#the mardi gras conundrum

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 9. ) “Acheron?” Beyond mere passing curiosity, it was the urgency supporting Bonnie’s need to understand the man sitting behind the wheel of his ridiculously expensive car that scalded her tongue. He was ever evasive, enigmatic and rarely straightforward where his past was concerned. But none of it quelled her demand to search for the truth. She didn’t seek it for personal gain either, she only sought to soothe the battle-weary hearts of her hunters. During the long weeks of bonding with each one of them, Bonnie convinced herself their inner peace was too valuable to be overlooked. Neither was the sharing type yet she was determined to help them heal wounds inflicted centuries ago, in a time innocence still characterised their human lives. And only the deepest betrayal could taint it. Riding in comfortable silence, Bonnie suspected the indecipherable Dark Hunter would resort to the infamous technique called feigned indifference where he pretended not to hear her while she would be forced into accepting his choice for silence. Stoic, and his features impassive, Acheron Parthenopaeus held all the charisma in the universe with full lips pressed against one another into a thin line. His gaze seemed focused on the road but behind that wall of opacity from his shades, Bonnie couldn’t be certain. And if her senses were correct, then he was, most definitely, eyeing her with the stealth of a predator. She felt the burn of his gaze on her. “Back at the comp—“ He sighed. As if the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders. “You want to know.” He interrupted her train of thought. “About the... incident from earlier.” The wilderness that rolled naturally from the contained storm of his voice offered her familiar security. A balm to her soul, she would never grow weary of it. It was almost as if he could read her innermost thoughts. And though she knew Dark Hunters possessed different gifts, Acheron seemed to be the rarity to that rule. The odd one out. Kyrian once told her he was the first one to be created. And she figured that was why he shared similar abilities to those of his brethren. Perhaps Kyrian and him were even more alike than her initial evaluation, conducted on the spot, back in Sanctuary when she first met Ash. Their personalities, however, differed significatively. “I—I probably can’t imagine...” she started but her words lost their direction when Acheron steered the Porsche into a new destination. No longer on their way toward the Garden District, it wouldn’t be long until Bonnie recognised St. Louis Cemetery’s aged iron gates. The car came to a stop near its old entrance. And without another word, he vacated the cramped space to welcome the fresh air of February. At first, Bonnie didn’t dare moving. She was paralysed in fear, mostly. The waters in which she swam were dangerous and treacherous, she knew of the promise navigating through the past and what it could potentially entail for the one taking a peek, even if brief, into that old chest of memories. She sensed barely contained pain, and worlds of sorrow and unrestrained grief. Outside, Acheron sat on the hood of his car. Alone. His chin slightly raised, it was obvious his gaze was lost to the skies already painted with the light tones of dawn. The night had come fast but the sun showed signs of similar elation for its return. It was now or never, she thought. As she opened the door on her side, left the car and took a seat next to him, Bonnie registered no movement from the embodiment of enigma himself. His shoulders slumped, his gaze finally sought refuge in wide-open doorway to her soul —those forest green eyes he had gotten lost in on multiple occasions before. But Bonnie wasn’t having any of it by allowing him to hide behind the comfort of his ever present shades. Hesitantly, and watching him from beneath curtains of thick lashes, her fingers took possession of his sunglasses as she slowly stripped his eyes naked. She knew what to expect but the gasp of appreciation still escaped. Liquid mercury swam quietly in his eyes as he watched her disarming him. Bonnie was the first and only one to accomplish that since his rebirth. And while he said nothing, a furious tic thrummed visibly along his jaw. She expected the momentary peak of anxiety after the bold exposure of him. A small grin stretching her lips, Bonnie folded his sunglasses and slid them inside her jeans pocket. For the time being, she was holding them hostage. Despite her calm facade, her heart suddenly became a professional gymnast as it did flips back and forth like there was no tomorrow. “It’s okay, Ash. If you prefer to keep your story to yourself,” she interrupted their silence at last. Besides panic and desperation, she was hit with a fathomless wave of grief the likes of which the young witch had never drowned in before. The raw intensity of these emotions flooring her, she was left breathless for several heartbeats. “I just... I hate seeing the torment of your past shadowing the light in your eyes.” Staggering from the onslaught of emotions, tears prickled her eyes. “You’ve been so hurt. I can sense it. I can.” Her chest rose and fell repeatedly. “You still bleed from your wounds. The past still holds you prisoner. And I don’t even know for how long! I can’t imagine the damage that’s caused on your soul.” Disturbed, Bonnie quickly wiped away the disgraceful tears that managed to escape her defences. The gates were now wide open. Beside her, her companion chose immediate silence. Frozen by the prejudice of his past, he walked trough the wastelands of memories without realising her fingers interlocked with his as she slid her palm on top of his massive hand. An earthquake-like tremor shook the whole of him. “It’s eleven thousand years.” He stated matter-of-factly. Surprise and shock registered on her face. It couldn’t be, her meagre knowledge of history told her it wasn’t possible. Yet, the exhaustion etched on his features spoke a whole different tale. “How is tha—?” She started. “That history lesson is too long and complex for tonight.” His gaze wandered to where their fingers stood united, Bonnie’s index finger stroking his knuckles. “And Bonnie? I’m soulless. All Dark Hunters are.” Promptly rolling her eyes, she smacked him on the arm. Like a masochist, he smiled down at her. “Ow.” Acheron massaged his arm, successfully allowing them both a reprieve from the growing tension. “That ought to teach you not to smart-mouth me! You know what I meant. It may not inhabit your body, Ash, but it’s still yours. Still bleeds. I can see it, you know?” The soft, tangent urgency to secure his understanding clung to the breaths expelled. Since the moment she had been brought into their lives, Bonnie had been silently collecting data, studying and gathering every ounce of information about her warriors. Acheron and Kyrian, in particular, as both had been the ones she had spent the most time with. After careful analysis of her research, she was fairly confident Ash loathed the thought of having someone at his back. He even recoiled with the exaggerated proximity of another. With that thought in mind, and wanting to test her theory, Bonnie leaned closer. Purposely invading his personal space. Even though it was minimal and discreet, he drew back. Inside her chest, the thin walls of her beating heart cracked. The desolation mirrored in those pools of mercury laying waste to the fields of her weeping soul. ───Just how much misery has he been put through? Persisting, she tried again. “Back at the Mikaelson’s, before Klaus showed up, you…” With her insides twisting in oceans of anxiety, she lifted her gaze to his face. The urge to see him impossible to bypass. He was now peering right through her. “I know.” Serene but resigned, the direction of his gaze shifted so that he was staring at the horizon whilst pushing closed fists into the pockets of his worn-out leather coat. Soon, the first timid rays of sunshine broke free. Tearing the darkness apart. Had she been sharing this moment with Kyrian, they’d be on their phrenetic way home. As a norm, Dark Hunters were banished from sunlight, yet their leader stood as exception to that rule. Nothing about Acheron Parthenopaeus was ordinary. After several minutes spent in absolute silence, and with a defeated sigh, she rose from the hood of the car and handed him his shades, certain he had murdered the topic and buried its corpse. Her hands tied, Bonnie decided to respect his deafening silence and privacy. “Come on. Let’s face King Stubborn. I can almost hear his tirade from here.” It was her way of letting him know of her decision. “It was my nephew.” Halfway through her march to her side of the car, Bonnie froze. Her curls bounced back and forth with the abrupt movement of her head as she looked back at him. She almost doubted she heard him when he didn’t elaborate. His tone had been so low as well, as if afraid of the damage the words would deliver. Hesitantly, she approached him again. ─── Was Acheron Parthenopaeus finally allowing her to take a peek into the fortress of solitude of his soul? The sunglasses still caged between his fingers, calloused by countless battles, Bonnie found herself peering deeply into the oceans of mercury of his eyes. Saying nothing, the petite woman simply reached for his hand, securing it between her fingers as she gave him a nod of encouragement. “He was murdered while I lay in a drunken stupor in the room next door. His death and my sister’s, his mother, are on me, Bon. Their blood still stains my hands.” Without pretending she was privy to all the details of that tragic night, Bonnie shook her head vehemently. “It wasn’t your fault, Ash. You would probably be killed too if you had gone into their room… And besides, something tells me you weren’t drunk because you felt like partying. You’re not that type. You were drowning. Weren’t you?” She lowered her chin while her thumb and index finger secured his. Turning his head her way, she then forced him to look back at her. “Weren’t you?” Again, she asked. “That’s no excuse, Bonnie.” Rising from his spot on the car hood, the Dark-Hunter swiftly made his way to his side of the car. “I let them die.” With a sense of finality, he tucked himself behind the wheel of his Porsche. But Bonnie couldn’t disregard the raw vulnerability drenching his words. The agony exuding enough to rob the air inside her lungs. Enough to inject her with a weakness capable of driving her to her knees. Leaning over the passenger’s seat, Acheron opened the door to welcome her inside. And without another word, she took her place beside him. A stirring of magic began tickling her senses then, like a foreshadowing of sorts. In the cramped space, Acheron touched her arm in the midst of shifting gears as he brought the engine to life. Taken by surprise, Bonnie gasped loudly. Not by the touch itself but the sudden flashes of ancient memories taking her brain hostage, without an ounce of mercy. Lying in a pool of his own blood, Acheron Parthenopaeus struggled to rise from the slippery floor of the grand palace. Lost to his anger and bloodlust, his attacker, a male figure of pure perfection with a golden aura, sank his knife into Acheron’s heart before slicing him open up to his navel like a hunted animal being gutted by a barbarous predator. The brutality of the scene alone successfully stealing the remaining air flowing through her lungs. “You died that night, too.” She stated in a whisper, haunted by the violence still burning behind her eyelids. This time around, he didn’t elaborate. But he watched her, from the corner of his eye with a strange light reflected on his gaze. The assertiveness supporting her revelation pushing him to put his every available resource to use, he was soon faced with a growing mystery Acheron couldn’t quite figure out yet. Still petrified by the sudden revelation on both parties, the pair rode in a rather strained silence for the remaining journey. At Kyrian’s antebellum mansion’s gate, the young witch finally dared a peek at the man sitting beside her. “Ash—“, she started only to be interrupted by him. “You don’t have to apologise, Bonnie.” He paused as if weighing the impact of his following words. “I wanted you to know. For some reason.” The air of mild astonishment clung to him furiously before quietly leaving her to her own thoughts as he braved the path toward the main entrance of Kyrian’s exuberant manor with regal superiority that bled from every pore without an ounce of vanity exuded. “One day, Ash. One day, you will tell me every secret you’ve buried deep in your soul. Then, I’ll set you free.” With that whispered vow, Bonnie vacated the car to follow him and, finally, confront her latest source of woe. Their gazes locked instantly as she stepped through the door. The cold morning’s timid breeze blowing, dragged her curls behind her shoulders as her fingers made haste to shield Kyrian from the invading sunlight. Even in darkness, the ancient Prince’s blonde curls glistened like an aura of mortal divinity. Incapable of staying unaffected, her heart quickened at the sight. And though his stance prevailed rigid and unfaltering, Kyrian stood silent. Almost defeated, and at a loss for words. In return, Bonnie’s demeanour evolved through different discharges of emotions as her thoughts raced through her mind. Neither willing to break the silence of discomfort. Drowning in conflict, she entertained their staring contest for a little longer just so she gave herself the time to examine the source of all her current heartache. Convinced her stubborn Dark-Hunter had recovered from most of the damage done to him the previous night, she finally mustered the courage to reveal her intentions of returning to Mystic Falls for a few days. “You look better already. That’s a relief.” Pause. Fidgeting fingers found temporary shelter in her jacket’s pockets. Then she cleared her throat. “Ash is taking me home for a couple of days.” ─── There. It’s done. Best to just blurt it out and take them both out of this misery. Unsure he had heard it right, he sought Acheron for clarification. Or any indication of the meaning behind her words. As the sole witness to their exchange, characterised by tension and uneasiness, Ash chose not to elaborate. Leaving that pleasant task to her. “I’m gonna find Nick. There’s something I need to discuss with him.” And just like that, he vanished toward the kitchen. Betrayal spoiled Kyrian’s patrician features. As a member of the male community, he had hoped his boss would join forces with him in solidarity. To dilute the growing tension building between him and Bonnie. But no, the old bastard slipped through the cracks at the first chance. “Why?” Defeated, he couldn’t even hide his dismay. It took him several heartbeats of aching silence to finally tear it apart. In his head, Kyrian had already demanded her all the answers but none were brought into the light. Only that broken whisper seemed to matter. “You know why.” She murmured back, without wasting a heartbeat. Though Bonnie wouldn’t admit it out loud, her poor bruised heart cracked even further. Pain oozed from it like poison as it continued to pump blood unknowingly of the destruction caused. Suddenly lightheaded, and with weakened knees, she sought swift support from the nearby sofa just to avoid worlds of embarrassment. His rejection had been enough. It stung like a viper’s attack and now she bled. She just wanted to bleed alone for a couple of days before raising her chin and throwing her misfortune over her shoulders as if nothing had transpired.

