanna muttered under her breath, fingers skimming the material of the mask.

Just as Marcel moved behind her, him too investigating the suit, his phone rang. His lip upturned earning a weirded look from Jordanna as he answered the phone, "You want to dress me up in nice clothes, all you gotta do is ask."

A short huff of amusement came from the other end of the phone. "I'll keep that in mind in future, Mr. Gerard." A man's voice spoke out, Marcel frowned in embarrassment, expecting someone else.

Jordanna let out a snort as she lifted the tequila bottle to her lips. Pulling away she mouthed, "Embarrassing."

Marcel waved her off with an eyeroll, pointing at the couch—silently telling her to sit as though she was a child in need of watching. The Jones rolled her eyes, shooting him the bird as she huffed and threw her body down onto the couch.

The urge to call Klaus was itching at her. Nagging at her, and trust me, she wanted to. But she couldn't because it wouldn't only be herself she was hurting it'd be him too. And while a few selfish minutes listening to him on the phone would be great, she wouldn't be able to do it—that's why it'd hurt him, because she couldn't face him, and he'd feel at fault for it.

A few minutes had gone by and Jordanna spaced out on Marcel's conversation, her lone concentration was stuck staring down at Klaus' contact number on her phone, her finger hovering over the button before she inhaled deeply and put her phone down completely.

Unbeknown to her, Marcel had finished his phone call with the unknown, posh guy on the other end—he simply stared down at the invitation card in his hands with a sigh before he lifted his gaze, meeting Jordanna's eye.

"You wanna be my date to this thing?"

・❥・

The party was in full swing. The Davilla Estate looked even fancier than usual as it filled with formally dressed members, masquerade masks hugging their faces—burlesque dancers dressed in twenties style attire, smiles on their red lips as they danced to the beat of the sombre music. Humans scattered around the room in attendance, their only purpose as meals for the members of the Stix and their guests.

Jordanna whistled as she let her eyes travel across the ballroom as she and Marcel entered, her arm linked in his. "This is where I should live," Jordanna announced, a scoff climbed up from the back of her throat. "This looks like it belongs to one of those stuck up, arrogant, assholes-"

Marcel nudged her in the side of her stomach, "You'd fit right in, then."

"Obviously," Jordanna muttered, unlinking her arm from Marcel's as she lifted the mask to her eyes. Her free hand reached out as she sorted the back of her gown out. It brought her some kind of solace to be at one of these events, dressing up and drinking until she dropped was a normality for her—and after everything that had happened in the past six months she needed a normality, she yearned for it.

She still didn't feel right, not even in her own skin. And that was the worst feeling, not feeling comfortable as yourself. It was messing with her mind, and staring at the scar that ran across her neck wasn't much fun either, but for once—she didn't cover it; she embraced it, in a way. That's one step, right?

One step at a time, just one step at a time.

Jordanna followed Marcel's eyeline to a beautiful woman stood in a silver gown, a smile pulled at her lips as she too placed her mask on her face and moved over to greet the Gerard. "Marcel! Welcome," Aya greeted with a cunning smile, just after Jordanna excused herself, moving to get a drink.

Jordanna steered her way through the busy crowd, pushing past people as she grumbled under her breath at their lack of manners. When the vampire finally spotted a waiter holding a drink tray, her eyes lit up, the Jones made a bee-line for the waiter when a sudden bash to her shoulder knocked her back a little. Jordanna clenched her jaw in annoyance and turned around, only seeing a flash of red-ish hair pass her and a woman in a teal-blue dress walk away.

Jordanna narrowed her eyes at the woman. "Idiot," she muttered under her breath, a false smile pulled at her lips as she grabbed a glass of champagne from the waiter before turning away.

The Jones lifted the drink up to her lips and pulled a face. Turning her head discreetly, the vampire spat her drink back in the champagne glass, throwing the contents away in a nearby plant pot before discarding the glass as a waiter walked past. "Cheap," she told the waiter blankly, patting his arm in passing.

After a second, Jordanna stopped in place and frowned as everyone seemed to divert their attention to the doors. The Jones pushed herself through the crowds, finding Hayley and Elijah stood in the doorway, taking it all in. The other guests' eyes had yet to divert from Elijah in curiosity—making the Marshall-Kenner woman unnerved.

"Why are they all staring at you?" Hayley asked the Mikaelson, gulping deeply as she pulled her mask from her face.

