The Howling ▹ Klaus Mikaelson

09.

THE HOWLING.

     09. CHAPTER NINE : the arrow killed the beast (n.e)

     His words resided in her brain. You're more like me than you are them. It wasn't true, she continued to echo, but, then again, it wasn't a lie. Rowan could see the similarities: being the black sheep in the family (check), having no tolerance for traitors (check), stubborn to a fault (check), and too untrusting for their own good (check). There were far more on her list, but the thoughts began to run together before she began begging herself to forget the sentence. But she couldn't.

The nightly cycle of the moon dwelled on, and, one by one, the stars faded, welcoming the early morning with open arms; Rowan, not so much. She twisted in her bed, burying her face into her pillow in an attempt to lie to her brain into thinking it was still night. Obviously the muscle didn't believe her, because, once again, she twisted, the sheets tangled around her legs, and she laid flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her head turned, her right cheek against the cool of her pillow; her eyes squinted as they adjusted to the light, and she twisted for the third time, unwilling to welcome the morning with open arms.

She sat up, sighing as her eyes wondered around the room until landing on the books that seemed to mock her. One would like to believe that because of her ... extracurriculars, the history teacher, otherwise known as Alaric Saltzman, would give her a break on a couple tests. He did before, but he made it clear that it was a one time thing. Begrudgingly, Rowan clambered out of bed, and made her way to her wardrobe. Changing, doing her morning routine, and grabbing her keys and books, she left the seemingly empty house.

The stay at Elena's only lasted a short time. After too many mornings of being awaken by whatever daily drama, Rowan sucked up her own family drama, and went back home. It was much easier since Tyler had gone.

The soft melody of her morning playlist began as she turned the ignition in her car, and began the journey to the Grill. Normally to study, most people needed quiet to be able, on the other hand, Rowan needed the bustle. Parallel parking, she arrived at the restaurant, gathering her books, she walked inside; she took the table farthest in back.

Minutes passed, and a paper cut healed before Rowan let out a groan, her head falling onto the table.

"Bad day?"

Another groan let her throat from the obvious voice. "I feel like it's going to get worse if you're here," Rowan muttered. Elijah hummed, and gestured at the seat. "Christ, sit down."

He did, his eyes scanning over her papers as so. "You know, the real history is what they don't teach you in school."

"Really," Rowan snorted, closing the textbooks. "So how'd you get out of the box? Dumb or Dumber?"

"I assume you're referring to the Salvatores."

"Obviously. Though they tend to switch back and forth between the labels. Right now Stefan's probably Dumber."

"Damon took the dagger from my chest," Elijah said, nodding in thanks when a waiter brought over a glass of water. "Which has led to me extending an invitation to you."

Rowan raised her dark brows and stared at him. "Wow, and face-to-face one, too," she drawled out, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Invitation to what?"