Guilt-ridden, at least he had the decency of showcasing remorse by fixing his stare anywhere but her eyes. “I’m going upstairs to pack. Can you, please, tell Acheron I’ll be ready in a few minutes?” Sighing in extreme desolation, she left him alone to his thoughts. The whole packing process didn’t take her even twenty minutes, she had been taken to New Orleans against her will after all. A bittersweet smile tugged at the ends of her lips as the memory of the first encounter with Kyrian invaded her thoughts like a Trojan’s horse. She nearly laughed reminiscing on their first exchange of words and how much he had feared her even though he had been the one kidnapping her. Instead, a choked sob escaped. Life had to have a grudge against her, she pondered. All her efforts to turn things around when nothing went right could never hold the walls that sustained any form of happiness. It took her a minute of sitting on the bed that had been hers for several weeks to pull herself together. Her emotions ran haywire and she was having some trouble taking their reigns. Once certain she wouldn’t break as easily in front of him, Bonnie grabbed the bag with her clothes. But as she was leaving her room, she felt the urge to leave a memento that would remind him of her. Aware of his instant appreciation for relics, Bonnie decided to gift him with one of her grandmother’s old necklaces, a witch’s talisman. Her favourite and most powerful. Hoping he would find it after her departure, Bonnie made her way downstairs to find both Kyrian and Acheron waiting for her in a silence that felt strange, thick with tension. “I’m ready to go.” She announced bravely while focusing her attention on the straps of her bag, avoiding Kyrian’s burning gaze. Sensing the unresolved tension between them, Acheron gave Kyrian a meaningful stare with a message only privy to them both before getting up and making his exit. “I’ll wait outside for you, Bonnie. Whenever you’re ready.” Emphasising that last sentence, Ash conveyed his belief the two of them should trade some parting words before her temporary departure. In silence, she nodded and waited until Acheron was outside. “I don’t want you to go, Bonnie.” Kyrian’s delivery almost like a plea took the young witch by surprise. She had expected to be one breaking the silence. “I can’t stay and pretend nothing happen. I’m not like that, Kyrian.” The anguish in her voice becoming more solid with each word. “If I’m coming back here to fight against this enemy alongside you then I need time to put my priorities in order.” Unable to withstand the sound of heartache in her voice, her fallen Prince closed the gap between them and took her face with both hands. Admiring the beauty of her strength, Kyrian closed his eyes for a few heartbeats as he cursed his very existence. For the first time in over two thousand years of solitude and misery, his heart awakened from a long death. But they could never be, regardless of his feelings toward her. That would be a direct insult to his vow and the goddess he served. Resting his forehead on hers, temptation bit him hard as they stood on the verge of goodbye. ─── I love you, Bonnie. The words never came. Instead, he breathed in her perfume. “At least let me be the one to take you home...” With tears prickling her eyes, she attempted her escape but he wouldn’t let her. Kyrian remained frozen as if willing to extend their moment. “I can’t. If I allow it, I’ll just delay the inevitable. Better to just rip it off and hope for the best.” Inside, every wall crumbled to the ground. There was shards of glass everywhere. She was a wreck, bleeding and the ruins of what could be would become unfinished dreams. “I should go now, Kyrian.” Fighting off a sobbing session, she rubbed her eyes to dry unspent tears. After all, nothing would change even if she cried. Opposite from her, an ancient warrior stood deep in thought. Tormented by visions of a future he never meant to have or share with another, Kyrian remembered the tragedy of his human days, mostly marked by the betrayal that had murdered him. An inner voice had once convinced him he was not worthy of love but looking down at her, the infamous “what if” tormented him aggressively. Saying nothing, her Prince pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes to savour the bittersweet moment as he committed into memory every piece of her. “Be safe.” The softness of his whisper practically snuffed out Bonnie’s remaining strength as her knees buckled. With a tenderness that rivalled even her grandmother’s, Kyrian caressed her face one last time as if afraid he might not see her again. He was determined to make her departure the hardest one yet. Only by Bonnie’s perseverance did she manage to break them apart. “I will.” Finally turning around to leave, their fingers crossed paths in intimate touch and his self control flew out the window. Awakening from self-inflicted slumber, Kyrian closed his fingers around hers and pulled her back, drawing her into his body by surprise. He, then, stole her breath with a searing kiss, full of longing and unspoken promises her warrior vowed not to disclose in fear of what might befall her were he to defy the goddess he served. Bewildered, Bonnie gaped at him. Giving her half a smile, he knew he had to let her go but his fingers refused the separation by caressing her face while his midnight eyes dove deep into her soul. “You shouldn’t have done this.” The words came barely above a whisper as she enforced their physical distance by taking his hands hostage. “Goodbye, Kyrian.” Barely holding on, with the grip on her emotions fading with each heartbeat, she made a hasty retreat. The front door slammed, effectively shutting another chapter of her life as the weakened walls guarding her heart crumbled. She couldn’t breathe through the onslaught of heartache and agony. ─── Was this what she was destined for? Her gut-wrenching sobs, though quiet, didn’t go unnoticed by Acheron who waited for her by his Porsche. Rather unsure on how to approach her as Bonnie’s heart bled without restraint, he took calculated steps in her direction in hopes that she would note his presence. And she finally did. “I’m ready.” The strain she put on to have her voice sound remotely even through the remains of her shattered heart reinforced Acheron’s respect for her. Perturbed by her breakdown, the ever observant but quiet Dark Hunter offered her a modicum of solace by drawing her trembling frame into his chest, surrounding her with his strength through an unusual embrace. Massive hands stroked her hair with inimitable softness. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Bonnie Bennett.” The admiration reflected on his lilt administered a sense of temporary serenity. “Just remember it is not an obligation to be strong 24/7. Sometimes we have to drown before we can return to shore.” Struggling for words, she merely nodded. “Alright, then. Shall we go?” As if pulling a rabbit out of a magician’s hat, Ash offered her his hand. “We aren’t taking your car?” She asked, perplexed. Tearing a rift in her skies of grief, Acheron Parthenopaeus conjured a disarming smile she felt particularly victimised by. “No. Not this time. Have you ever traveled through the time-space continuum, also commonly known as teleportation?” Openly gaping at him, she then glanced at his exposed palm, the tears making it a near impossible feat. A stirring of excitement unleashed a few wild butterflies in her stomach as her fingers touched Acheron’s calloused hand. “Should I be afraid? How does it work?” Like any other creature, she grew hesitant just as treaded these unknown waters. “For me, it’s like breathing. Do you trust me?” Assuming an almost defensive posture as if expecting the worst, he stared at her intently from behind his trusted sunglasses. Waves of relief rolled off of him when she nodded. “You know that I do.” His fingers had barely taken possession of hers when he dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “You can open your eyes now, Bonnie. You’re home.” She did. One glance around them confirmed his claim. In fact, he even brought them to her grandmother’s unkept porch, once again proving her his powers far exceeded those of his brethren. Apart from the light discomfort in her stomach, she felt fairly confident on her competence to teleport. “It was easier than I expected…” She mumbled as realisation gutted her. She was back. Back in Mystic Falls, her so-called cursed birthplace.

[multipleservicelisting]

A New Orleans Mardi Gras With a Different Sort of Mask

NEW ORLEANS — Last January, Polly Watts estimated how much alcohol she would need to make it through Mardi Gras at her bar, Avenue Pub — and then ordered considerably more than that. It’s a practice she and other bar owners here use to lock in savings that many liquor companies offer in the early months of the year.

“We had an Armageddon-level liquor stock,” Ms. Watts said. “It usually lasts us a few months.”

New Orleans has again entered Mardi Gras season — the big finale, Fat Tuesday, is Feb. 16 — and Ms. Watts, like many bar owners, has yet to sell much of the alcohol she purchased a year ago, just before the pandemic halted the city’s famous nightlife as the high season for festivals and tourism was set to begin. She doesn’t expect to go through her overstock of vodka, whiskey and beer anytime soon, even though Avenue Pub is on St. Charles Avenue, a main route for most of the large Mardi Gras parades.

That’s because this year’s official parades have been canceled. The balls, parties and other events that make up “the largest free party on earth” violate Covid-19 restrictions, which early this month were raised in New Orleans to levels not seen since the start of the pandemic, when the city struggled with one of the highest coronavirus caseloads anywhere.

Mardi Gras 2020 is remembered locally as the last gasp of pre-Covid normalcy, as well as an accelerant of the virus’s spread. So few people here expect this year’s edition to be anything like normal. It can’t be.

Infection rates in the city are at near-record levels. Current restrictions will be re-examined at the end of the month, said Sarah Babcock, director of public policy and emergency preparedness for the New Orleans Health Department. “What activities are going to be allowed on Mardi Gras is really dependent on what New Orleanians do today,” Ms. Babcock said. “But the Mardi Gras that the nation thinks of, the picture they have, is not going to happen.”

Still, Mardi Gras, a holiday with Christian (and pagan) underpinnings, can’t be canceled. “People are going to find a way to celebrate,” Ms. Babcock said. And in the absence of traditional programming, the focal point is likely to be the bars that showcase the music and drinking cultures so central to the city’s economy, identity and allure.

These businesses, which have been as damaged by the pandemic as any sector of the city’s life, face a holiday that embodies New Orleans’s spirit — the capacity for joy, the sense of community, the embrace of art and excess — in a year when no one knows what form the celebration will take, at a time when summoning that spirit could cause harm.

The bar scene here, which not even Hurricane Katrina fully shut down, has been brought to its knees by the pandemic, but it hasn’t been snuffed out. As current regulations forbid bars without food permits to serve indoors, the activity has largely moved outside, aided by relatively mild winters and laws that allow public consumption of alcohol. (Bars with food permits can serve indoors at 25 percent capacity, but can sell alcohol only with food. Mask-wearing and social distancing have been required in New Orleans since early in the pandemic.)

Serving the tourists who are bound to join costumed locals on the streets may amount to little more than selling to-go drinks and food for customers to carry as they stroll. At a news conference on Monday, Mayor LaToya Cantrell welcomed visitors for Mardi Gras while commanding them to obey pandemic restrictions, “so our residents and our folks at the forefront of hospitality are safe.”

Tom Thayer, the owner of d.b.a., a music club in the Faubourg Marigny neighborhood, is considering recruiting musicians to play outside his club on Frenchmen Street, a live-music corridor. His decision will depend on what happens with infection rates.

“Having done almost no business since last March, it’s very tempting to try and grab the money,” said Mr. Thayer, 54, “but not at the risk of prolonging this virus.”

Ms. Watts, 55, plans to decorate the Avenue Pub to resemble a Mardi Gras float, as many locals have already done to their homes. “I just want something that will make people smile when they drive by, even if they don’t stop,” she said.

The ban on close public contact made necessary by the pandemic has rendered it all but impossible for the city’s famed drinking businesses — from its historic music clubs and neighborhood beer joints to its vintage and modern temples of exacting cocktails — to be their true selves.

The 11 p.m. closing time in place for much of the pandemic has been jarring, not least for veteran bartenders like Chris Hannah, an owner of Jewel of the South, a bar and restaurant in the French Quarter.

Mr. Hannah is one of the most respected cocktail makers in a city where bartenders enjoy outsize reputations. After 20 years of bartending, he found himself home alone for nights on end as the severity of the pandemic came into focus. Increasingly worried about his health, he started eating raw garlic, in an effort to bolster his immune system, and became obsessive about yoga.

He also spent a lot of time at Jewel of the South in the months before its July reopening, tending to the pepper plants, marigolds and herbs he’d planted to create “a victory garden, for when this is over.”

“I was extremely worried about getting this disease, because of my age and race,” said Mr. Hannah, who is 47 and Black. “Usually at the end of the night, I always think I can have one more spirit while I’m reading. Now it’s echinacea tea.”

Stinging losses to New Orleans’s drinking life include the sale of the Saturn Bar and the permanent closings of Lost Love Lounge, Prime Example and the original Johnny White’s Bar, all idiosyncratic neighborhood institutions. Also for sale is the Golden Lantern, a French Quarter bar known as “the home of Southern Decadence,” an annual festival put on by the gay and lesbian community. Storied music venues like Tipitina’s, the Maple Leaf, the Howlin’ Wolf and Snug Harbor have been silenced, though some have turned to streaming live shows online.

Kermit Ruffins, the owner of Kermit’s Treme Mother-in-Law Lounge, said he hopes Mardi Gras will provide bars a much-needed financial lift. At the same time, he’d like revelers to take note of how much better the city was when the bars were at full strength, and what would be lost if the permanent closings turn, as many here fear, from a trickle to a stream.

“I was a kid who grew up in bars in the Lower Ninth Ward,” said Mr. Ruffins, 56, a prominent jazz trumpet player, singer and band leader. He got his start as a musician playing in local bars as a teenager, something he continued doing several times a week, until last spring. The loss of income from performing is one of the reasons he started a GoFundMe page to keep the Mother-in-Law afloat.

“The number of musicians in New Orleans that play in bars for a living is overwhelming,” he said. “It’s really scary right now.”

Mr. Ruffins apologized publicly for violating Covid-19 restrictions, like requiring masks and forbidding dancing — lapses that prompted to the city to temporarily close his bar in September. He said he takes safety seriously, going so far as to close on Fridays and Saturdays, to keep from having to turn away friends from the back patio on those otherwise busy nights.

But Mr. Ruffins and others also contend that bars are being policed more closely for violations than other businesses, and that the authorities are stricter with local patrons than they are with tourists on Bourbon Street. Kelder Summers, an owner of Whiskey & Sticks, a Scotch and cigar bar, worries about the damage that could cause Black neighborhoods.

“Bars are an integral part of wealth-building in our community,” said Ms. Summers, 54, who is also a local radio host. “Historically, to have a little speakeasy was an easy way for Black people to enter into the business realm.”

In an emailed statement, a City Hall spokesman wrote that “Code Enforcement teams have largely achieved compliance by verbal warning, rather than shut-downs and citations,” and that “no area has been unfairly or disproportionately targeted.”

Mark Schettler, general manager at Bar Tonique, a craft-cocktail bar in the French Quarter, says bars are reflexively treated as less-than-respectable businesses because of their association with vice. That perception contributes to customers’ poor treatment of bar employees, he said.

“Bars are 102 years past the repeal of Prohibition,” said Mr. Schettler, an activist for hospitality workers’ rights. “But that sense of criminalization is not gone.”

Enforcement is not the only issue that has put bar owners at odds with Mayor Cantrell. Early in the pandemic, the city allowed businesses licensed as restaurants to stay open in a limited capacity, while bars were shut down entirely. (Ms. Babcock, of the Health Department, said the city was following recommendations from the federal government.)

D.J. Johnson, who opened the New Orleans Art Bar on St. Claude Avenue last February, is still sore over what he sees as a lack of government support for bars in those early months. Still, he knows the real enemy is the virus.

“Nobody wants to be in an empty bar,” Mr. Johnson said. “But during Covid, you don’t want to be in a crowded bar, either. It’s a real conundrum.”

Mr. Johnson, 40, entered into a bar scene that is vastly different from what it was in the early 2000s, when quality cocktails and wine were hard to find outside restaurants. When Mr. Hannah moved to New Orleans in 2004, he saw an opportunity to turn Arnaud’s French 75, the bar inside a historic French-Creole restaurant, into a destination for craft cocktails that had been lost to history.

The city’s bar scene blossomed after Hurricane Katrina struck in 2005. The opening of Cure, in 2007, helped bring the modern craft-cocktail movement to New Orleans, as did the growing popularity of Tales of the Cocktail, an annual festival that draws guests from around the world.

Cure’s founder, Neal Bodenheimer, 44, is a partner in two other local businesses, including Vals, a bar and taqueria opened in July on Freret Street, an Uptown corridor that Cure helped transform. All of his places straddle the line between restaurant and bar — the reverse of the phenomenon in which local chefs and restaurateurs open gastro pubs and wine bars.

Mr. Bodenheimer’s businesses have ample outdoor seating, a blessing during a health crisis that has allowed him to rehire more employees. He has added a mandatory 20 percent tip to each check.

“It’s really important to realize that these people are putting their health and safety on the line,” he said. “They should have their income guaranteed.”

The essence of the city’s bar culture, New Orleanians are apt to argue, is found not among the tourists on Bourbon Street but in the small bars that dot its residential neighborhoods. The Mother-in-Law is a good example, as are the Kingpin, in Uptown, or Markey’s Bar, in Bywater — beer bars that serve as home base for locals during Mardi Gras, and that regulars treat like second homes the rest of the year.

T. Cole Newton joined a new generation of owners trying to preserve New Orleans neighborhood bars in 2010, when he took over an existing bar in Mid-City to open 12 Mile Limit.

“Any reasonable business person who wasn’t a starry-eyed 20-something would have tore it down,” said Mr. Newton, 37, who believes modern zoning laws make it unlikely that bars like his will be replaced if they close. “I feel like I’m carrying on the legacy of a neighborhood bar in a time when that’s increasingly important.”

Snake and Jake’s Christmas Club Lounge is an archetype of the form. It’s partly hidden between two homes on a dark, deeply cracked street a short walk, and a world removed, from the lush Tulane University campus.

Andrew Ledford has been working at Snake and Jake’s, which opened in 1994, for more than 20 years. Covid restrictions have forced him to step from behind the bar to usher guests through the narrow barroom to the rear patio. A bucket filled with oyster shells holds the back door open.

Mr. Ledford, 41, said he expects to serve out-of-towners during Mardi Gras. He’ll encourage them to return after the pandemic wanes, to see what the bar — and New Orleans — is “really like.”

“I’m grateful to be open,” he said. “But we’re a shadow of our self.”

  Multiple Service Listing for Business Owners | Tools to Grow Your Local Business

www.MultipleServiceListing.com 

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[falkenscreen]

LOVE, SIMON

For interviews with Nick Robinson & Katherine Langford see here

Simon is in high school. He’s your regular run-of-the-mill guy with better than average looks, the perfect family and friends with supporting roles in Marvel movies.

If this is starting to sound like a big studio movie, it is. What doesn’t sound so much like a major studio flick is that Simon (Nick Robinson) is gay and yet to tell anybody, barring an anonymous digital pen-pal who shares his consternations and fears. Deliberating who and how to tell anyone, a small slip-up means that choice might soon be taken away from him.

Coming out narratives being largely a fixture of independent non-major releases as well as Australia’s own Mardi Gras Film Festival, where Love, Simon originally premiered, it’s refreshing to see a story of this nature with such promise for traction in the multiplexes. Too imbued with the not dissimilar yet distinct coming of age vibes emblematic of the John Hughes triumphs of yesteryear, this character-driven, light-hearted drama, if dealing with serious subjects to the great benefit of the film wisely doesn’t take itself too seriously.

Barr it’s central conundrum, Love, Simon treads the well-worn ground of its predecessors in a high school flick that, like it’s protagonist, is roundly familiar and, quintessential to this end, purposefully and widely relatabe. Simon, consequentially not even the most engaging character in his film, in the hands of Robinson is nonetheless an instantly empathetic figure. The feature rarely identifying idiosyncratic traits for a character with whom we spend almost every scene, his few peculiarities, among them his taste in music, hang ill-explained and are seldomly revisited or the subject of any introspection.