Elijah's lips upturned. "I'm kind of a big deal around here." He answered as the pair slowly made their way across the ballroom, heading for the bar.

Hayley's eyes widened in realisation, "They're all part of your sireline."

Elijah nodded in answer, "Most of them, tragically, yes-"

A sudden tut sounded out from between the two as Jordanna wedged herself in the middle of the pair, linking one arm in Elijah's and the other in Hayley's. "So rude, 'Lijah," she tutted again, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "I'm sure they all have feelings. Somewhere deep, deep, deep down."

Hayley and Elijah shared a confused glance. The Mikaelson cleared his throat, brows furrowing as he glanced down at the Jones, "What are you doing here, Jordanna?"

"I'm Baldy's date," she answered with a smile, looking between the two. A confused expression covered Elijah's face at the revelation—why the Hell was Marcel here?  "Anyway," Jordanna trailed off, unlinking her arm from the other two as they reached the bar. "Why don't you two go dance, and I'll get the drinks in?"

Hayley rose a brow at her unnaturally kind gesture, but nodded nonetheless, if Jordanna was going to be kind out of her own free will, then she'd take it. Just as Hayley grabbed Elijah's hand, the Mikaelson stood firmly, narrowing his eyes at Jordanna as he pointed down at her like a child—here we go, the moment she'd been waiting for . . . a telling off from Elijah, yay!

"We have yet to talk about your discretions, Jordanna, I know how you spent your morning, seeing as I was cleaning up after you around the City," he rose a brow, sending her a scolding look.

"What you gonna do?" She rose her own brows in retaliation, voice mocking, "Arrest me?"

"I do not find you amusing," he told her.

"Yeah? Well, I do, Elijah, come on," Hayley commented with a sigh, dragging him off to the dance floor, leaving Jordanna at the bar alone.

The Jones focused her attention on the bartender when his voice spoke up. "Red wine, ma'am?"

Her eyes narrowed, "Do I look forty to you?"

A quiet, girlish snort sounded out from beside her and Jordanna turned, meeting eyes with that same woman who bashed into her earlier that night. "You certainly do not look forty," she shook her head, red hair flailing around her. "I'll have a Manhattan and she'll have—" she trailed off, eyes assessing Jordanna before she turned back to the bartender, "—Martini, Vodka, not Gin."

Jordanna rose her brows at the woman as they awaited on the drinks. "I'm ever so sorry about earlier," the woman apologised, but it seemed . . . off. Calculated almost. "I wasn't watching where I was going. I'm clumsy like that."

"Hm, very clumsy," Jordanna spoke bitterly, gritting her teeth, though her voice held a high pitched, enthusiastic tone. "Maybe watch where you're going next time, then? Might help."

And as the Jones moved to leave after securing her drink from the bartender, the woman's voice stopped her in place, "God, this place is pretentious, don't you think? It's a bunch of stuck up arseholes, with large sticks lodged up their arses."

Jordanna gave her a side glance before taking a sip of her drink. She placed the glass down on the bar surface, calculating eyes stayed on the unknown woman as she picked up the cocktail stick that an olive sat on. Jordanna lifted it to her mouth, plucking the olive off, narrowing her eyes at the woman who merely smirked, "I'm gonna have to agree with you there."

The woman's eyes drifted down to Jordanna's feet before she did a quick one over of her, getting a good look at her—like she was checking her. Jordanna's lips twitched into a smirk before she hid it with her glass.

"Oh, dear," the woman gasped all of a sudden, false concern dripped from her tone like dirty tap water, taking a step closer her eyes fell on the scar on Jordanna's neck. "My, my. What happened?"

"Boating accident," she mocked. "Yeah. Never healed. Shame, I really liked boating."

The woman didn't miss the mocking tone to Jordanna's voice, nor did she miss the hostile look she was giving her—but it didn't matter, all it did was egg her on. "You know, I've heard about you, Jordanna Jones."

There it was again, that bitter tone. Jordanna simply held in the urge to smile as she took another sip of her glass before she silently turned to the bartender, nodding down at her glass in a 'refill' motion. She turned back to the mysterious red-head and rose her brows, urging her to continue.

