Deep Water ▹ Kol Mikaelson

3. Talk Fast

Lynn's head pounded to the beat of a drum only she could hear. Or maybe some jerk was pounding away on a drum just to wake her from the unexpected nap she took. Blinking awake, she was reduced to squinting instantly. The harsh sunlight filtered through the poorly boarded up windows.

Her wrists, that were bound and pulled above her head, throbbed. The dingy room she was strung up in didn't look the least bit familiar. Using her enhanced hearing, all she heard beyond her breathing and pulse were the sounds of distant birds, scurrying of some small creature and the gentle breeze.

"Great." Lynn huffed, twisting and pulling at her binds. "I'm now living in a horror cliché."

The longer she was awake, the more her skin felt as if it had bugs scurrying underneath. The feeling was nothing more than an irritable rash. Vervain. Huffing even louder, to the point she swore a bit of her soul flew from her lips, she broke the binds and landed on her knees on the cracked concrete.

Pulling the rest of the rope off she realized that injecting her with vervain was far smarter than dipping the rope in it. The urge to vomit rushed over her, and before she could fight, she was throwing up clear liquid and stomach bile. Heaving and forcing herself to vomit as much as she could, the irritating bug-like feeling was alleviated.

Pushing herself up into a standing position, she wiped her mouth and started for the stairs. That was, until she remembered she was still dressed for her uncle's funeral and the pathetic heel of her wedge snapped in half. She flew forward, face diving and smacking nose first onto the ground.

With her nose broken she rolled onto her side and re-broke it, allowing it to heal perfectly. After a few seconds and her despair of how death loved to mock her, Lynn was back on her feet. The wedges were cast aside; she'd rather be stabbed in the feet over and over again than wear the damnable things.

Leaving the murder basement behind her, Lynn found she was in a half standing stone cottage. At the crumbled and ivory grown rocks she knew exactly where she was. This, in hindsight, wasn't any better. She was at least an hour and a half walk from her home and to stay on that short trail, she'd have to pass by the creepy, Ring well.

She wasn't all for that then again, she was a vampire so a dead girl climbing out of a well to kill her wasn't on her top list of things to fear. Before she could actually leave, of her own volition, the air shifted and she was being shoved forward and out onto the packed earth.

Rolling and shooting up she spun to find the man standing there, blinking innocently. He stood dressed in a few layers; a gray undershirt, a black and white plaid that was unbuttoned and dark brown leather jacket over the shirts. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his blue jeans and he seemed to wear converse rather than boots.

His skin was pale, his hair and eyes the same shade of dark brown that glinted in the sunlight. With force and agility, he was lean and strong, even for a vampire. Then again, if he was who Lynn first thought, he was old as dirt.

"Let me guess, the other black sheep of the family." Lynn inquired quirking an eyebrow at the man before her. Her response was met with a taunting smirk and a head tilt her twisted brain found sort of cute.

"Darling, you've no idea." He didn't move. He simply continued to stare at her, watching as she maintained eye contact but she began tapping her bare foot.

"Am I making you nervous?"

"An old as dirt Original standing there smirking?" Lynn scoffed. "Now why would that make me nervous?"

"I feel insulted." He pulling his hand from his pocket and placing it over his heart. "I mean, truly. After I've gone out of my way to rescue you."