By contrast, Australia’s own Katherine Langford of 13 Reasons Why fame, with comparatively shorter screen time and a more defined character, manages to evoke reactions as emotive and memorable as just about anything else. Rising star Alexandra Shipp (Tragedy Girls) is similarly superb, bringing to a life a character at the centre of more than one wretched and unenviable quandary Simon has to face.

Boasting snippets of biting dialogue, blink and you’ll miss Natasha Rothwell as the drama teacher who deftly manages a hearty laugh from almost every line she delivers. Directing the chosen school play, Cabaret, it’s placement in the narrative due to its persisting themes is evidently purposeful, though the presence of this device is never properly explained or addressed, emerging as but one other near obligatory staple that accompanies typical teen dramas. The bland characterisations of the two jacketed jocks, one-dimensional figures when contrasted with almost every other recurring character, is similarly conspicuous in this regard.

Well performed and ultimately moving, Love, Simon nonetheless nails it when it matters and for young and old alike is a flick worth catching.

Love, Simon is in cinemas from March 29

[snowbirdrv]

Our Home-Based Winter "Job" in Paradise

Our Home-Based Winter “Job” in Paradise

Okay, what do an Italian-American Festival, a concert band, community chorus, running in your underwear, Mardi Gras, a State Fair and a Flamingo Festival have in common?

To find the answer to this and other more serious conundrums check out Jack and Niki’s Tampa Bay – Suncoast Snowbirder. Our new February issue of things to do and places to go on Florida’s West Coast – the Suncoast and Tampa Bay…

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 8. ) “Rest easy, αδελφός (adelphos/brother).” Like thunder rumbling wildly in dark skies, Acheron’s quiet tone carried the sleeping beauty from the valley of dreamless sleep back to the cold, biting reality. He probably didn’t predict he would be responsible of such but her nerves were still racked from Kyrian’s latest adventure and daring encounter with the ever seductive Lord and master of Death. Her desperation and vigilant concern nearly denounced her awaken status but Bonnie was adamant in lying completely still, with soft, profound breaths. As if she were still asleep in Morpheus welcoming arms, like a proficient liar. But Acheron Parthenopaeus wasn’t easily fooled. His back facing her, as he sat on Kyrian’s coffin-shaped coffee table, his lips quirked. A mystery the recovering warrior failed to catch on since his telepathic abilities had been suppressed for the time being. All due to the current state of weakness infecting him. Leaning forward, elbows propped on both his knees, Kyrian’s ever elusive boss carried on with their ongoing conversation as if he were innocently ignorant to her eavesdropping. “You got lucky last night, Commander. If not for their ineptitude in battle, you would have fallen.” Quietness followed. No witty comeback from the ancient dog of war who held her heart. A royal prick in her behind. ───Bastard. “Emotions will always paralyse you. Defeat you. Take reign of them and don’t lose that shit. I’d hate to lose one of my best hunters.” Despite the seriousness of the Greek’s predicament, Acheron refused to let his sarcasm wane. Its bite delivering the intended effect on the receiver of it. Still weary from the previous night’s battle against an evil older than dust, Kyrian of Thrace’s simple answer to his boss came in the form of a pain-filled groan. The hunter’s gaze kept glancing between the beast seated in front of him and the beauty who rested soundlessly. Or so he thought. Noting the impatience’s growth on his features, Acheron leaned forward and into Kyrian’s personal space. The worn leather of his long coat wailing with the strain of movement. “Bonnie was livid before she knew of the attack. I’ve never seen her so distraught.” The ancient Prince focused anywhere but on his boss. Before speaking, he tested the motor functions of his body, checking whether D’Alerian’s help was successful or not. The changes were noticeable to the naked eye, it was almost as if he hadn’t nearly been slaughtered the night before. But the urge to escape the destination of Acheron’s conversation stuck with him. The tension returned to the room, and he grew restless. “I bet she was.” He sighed, frustration rolling off of him. “She... she told me that she loves me.” The indignation saturated in his tone marking the disbelief he held. “How, Acheron? How?” He shrugged. “I suspected as much. The how matters not, Commander. Rare is the heart that still loves after suffering maltreatment. And hers clearly endured a form of purgatory.” Acheron went silent then, letting his words sink in. “Months have passed by and not once has she mentioned returning to Mystic Falls...” He glanced back at her then. “Look at her. She refused to go sleep elsewhere. Wouldn’t leave your side.” “She’s tough as nails. But we, we can’t. I can’t...” Anguish now evident in his tone, Kyrian grew more restless in his lying position. The goddess of the Moon, Artemis, would never allow one of her hunters to keep a romantic relationship. In fact, that had been part of the deal when he accepted her terms. One night stands were allowed but never long lasting romances for the very viable possibility of them breeding trouble to their warrior race. Each of them had a duty to uphold, distractions were forbidden. More often than not, these could lead them into death traps. And new hunters weren’t lining up to join her cause. “Do you love her?” His boss asked, sombrely. At first, Bonnie thought he wouldn’t answer Acheron. Staring at the ceiling, he contemplated his response. Did he love her? “You know why I accepted this job all those years ago, Ash. Trusting another woman, another soul doesn’t come easy. I had given up on all of it centuries ago. But she’s... she’s different. When I’m around her, I don’t feel like a shadow. A soulless bastard brought back to life only to fight the good fight in solitude. To be part of this world but never belonging to it. I resigned myself to that fate.” The conflict in those deep midnight eyes tearing down every wall from within, his breathing shallow as if he was surrendering to immeasurable pain. “I feel the weight of every single day I endure without the sensation of the sun’s warmth on my flesh. And I miss it, Ash. I fucking miss it.” Pause. Kyrian struggled with his words as emotions run him over with the thought of her. His tone vacillating every once in awhile. “Coming home and finding her here, awake or asleep, has caused change to my routines. Even Nick behaves different with her around. He actually makes an effort to curb his sarcasm. And she doesn’t even recognise the signs... so blissfully ignorant to it all. And this place, Ash, never felt like a home to me. It was just my base of operations. Yet now I walk here and feel welcomed, I feel at home. This has become my piece of paradise where I meet the sunshine for the first time in two thousand years. Every night, without fail. She is my strength and she is my weakness. So tell me, Ash, is this what humans call love? Because last time I believed myself in love, I ended up nailed to a wooden cross.” The anguish saturating his tone tugged at her heart, effectively carving its flesh with open wounds. She had suspicions on his sorrow’s depth but nothing could have prepared for such a confession. Paralysed, shocked and broken, Bonnie listened to their exchange of words. “No idea. I’m no expert on the affairs of romance so I won’t pretend to be one. Why didn’t you tell her this, Commander?” At Acheron’s question, Kyrian rolled his eyes. His boss was ever helpful. “We’re already cursed. Artemis would never allow a Dark Hunter to maintain a relationship.” A furious tic thrummed wildly along his jaw. “She doesn’t have to know about it.” Acheron’s insinuation injecting a degree of hope he dared not entertain. “She’d be in constant danger, Ash. What kind of life could I offer her? I couldn’t ask her to give up the sun... humans need it to survive.” Every argument of his twisted the knife embed into her heart a little further. Aware of their predicament, Bonnie always knew there was little hope for their story yet she could not banish her affections for her Dark Hunter. “Very well then. Sounds like you have made your mind.” Acheron resumed their conversation by shifting the topic and discussing Dark Hunter business, especially the growing agglomeration of Daimons throughout the city. The siege was closing in. Extra measures had to be taken to revert the tendency of additional casualties between humans and other supernatural creatures. Between small periods of dozing off, the young witch missed parts of their conversation. Eventually, she decided to escape the trap of sleep that kept taking her hostage. Her hair disheveled, she stretched her muscles and abandoned the comfortable love seat she spent the night on. Saying nothing, Acheron watched her as he sat opposite from her. She ignored him. Another called for her attention. Sound asleep, Kyrian lacked the usual strictness permanently etched to his features as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. A freedom he only earned during his downtime. Beckoned by his transcendent beauty and joviality, Bonnie found herself incapable of resisting touching him as she tucked unruly blonde curls behind his ear. “He’s never admitting it, is he?” Her heart splintered, she questioned Ash, knowing his wisdom surpassed anyone else’s. And by doing so, she also admitted to her eavesdropping. She suspected that too hadn’t gone unnoticed by the leader of the Dark Hunters. “No. He is fiercely loyal but his need to keep you safe from the dangers of our world will always prevail, I’m afraid.” The finality behind Ash’s words shook her to the core. Nodding in defeat, she squeezed Kyrian’s fingers once before letting go. Despite the inner turmoils, Bonnie Bennett had a job to do. And she was determined to see it done. “Watch him, Ash. Please.” Her imploration lost its stability by the end when her voice wavered. “I’m coming with you, Bonnie. Kyrian is okay. I’ll call Nick to watch over him and Talon to stop by until we return.” Logic told her Acheron’s suggestion owned better terms for them all but irrational fear sank its talons in her heart, instigating the flames of protectiveness where Kyrian was concerned. Written across her face, Bonnie’s doubts flogged Ash’s soul. Taking both her hands hostage, the warrior pulled her into his arms for reassurance. He, then, kissed her forehead. “Nothing will happen to him. I promise you. Okay?” While she nodded, eyes unfocused, Acheron cursed himself. Once again, he made the mistake of letting another human slip into his heart. The price to pay for that error was often too high. Not for him directly but for the creature who had conquered the fortress of solitude established in his heart, unfortunately. His word, however, was binding. But none knew of this, except Artemis who never shied away from taking advantage of it. If he were to break a promise, the consequences would raise catastrophes. “Okay.” With simple wording, she trusted him. Times had never been kind to the fearless witch who stood too jaded for her young age. Marked by loneliness, Bonnie Bennett enjoyed but a few meagre moments of untainted happiness with those she once believed to be her family. And in true honesty, she could barely recall the last time she spent time with either Elena or Caroline, her childhood best friends. Neither of them made efforts to reach out, or even learn where she went. If she was still alive... In her heart, Bonnie knew. She knew they cared very little for her. What other explanation was there? As expected, from any wounded heart, trust never came easy. Yet, surrounded by these men with pasts far worse than hers, she found inspiration. The motivation to find a novel trust still buried deep within the very core of her weary heart. Each one of them taught her that despite the cold, nauseating dishes they got served during the course of their human lives, hope never resigned. And like a soaking sponge, she absorbed each piece of advice offered. Headstrong till the bitter end, Bonnie Bennett would prevail. Grimacing, he urged her to go grab a shower and a change of clothes before returning to the business at hand. New Orleans depended on them to survive. With Kyrian largely occupying her thoughts, she went upstairs to get ready while denying her mind to take darker routes. Right now, they needed a win. And one they would achieve. ( . . . ) The car ride to the Mikaelson’s compound wasn’t a very long one yet Bonnie found herself revisiting the moment of her parting from Kyrian, just a few minutes earlier. Thankfully it was Acheron driving her this time around or else she could very well be a menace to the others on the road. Her missing focus at present, a lethal weapon. As she came downstairs and into the living room, after putting on the first outfit her eyes landed upon, she found Nick had already arrived. The young Squire ranted on repeat about his charge’s obvious irresponsibility. Anger came off of him in waves, disguising what he truly felt. Fear. Fear of losing the man who once saved him from a life he despised and never desired or deserved. Like the honourable warrior he was, Kyrian stepped in and put the fear of the gods into Nick’s friends and attackers. They had turned on him when Nick’s conscience wouldn’t let him put his hunger above the well-being of others. To steal was one thing but to hurt was something he wouldn’t condone. He couldn’t. His mother had taught him better than that. A smile tugged at her lips. The hotheaded Cajun had a heart of gold, making it impossible not to love him. Smart-mouth and all. When he turned and saw her, the disquieted Squire rushed to her, trapping Bonnie in an embrace of worried relief. “Are you okay, ma chère? He’s too stubborn to die, this one. It would chafe his ass to leave all his cars to dear old Gautier.” He winked at her then, hoping to raise her spirits despite his own nerves being frazzled. “I know. I’ll beat him if he dares to pull that on me.” Bonnie nodded in appreciation of his efforts. As if on cue, the man in question awakened. Eyebrows arched, he glanced between those present in the room with half-hooded eyes. Mildly disoriented from sleep, Acheron came to his rescue by answering the hunter’s unspoken question. “Bonnie and I are going to meet the Mikaelsons. Klaus finally sent word and wants to discuss the alliance. You stay put for now. That’s an order, Commander. And I don’t want to get any lip from you either.” The finality behind those words, holding that inherent authority so characteristic of Ash, silenced the protests about to be thrown at the two of them. Grateful for this reprieve, Bonnie quickly found herself immersed in an onslaught of thoughts that ran over one another like a freight train about to derail. Sensing her growing panic, a wounded Kyrian implored. “Bonnie... I—“ “Don’t. Please.” Her voice wavering, and nails digging into flesh, the whole of her trembled as she fled to the front door. Incapable of confronting him while drowning in replays of his words, so broken and hopeless.