"The witch who had Klaus Mikaelson's children." At the mere mention of his name Jordanna tensed, pushing back a grimace. That was the first time someone had mentioned his name around her. "Ever so sorry about your daughter, by the way," the mystery woman placed her hand on Jordanna's, sending her a small, most likely forged smile.

Jordanna pulled her hand from under her grasp, twisting her body she silently grabbed her drink from the bartender. "If we could skip the dead daughter talk, I'd appreciate it." Her tone turned hostile, face blank as she stared at the woman in front.

Said woman cleared her throat, shaking her head. "Of course." After a moment of silence the red-head spoke up once again, trying to remain conversation before the Jones walked off. "People say you've changed, you know? They say you may even be crazy."

Jordanna watched her for a moment, not missing her eyes light up at the thought. "Well, being sane is boring, don't you think?"

"I suppose." The red-head hummed in agreement, squinting her eyes at the raven-haired woman.

"Plus," Jordanna moved, leaning her back against the bar surface as she leant over to the mysterious woman. "I've always been a little out of it, but it makes it all the more fun, no?"

"I've heard all the best people are a little crazy."

Just when Jordanna was about to open her mouth to question the woman, a row of caterers with trays of champagne flasks in their grasps walked into the ballroom, tapping butter knives against their glasses—earning the attention of every individual in the room.

The Jones didn't miss the way the woman shuffled to the left slightly, hiding herself from view as a man dressed in a fine suit made his arrival.

A sly smile pulled at Jordanna's face as she downed the rest of her glass, leaning closer to the red-haired woman  she let her voice drop to a hushed whisper, "I assume that's Tristan what's-his-face, the asshole who's throwing this party."

The red-head clenched her jaw at Jordanna's words, but the Jones merely smiled. "Yeah, that's him," she let out, almost gratingly, as though she was biting back her tongue at the small insult thrown at Tristan.

"Distinguished friends, welcome. It's so rare that we're able to come together like this to revel for one night in the company of true equals-"

Jordanna snorted, clicking her tongue, voice still at that hushed level. "And he's stuck up too, lovely." She paused, side-eyeing the woman who merely stared ahead, a forced laugh fell from her lips. Jordanna's tongue poked the inside of her cheek as she grinned. "You know, I've heard of a sister, I heard a rumour that she's crazy, and when I say crazy, oh, I mean bat-shit crazy. What are the chances, huh?"

"What are the chances?" The woman grit out, clenching her jaw.

"-That's funny . . . I seem to recall you being the one knocking on my door." Marcel's voice pulled Jordanna from her humoured state.

Tristan was merely amused, "You'll notice, Mr. Gerard, that over the course of the evening, someone has managed to take something quite dear to you . . . your daylight ring."

Jordanna's eyes travelled down to Marcel's hand as he lifted it to check. A worried frown pulled at Marcel's lips. Jordanna rubbed her glossy lips together, turning to the woman beside her, "Excuse me."

Having only moved a step away, the woman's voice wasn't hard to understand, no, Jordanna could pick up everything. Those five little words were hard on the ears, but she could still hear her, she could hear the cunning, sly undertone to her voice. It was like a threat in five words.

"I'm Aurora, by the way."

Jordanna looked back at her over her shoulder, radiating elegance. Her diamond earrings shone in the light, the simple, natural, contained waves in her hair ran down her back, her skin glowed in the light—contrasting to her dress. The red scar on her neck marked her as strong, it wasn't branded as ugly, no, it was show of survival. And that elegance, how she held herself, and how strong she was, was just as cunning as Aurora's silent threat.

Her glossed lips twitched into a smirk, "Oh, I know."

Aurora knew that she wasn't supposed to be seen—especially not by Jordanna or one of the Mikaelson's, not yet anyway. But she couldn't resist the chance of seeing Jordanna, she wanted to know what she was like—what she looked like, so that she could feel better. So that this worry in her mind that Klaus had come to love another would be salvaged and that when she saw Jordanna her mind would be calmed.

But it wasn't. Jordanna wasn't what she had expected. From what she could tell Jordanna was a wench, to put it simple. She was his rebound, but that didn't mean she felt any better, no.

The second the words 'Jordanna Jones' slipped from Aurora's lips, Jordanna knew. It was quite easily placed, the bitter tone, the judgemental eyes on her. Plus, while Klaus thought she hadn't listened to a word he had said about Aurora de Martel, she did. She listened to him as he described her, told her about her. So she knew. It took a special kind of crazy to stalk out your ex-lover's ex-girlfriend, Jordanna would know—she and Caroline had done it one too many times.

