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I walked out of there shirtless, the night wind brushing my skin as curious eyes followed me through the streets. It was then that I saw her, sitting alone on a bench, the dim light of a streetlamp drawing shadows on her face. "Hayley…"
"Hi, beautiful," I said, approaching with a smile. "What are you doing here all alone?"
She jumped, startled by my appearance. "Clark! Why are you shirtless?"
"Something happened," I explained, chuckling softly. "I had to change, and poof, I was naked. I stole a vampire's pants."
"Wow…" She looked at me, worried. "Are you okay?"
"Of course, the other guy should be the one to worry about," I replied, sitting down next to her with a playful smile.
I looked at the glass in his hands, the acrid smell reaching me. "So why do you have wolfsbane and vervain in there?"
Her eyes widened and she looked down, shame mixed with anguish in her expression. "I… I don't want these babies to be born into this family of degenerates. A murderer, a psychopath… Sleeping with that guy was my biggest mistake. I was going to drink this and end them both. They don't deserve to live in this world…"
"What a load of nonsense," I retorted firmly.
"What?" She lifted her head, tears welling in her eyes. "Why are you saying this? Don't you care if your son dies?"
"Who said I don't care?" I said, my voice softening. "What's bullshit is everything you said about Klaus. Yes, he's a psychopath, a megalomaniac, a homicidal—everything that ends in 'cida,' that guy is. But you wouldn't kill the babies for him, you would kill them for yourself."
"Clark…" she murmured, her voice shaking.
"You're scared of being a mother, aren't you?" I continued, staring at her. "Actually, being a mother terrifies you. I feel everything you feel, Hayley. Just by looking into your eyes, I know."
"Clark…" She took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. "I never had a mother. When I turned into a wolf, my adoptive parents threw me out of the house. I've been living alone ever since. Yes, you're right. I'm terrified of being a mother. I'm constantly afraid that I won't be good enough. One child would be enough… let alone two. I'm freaking out, Clark."
I held her gaze firmly and tenderly. "I'll try to be here for you, Hayley. Support you, give you strength to be a good mother. And I'll protect you both as if you were my own children—not just one, but both of you."
She smiled, a warm glow in her eyes, and leaned in to hug me, the warmth of the gesture driving away the chill of the night. "Oh, how sweet…" a sharp voice mocked. "Too bad they're both going to die."
Three vampires surrounded us, their eyes shining with thirst. "You were unlucky to come here, werewolf. We're going to kill you."
Hayley stood up, irritated. "I'm tired of vampires bossing me around." She threw the cup of the mixture at the first vampire, who screamed and fell, his skin burning. She turned, but two more rushed forward—until Rebekah appeared, quick as lightning, and eliminated them with precision.
"Thanks, Rebekah," I said, relieved. "Listen, Hayley, go home. I'll take care of Elijah. I know where he is."
Rebekah turned to me, surprised. "Do you know where he is?"
"Yes, I know," I confirmed.
"I'll take Hayley home and I'll go with you," she decided.
"I'll go first," I said, already walking away. I grabbed the coat from one of the fallen vampires—it looked good on me, by the way.
Almost two hours later, I was lost. "Damn, where am I? I forgot how shitty my sense of direction is…" I stopped when I heard voices in the distance. "Wait, that noise… Rebekah and Marcel?"
"You win," Marcel said, his voice tight. "I'll take you to Elijah." He hypnotized a woman passing by, ordering her to go away and forget everything.
"I want to see Elijah, okay. Come with me," he said to Rebekah.
"Hey, hey, I want to go too!" I interjected, appearing behind them. "He's my friend, you know?"
They both turned around in surprise. "Clark!" Rebekah exclaimed. "Where have you been? I thought you knew where Elijah was."
"Well, with all my powers comes one flaw: I have the sense of direction of a five-year-old," I admitted, laughing.
Marcel stared at me silently. Rebekah sighed. "Okay…"
"Let's go, before I give up," Marcel said, pointing at me. "You don't—"
"Hey, calm down, man," I interrupted, smiling. "I'm not going to hurt the little witch you're hiding."
"How did you…" he began, astonished.
"I hear things miles away all the time," I explained. "But it hurts my ears, so I turn that ability off. When I turn it on, you can't imagine the things I hear, friend."
He went quiet and started walking without another word. We arrived at a place full of paintings and a coffin in the center. Rebekah stopped at the entrance.
"Invite me in," she asked.
"You have to ask the lady of the house," said Marcel. "Davina, come here, my dear. Invite her."
A girl appeared—sixteen or seventeen, light brown hair, blue eyes, a beautiful face. When she saw me, she froze, her eyes locked on mine, as if the world around her had disappeared.
"Davina…" Marcel called, frowning as he noticed her trance. "Hey!"
I looked away, uncomfortable. "These paintings are really cool," I commented loudly, walking over to one of them. I picked up a blank piece of paper and began to draw.
Davina snapped out of her reverie, her face flushed. "Come in," he said to Rebekah, who stepped through the door, opened the coffin, and began to remove the dagger from Elijah's chest.
Meanwhile, I lost myself in drawing—a childhood habit that I carried into my teens. With my photographic memory turned on (something I rarely used, because I found it boring to remember everything), I scribbled the face of a girl: 15 or 16 years old, blue eyes, light brown hair, a slight smile. She would be known as Hope.
The three stopped what they were doing and came closer, admiring the quick and precise line.
"She's beautiful," Rebekah said, intrigued. "Who is it?"
"Someone who, in the future, will be very important to the three of you," I replied enigmatically, folding the paper and putting it in my pocket.