Standing amidst the remains of the utter destruction left by the ancient Prince, she dared not allow him to revisit his earlier rejection. She was both hurt and angry. Quiet, furious tears ran freely. Fidgeting by Acheron’s silver Porsche, she waited for him. Anxious to escape, and find some solace in the silence she hoped he would provide during their journey back into the heart of the boisterous city. Would she ever stop hurting? When would her time to be happy come? Did she not deserve it as well? Back in the muted comfort of the car, Bonnie thought of home for the first time in months. Though she hadn’t missed it, a renewed urgency whispered wicked intentions in her ear. Beckoning her back home. Perhaps it was time, time to reconnect with her roots. Visit her grandmother’s grave, see her friends and return to her cursed wraith status where she was only seen when a witch was needed. Ever at their beck and call. It had only been a few weeks since Kyrian had brought her to New Orleans and already could she distinguish the screaming differences between her life there and the one she had led in Mystic Falls. Like opposite ends of the same spectrum, one welcomed her into pleasant heaven while the other cursed her into an unimaginable hell. And once the rendezvous with Klaus Mikaelson met its end, regardless of the outcome, she would throw herself into exile once again. Without any other option on the proverbial table, it was the only way she saw herself stitching up the wound triggered by fate’s forbidden love affairs. Her decision final, Bonnie figured Acheron would volunteer to take her back if she were to ask him. Heavily distraught, she barely noted they had arrived at their destination. Her heart splintered, the renowned witch led the way into the Mikaelson’s den. This time around, a reticent Freya Mikaelson received us. The eldest of their clan, she stood as a mystery to Bonnie. It was her second time meeting the great witch whose eyes held a wisdom that nearly challenged Acheron’s. Wrapped in sorrowful melancholy, the blonde woman greeted them with a rare smile. Though her life’s tale remained untold to Bonnie, she sensed profound loyalty in her blood and, in her aura, a fierce resolve to belong among her brethren. Kindred spirits, she thought. Had they not been on constricted time, Bonnie convinced herself she should like to exchange words with the older witch. But as it was, that endeavour had to be put on hold as more pressing matters must be dealt with. “Bonnie, isn’t it?” Freya slashed the silence, tentatively. “My brother will join us shortly.” The angry wail of a newborn followed, self-explaining the hybrid’s tardiness. On the lower floor, the assembled ground traded glances while Bonnie nodded in confirmation to the other woman’s earlier question. Guided by Freya, they walked into a studio fit for the self-proclaimed King of New Orleans to wait for his arrival. As both Ash and Bonnie sat side by side, she was made privy to a rare display of emotion that stole the floor behind her feet. Never before had she seen Acheron so distraught. And by what? What had provoked such an intense reaction from the emperor of cool stoicism? Curiosity bit her. She couldn’t let it go. Upon replaying the previous moments, Bonnie wondered if this response has been triggered by the infant’s cry. Taking in a sharp intake of breath, her senses burned with certainty that had been the stimulus imprisoning him in a cage of buried memories. During her not so discreet inspection of his expression and body language, the young witch recognised an array of sequential emotions fading in and out between heartbeats. Pain, grief, desperation, longing. The intensity of them alone robbed her of breath. From the opposite end of that sofa, the sorrowful man struggled with wayward sentiments usually kept leashed and locked within a rusty old chest. Even if she lived a thousand lifetimes, nothing could make her forget that haunted expression. With a scythe over his head, the past readied itself to reap another of its victims as Ash drank large volumes of the poisonous water he was drowning in. The whole of him ached for a past he could no longer change. Too immersed in the old pages of history, he found himself detained behind the only door painted in blood red in the hall of his mind. Though restless, his body was tense. Petrified. And his breath, shallow. Then she heard it. The imminent approach of the creature they went there for. In a panic herself, Bonnie knew she didn’t possess the elixir that would break the spell. That, however, wasn’t about to stop her from concocting one on the spot. Reaching for the darkness shrouding him, Bonnie leaned in, regardless to his aversion of another’s close proximity. Then, she whispered. “Ash? Acheron? Come back, please.” Like a blinding star, he saw her in his horror of a nightmare. She beckoned him, tied ropes around him furiously and pulled him to the light. But the weight of darkness prevailed. Bonnie got no response from him. Klaus was closer than ever and Freya eyed them both with an odd expression etched to her features. Angrily tucking stray hair behind her ear, she swallowed. If words didn’t work perhaps touch would. Slipping her fingers beneath his, rigid with tension, her hand squeezed to offer a modicum of physical comfort. And still, nothing. Frustration mounted, desperation spread like an infectious disease within her. What to do, she asked herself? Then a miracle happened. His hand squeezed back and the light returned to his eyes, restoring his spirit lost during the journey to the past. “Ash?” She mouthed when he finally saw her. The Dark Hunter said nothing. He only bowed to her, his gratitude hidden behind the opacity of his shades, as Klaus finally entered into his study and unwillingly interrupted their moment. Rudely. As if on cue, Freya excused herself and vacated the room. “Ah. How lovely to see you again, Bonnie Bennett.” The smirk, growing in arrogance, characterised his expression of smugness. He noticed her company next. “Decided to bring your guard dog again, I see. I didn’t quite catch your name the last time.” The impulse to drag every other being into the mud while he remained on his dark pedestal would never budge, it seemed. Bonnie rolled her eyes. And Acheron paid him in equal coin. “The name’s Acheron. Acheron Parthenopaeus, Bonita’s loyal guard dog. It really is my official title. Should I piss on your shoes next so we can become buddies too?” He, then, flashed the infamous hybrid his trademark shit-eating grin. To entice him further, he even bowed his head with every ounce of mockery he could muster in a blip of a second. Proud of himself, the leader of the Dark Hunters glanced down at the witch sitting beside him, convinced she would approve of his efforts to put Klaus in his place. But what he found instead made his balls shrivel. Painfully written across her features, the expression of absolute indignation snuffed out every remnant of previous sympathy for the mountain of a man next to her. “Are you both quite done with your testosterone brawl?” She inquired rhetorically. In return, Acheron had the decency of showcasing a contrite facade, even if fraudulent. The other male, however, didn’t. ───Asshole. “Look, Klaus, neither one of us is here to entertain you and your whims. We can’t afford wasting time and enough of it has been wasted already. Do us all a favour and spare us of your theatrics. If you’re in on this fight, say so. And if not, put us out of our misery already. I am in no mood to navigate through your mood swings.” She finished breathlessly. Both males stared at her, mildly dumbfounded. Greeting her with the vengeance of a smirk, Klaus leaned forward, supporting both elbows on the Victorian carved mahogany desk. Stretching the silence a little further to test the present company’s patience, he made a move to reach for the letter opener carefully nestled among an agglomeration of pens. Pointing the potential weapon in Bonnie’s general direction won him a venomous glare from Acheron. “Very well, little witch. After what could be considered a generous dose of thought, I have made my decision. My return to New Orleans means a great deal to me and my siblings. We aim to settle here, we built this riveting city after all. We deserve it.” He leaned back, resting the upper body against the cushioned chair. “Hope was just born. What better place to raise my daughter than in the city I built from rocks?” Neither Bonnie or Acheron answered him. Both stood at the edge of their seats, too impatient to learn his final decision. So he continued his monologue. “I’m not particularly keen on participating in a war that doesn’t affect me directly.” A gasp of surprise escaped Bonnie, prompting Klaus to request patience from her before carrying on with his train of thought. “But I also refuse to let alien creatures invade my city and bring it embers for the Hell of it. You have full support from the vampires and the Originals. It will rain blood before any of these… Daimons parade through these streets with an ounce of power.” To emphasise his standpoint, his fist met the surface of the desk head-on. “Was this clear enough for you, Bonnie Bennett?” All playfulness gone from his face, the hybrid rose from his seat. “If you wish to meet the reason driving me to take this position, do accompany me.” Exiting the study, Bonnie quickly fell into a similar pace to that of the hybrid when she realised Ash wasn’t joining them. “Ash?” A meaningful exchange of gazes made her understand. “I’ll wait for you in the car.” Solitude became him when he walked out of the compound. That ankle-long leather coat hugging him like body armour, Acheron left as he had entered. Quiet and pensive. Contemplating, musing. “He’s a bit intense, isn’t he?” Klaus interrupted her thoughts as he leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “The same can be said for you, Klaus.” Dismissing his failed attempt to rile her up, she continued to climb the stairs, turning right on the hall as if she knew which room Rebekah was watching over Hope. Apparently, she wasn’t wrong. Walking past her, Klaus opened a door, just two rooms down the corridor on the right. Assuming the small child to be asleep, Bonnie glanced at Klaus before venturing into the beautifully decorated bedroom, fit for a royal princess. Paying little attention to the details, her eyes found beauty in the smallest baby she had ever laid eyes upon. As predicted, Rebekah guarded her with fierce tenderness that promised worlds of pain if little Hope were to be harmed. The blonde’s heart had long melted under the warmth of little Hope’s touch though. A heart-warming scene, Bonnie thought. From behind Rebekah, who sat on a rocking chair, a pleased Freya exchanged a smile with her which pinched her curiosity even harder than before. Regardless of her family heritage of blood and death, the witches felt connected. Perhaps it was all the magic embracing them but Bonnie suspected it went beyond that. Her thoughts scattered when Rebekah’s fingers held the baby’s hand in the air to wave at her. Bonnie surrendered to the cuteness right there. After a good twenty minutes of baby talk, the Bennett witch decided it had been enough time not to have her departure be considered rude. She quickly said her goodbyes with Klaus accompanying her to the main entrance. “Bonnie. Despite my agreement to this... alliance, my priority lies in my family. My daughter. Make no mistake and don’t assume my heart’s generosity is extended to anyone else.” He finished sombrely, with a finality Bonnie already expected. She nodded. “I know, I know. We just want every faction on the same page so these inter-species wars don’t affect your collective survival. It’s important to remain united against the common enemy. Even if you haven’t dealt with it before.” “Very well. Until next time, Bennett.” Bonnie was already halfway through the door when she turned backward. “Klaus? You have a beautiful daughter. Protect her innocence from the blood that stains your hands. I’ll see you around.” With that, she left. Like a resting predator, Bonnie found Acheron leaning against his silver Porsche. He admired the skies above as if writing could be read on the looming clouds. “As cliché as this will sound... a storm is coming. Do you feel it?” His eyes landed on her then. Even from behind the sunglasses, she felt the weight of his wisdom pressing down on his shoulders as if the very balance of the entire Universe laid there. “I do.” She sighed, nervously playing with a few strands of hair. “Acheron?” She added tentatively. It was his turn to sigh. “You want to go home.” Detecting no doubt in his tone, Bonnie chewed her bottom lip with guilt plaguing her. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, yet she already expected him to be aware of her intentions to return to Mystic Falls. “Just for a few days. Mardi Gras is still a few days away and I’ll be back, I promise. I just... need go away for a bit to think. Settle my mind. I’m not focused.” “Kyrian?” She nodded, with tears burning her eyes.

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 7. ) “I love you.” The words stumbled through her lips without hesitation. And even less regard for the sole recipient of them. Frozen in a statue-like position, Kyrian Hunter (& fallen Prince of the once great kingdom of Thrace) stared at the woman locked in the cage of his body. For so long, he had longed for this moment right there. A fulfilment he had forfeited centuries ago upon the ruthless betrayal of his then wife. Believing himself an unlovable bastard, the young Prince and fierce Commander of skilled armies, who waged legendary wars against putrid Rome, had yielded to the sword of loneliness from which the cut was the deepest. On the other hand, Bonnie waited. She said nothing else. The complementing brought by other words would fall on deaf ears anyway. Within her chest, rising and falling erratically from both the physical exertion and the anxiety spawned the prolonged silence exercised by him, her heart fluttered its wings in melodic rhythm the likes of which you heard birds making during a bright Spring’s day. Her lips parted with the intention of cracking the shell of silence but before doing so, he moved. Successfully breaking the spell. Contradicting her initial prediction, Kyrian rose to his full height after a tremble that went deep into his core and he walked away. Abandoning her on the floor, sweating and craving him. Longing and silently weeping for an acceptance that never came. “I can’t do this.” She thought she imagined the words he uttered during his unexpected departure. His wife, she pondered. It must have been the root of his adverse reaction. From what little she had learned, Bonnie knew this woman had caused him great suffering. Kyrian often hid behind sarcasm and feigned disconnection from the world surrounding him while never truly belonging to it. But he couldn’t fool her. It was an act, a mask of protective nature to guard what lied vulnerable within, still bleeding profusely despite the two thousand years that had passed. A wounded warrior with little faith left to hold on to, Kyrian had tugged at her heartstrings and played melodies of sorrowful tragedy. She wanted to follow him. She even tried to. The fruitless search through every room of his massive mansion left her exhausted as well as heartbroken. With each passing heartbeat, her mind spoon fed her with imagined scenarios of him and his wife whose beauty stood unmatched in his eyes. Even to this day. That would be her bet anyway. He was nowhere to be found, though. Probably slipped out during her first round of searching. When her phone buzzed, Bonnie hoped it was him but her hopes were doomed to be crushed under the weight of bitter disappointment. It was Acheron’s name flashing on her screen. “Are you alright?”, his worry brought a small smile to her lips. She nodded. Only then did she remember he wasn’t beside her. “Um, yeah. Do you... do... have you seen Kyrian? I can’t find him in the house.” The stretched silence mocked her. He knew. There was nothing in this world that could escape Acheron Parthenopaeus. Just the few months she had spent among the Dark Hunters had taught her as much. Bonnie had always prided herself in her ability to read people yet Acheron remained the exception to this rule. She often got a sense of his moods but never with certainty. Elusive in his ways, he stood as a dichotomy. “Bonnie... he’s out patrolling the streets.” His answer was simple and direct. With a touch of dishonesty. Half truths always left a bitter taste on her tongue. “Fine. I’ll pretend that’s all it is.” Her strength wavered then, a hint of hurt wreaking havoc in her no longer steeled tone. “Listen, I got to go.” Pushing the button to disconnect the call before he got the chance to say more, she dashed across the empty house toward the nearest bathroom. Breathless, she stood before the mirror. It reflected the image of a woman defeated by the biting cuts of a blade forged to induce never-ending misery as the poor lighting cast shadows over the expression of gut-wrenching loss imprinted on her face. Despite her lucid state, she laughed. Rather maniacally. Perhaps her sanity slipped. “You foolish girl.” Gripping the marble counter, her knuckles turned white in a furious display of a darkness that pursued her without reprieve. “Haven’t you learned this lesson yet? The only reason you’ve been pulled from that hole you call home was to do a job. Play the nice witch with a martyr complex. The only witch dumb enough to die for others. It wouldn’t be the first time, now would it?” Her demons thrived in gleeful wickedness, glorifying the loss of perspective. Their hymns of victory rang in her ears while she bled in a pool of self disgust. Needing to silence them, Bonnie scratched at the sides of her face before seizing generous strands of hair in her fingers and pulling them with prejudice. Only physical pain would muffle these screams. To restore the balance and reset her tilted world, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She had come a long way in her meditation. Back in her high school days, Bonnie wouldn’t have been able to evade this onslaught so effortlessly. Extensive experience in the field provided her with the necessary weapons to win the fight. Thankfully, her many unprovoked visits to her darkness had educated her well on evasion of mental hell realms and broadened a wisdom she rarely lacked. She was now armed to the teeth. As she released the air trapped inside her lungs, she found herself admiring forest green eyes, almost as if she were somebody else. ───Your scars are bleeding all over. Don’t let them take away the good. We’re all victims to our pasts, he is no different. Don’t hold him prisoner for a crime he didn’t commit, Bonnie. Upon the ceremonial burial of the corpse of the woman who haunted her on occasion, she left the confined space to escape the possible return of that particular wraith. Welcoming the fresh breeze of the night, she ventured into the streets. The Sanctuary seemed like a good place to start her adventure after dark. In time, Bonnie came to learn the Peltiers, owners of the establishment, were Were Hunters. Bears disguised as humans. As it turned out, the witch with a fiery soul knew nothing of these creatures who could either be animals with human hearts or vice versa. Never in a million years could she had foreseen being dropped in the midst of a much darker world than the one she already belonged to. Thick arms crossed, with the mark of Artemis tattooed across his bicep, Dev Peltier stood guard at the front door. It would take a half-witted asshole to confront this beast of a man. A wicked grin unfurling his lips, he nodded in her general direction. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite witch! How are you on this lovely night, ma chère?” His male bravado forgotten, Dev’s infectious affection and playful humour pulled a 180 on her mood. Kissing her cheek like a perfect gentleman, he guided her inside in welcoming invitation. “The boys haven’t showed up yet, Bonster.” “That’s quite alright. I was hoping for a quiet night anyway.” “Not sure you’re in the right place if you’re looking for silence, babe.” Sarcasm rolling off his tongue so smoothly, it made her roll her eyes. “Dear gods... why do I put up with the lot of you? I must be insane.” With a smile at the edges of her lips, she left him at the door to look for a vacant seat she could occupy. Preferably in a less crowded corner. ( . . . ) A few hours later, with a cold bottle of beer in her hand (the fifth of the night) and sweat slowly dripping down the sides of her face, Bonnie was ready to leave. In her head, she had entertained the idea of meeting Acheron and trapping him with questions he couldn’t evade. Frustrated, she left. Barely stepping foot in the premises of Kyrian’s place, she sensed it. The stench of death hung heavy in these parts. Before dread paralysed her completely, she sprinted across the meticulously kept garden. Panting for air, her hands collided furiously with the wooden door, slightly ajar, opening it fully. A dramatic entrance that beckoned the attention of all present. Further steps into the house stopped Bonnie dead in her tracks. An unconscious Kyrian lied on the sofa, bleeding, surrounded by Acheron and Talon. Even Valerius. Talon was a Celtic Dark Hunter, also stationed in New Orleans. And only recently had Artemis will brought Valerius to New Orleans, something Kyrian didn’t take well considering the ancient Roman slave was the spitting image of his executioner. Nick was there too but she failed to recognise him then. None of them mattered. Only the beaten bastard who had splintered her heart earlier and continued to do so by getting himself caught in an ambush devised by scheming Daimons. “No...”