Without looking back, because she knew that Aurora would already be gone, Jordanna sauntered over to Hayley and Elijah, "What the fuck is happening?"

It was visible Marcel was growing nervous—but he was doing one hell of a job hiding it as Tristan finished outlining the test, going over the rules. "In victory, you become one of us. In failure, you meet your death, You have a few hours until dawn. I wish you the best of luck."

・❥・

While Jordanna did not want to use her magic anymore, for Marcel she would, though it may hurt and taunt her, she'd do it for him. If she needed to step in to save his ass from the 'Strix', she would. No question.

That's why her thoughts were consumed with bad memories, flashes of images she did not want to see flickered through her mind as she stood at the bar beside Hayley and Elijah, she was thinking, thinking of how she could help get him out of this thing alive.

"These vampires are ancient," Hayley whispered, worry laced her voice. "How is Marcel supposed to beat one of them?"

"My question exactly," Jordanna murmured, tapping her manicured nails against the bar surface.

Just then, Tristan appeared out of nowhere, butting into the conversation, "With guile, courage, perhaps a bit of trickery . . . admittedly, it's a long shot, but then, sometimes the new candidates surprise us."

He turned to Hayley first, not hiding how his eyes dragged across her figure in the red gown, "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tristan de Martel, and you must be the famous Hayley Marshall-Kenner, Alpha to the Crescent wolves."

Tristan took her hand in his and gently pressed a brisk kiss to the skin, Hayley, on the other hand wasn't impressed, she jerked her hand away after a moment. Tristan eyes merely lit up in amusement, "The pleasure's all mine, I see."

Jordanna snorted at Hayley's actions—drawing attention onto herself. "Well, well . . . Miss. Jones. What a pleasure it is," Tristan announced as his eyes shifted onto her figure, he held his hand out and she stared at it blankly before looking back up and meeting his eye as she left his hand hanging.

"It seems you two have yet to take a liking to me! No matter!" He clasped his hands together, looking between the two women. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

Ew.

Thankfully, Tristan diverted his attention elsewhere, and that elsewhere just so happened to be the unfortunate soul of Elijah. "Elijah! When I sent your invitation, I didn't dare think you'd come. Tell me—as our founder and patriarch, what do you make of our last candidate?"

Elijah's voice held sarcasm as he spoke, a sardonic smile rested upon his lips, "Well, let me see. Marcel . . . he's arrogant, he's stubborn, prone to self-aggrandizement. He should fit in perfectly!"

"If he survives," Tristan noted. Jordanna and Hayley's head snapped in his direction, sending him angry glares. "I take it Mr. Gerard is a friend of yours?"

"Very good friends," Jordanna told him, arching a brow.

"And even if we weren't . . . I don't much like bullies," Hayley trailed off, not daring to hide the obvious dislike for the man.

Tristan's brows shot up, a smile of shock rested upon his face, "A bully? My dears, you barely know me!"

"Maybe," Jordanna trailed off. "But men like you are predictable. Easy to read."

Tristan rose his brows, making a hand gesture towards himself. "If I'm ever so easy to read, have at it." He turned to Elijah, rubbing his hands together with a grin. "This'll be fun."

Jordanna stared at him a moment, head tilted in thought. "Let me guess, daddy's boy?" She mocked, leaving him no room to speak. "Favourite child. See, that, that you can tell just by looking at you, favourite children all seem to have a . . . stuck up tick about them," she looked him up and down once again.

   "Arrogant, but you make that pretty obvious. You parade yourself around the room, acting as if you own everything and everyone, you think you're in charge, and you think you have the world in the palm of your hand. You believe people cower at the sound of your name, at the sound of this organisations name. You think that the few people who know about this," she gestured around them.

    "Thing you have going on are scared, but I can assure you, they're not. Half the people you have invited tonight are members of this club because no one knows you exist. And I know you think that's all part of the plan. Be secret, be scary like the monsters that lurk in the dark, but it's not scary nor is it working. You believe that you carry the same fear the Mikaelson name does, but you don't, you're only a boy, trying to be one of the big bad men in the world . . . " she took a breath, pursing her lips before lifting her glass to her face. "Yeah, I think that's it for now."

