White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter Thirty-two

1994 — New Orleans, Louisiana

The dream began on a galleon. It was the familiar ship that resembled a black serpent, sleeping in the midst of the waves. She could hear the waves hit the side of the boat, smell the salt moving swiftly through the air, hear the movement of the wood creaking with each movement. Around her, furniture began to appear. The bed in the centre of the cabin with the soft sheets, the desk by the small and circular window, the several books in the trunk with trinkets strewn about, the smell of paint and ink. Her fingers brushed against the books on top of the desk, a smile appearing on her lips.

"The Kingfish," she said with admiration. "How am I back here?" It was the ship that took her from Hastings to New Orleans, the vessel that brought her to her new life.

The young vampire spent a few more minutes in the cabin that used to be hers, took a deep breath, and pushed herself to leave. The door, just like everything else, was wood, but there was a small stained glass window with held the room in several colours when the sun shined on it. She stared at is as she made her way out, the sun immediately blinding her. It was high-noon, and there were supposed to be men walking about, whistling songs that she didn't know or making bets about who of the passengers would survive the voyage.

Eleanor looked towards the wheel, wanting to see the handsome captain, but instead saw an empty wheel that moves on its own, as if controlled by a ghost. She remembered the captain, a handsome man with hair a strange shade of red, muddy green eyes, and a nose that seemed to have been broken several times. He always wore a crooked smile, almost a smirk, as if he was teasing everyone and everything. Once, he had cornered her in his cabins, that crooked smile on his lips as his hands played at her waist.

"Have you never been touched before?" he had asked, the crooked smile growing bigger. Eleanor shuddered at the small voice that passed through her ears, her hands falling at her waist. Her mind went to Thure Lindhart, but she never thought of him as a man who touched her and took her innocence, but a monster that was easy to kill and forget. But the captain of the Kingfisher, Aleksander, was the man to truly touch her first. She had said nothing to anyone about the nights he invited her to his cabin, the nights they drank wine and each other. The nights they touched each other, the nights he taught her the places that made her moan and wither, the places that made him moan and wither.

There were times where she wondered what would have happened if she had turned him into a vampire, if she had gone with him to sail the seas and see the world. For one, the memory of Thomas Cummings wouldn't be there, the memory of Gianni D'Agourn wouldn't make her chest ache. For another reason, she wouldn't be dying.

Dying.

A breath hitched on her throat as she realised that this was a dream. She wasn't standing on the Kingfisher, instead she was probably laying in the middle of the road with several werewolf bites on her body. A shudder ran through her.

"Not what you imagined, I presume?" someone asked behind her. She turned to see Elijah standing by the deck, a book in his hands. He wore a deep blue suit, his tie black, the calmness on his features tugging at her insides. He raised a brow in her direction. "Were you expecting our ever so generous Captain Aleksander?"

A pink flush covered her cheeks. "You knew about us?"

"How could I not?" He shrugged his shoulders as a small and amused smile appeared on his lips. "I'm not an idiot, Eleanor. I knew you weren't leaving the room so you could get some fresh air, then come back at dawn all sweaty and red." A soft chuckle escaped his mouth as he shook his head. "Rebekah almost turned him, for you. She wanted you and him to leave, to explore the world, but Klaus killed him as soon as we got to New Orleans."