Penetrating the makeshift wall of protection, Bonnie pushed the men back right as she felt herself falling on her knees, beside the sofa. With the speed of a watchful guardian, Acheron’s arms secured her fall, making her body slide, without proper coordination, along his right flank. She wanted to be strong but all she felt was weakness brewing inside of her. Her hands shook while she examined the extent of his injuries. Multiple stab wounds lacerated his abdomen. It reminded her of an attack perpetuated by a pack of vicious dogs. “What... happened?” Only then did she force herself to look at the feared leader of the Dark Hunters, who hid the anguish in his eyes behind dark sunglasses. “Dear gods... Ash...” So many questions ran through her mind. She wanted to grill him thoroughly but never got the chance. Instead, waves of nausea rolled over the shores of her consciousness with tears blinding her. Before she fully comprehended the situation, unintelligible gibberish undid strings of logic upon the easy settling of panic. Her whole body shook. Undergoing a riot of hysteria, Bonnie screamed until her lungs ached from prolonged lack of air. Not even her meditation mantras could help her now. Maybe Acheron could. Uncertainty lagged his usually fluid movements when he bent down, circling her body with steady arms that supported the whole weight of her as he pieced her together. Or so he hoped. A victim of neglect and abuse himself, the all powerful Dark Hunter embraced the petite woman with a compassion he was never shown during his exceedingly long existence. Though Bonnie appreciated his strength as the 6’8’’ sinewy mountain held her without a single complaint, a sense of impatient restlessness stayed with her. The tension rolling off of him told her he was privy to her inner battles. Trapping her chin between his fingers, a mercurial gaze of liquid silver sought hers. He, by his own initiative, had bared his naked stare for her by discarding his sunglasses. A grand gesture she would later reflect upon. “He’s going to be alright, Bon. D’Alerian was just here and put him to sleep. Do you trust me?” Her brief hesitation darkened his probing gaze with demons Bonnie had yet to be acquainted with. Did she trust him? She did, she decided it almost instantly. The delayed answer inflicted lamentable grief but her glitching brain held all responsibility for the promptness of response. A nod. “I do.” As if holding for dear life, her fingers squeezed his. “I —I never expected to feel so at ease among you, the Dark Hunters. Gods and goddesses? Were Hunters, Dream Hunters... Some days, it almost feels like I’m walking on an endless dream. And I’m a witch, for gods sake. But you gave me something I haven’t felt in years. You gave me a family. Somewhere to belong.” She babbled, her heart seeking that sense of security she often found with these men, groomed for ancient wars. “Acheron, I—“ Taking pity on her, he silenced her with a smile that still refused to reach his eyes. “I know.” He simply said. What did he know? That she trusted him? Or was he referring to the sentiments shared during ultimate crisis? Or the confession she nearly spilled in front of them all? With the physical appearance of a young male in his early tweeties, Acheron Parthenopaeus contradicted further social conventions as he took her again into his arms like a father figure would after his distraught daughter returned home in the wake of a tragedy. Ingrained in his sorrowful eyes, there was a hopeless battle where good duelled evil tirelessly. Bestowing a kiss to her forehead, it was his turn to squeeze her fingers back. “He’ll be alright. Back to his bitching in no time. Stryker thought himself smart but he just got lucky tonight. He caught the Commander... distracted.” A meaningful exchange of gazes took place between Acheron and Bonnie, letting her know he was aware of what had transpired between Kyrian and her earlier that night. “I’ll even play babysitter for a few nights to ease your mind.” He quickly added before she implored him to join Kyrian in his nightly duties. No way in Tartarus she would allow him to walk alone after tonight’s events. Usually, Dark Hunters were forbidden to engage in lasting fraternisation. Were they to unite forces against the gods, it could easily end in absolute calamity. So to avoid that, Artemis ensured their powers began draining as soon as they came into close proximity of one another. Acheron being the sole exception to that rule. With a heart still frayed from unsaid words to the culmination of bleeding wounds, Bonnie exhaled. Exhaustion was taking over. And with everything that went down, it almost felt like a whole century was compressed into the length of a single night. “Okay. Thanks, Ash.” The Dark Hunter in question didn’t even hesitate when she began offering resistance against the magic of Morpheus. Taking her to the one seat sofa, Acheron laid the stubborn witch on top of it while an unusually quiet Nick Gautier covered her body with a thick blanket. His gaze levelled with hers, the gothic enigma gave her an encouraging nod. “Sleep now, Bonita. I’ll watch him for you. I’m not going anywhere. None of us are.” As if only now waking from a nightmare of miserable grief, she just noted the stern, disgruntled faces of the warriors standing in the background. Her boys never disappointed. She was among family. And with that, sleep carried her away.

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 6. ) In these lands, time was of the essence. The annual festival of New Orleans, Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday), was nearly knocking on their collective doors, and any postponement to their operation could potentially lead to a disastrous fate; the one outcome Acheron and his horde of unruly Dark-Hunters fought against with every breath taken. As the promise of war brewed in plain sight, every wolf, witch and vampire grew restless. Volatile. Inevitably, the inescapable virus of paranoia spread in effective contamination of the mind, robbing every preternatural of simple common sense. The so-called 'free will' slowly became a myth, the Fates' ultimate karmic punchline. Without reason and lagging functionality of intuition, fear rose to rule and in complete submission to it, New Orleans' inhabitants remained on edge, constantly looking over their shoulders in expectation of Death's final kiss. In the throes of famine, Bonnie and the rest sank their teeth into the flesh of troubling doom that hovered over their heads with twisted glee. Its approach rolling onto them in similar tempo to that of Mardi Gras. At dusk, when the skies blended a plethora of shades in different extravagant intensities, Acheron met with the two of them at Kyrian's. He passed an amused grin at Kyrian when Bonnie joined them in his living room, her appearance still unkempt as she had just woken up. “Hello, Bonnie. Nice to see King Hothead over there hasn't scared you away yet. I trust you're up to full speed?” She nodded, halting by Kyrian's side. Natural morning grumpiness transcribed her state of mind while her fingers, plunged into messy curls, began their mission to tame undisciplined hair. “Yes.” Her voice still raspy from the lack of usage after a pleasant night's sleep. Or, more appropriately, day. She scarcely stayed awake through the entirety of the night. “Alright, kids. We have much to discuss, we must devise a strategy to unite all the factions in New Orleans before Mardi Gras. We don't have the luxury of wasting time. The Oracles have been going on and on about an ancient prophecy that will take place during this year's Mardi Gras.” “Let me guess. It went something like this, 'When the skies turn purple, and the earth bleeds in black, all that is will crack. To kill the great evil you seek, you'll have to find something unique.' Or some shit like that. I really hate Oracles. If I wanted to play mind games, I'd buy a Rubik's cube.” Despite the seriousness of their predicament, Bonnie laughed. He spoke in his own dialect of sarcasm with compelling charm. And she could never resist a man that made her laughter spring free so effortlessly. When both men shifted the direction of their collective gazes, training them on her, she nearly fell unconscious underneath their scrutiny in embarrassing desperation. Zipping her lips, she took reign of their previous conversation, steering into the avenue of seriousness. “I'll talk to Klaus today.” She said simply without foreseeing the storm her words would bring about. Minutes stretched into hours as their discussion took a heated turn. And much to Bonnie's chagrin, neither Dark-Hunter seemed willing to stand by her when she suggested she should be the only one approaching Niklaus Mikaelson. “Absolutely not.” A seething Kyrian interjected with unyielding resolution causing her temper to flare in return. She would have appreciated his concern, even teased him as she practically watched steam coming out of his ears and flared nostrils had it not been for blinding exasperation. With a parent's patience, Acheron brought a suggestion to the table where both committed to a compromise, successfully toning down their legendary bullheadedness. Sporting a smug smile, saturated with sheer satisfaction, Bonnie ventured into the Mikaelson's den. In a move that could only be attributed to a politician well versed in the world of argumentative disputes, Bonnie had conceded to bring Acheron and Nick (shame on Kyrian for submitting to the will of a mere plebeian, a man bred into the intricacies of kingdoms and its politics) to a game to wordplay. Kyrian's tempestuous protests still rang in her ears but victory was, ultimately, hers. Her demeanor darkened when Klaus came into view. Arrogance bled from him in his descent from his private chamber to the foyer. Like royalty. A King. And a fraudulent one at that, since no real blue blood run in his veins. “Bonnie Bennett. What a sight for sore eyes. Every time I see you, you look even more stunning.” Indisputable charisma oozed from every pore without effort or thought. It came as naturally as the dimpled smile he threw at her mercilessly. “To what do I owe this pleasure? I see you find yourself in fine company.” “We need to talk.” The urgency in her voice enough to convince him to take the serious route. “Alone.” The last bit came as a surprise to her escorts. Drenched in that cold water she had just poured over their heads, Acheron vehemently disagreed. “I don't think that's wise, Bonnie. Besides, Kyrian will most certainly go into cardiac arrest when he learns of this. What ever have we done to you, woman? You're single-handedly compromising my ability to procreate. Well, not mine. But definitely Nick's. He will have my balls for this.” “Relax, will you? He's not cutting your appendages. Or Nick's.” Nick Gautier had strangely been quiet through the entire interaction and the looming threat and visualization of the loss of his own body parts. Naturally, he chose the poorest moment to speak up. Leave it to the Cajun to be smart mouthed in the most inappropriate situations. “Mais, you best keep him leashed, cher. I ain't gonna die a virgin!” With a shake of head complemented by wicked amusement dancing in her eyes, Bonnie followed Klaus into his private study. Sitting behind a beautifully mahogany carved desk, he invited her to take a seat before him. “And what is it that has Miss Bonnie Bennett scared enough that she would face one of her enemies?” The light of humour did nothing to ease the sudden trepidation closing in on her. “Let's not do this dance and get straight to the point. I know of the war you wage, Klaus. And it needs to stop. You need to stop it. You have no idea of the devils you are welcoming into your midst if you don't swallow your damn pride. I came here, in good faith, to warn you of a much bigger predator that will easily have you and the Mikaelson clan destroyed along with every other supernatural creature living in New Orleans. For the sake of the city you claim to love so much, I advise you to heed my warning.” Feral rage spurred the beast within. Glowing yellow eyes threatened her in silence, every drop of venom meant to instill the fear of the gods in her but, despite initial apprehension, Bonnie Bennett was not easily scared, especially when the devil was one she had experience dealing with. Features untainted by any traces of the wraith of terror, her back leaned against the cushioned wood from the chair as her hands remained rested upon her knees. “You done?”

Aware of the potentially dangerous predicament she had brought upon herself, her eyebrows rose in curious, slightly condescending, inquiry. But even the devil knew which battles to pick from, and Klaus' mind offered him the memory of Bonnie Bennett standing above him, in her literal and metaphorical superiority —effortless regality bleeding from her, while he lied on the ground, squirming in lifetime's worth of pain. His primal instincts kicked into gear, taming the hungry urge to strike before further onslaught. A rare occurrence for a creature infamous for his beastly tendencies. Then, he stood and offered his hand to her. “Walk with me.” Side by side, the both of them navigated through the busy streets of New Orleans, consumed in somber topic that had brought her here as they threw valid argument after tenacious argument in a power display. Yet Bonnie's main concern never deviated from the city's wellbeing and its inhabitants. “Dammit, Klaus. Can't you see?” Frustration clawed at her, pushing her into the sea of near desperation to will this obstinate creature to recognize the evil lurking about. “This thirst for power will lead you nowhere if everyone is dead. Will you risk your family? I have seen these Daimons up and close and their tactics don't come with failure. They are highly trained and prepared for every scenario. Only these hunters, the Dark-Hunters, have the skills to fight them! You can't be this stupidly blind.” With a grunt, her foot slapped the ground beneath it as she folded her arms in supplicant comprehension. “At least say you'll attend this meeting the guys and I are organizing. If coalition between every faction fails, I'm afraid you're all condemned to a dark fate. Myself included, since I've stumbled into this.” Klaus' hybrid nature fed him with the same strange sense of obligation radiating off of the little witch, adamantly bewitching into agreeing to her terms. A newfound appreciation for the woman came into being, ancient wisdom complimented her every word as she presented her case. But he had another to worry about —his unborn child. A creature wrapped in innocence, unprepared for the vile world that would welcome him/her. And like any wolf expecting a cub, the urge to protect his offspring rose above any and all other priorities. In blinding urgency. He recognized the peril behind the loss of sight for other matters. “I hear you, Miss Bennett. But there is one thing that has escaped your knowledge. Hayley Marshall is carrying my child.” The drop of that bomb silenced her as every thread of thought forced itself into conjuring all explanations that could verify his claim. And as a Nature's servant, keeper of the power's balance, there was only one interpretation left. “You're innately a wolf. And wolves can procreate...” She mumbled, half awed, half terrified of the meaning behind the creation of this particular Nature's loophole. “It seems that is the most acceptable and valid explanation for this special child.” And for the first time, Bonnie understood. Her own drive to protect her loved ones brought her into dark roads more often than she could count. How could she judge a father for his instinct to protect his child? Even if blinded and imprisoned by paranoia's hands? Shit. No. Double shit. If she had doubts about her ability to convince him before, she definitely wasn't going to succeed now. “And these creatures you speak of are the least of my concerns for the time being, dearest Bonnie. There is one foe who lurks, her eyes set on my child. And I will not have her take my child from our arms over a bargain made thousands of years ago by my foolish mother.” Their escape from the Mikaelson's compound had been, without a doubt, monitored by the ever enigmatic Acheron Parthenopaeus who stood at the main entrance, large arms crossed over his chest. His eyes hidden behind the impenetrable black of unremovable sunglasses, he reminded her of a professional body guard whose job forbid any form of entertainment or exhibition of emotions. The ghost-like fury she sensed didn't rise from unfounded assumption though. It embraced her in a hold that nearly drove her to hide behind Rebekah as she joined the assembled group, flaunting a radiance that reflected the beams of sunlight kissing beautiful tresses that fell over her shoulders with elegant fashion. The two of them found themselves surrounded by Bonnie's chosen companions and Klaus' most trusted siblings. Elijah followed Rebekah with a very pregnant Hayley trailing behind him. Finally, another ventured toward their group, her gait unsteady as if testing the waters on whether she would be welcomed or not. Bonnie grew curious of her but the sight of Hayley's extended belly robbed her focus from the newcomer to the child unborn. “Holy gods. It is true...” Words fell in whispering tones, surprising herself and those who guarded the newest addiction to their family. Nick scratched the back of his head, awkwardly. Acheron studied the scene unfolding before him. And Bonnie ran her fingers through her hair, to hide the minor tremble she felt brewing. “Klaus, I—. . .” He interrupted her. “I will put into consideration your warnings and worries, give it some thought and send you word on my final decision.” The proposition hadn't been the one she was looking for initially but the scales had undergone dramatic change. And for the time being, Bonnie and the others found their hands tied on the Mikaelson's end. Now, to bring the wolves and witches to the table, Bonnie held the belief it wouldn't be as tough of a task. With subtle inclination of her head, silent agreement exchanged between the two as Bonnie bid the whole of the Mikaelson clan adieu before vacating the premises with both Nick and Acheron guarding her flanks. Negotiations stretched time from just several days to a few weeks, culminating in a couple of months. Witches, stubborn in spirit, refused to sit with the wolf and vampire respective brethren. Vampires clung to their vanity and greed for power and dominion over those they believed to be the lesser beings. And wolves thought only of their pride and animal-like characteristics that differentiated them from humanity's infections, schemes bred from purest evil as jealousy and unchanging greed fomented such deviations from the righteous path. Bonnie's fist grazed Kyrian's cheek. “Unpredictability is your biggest ally in a fight. Daimons are quick studies, your tactic must be one ever-changing.” Beads of sweat trickled down from all over her body. Forehead, neck, chest, back. His gaze trained on a particular droplet rolling down into the obscurity of the valley of her breasts, the trained warrior licked his lips subconsciously. Her heart strained to even its rhythm but to no avail. Confined to Kyrian's gymnasium, the both of them danced around one another in a game of opportunity and educational battle skills that she implored he taught her. Their routine had begun weeks prior when she stumbled into him training by himself. “Watch your left flank, Bonnie. Remember to stay alert at all times. Maintain your body weight balanced between your feet, you don't want to lose it as an enemy collides with you.” She nodded, taking note of every piece of advice, criticism. The ancient Commander taunted his disciple with methodically delivered blows that had her stretching, bending and maneuvering her body to his heart's content. And cock's. He just couldn't contain his insatiable hunger for a taste of exotic flesh that promised heavenly pleasure. But shame refused to take residence in him. Tugging two wooden practice swords off the wall, he quickly tossed one her way to commence their next round of physical sparring. The plan was simple. First, he would indulge her in a match of clashing swords, bringing added stamina into their combat to drain her faster. “What did Rosa put in your breakfast today?” Bonnie asked with a grunt whilst struggling to deflect every blow dealt. Inwardly, he smirked. For him, magic exuded from her dance of spontaneous movements that brought the wood of her practice sword into collision with his. Natural twirls guided her lithe body, her arms floating with regal grace as she lifted her weapon for her defense. But she didn't stop there. Bonnie Bennett held the stance of a warrior bred in long abandoned ranks of old war soldiers. When opportunity presented its hand to her, there was no hesitation to take it. Her attack was a thing of lethal beauty. But Kyrian hid a few tricks up his sleeve. Years past in the battlefields of political and territorial wars had educated him on the dirtiest manoeuvres only veteran soldiers specialized in. She didn't even see it coming. And with inhuman speed, he rolled his dice and played his cards. The right ones. No mistakes allowed. Nurturing her confidence, it wasn't too long until her tactic painted strokes of enthusiastic boldness in the canvas of momentary exhilaration. In the midst of her euphoric victory, as she gained advantage over her worthy opponent, the old dog of war bared his teeth in playful revelation of his trickery. With a single blow, dealt with impeccable precision, bleeding the authority a Commander was expected to, his sword brought loss of her equilibrium. She stumbled to the padded floor, landing on her back. He followed, not even a heartbeat later. The crooked grin on his lips brought a smile to hers as he hovered over her, both drenched in sweat. Accommodating his body to female curves, Kyrian rarely shied away from burning desires. Through his shorts, his erection spiked Bonnie's own lustful cravings. As her heart sped up into violent tempo, the flames of infernal hunger lick her soul in simultaneous guidance of her hands as fingers fondle that tawny skin that she swore was made to be licked, every inch tasted. This dance between them had its birth early on. From the very beginning, both gravitated toward one another, drowning in a river of lust neither could quite comprehend. It drove them to madness boulevard with its scorching want, a desire left incomplete in the hands of initial attraction. But completion slapped the both of them with soulful stirrings in the graveyard of pieces of broken hearts. His kiss came without surprise. It had been long since they last walked on eggshells around each other, and familiarized with the presence of the other, new routines stumbled into their days. Silent affections exchanged. Ardently, soft lips secured hers in passionate resonance of a forbidden affair. Time, much like everything else, faded and lost meaning. The world shrank until only the two of them remained. Bonnie's lungs soon ached from prolonged denial of air, compelling her to drive the frigidity of space between their mouths. Gaze unfocused, inebriation clung to them as she found herself floating in the male scent of him. Her lips parted, drawing air into her body. One single thought haunted her. The last of her defenses crumbled beneath the weight of his gaze's intensity, it was too late when realization dropped a bucket of cold reality over her head. And her secret was no more. “I love you.”