Tristan took a minute to answer, his jaw clenched and unclenched before a forced, fake laugh fell from his lips. "Well, it seems as though you do not like me very much. Yet you do not know me."

"My first impressions are pretty spot on." There was a bitter tone to her voice.

"I'm sure," his own voice was hostile, Hayley and Elijah shared a look. "Well, let me remedy that." He held his hand out to her, "Please, just one dance." He turned his attention to Hayley and Elijah, "I'm sure you can keep one another company."

"Why, of course," Elijah smiled fakely at Tristan.

Jordanna huffed, ignoring Tristan's hand and moving over to the dance floor, where she reluctantly placed her hand in his own—before they slowed into a dance.

"Those things you said, they're merely assumptions," Tristan told her, raising a brow as they swayed to the music.

"They're facts," Jordanna didn't falter. "I'm speaking factually." Tristan opened his mouth to disagree before she cut him off once again. "Am I wrong?"

Tristan merely ignored her comment and cleared his throat, changing the subject, "There are few novelties left in the world, especially to us. A creature such as your friend is certainly among them."

Jordanna narrowed her eyes at his suggestive tone, "What? You want me to pimp out my friend? You want her to join your freaky, inbred club, ask her yourself."

At the lack of help, Tristan spun her around before pulling her close, the vampire did best not to falter—she remained eye contact, she was not weak, not anymore.

Suddenly a howl echoed through the ballroom and Jordanna could easily recognise that God forbidden sound anywhere. Klaus. He stumbled in, Lucien by his side—women clung to them both, laughing happily, attracting attention from everyone in the room.

"I'm ready for my medication," Klaus murmured mockingly as his arms rested over the shoulders' of two random women. Jordanna's eyes dragged down the arms that rested to the girls as they clung to him like it was their last living breath, jealously bubbled within her and her face turned sour as the blonde in a nurse costume laughed at his words, running her hand up her chest.

God, she was going to be sick. "My God, it's a room full of Elijah'," Lucien gasped dramatically, looking around the room shortly.

Jordanna's fingers tapped against her arm relentlessly as she had yet to take her eyes off of the Mikaelson. "I had that same nightmare once!" Klaus announced, slurring his words as he leant against the blonde woman. The group of gate-crashes all let out drunk laughter at his words.

Lucien turned his attention to one of the women they were with, "Go and grab us a drink, love! Feel free to fetch one for yourself."

"One for me, please!" Klaus slurred. "And one for her, and her, and her, and her . . . "

"Tristan! Tristan!" Lucien shouted obnoxiously, holding a hand up as he searched through the crowds for said man. "Come out, come out, wherever you are! Unless, of course . . . you are afraid!"

Jordanna's face was not the only one that turned sour at their arrival, Tristan turned to the vampire besides him. "I'm sorry, Jordanna, please excuse me," he whispered down to her.

Upon hearing her name leave his lips, Klaus' head snapped up. His eyes found hers almost instantly and they shared a lost glance from across the room. Jordanna felt as though her heart was stuck in her throat, like she could no longer breathe. It had been days—maybe even weeks since they had seen one another since she last dropped Sebastian off at the Courtyard, and even then it was brief, nothing worth remembering. But they did remember it, every look, every shared glance was held to their hearts deeply.

They longed for it to be how it was, but Jordanna knew she wasn't ready. She wasn't even that close to him right now and she could already feel a creep of fear crawl up her skin merely by his presence. Klaus seemed to be in awe, he thought each time he saw her she got more and more beautiful, and his heart didn't stop beating at a whirlingly speed when he took note of his necklace that still sat around her neck.

Klaus pulled his eyes away when he realised he had been staring for too long, but how could he not? It was Jordanna. The unconscious, small smile that tugged at his lips fell when Tristan came to a stand in front of him.

"You should, uh, move along," Tristan said, clasping his hands together. "You're not welcome here."

"Oh. Oh, okay. We're—we're not welcome here . . ." Klaus began, smiling cheekily as he plucked a champagne flute from the nearest serving platter before he sauntered over to Tristan. "Or maybe you should move along before I make you cry in front of all your little friends."

Tristan rolled his eyes. "My concern is for your companions. They appear out of sorts without a shiny pole to writhe upon," Tristan retorted, raising his brows in amusement.

