Resurrection | Damon Salvatore [2] DISCONTINUED

Chapter Five

   Klaus Mikaelson—Hybrid Dick, All powerful-wolf-vamp-Hybrid freak being a few names Damon would give him instead of his true name—was a man that couldn't be trusted. Years back, when they first met in Mystic Falls, the Hybrid was a man that destroyed the happiness that had accumulated in his life for the short amount of time he had returned. Klaus had killed people they loved, destroyed their lives, and had tortured them because ha hadn't gotten what he wanted. In other words, Damon Salvatore didn't want to look for Klaus Mikaelson.

   "Caroline's not picking up her phone," Stefan said as he walked back to the hotel room, staring down at his phone.

   "Which means she doesn't want to talk to you," Bonnie said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You did break her heart, Stefan."

   "She broke mine," he returned with a sigh. "We weren't meant to be, Bonnie. She knew that, I knew that. And we both decided to end it with a smile."

   "I've known Caroline for my whole life," the witch said with a small smile. "You've known her for years, Stefan. You should know that she's stubborn."

   "Every Forbes is stubborn," Damon mumbled, recalling the Forbes's he had met in his lifetime, including when he was both human and a vampire. "Trust me."

   "So, how to we get to Klaus?" Frederick asked, glancing between everyone. He looked annoyed, troubled and angry. The boy had been angry ever since he returned all of Damon's phone call. It seemed that it was the only emotion he sported.

   Damon sighed. "He's the hybrid, an Original vampire. We're in in the most supernatural city in all of the world, before Mystic Falls, obviously." He looked around the table. "We just ask for him."

   There were numerous bars in the French Quarter of New Orleans, but there was a specific one that they thought would be best to ask about the vampire king. It was one that Caroline had mentioned years ago. Rousseau's was located right in the centre of the French Quarter in Royal Street, by Place de Henriette Delille. It was named after the Genevan philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, a person who believed that people are born good and made bad only by the society in which they live.

   There must have been some sort of coincidence there.

   It was a dimly lit bar, with two bartenders behind the bar and a few people sitting at the tables. The walls were bare, just a few pictures hanging here and there. The thick scent of booze made the vampire scrunch up his face and glance around.

   Damon made his way to the bar, staring straight at the woman who was drying a pint glass. She was blonde, with crinkles in the corner of her eyes and a beauty mark on the left side of her forehead. She looked up when he took a stand in front, and smiled.

   "What can I get you?" she asked. Her smile was friendly, like it needed to be.

   "Klaus Mikaelson," he immediately said. It was no point beating around with unnecessary words and jokes and flirting. He wanted answers fast.

   Her smile twitched, but it remained there. "I-I'm sorry?"

   "You've heard of him," he noticed, nodding. If she hadn't, her lips wouldn't have twitched and she wouldn't have looked so afraid. "Good. So, now tell me, do you know where he is?"

   "No one has seen him for years," the woman uttered as she glanced around, as if she were trying to make sure no one else heard. "No one knows where he is."

   Damon nodded. "So, where's the rest of the family?"

   "Whatever you and the Mikaelson's have, I want no part in it," the woman hissed, shaking her head. "I want no part in this vampire-werewolf war."