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 5. ) “What are you?” Her question stilled them. Her in fear of his answer and him for the nightmares it brought to the surface, much like the rising of a corpse he had long convinced himself was dead and buried. The moment stretched for several heartbeats with the silence only intensifying to deafening levels as each one emerged from his Lambo. Truthfully, her curiosity was expected. And so was her right to know about him and his brethren and from which hole in Tartarus they were spat from. Acheron had given him full permission to appease her spirit of enquiry with extensive descriptions of his world. The Dark Hunters world. His head hung low with the weight of defeat and shame, and witty retorts replaced by unending silence. Yet contrary to her beliefs, the lack of words resulted not only from memories that delivered everlasting lashes to keep his heart raw and bleeding. It derived from a shocking awakening —the crippling longing to belong. As his lips parted to commence the onslaught of brutal facts and all the gruesome details of his and his kin's rebirth into an eternity of a phantom existence, the thick Cajun accent brought insolent interruption to their moment. Perhaps their defining moment even. “I was about to unleash T-Rex on your ass, boss. Have you. . .” A pair of the most riveting blue eyes Bonnie had ever seen stared at her with bewilderment reflected in the oceans of his eyes, with storms raging. At a loss of words, the young man who had just barged in on them left his mouth opened. “Well, I'll be damned. Kyrian's got himself a woman.” Nick Gautier flashed them a dimpled smile whilst glancing from Kyrian to Bonnie as if he was stuck in some alternative reality. Kyrian's obvious discomfort irradiated, crashing against Bonnie with such vigor her embarrassment multiplied exponentially. “Zip it, Nick. Shouldn't you be at home already?” Mildly irritated, Kyrian asked his Squire (a Dark-Hunter's servant of sorts) with pauses conveniently added between each word for dramatic effect. “You're not going to introduce me to your lady friend?” He, too, paused to grin at her in a most charming fashion. Bonnie had a feeling he wasn't completely aware of the power behind that killer grin of his. “Fine. I wanted to do some extra research on our newest friends. And by friends, I mean possible enemies. This so called... Original family.” With his patience slipping, Kyrian rubbed his temples as if nursing a headache. Only in this case, the headache had a name. Nick. Amused by their interaction, she could see why Kyrian had brought Nick under his wing. Two peas in a pod. Their tempers were mirrors of one another, and Bonnie dared even to push her assumptions a bit further and say that Nick reminded Kyrian of his human self. Smart-mouthed, reckless and definitely hot-headed. “Bonnie, this is Nick. Nick, Bonnie. Leave everything in my office and I'll go through it later. Get your butt home now. Cherise will be worried if she wakes up before you're home.” With bleeding mockery, Nick saluted Kyrian as a soldier would his Commander. Then, with tamed insolence, he bowed to Bonnie in an air of comical relief that she appreciated immensely despite the sarcasm being its motivation. “It was a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle.” But before he took his leave, he couldn't resist adding, “Heed my warning, do not panic when you see his garage.” Then, to her complete surprise, he took her hand in his and kissed the backs of her fingers before striking her with another boyish grin that traveled hand in hand with a playful wink. “Nice to meet you too, Nick.” She promptly added during his hasty retreat. “Well, Nick's... interesting.” In silent agreement, Kyrian chuckled. Instinct then kicked in as his fingers reached for hers. The moment his grazed hers, a discharge of electricity separated them as the uncomfortable sensation slithered through their cells until its eventual evaporation. “Ow!” Blowing air to the tips of her fingers, she threw a teasing smile at him. “Better stay away from me, buster, or you'll be toast.” He said nothing. This time, caution slowed the possession of her hand. When no sparks flew (literally), Bonnie swore she heard him exhaling as if he had been actually scared of being shocked again. The smile tugging at her lips refused to give her any reprieve while they ventured through the immense mansion and all its rooms. All except one. He conveniently left his private chamber out of the tour. The brief visit to his enormous garage made her gasp as her eyes wandered from the Mercedes to the Porsche. Then to the vintage Jaguar and the Buick that looked rather odd in the midst of the others. Nick's earlier words finally made sense as the cryptic message decoded itself. The Lamborghini had been enough evidence to safely assume he was loaded but this... He lived like royalty. Other than the occasional comment on the various pieces of art, gigantic beds and breathtaking architecture of the house, no further discussions took place. And Bonnie grew anxious with an answer she had yet to get. Sensing the steady flow of frustration's accumulation, Kyrian finished the house tour in his favoured room. Guiding her through the opened French doors, he halted on his march to let her gaze wonder and admire the beauty of it. The glass-enclosed atrium had been built in resemblance of those found in the ancient villas of Greece, Kyrian's tale of desperation to bring a sense of home to a modern world that paid no mind to its history. A world that focused on the future yet to come. Marveled by the starry skies above her head, she nearly missed the sculpture that clearly had been the main attraction of this particular room. Imprisoned by the artist's vision, the three women gave Bonnie the impression they would emerge from their anchored stances to engage in easy conversation with her. It was both eerie and magnificent. “Who are they?” She mumbled, with a touch of reverence drenching her question. “My sisters.” He said simply without further elaboration. But just when she was convinced he wouldn't pursue the matter, his fingers graze the statue with a degree of loving affection that nearly drove Bonnie to look the other way and give them some semblance of privacy. “Althea was the youngest. She used to stutter when she was nervous. Diana was two years older than I. Her temperament was renowned. My father would say we were so much alike, and that was why we were always at odds with each other. Then, there's Phaedra. She had an angel's voice.” “So, what happened to them?” “They had long, happy lives. Diana named her firstborn after me.” Bonnie's contagious smile sprang as consequence of the last bit of Kyrian's revelations. It said a lot about their relationship considering their constant fighting. “I'm guessing you never told them about...” Struggling to complete her sentence, he quickly finished it for her. “My rebirth as a Dark-Hunter? No. To them, I was dead.” “So how do you know about their lives after...” “I could hear them while they went about their lives. Much like to what you feel when your best friend is in trouble.” Again, the on-point readings of Bonnie threw her off balance momentarily. “You are one scary man.” Her mind wondered on whether there was anything she could hide from him. He certainly kept proving her that nothing could. By his sisters' feet, he laid a thick blanket to lie on whilst gazing into the flickering stars above them. Silently, Bonnie joined him. The frigid ice from the wall he rose between them after her mindless accusation acted as a repulsive agent that forced enough distance between their figures until neither could feel the warmth from the other's body.

“It's quite late for you, Miss Bennett.” The sudden shift in his tone did not go unnoticed. But she wouldn't have any of it anymore. Her temper flared to a minor degree. “No. I asked you a question and I intend of getting my answer before I give myself to sleep. Now, stop stalling and spill.” “As you wish.” With those words, his loneliness bled from every pore as the ancient curse of his fate took a toll on the weary mind and battered heart. Her heart lurched in quiet suffering for him. In Bonnie's rather naive mind, this was the moment their bond established and built a bridge between their hearts. Her soul, prematurely mauled by careless touch and biting tongue, cried out as it sought his through mountains of sorrow and poisoning darkness shielding the vulnerabilities of a mind still raw after its abuse. An abuse he carried until today without any sliver of hopeful freedom from barbed thoughts and flogging whips that restrained a wild passion long asphyxiated. Inwardly, she wept over a loss she couldn't replace or return. Souls are precious. Not only for those born into them but those who barter for the possession of them. “As far as the story goes, it was axons ago when Zeus glorified the greatness of humanity while he and Apollo were walking through Thebes. Apollo, being Apollo, dressed in his robes of vanity and sick desire to rise above Zeus himself scoffed with disdain and guaranteed he could do much better. Arrogance led him to declare his ability to create a superior race. So Zeus told him to prove it. After finding a nymph willing to bear his children, Apollo impregnated her, creating the Apollites.” “Oh... So the Apollites are Apollo's children. Got it. How do they turn Daimon?” Boring midnight eyes into her, the edges of his lips twisted with dark amusement. “Would you wait? I'm the one telling the story here. A little patience, akribos.” Grumbling, she reduced her complaint to her inner thoughts. “Threatened by the Apollites superior traits in beauty, intellect and strength, Zeus banished them to Atlantis in hopes they would remain in peace amongst the Atlanteans. But their thirst to rule the earth as well as Olympus did not sit well with dear old Zeus. Apollo, on the other hand, was delighted by it since he would become their supreme god, ruler of all. The Greeks, primary victims of the Apollites ambitions, devised a scheme to seduce Apollo by offering him the most beautiful woman ever born, Ryssa to be his mistress.” “Wait. Wasn't Helen of Troy the most beautiful?” Bonnie wasn't prepared for the wickedness oozing from the grin curving his lips. “This was long before the time of Helen but it was said Ryssa's beauty was never surpassed. Apollo couldn't resist her and fell in love with her. From their relationship, a son was born. When whispers of this reached the shores of Atlantis and the queen's ears, she demanded Ryssa and her son killed. Brutally. Treacherous, she even ordered them to make it look like a vicious animal attack. All to prevent Apollo's retaliation.” Endearingly distracted by his storytelling, and the lilting of his accent that fell so pleasurably on her ears, her fingers moved in fluid grace to the tunes captive in her mind, the stars being the muse to the unheard melody. “Let me guess. He found out.” “He did. And as the god of plagues, you can imagine it wasn't pretty. It is said he destroyed Atlantis and would have killed his children had Artemis not put a stop to him.” Her interest piqued, Bonnie tossed the ice into the flames of her curiosity, her body rolling over until she was on her stomach with her chin digging into her palm as her elbows supported the weight of her head. “Why would she stop him?” With a patience she didn't know he possessed, he too abandoned the admiration of the skies to gaze into the emeralds of her eyes. Their breaths mingling as he spoke. “You see, since the Apollites were part of him, to kill them would ultimately result in Apollo's demise as well. And that would bring about the end of the world. Tragic, I know. But Apollo wouldn't rest until he delivered his punishment for their treachery. He banished every Apollite from his domain, cursing them to a life in darkness. Without any hopes of having the sun kiss their flesh ever again. Just so he would never have to see them. Because the queen had Ryssa's killers make it look like an attack from an animal, Apollo gave them the physical traits of animals as well. The whole set. Fangs, heightened senses.” “So, it's safe to assume they drink blood too?” He gave a subtle nod. “They do. Apollites were cursed to feed from each other every few days if they wanted to survive.” Subconsciously, her fingers rubbed her neck where Damon had tore into her flesh. The ghost of that particular pain still haunted. She couldn't even grasp the misery the Apollites faced for having to feed from each other. “What of Daimons? What differentiates them from Apollites?” “An Apollite turns Daimon when they feast on human souls.” The solemn finality of such fate conjured a shiver that slithered down her spine. “But why would they need human souls?” “Ryssa was twenty-seven when she was murdered, and Apollo thought befitting to condemn his Apollites to live for the same number of years. Until their twenty seventh birthday, a day spent in absolute agony as their bodies decay in the period of twenty-four hours.” The vivid imagery he painted for her made her cringe visibly but he took no mercy. “To avoid that coloured destiny, most Apollites kill themselves the day before their birthday.” “Or they go Daimon.” “Or they go Daimon. They consume blood but they cheat death by taking human souls into their bodies. As long as they keep the soul inside them, bargains of stolen time extended their lives. By how long, that relies upon the soul's integrity. The shredding of the consumed soul initiates as soon as a Daimon steals it from its proprietary. That rapid withering forces them to take another soul every few weeks.” The next question scalding her tongue took every ounce of courage to voice as she dreaded its answer. “And what happens to the souls that die inside a Daimon?” “Those are lost forever. And that's why we exist.” “Dark-Hunters?” “Mmm, yes.” Perhaps it was her proximity, or perhaps it was the beauty embed in her soul. Whatever the reason, Kyrian found himself tucking a stray strand of ink dark hair behind her ear. His voice descending into whispering levels, “Our job is to find the Daimons and set the souls free before their total expiration.” “And...,” she paused, her gaze trained on him while his fingers found entertainment between the smoothness of her hair. “How are you chosen?” Since the beginning of his tale, this was the first time she witnessed his past's assault on the mind, on the heart of him. Unimaginable agony danced in the midnight skies of his eyes, making a mockery of her own pain that seemed childish and ridiculous in comparison to his and the depth of which his wounds ran. “We aren't chosen. It's more like cursed. When we suffer terrible injustice...” Bonnie could almost see the past unfold itself in merciless cruelty before his eyes. And for a moment, he laid still, drowning in treacherous waters with his demons pulling him under. Incapable of camouflaging the tremor to his voice, he swiftly deflected her scrutiny by forcing his upon the stars. Only then did he continue. “Our souls cry out in a shrill scream that travels all the way to Olympus, resonating through its halls. When Artemis recognizes the cry for vengeance, she offers us a sweet bargain. In exchange for a single Act of Vengeance against those who wronged us, we swear allegiance to the goddess and fight in her army.” The disclosure of how he came into being an immortal creature unshackled a set of emotions in her she didn't even know were chained to begin with. Ribbons of intense admiration unfolded before the disarming gaze he cast her way. A hand flew between them to find landing point atop his cheek, her thumb caressing the skin in the throes of untamed anguish. “Can Dark-Hunters be freed of their eternal service to Artemis and get their souls back?” She couldn't even pinpoint the origin of her question or why she wanted to know its answer. “In theory. It's close to impossible to get that chance. And every test is different to each Dark-Hunter.” “Oh.” She couldn't help but feeling disappointed. “Do you drink blood too?” “No. It is forbidden and it would actually interfere with our ability to track down the Daimons.” “But why—” “We were given the same animal characteristics to aid in our hunt for the enemy. Personally, I think Artemis gets her kicks from creating her army as savage as her brother's children.” He interrupted her with the answer she sought. “And before you ask, we are forbidden into Apollo's domain mostly because we are an anathema to Apollo as we serve his sister, Artemis —goddess of the moon.” “That's not fair.” “The gods seldom are.” “And, what happened to you?” She whispered without careful thought, as if lost in a trance as her mind digested the mountainous information he had just laid on her. Stiffening, the road to that particular village of pain and betrayal was quickly shut. A storm brewed in the horizon. “Long story. Rather not talk about it.” Stung from her proverbial slap, one delivered unwillingly, Bonnie's refusal to give him any escape routes melted in quick reflexes as her arms and legs imprisoned him in the makeshift cage of her. It had been so natural, she had paid no mind to it until she was staring into an abyss of darkness, swirling with a concoction of emotions so impassioned, it nearly drove her to glance away. But that would have implied the discovery of vulnerability with strokes of offensive shades in a canvas made of misconceptions. Her hair fell like a velvety canopy between their faces, still in pursuit for a semblance of insight into his past and the knives tearing his heart apart on the daily like Prometheus chained to his rock, stuck in eternal punishment as the eagle eats his liver. “Will you, at least, tell me why you sold your soul?” Crumbling walls unveiled the tears to his soul, that were seared into his heart after its withdrawal. This was no longer the acting Dark-Hunter who stood frozen beneath her weight but rather the human who had endured unimaginable betrayal from whoever he had deposited his faith in. The clock ticked in its merciless countdown, and just when Bonnie thought she would never get her answer, she heard him. “My wife.” The raw vulnerability drenching those words infected her, all the way to her bones. At this moment, no words could provide the solace she willed to offer. So instead, she embraced him. The strength of this man amazed her. When the world gave him no reason to protect it, he still chose that fate. It spat on him, mocked him, and worse, it looked through him when he became a shadow. Disarming her completely, his arms slid over her body in a protective hold that wrung her heart. In silent understanding, neither dared to move. But exhaustion would soon carry Bonnie into Morpheus arms against all protests. Kyrian, on the other hand, was as amused as he was intrigued by this Hecate's child and her baffling ability to trust when she too suffered great loss despite her young years. Going into great lengths to avoid waking her, he rose to his height in fluid grace, with her in his arms. With dismal state of mind, he took her into one of the spare bedrooms and draped a thick blanket over her slumbering figure. But in a moment of madness, Kyrian bent toward her to have his lips grazing hers in a ghostly caress. “What hex did you put on me, Bonnie Bennett?” Pause. “You will be the death of me.” His fingers traced the side of her face that emanated a peace he hadn't known in thousands of years as his murmur stirred the scribes of fate in quiet provocation.