Jordanna pursed her lips, hiding a smile. "Ohhhhh!" Lucien gasped all of a sudden as he turned to the woman who dressed as a dead bride. "He's suggesting that you're exotic dancers! Which, to him, is an insult—" he gestured toward the burlesque dancers, "—if not hypocritical. But don't take it personally, love. He finds all work demeaning. The only dignified way to accumulate wealth is by birth."

It was silent for a moment before Lucien leaned forward, extending his finger he tapped Tristan on the tip of his nose, "Boop!" A hysterical noise boomed from Klaus' chest at the action. "Isn't that right, Tristan? Hm?"

Elijah turned his attention to Jordanna, watching as an unreadable expression painted across her features as she stared at Klaus and Klaus alone, it was as though they were so close, yet so far. He watched how she swallowed roughly as she stared down at the hand the blonde in the nurses' costume laid on Klaus' chest.

He placed a hand on her shoulder briefly as he pushed passed her and cleared his throat, walking closer to his brother. "Niklaus," the older brother called out, annoyance lacing his tone.

Klaus spun on his heals ungracefully, arm still wrapped around the blonde as he searched for the person that the voice belonged to. "What is it?" Klaus asked, irritation slurred through his voice as he caught sight of Elijah.

Elijah rolled his eyes at his younger brother, he shook his head in disappointment as his gaze flitted to the women that clung to his brother. "Oh, you're hammered. Which should come as very little surprise to anyone here, but it does hamper the festivities somewhat. So, could I recommend that you find the nearest exit?"

"Just . . . " Klaus trailed off, pointing to the door.

"Yes, and could you take your playthings with you, too?" Elijah asked, impatiently. Klaus shoved his champagne glass in Elijah's hand and met his eye for a second, sending him a silent message.

"You know, I used to find it insulting that I was barred from your special little club. But now, I realise that I lack the flexibility to become a member," Klaus continued to speak just as Jordanna discreetly disappeared into the crowd, meeting Hayley and Marcel at the bar.

The three spoke in hushed whispers before the Gerard held his wrist out to the Marshall-Kenner, sending her a nod of encouragement. Jordanna's gaze shifted around the ballroom, ensuring that no one was looking as Hayley vamped out and bit into Marcel's arm.

"I could never get my head . . . far enough up my own arse," Klaus bowed mockingly as Hayley pulled away from Marcel, wiping her lips with a napkin.

Jordanna pressed two fingers against the wound, eyes fluttering shut in concentration. She was doing this for Marcel, even if it taunted her, she would do it because he was family—so she used her magic for the first time in six months, though her mind was not in a good place, while flashes of what her magic did to her blurred through her mind, causing the harsh scars that littered her abdomen to flare with heat, burning her, she ignored it for Marcel.

She was speeding the process up, for him. The guy that had Marcel's daylight ring only fed on vampires—meaning, he would feed on Marcel, the speed up was merely making the threat more solid. You could just say that it was coming quicker, but this way? This way he could feel it all hit at once.

"Thanks J," Marcel breathed out in pain, gritting his teeth.

"Anytime," she murmured, casually leaning against the counter as Marcel sauntered off into the crowd, she took another sip of her drink, Hayley perched next to her.

"Does that not bother you?" Hayley asked.

"Nope."

"Liar," Hayley told her, raising her brows.

"I'm not lying . . . I don't care," she told her, more or less trying to convince herself, rather than Hayley because they both knew she cared. All she wanted to do was rip their throats out . . . and with the larger appetite she had acquired after waking up from a six month long sleep, she would ruin them.

"Sure," Hayley drawled, lips curling upwards.

"I don't."

・❥・

While Jordanna would've done anything to not be at the Courtyard she had no choice, Klaus and Lucien's plan had worked and they had gotten Alexis back.

Jordanna didn't really understand why she needed to be there, but Hayley insisted on it. And Hayley insisted on it because she knew that deep down Klaus wanted her there.

The Jones pursed her lips from besides Hayley as the witch, Alexis, looked close to tears. "I'm sorry. I hoped I was wrong, Lucien. I really did. But I saw it. I saw him die," Alexis spoke, looking between Lucien and Klaus.

As the words left her lips Klaus and Jordanna's eyes met in an instant. Like magnets. Her nails dug into her folded arms as she stared at him, internally panicking. Klaus was not dying. Not now, not ever. She didn't care if she died trying, she couldn't have him dead. He wasn't allowed to slip through her fingers just like that, especially now. God, not now.