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 4. ) “I've wanted to do that all night.” Time stood still. Only the sound of lips reconnecting, hungrily consuming each other echoed in the dead of night. The air surrounding them sizzled with charged chemistry, and bound power that longed to be released. His hands possessed her body with fervent need that she was not accustomed to, her fingers plunged themselves with an air of desperation that defied logic. In the stillness of darkness where Apollo, the god of sun, was banished from, their embrace could easily be considered as public indecency. Something out of a Hollywood film. Bonnie tasted delicious sin, addictive fervor and a dash of regal arrogance in his lips. But for a moment in time, the young witch held onto the quiet suffering she hid from the world. Even her friends knew nothing of it. Similarly, Kyrian savoured untamed passion, a raging sea of power rolling its waves against soothing touch and the telltale bitterness of trepidation. In her, he found a mirror of his own missing soul. Cuts and bruises covered their hearts, the work of art of cruel hands out to maim unmarred flesh. Injecting space that brought the separation of their lips, Kyrian's thumbs brushed the chocolate au lait hued skin on a path from the corner of her eye to her temple. The midnight skies of his eyes probed hers with a tenderness that brought weakness to her knees. “Forgive me if I overstepped my boundaries.” He paused to watch her again. In a methodical study of the subtle changes to her expression. “I just—” In a move rather uncharacteristic for her due to the impulsive nature of it, Bonnie hushed him with a finger against the softness of his lips. The only part of his anatomy that was soft to the touch. The rest of him was made of sinewy steel. “Shut up.” The interjection curving her lips in a rare smile that reached her eyes, combusting the dullness of green into flames of vibrancy that breathed life again. “You talk too much, Kyrian No Last Name.” A practitioner of the oldest language in the book himself, Kyrian tumbled right into her web of charms with a killer grin plastered to his mouth. “I thought I had redeemed myself with the activity we just indulged in.” Noble features contrasted with the irreverence bleeding from his shit-eating grin. “Come on. We should head back before you get yourself in trouble again.” His fingers practically within reach of hers, Bonnie sucked in a sharp breath before denying him the touch of her with a brusque tug of hand. “Excuse me?! I got myself in trouble? Funny. Unless I was deep into a dream-state, I just remember going after your pompous ass because Mr. Badass decided to throw a children's tantrum. Good night, asshole.” Her temper ablaze, her steps echoed down the street as she strutted without delay. Drenched in utmost disbelief, he stood gaping after her. No woman had dared to talk back to the same extent as Bonnie just had. Thoroughly amused by the fire in her veins, Kyrian's gaze trained on her retreating backside. Under the unseen attack of a desire he hadn't tasted in over two thousand years, he stood rooted to the pavement whilst admiring the sensual gait of hers. Her curves, highlighted by tight jeans and revealing top, extinguished the existence of humidity in his throat until a temperature, of the likes of which had been felt in the wasted lands of Sahara's desert, tormented him. Her name tingled his tongue, taunting him. “Bonnie! Wait. I—” Rudely interrupted by his ringing phone, he silently cursed his luck before lifting the index finger in her direction. “Hold that thought.” “Give her all she wants to know. Keep an eye on her while she chooses to stay. And for the love of God, don't piss her off.” Acheron's rumbling voice rang in his ears with its commanding tone the second Kyrian took the call. In all the years he'd known the man, he still found his boss' antics bizarre, even for their kin. Never had he gotten used to Ash's omnipresence and power that made a mockery of his. “Are you certain of this? Is she even capable of dealing with the truth?” The concern for her didn't surprise him but the speed in which it burst free to raise a red flag carved lines of contemplation upon the surface of his forehead. A rare occurrence for him who courted danger on a nightly basis. “Ease your mind, Commander. She'll be fine. You've seen it yourself, she's a fighter and capable of handling a lot more than we may assume. Besides, she's not entirely uninitiated in the supernatural matters. And she needs all the knowledge we can offer if she's going to stand with us.” “Alright. Your wish is ever my command, o Great Lord of the barbarian horde that roams the night.” “Tame your sarcasm, Greek. It won't be of much help to you near the spitfire you pursue.” With taunting laughter, he hung up.

A set of green eyes burned him alive, demanding him to speak but words were lost to him as Acheron's parting words resounded loud and clear in the valleys of his mind. Was he referring to his current predicament as he chased after her or the unsettling emotions she stirred deep within him whenever she stood a little too close to him? “So?” Bonnie's impatience tangible, he advanced toward her after shoving his phone back into the pocket of his dark jeans. Extending an arm, his fingers coiled about hers. This time, she welcomed the touch without protest. The seething beast had been tamed for now. “Come on.” “Where are we going?” The tilt of her head wrung another grin from his lips. Her suspicion and unwillingness to trust another was rather endearing to his eyes. “My place. It won't be long til the sun is up now. Have I mentioned that Ash just gave you the green light? Congratulations, Bonita. You're about to venture into a darker world.” His suggestion ignited an odd sense of excitement that she thought she had long lost. Embarrassed by the ridiculous speed of her heart, a wave of heat warmed the apples of her cheeks. —What is this sorcery? The lack of trepidation in her bones scared her the most. Logic had been a great ally to her in the past, especially where all things supernatural stood. Yet, with him, she kissed it goodbye. Instead, her mind opened its gates to welcome the truth of a world that hid in the thicker shadows of mystified rumours and legends. “You're scaring me, Kyrian. . .” That smirk of his returned with renewed vengeance. It merely existed to provoke her, she swore. “No, you're not.” They had been walking for a few minutes when St. Louis Cathedral came into view. Bonnie took a moment to admire the church's architecture that rose from the ground in all its splendor in the form of an echo that traveled all way back into the great Renaissance era. Like a bucket of cold water being poured over her head, she trained her gaze on him with a hint of censure swirling in it. “What? How do you do that?” She laughed when her mind offered her an explanation that defied even her magic. “Don't tell me you can read minds...” The seriousness reflected upon those midnight depths silenced her. “Seriously?” “Seriously.” He nodded. “That's not creepy or anything...” Bonnie mumbled under her breath, successfully stroking his massive ego. When he halted beside a ridiculously expensive Lamborghini Diablo, her eyes bulged. And her steps grew uncertain. “It won't bite, you know?” “Do you actually own this?” “No, I'm stealing it with the keys in my hand.” The tone of mockery awakening the demon that breathed fire within, he gestured her to get in. Nodding in semi-automatic mode, Bonnie slid into the passenger's seat in disbelief. “You must be loaded! Holy...” “You'd be amazed in how much you can save for two thousand years.” The causality of his words impressed her but the number prompted a more dramatic reaction. She sucked in a breath. “You're joking...” She stated, half expecting him to laugh and admit his intention to fool her. He didn't. “Two thousand one hundred and ninety-seven years old, to be precise. But who's counting?” Involuntarily, she chewed on her lip while letting her gaze to drink in the beauty of his body. “For an old man, you don't look bad. I wouldn't have put you a day over two hundred myself.” His laughter warmed her. “You know what they say about men who drive cars like this fine automobile. That they're merely compensating for. . .” Against her better judgement, her lust-filled gaze fell on the bulge in his jeans. She couldn't help teasing him. The temptation was too great. Without a word, his fingers locked around her wrist before pressing her hand against his swollen groin. The bastard. . . With a dip of his head, his lips brushed the skin of her ear when he whispered. “Let me know if you need further convincing.” Nope. No compensating there. Bonnie felt her breath vacating her lungs as raw desire bit her viciously, her hand still intimately pressed against him. Thankfully, she caught herself right before the escape of a moan. But smugness had already taken over his features. He knew. She lifted her chin defiantly and unashamedly, and a grin mauled by ungodly mischief tugged at her lips. Then, she shifted the direction of her nails, burying them into the fabric of his jeans in hopes to unshackle a degree of chaos and misery as the sharpness of her nails bit into his groin. And the hiss that followed did wonders to her mood. “Next time you invade my thoughts, it will be much worse, buster.” Kindly offering him a reprieve of her attack, she let her gaze wander beyond the window of his car. “And here I thought you might want to keep my package safe from harm.” He said whilst pressing the heel of his hand against his erection. She murmured, playful exasperation still drenching her words. “You thought wrong.” “Mmm.” A heartbeat later, the beast of a car purred back into life. While he drove them to his home, she took the moment of silence to reflect on the little she already knew. She licked her lips, a mountain of unanswered question plaguing her mind. Despite her mercurial behaviour and bite of her tongue, he couldn't resist her. Like an eternal flame, she burned bright even during the coldest nights. It took him a few minutes to reach the Garden District, even less to open the iron gates that welcomed him into his antebellum mansion. Right then, Bonnie felt the sting of a figurative slap from her consciousness. What was she doing? Persuaded by a complete stranger to go to his house. This reeked of danger and recklessness but fear still refused to make an appearance. Again, she found it disturbing. As if under a spell, her gaze found his. The atmosphere thickened with electric chemistry in the same beat of the heart. And her voice faltered when she finally asked the question scalding her tongue since the moment they've met. “What are you?”