"Did you see the weapon?" Lucien asked, fiddling with Alexis' fingers in his own. The witch nodded grimly. "What is it?" He asked.

"To understand it must be seen," Alexis sighed quietly, smiling weakly towards Lucien as she lifted both wrists out towards Hayley and Elijah. Jordanna and Hayley shared a look before the latter moved over to the witch and bit into Alexis' wrist, soon followed by Elijah.

As Elijah and Hayley fed on Alexis, Jordanna subconsciously made her way over to behind Klaus' seat. It wasn't until she felt her hand touch his shoulder, she realised that she had even moved. It was natural to her, as it was to him as he placed his hand atop her own. Any jealously, sadness or fear she felt towards him at the moment she pushed away, she just needed to be there.

After a moment, Hayley and Elijah stopped feeding. Their faces paled, and before they knew it the blood they had just drank came back up. Jordanna's eyes widened as the pair threw the blood back up.

"Something's wrong," Hayley groaned, eyes rolling to the back of her head as another load of blood spilled from her mouth.

"Poison," Elijah announced after a moment of recovery, just as the words left his lips Alexis began to vomit large amounts of blood. Lucien immediately ran over to her, profoundly wiping away the blood that spilled from her nose as though it made a difference.

"No! No!" Lucien begged as Alexis weakly fell into his body. "No!" He muttered over and over again, a pleading tone to his voice as he tried to wake her.

Klaus looked up, meeting Jordanna's eye for a moment as they shared a look.

It was a little while later and Hayley had just left, going across the road to Jackson and Sebastian as Jordanna was having him for the night. Just as Jordanna was about to leave she saw Klaus stood on the balcony, nursing a glass of bourbon.

She debated with herself whether to make a move or not. She did. She took a step forward, the lone sound of her heels clicking against the floor made Klaus feel a normalcy. "You're gonna be fine, you know? You're Klaus Mikaelson, we'll figure something out."

Klaus turned, facing her as she leant against the doorframe. "We'll?" He questioned her.

She nodded in answer, swallowing roughly as she avoided his eye, "Just because I need time doesn't mean I'm gonna leave you to deal with this alone. Always and forever, remember?"

"Always and forever," he murmured, taking a tentative step towards her. "That scar on your neck," he started, pointing to the red line that ran across her neck, the Jones inwardly shrunk, suddenly feeling the world close in on her. "What happened?

Oh, nothing. Just evil-mind-you slit my throat.

"No idea," she lied, lifting a shoulder. "I woke up with it."

"You woke up with it?" He rose his brow, sceptically.

"Yep," she clicked her tongue.

"Right . . . " Klaus scoffed, looking away. He could tell that she was lying, but he didn't get why she was lying to him, nor hiding something from him. It annoyed him, since when do we lie to one another? What was so bad that she couldn't tell him?

Jordanna sensed the awkward atmosphere creeping up and she grew tense, "Uh, I better get going—Sebastian is probably waiting."

"Probably," Klaus agreed, turning away from her, eyes trained on the dark night sky, rather than her.

"Goodnight," she whispered, sighing as she spun on her heals, exiting the Abattoir.

・❥・

After that whole situation—the finding out about Klaus' supposed death, she needed a drink and she needed a drink now. So, she trudged down the streets of New Orleans, Rousseau's in mind. Her hands gripped onto the bottom of her gown as she avoided stepping on it.

The lights scattered down the street, brightening it with colours—the bright, colours contrasted against her darkened, sullen mood. On her way into Rousseau's she passed Marcel and Aya, a member of the Strix, Marcel nodded in greeting, her reciprocating the action before she pushed the bar door open.

She was greeted with the one and only Cami, who stood behind the bar. The blonde's head shot up in shock at Jordanna's sudden appearance. "Hey Jordanna," Cami greeted, wiping down the bar surface before she paused her actions as Jordanna came to a stop in front of the bar.

"Hi," the Jones murmured in greeting.

"What can I get for you?" Cami asked, but Jordanna's attention drifted as she noticed two women sat in the corner seats, hidden behind the bar, her frown upturned into a sly smile before she looked back at Cami—the O'Connell immediately became worried as she noted the cunning, evil smile on the vampire's lips.

"It's fine, Camille, I can help myself, thank you," she told the blonde, swiftly moving away from the bar, heading towards the two women sat in the booth.

"Uh—Jordanna?-"

Cami's frantic words were ignored as the raven-haired vampire made a bee-line towards the two girls huddled in the back booth. The Jones invited herself over, taking a seat next to the blonde in the nurse outfit, the blonde turned, giving her friend who was dressed as a dead bride a confused look.

"I'm sorry—do we know you?" The blonde asked, holding back a laugh as she let her eyes drag up and down Jordanna in judgement.

"Dear God, you're one of them," Jordanna muttered under her breath, running a hand through her hair before she met the blonde's eye again. "No, you don't know me. But it doesn't really matter seeing as you'll be dead in a few minutes."

"Um-"

The raven-haired vampire grasped onto the blonde's wrist and held her in place with her vamp strength, though she fought against it. Leaning over, she compelled the brunette in the dead brides outfit first, simply telling her that she was to follow her outside, without a sound. Turning, she did the same to the blonde.

Once they were both compelled Jordanna took a hand each in her own, letting the two compelled women mindlessly trail after her—she headed for the back exit and in passing she shot a wink to the O'Connell who sent her a worried, pointed glance from behind her place at the bar, but what could she do?

After successfully getting the two outside she turned to the brunette, a wide smile on her face, "I'll be nice, promise."

And before she knew it, she sank her teeth in her neck. Jordanna relished in it, each time after she had woken and fed it felt better and better. Like the taste and feel of the blood was magic, it was euphoric, it filled her body with warmth, or perhaps she only felt that way at the moment because of her strong dislike towards the girls—more specifically the blonde who had her hand running up and down Klaus' chest as though he was an animal in need of stroking.

The Jones only pulled away when she felt a gust of cool air hit her face and she realised that her head had fallen off. Oops? Jordanna pulled a face as she met the blonde's terrified eyes, "It was an accident. Well . . . the head part was an accident, the killing thing? Not so much."

The blonde's eyes widened as she so desperately wanted to let out a scream but the compulsion said otherwise. Jordanna ran her tongue along her blood stained teeth, savouring the flavour before her grin widened.

Run, she mouthed.

And so she did, the blonde made a bee-line for the open end of the alleyway, headed towards the bright street lights, but she suddenly collided with something causing her to fall to the ground. Jordanna bent over, peering down at the woman on the floor who was shaking. Her chin was covered in crimson, as was all down her neck. Blood splattered all over her chest and cleavage, seemingly drawing more attention to her breasts, the front of her gown splattered with blood—but she didn't mind, jealously was a fickle thing, and jealously clouded over her mind like a storm. Usually she'd be annoyed at a perfectly good dress being ruined, but because it was the two women who clung to Klaus? She'd paint the town red.

After killing the blonde with more force, more violence, she stared down at the two bodies on the ground with a frown, tapping her laced up heels against the floor. The raven-haired woman peered down at her leg which stuck out from the slit in her dress and tutted, quickly licking her thumb she brought it down to her leg and wiped off the smudge of blood.

Finally coming to a conclusion of what she were to do with the bodies, Jordanna sauntered over to the blonde first ( well, the blonde's head ), and turned her to face her, moving the bloodied, clustered hair from her ears she gazed down at the earrings before pulling a face, though she took them anyway—she could probably exchange them for a different pair, because they were ugly.

Once she had taken what she had wanted from the pair of them ( necklaces, rings, earrings . . . etc ), she placed her heel on the blonde's back and grabbed her hand before tearing it from her body. With a tired sigh she threw it in the dumpster nearby—continuing to do the same to the other woman shortly after.

Perhaps she wasn't fine, and she wouldn't be fine. But it didn't matter, because maybe change was for the best, while she may be losing it a little, she was still Jordanna . . . deep down, and every now and then she'd peep through, showing herself, reminding Jordanna and those around her that she was not gone. She was yet to be diminished because in the famous words of Katherine Pierce she was a survivor, and if there was another thing she had learnt from the doppelganger it was that pretty girls don't cry, so she'd be damned if she was gonna' sit and cry about it, she was going to sort herself out, and get her life back on track.

But first . . . she needed a fucking cigarette.

AUTHOR'S NOTE !
stan ekin-su for bringing the drama

go check out my new stranger things ff please my loves !!!! <3