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 3. ) Silence reigned. For a good fifteen seconds. The collective expression easily painted on their faces would have been hilarious had Bonnie not been dead serious with her ultimatum. That alone spoon-fed the demon in her that pulled her down a path of anger and blind vision. Until raucous laughter rang in her ears. She was fast on her way out of the room with determined steps that boomed beneath her feet. The congregation of asphyxiating testosterone was in for a good lesson, Bennett-style. But there was one whose laughter refused to become anything other than a myth. The one whose thunderous voice, enriched with the thickest accent she had ever heard, effectively stopped in her tracks as hesitation gripped her conscious and her infamous innate willingness to help those in need kicked her teeth in. Her fingers had just grazed the doorknob. “We need your help, Bonnie.” There was no mockery, no laughter in his tone. Only seriousness, a sense of urgency and honest need for assistance. A humility she found incongruous with the creature that had said them. But Acheron Parthenopaeus was nothing but a dichotomy in the flesh. Amusement had fled the scene with its tail tucked between its figurative legs. Her gaze lingered on her hand hovering just inches above the cool metallic doorknob. —Fine, she thought to herself. She turned around and, once again, she saw herself reflected on the dark lenses of those sunglasses. —Arrogant prick! To her complete shock, the corners of his lips twitched as if he had been privy to her private name-calling. Had she said it out loud? She wondered. No, it wasn't possible. The two remaining pairs of midnight eyes, oddly identical in shade, stared at her with a relevant degree of apprehension in them. Absolutely stunned with Bonnie's unexpected combustion. —Okay. . . She was clearly surrounded by powerful creatures. Too powerful, perhaps. Her senses tingled with the unfamiliarity of such power. Raw, untamed, volatile. Yet, she held fear at bay. For unknown reasons, each one bled protectiveness, and in their unreadable eyes, she found pain, betrayal and scars that ran too deep. No one with souls as mutilated as theirs could aim to cause pain by their own free will. She was safe, she decided. “So...?” She prompted. “Alright. We haven't been completely straightforward with you. The darkness of our world in desperation for a win against the good guys,” Acheron pushed his hand forward toward his two companions, “has formed an alliance with the darkness of your world.” “How?” Bonnie's interest piqued, she drew near the mysterious leader of this bunch. “The lord and master of the Daimons, our own version of vampires, has unleashed a ploy to turn New Orleans into a rich, delectable banquet of souls. Long story short, the witches, wolves and vampires of this city are being manipulated into hating each other. The three factions of the supernatural are coveted by our Daimons because of the great power embed in their souls.” Trying to wrap her mind around the avalanche of information he was dumping on her, with a promise of chaos and apocalyptic doom, Bonnie fell unceremoniously onto a chair. He took no mercy on her. “Their feud, if not contained, will end up being the death of all of them. We suspect a member from the Mikaelson family to be working alongside Stryker, the leader of the Daimons. We can't find out who though. But we know you have come in contact with this family before, back in Mystic Falls. And the Bennett name is whispered in New Orleans with reverence, with utmost admiration. Your lineage is considered to be royalty amongst the witches around here. And you, Bonnie Bennett, are the most powerful and skilled of all. Rumors on you spread, emphasizing your prowess, your battle-ready fire impossible to be quelled. The prophecy speaking of a witch wielding great power, seduced by darkness but never welcoming it entirely, rises from the ancient books of destiny.” Nervous laughter spilled from her lips. “And you think that's me? You're all nuts!” In denial, she struggled to breathe and her ears buzzed. Slapping her hands on the metallic table before her, she forced herself to stand but her legs weakened under her weight and she stumbled back onto her seat. With lines of worry creasing his forehead, Acheron lowered himself to her height with probing eyes. He hid the intensity of his gaze behind that wall of black from those sunglasses she was starting to despise. “Breathe, Bonnie. Slowly.” Sensing the decrease of her panic, his lips twitched again before adding, “I know you know people feel quite intimidated by you. They even go as far as crossing to the other side of the street so they don't have to walk by you. Humans are quite perceptive in their paranoia. It's like they know we could be a threat to them. Potentially.” Including himself in the rejection from humans, he paused halfway whilst reaching for her fingers as if silently asking for her permission to be touched by him. A mist of confusion descended upon her mind. Why on Earth would a creature as powerful as him be so hesitant to touch another? Surely not. . . Promptly repressing the thoughts rooted in darkness and ugly depravity, Bonnie's fingers closed about his. His aura was nothing but an encrypted message with a multitude of inconsistencies that were at war with each other. A walking contradiction. She licked her lips, suddenly aware of his proximity. Toying with the idea of revealing the colour of the eyes he so adamantly hid, her fingers practically flew to the sides of his boyish face, marked with ages of wisdom. “Careful what you wish for, Bonnie...” He warned. But paying no heed to his forewarning, she finally drew the proverbial curtain with a gasp of wonder. He had been stunning with the sunglasses on but without them, he was a creature of absolute perfection. Innately beautiful, it was as if he had been touched by Aphrodite herself. His eyes held untold wisdom in them. And unfathomable sorrow. But it was their swirling silver shade, reminding her of poisonous mercury, that held her captive. They were mesmerizing. “Why do you hide them?” She whispered, lost in a dream of perfect beauty or beautiful perfection. “They're beautiful.” The raw, unfettered agony radiating off him in crushing waves nearly drowned her. Yet another mystery left to unveil. . . Why would something as innocuous as the eyes cause him so much pain? Unsurprisingly, he ignored her words. “You should probably go find that stubborn, most likely bitching Greek asshole. He's outside, pouting in a corner because he got yelled at. You take your time to think about this, alright? I know this is a lot to take in... and there's a lot to consider. But the most important thing is, no one is going to hold it against you if you think the best thing is to walk away now.” The simple touch of her fingers from earlier had untethered the channel that made it possible for him to see into her fate. But for her touch, he would still be able to monitor her future and what was to befall her. But Acheron could never be so lucky. And those three little bitches hated him with a passion that was nothing but irrational. The Fates could sever Bonnie's thread of life without his knowledge and that scared him already. A cursed god, and the Atlantean god of Final Fate, he was forbidden to share the company of his protective mother and his powers were banished to those he stupidly cared for. Eleven thousands years later and he still hadn't learned the most important lesson of all. To never get attached, especially to humans. His interference could ultimately lead to catastrophic consequences. Not only his omnipotence was limited to himself, that restriction was also extended to those who managed to worm their way into his dark heart. Inwardly, he damned himself for allowing this to happen yet again. He watched her stand, slowly. Bonnie was evidently still recovering from her innate inability to recognize the most basic thing about herself. Panic won her over every chance it got. She was rendered impotent against it the moment another confronted her with unshakable truths about her and her witchcraft. Her natural defiance and refusal to stay down for any longer than absolutely necessary inspired him, making him long for that same spirit. She was vibrant, warm, emotional but surprisingly prudent. She held a warrior's spirit. He had been around too many to recognize it when he saw one. At the main entrance, Bonnie sought for Dev in hopes he might hold any information on Kyrian's whereabouts. One quick glance through Sanctuary had been enough to know he couldn't be found in the premises. Strangely enough, she felt him at a level she refused to analyze for the time being. It was as if he was calling out for her with something akin to a siren's call. Pointing down the road, Dev indicated her where Kyrian was headed when he left. According to him, Kyrian had been in quite the rush to leave. Flustered, even. With a mild groan of irritation, she followed Dev's directions whilst pushing her mind to neglect Acheron's words about her. She had never been the proficient witch they all claimed her to be. Alright would be the appropriate term to describe her knowledge and skills when she dabbled in witchcraft. Moreover, she couldn't even understand her desire to seek Kyrian. Or her yearning to soothe the blisters caused by Acheron's earlier spewed accusations. In fact, she should be furious at him for his antics. —What is wrong with me? In her inner battle of unwanted thoughts, a group of exceptionally beautiful, blonde men circled her, until she had no other way out other than through them. Confused, and frankly momentarily dazed by their ethereal beauty, Bonnie stumbled on her feet. One of them smirked, giving her a glimpse of the tip of his fangs while another prevented her tumble to the ground by griping her arm. Vampire! Her mind screamed at her. Summoning her magic, she was ready to strike back when the smirking blonde surprised her by conducting an attack to her mind. His powers were nothing like she had experienced before. The creature overpowered her with an eerie effortlessness that Bonnie was not accustomed to. She saw her own soul being absorbed into the center of the chest of the blonde, relishing in her magic and strength. To elongate their lives shortened by Apollo's curse, result of a series of disastrous events in a far past that lived no more (even in history books), these creatures with characteristics of wild animals (also a consequence of the curse) found a loophole to their sentence of a life of mere 27 years. Souls. As long the souls they drained from others lived within their bodies, they extended the limit to their lives. And the stronger and more powerful the soul, the more and longer it would sustain them. “You're a... Daimon.” Bonnie mumbled already half unconscious, finally understanding the difference between these sucking creatures and the ones she was familiar with. —So this is how I die... It dawned on her that this was what Kyrian and the others fought against. Protecting humanity in the dark, and spurned by those they vowed to protect. Nobility truly came from those you least expected. Mocking laughter rang in her ears again. Only this time, it was as commemoration for her imminent demise. That was until a bellow of untamed fury and the promise of merciless vengeance cut through the air with similar artistry of that of a sword. “Bonnie!” Like a wild predator bent on cutting the finish line earlier to the pack of hungry dogs around Bonnie, Kyrian extended his retractable sword with unrivaled grace before assuming the warrior side of him, deadly and without mercy. Dancing through the walking corpses that collapsed in an explosion of dust, he was mesmerizing as he bled courage and thirsted for victory with every blow he delivered. Whispers of the ancient world brought Bonnie into this one as she regained conscious and admired the trained soldier effortlessly putting the rabid dogs down. « “On the battlefield, with a sword in your hand, you are invincible.” » Uncertain of where she conjured those words from, Bonnie's magic sizzled as an unfamiliar recognition wrapped itself around her heart. Somehow she knew the words were familiar to Kyrian. “At least they clean after themselves. It would be a bitch if I had to hide all these bodies. Nifty, huh?” He said, laughing whilst strapping his weapon on the inside his leather jacket. Closing the distance between them, he winked at her with a boyish grin plastered to his face as bent down to carry her on his arms, bridal style. Bonnie closed her arms around his neck, grateful that her soul remained intact and with wonder reflected in her eyes, her lips curled in amusement. Then, to her complete surprise, he dipped his head and claimed her lips in the most ardent kiss she had ever been given to. “I've wanted to do that all night.”

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 2. )

The boisterous city surrounded them, nearly drowning them in constant festive cheer but only silence accompanied Bonnie and her mysterious escort. Only their steps on the pavement signaled their temporary alliance despite its rocky, unorthodox start. But was there anything orthodox about Bonnie Bennett? The earlier mention of Damon brought chaos into her heart. In return, like a vicious slap, her mind forced her to revisit an ancient, long buried memory. In the thick of the forest surrounding Mystic Falls, there was a small, magical place. Forsaken by all. Except them. Together, they named it their meadow. Their secret, hiding place. A place to escape the madness that danced in their world, even for just a little while. The memory on itself was not a particularly pleasant one yet she still found herself to be quite fond of it. She called it their perfect, final farewell. In desperate need for some peace and quiet, a moment in time to let her thoughts wander and, quite frankly, torment her, she had practically raced toward their spot. Drops of sweat formed a line along her hairline, her breath labored from the exertion. Quickly making a mental note to work out more often, her legs gave out beneath her weight. The bruises on her knees were superficial compared to the ones found on her heart. Brutal silence greeted her and she welcomed it for a change. Lying on her side, her fingers played with stems of grass, and her thoughts ran wild. In the midst of her reverie, she failed to notice his arrival. “What are you doing here?” Her tone gentle, charged with emotional turmoil. He said nothing. Instead, he took a seat beside her and stared at her like he had done a million times before. She brought herself into a sitting position, and her head tilted. The strange light she found in his gaze rose the hairs of her arms in alarm. She grew uncomfortable as the silence stretched. And she hated the sensation. With him, silence had always been peaceful, warm. But everything had changed. His fingers twitched as if he was at war with himself. The struggle in him unleashed chaos in her soul, and her heart's wounds reopened. Stitches weakened under the strain of her love. She bled in silence but dared to do what he did not. Trembling fingers reached for his cheek but a moment of hesitation stilled her fingers. He took her by surprise when his own gripped hers in soothing tenderness and brought them to the side of his face. If she lived a thousand lifetimes, she would never forget the longing wreaking havoc across his chiseled features. The memory imprinted itself on her soul with no expiration date. Then, he let her go. His fingers dropped hers, the emptiness left slapping her. Hard. He rose to his height again, ready to bolt. She wasted not a single breath to follow after him. “Damon! Wait.” She pleaded. “What do you want from me, Bon?” His voice thick with emotion. “I— I. . . Forget it.” She shook her head and turned his back to him, ready to leave. Pieces of her heart tumbled to the ground on her departure. Suddenly, a pair of arms caught her. Halting her rushed exit and opening the gates to humiliation. “Bonnie Bennett, you do not walk away like this. You're the brave one between you and I.” His forehead touched hers intimately. And again, she shook her head. “We can't do this, Damon.” “I know. I... I just needed to see you today.” Her breath fondled his lips as hers parted and her head nodded in understanding. “You. . . be happy. Okay?” The sincerity in her broken voice nearly brought him to his knees. “And, I know one of these days, you won't remember me anymore but I always will. I'll carry you in my heart with nothing but tenderness and respect.” He started to contradict her with a shake of his head. “Your stubbornness still drives me mad, woman. I could never forget you, Bonnie Bennett. You're an amazing person, wonderful friend and one hell of a woman.” Her fingers caressed his cheek. “Thank you. For lying to me in merciful fashion.” “I'm not.” “Then I guess this is just another thing we add to the pile of things we could never agree on.” One of his infamous smirks took over his lips for brief heartbeats until the expression grew serious once more. Then, he unknowingly glued some lost pieces of her back to their original place when he dipped her head and brought his lips to her forehead for an innocent kiss of goodbye. He was gone before she had time to reopen her eyes. “Bonnie? Bonnie? You still with me?” The foreign accent in Kyrian's voice catapulted her back to reality, far far away from the fields of memories. For an entire heartbeat, her feet refused to advance as she centered herself, holding onto any and everything she could that belonged to the present. The past was a mere passage, the place we used to be before experience and wisdom. And her journey had never been an easy one yet on the way, she did find moments of blissful peace. The recollection of those dreamy-like memories strengthened her heart, rebuilt her defenses and offered her renewed purpose. She never faltered in her path. Ink dark hair bounced bewitchingly as she shook her head, gathering her thoughts and words. “I'm sorry. I got caught up in a moment back there. Something about this city...” With an odd light to those fathomless midnight eyes, his gaze penetrating, a myriad of emotions danced across his features before he too shook his head as if he had just walked through a similar hell. The echoes of grief remained etched to his face. “Your love is admirable, Bonnie.” Stupid bewilderment stole the light in her features, darkening her expression. How did he. . . “Excuse me?” He never replied. Pressing his hand to the lower of her back, he prompted her forward before whispering, “We're here.” More disturbed than ever, Bonnie glanced between the stranger who called himself Kyrian (no last name) and the dully-lit entrance of a bar/restaurant with a sign that read ' Sanctuary ' and a moonlit hill and a motorcycle in the background. In smaller letters, she read ' Home of the Howlers '. Curious to learn more about this place as her senses reeled with the suffocating presence of different species of preternatural creatures, Bonnie followed Kyrian's lead as he greeted the man standing guard at the main entrance. The blonde, exceptionally gorgeous man dazzled her with a crooked smile she was sure had charmed many women's panties to the floor. “Evenin', Dark Hunter. Acheron's already inside waiting. He asked me to ask you to meet him in the soundproof room.” Then his gaze landed on Bonnie. “And who might you be, beautiful? A goddess from a foreign pantheon stranded in New Orleans?” At first, Bonnie's innocence had her believe it was just an elaborate mean to flirt with her but then, one quick glance into the bar later, reality kicked into gear. His question hadn't been a metaphor. Kyrian, in all his 6'5 glory of absolute strength and charisma, proceeded with the introductions. “Dev, this is Bonnie Bennett. And she's a child of Hecate, a witch. And a powerful one at that. You best remember that.” Then, he turned to Bonnie with a killer grin. “Bonnie, this huge mountain of a bear,” he paused to chuckle at something she couldn't comprehend as she remained in the dark in all things of this side of the supernatural world, “is Dev Peltier. The Peltiers own this place.” The confusion painted on Bonnie's face gave motive to the two males to burst out laughing at her expense. Big mistake. Bonnie Bennett was an easy witch to anger. Soon enough, they were both frantically slapping themselves to extinguish the flames that rose from thin air on their clothes. “I like her already. She's going to fit in just perfectly in our crazy, demented family.” Dev lifted her hand to his lips to offer her a chivalrous kiss to her fingers. “It's a pleasure, ma chère.” “I'm still deciding but I'll get back to you.” The tiniest grin playing at the edges of her lips betrayed the coldness in her words. One step into the bar had Bonnie hesitating for a second. For some ungodly reason, she could not shake the feeling that the next steps would belong to the beginning of a new chapter of her life. Ever fearless in nature, determination painted itself on her face like war paint before following after Kyrian to the upper floor where they were supposed to meet with this feared, highly respected leader. Once at the top of the stairs, Kyrian paused to admire Bonnie walk through the crowd. No. Not walk, he quickly decided. Glide. She glided with unparalleled grace that even the goddesses lacked. And for a single fraction of time, his missing soul screamed out in agony as it remained tucked away in the hands of the goddess who owned him. Two thousand years of blind solitude were taking its toll on him, his mind, his heart. And the soul that no longer inhabited his body. She commanded attention from every patron, even those who refused to be noticed themselves. A whisperer of souls, she bewitched them all. The tragedy of it all translated in her naïveté; she couldn't even imagine the effect of her own presence. There was peaceful hope radiating off of her that just mesmerized those brave enough to come near her. She was sunlight, exotic beauty and warmth. Fierce loyalty, and raw kindness bled from her. In all his years of existence, he swore he had never come across a woman like her. She stood in a category reserved solely for her. Only a few could ever dream of reaching it. He nearly fell on his knees as a supplicant to a goddess, praying for absolution, when she finally approached him with disarming smile on her Cupid bow shaped lips. The flames of Tartarus chanted his name as he lost the inner battle of wills and his fingers reached for hers. The deep longing to feel the softness of her skin against his slayed his proud stubbornness. Gently drawing her into the quiet, more reclusive corner of the Sanctuary, he ventured into a hallway and opened a door on their right before robbing her of breath as those midnight skies bore into her. Her throat parched, she found it impossible to deliver any words. Her treacherous mind wasn't operating properly anyway, she would only embarrass herself when she stumbled in her words. At last, dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure what to expect on the other side of the door until Kyrian pushed it open to reveal. . . A horde of incredibly handsome men, all dressed in black and sporting a 'don't fuck with me' attitude. What in the Hades? Bonnie looked over her shoulder to see Kyrian there, a smirk dancing at the edges of his lips. He was enjoying this. The bastard! They all grew quiet as she entered the room. Bonnie never felt so out of her element until this moment. Dumbfounded, her eyes glanced between every individual, expecting to wake up at any moment now. When a minute stretched into a few, she decided this was probably real. Kyrian prompted her forward. Her heart raced, uncertain of how to tread in these unknown waters as every pair of eyes studied her as if expecting her to hold the knowledge of some mystery they needed solved. One of them stepped forward with something akin to controlled fury bleeding from him. The opaque sunglasses kept his gaze hidden from her. Waves of shock shook her all the way to her foundation as she took notice of his young age. He couldn't be older than twenty. The poster child for the Goth movement, the man exuded sensuality from every pore, he commanded respect and dared anyone to cross him with the promise of eternal torment. Abnormally tall, with dark purple hair semi-tamed in a ponytail, he had the gait of skilled predator, ready to pounce if necessary. This was one scary creature.

“Bonnie, welcome to New Orleans. Acheron Parthenopaeus.” She nearly gasped when the thunderous voice of his, thick with an ancient accent, slapped her. “That's Talon of the Morrigantes, Julian of Macedonia and Wulf Trygvassen.” The three men inclined their collective heads at her in formal greeting. She fumbled with her rings, suspicious of her role in this meeting. Why would any of them need a female in the midst of an impenetrable wall of testosterone? An angry growl rumbled, unexpectedly. Followed by a curse so foul, she cringed. This time, a gasp escaped her, and her feet brought her a few steps backwards. A firm but impressively gentle grip forced her to a stop and the green of her eyes collided with her own reflection upon the surface of those damned sunglasses. Lifting her wrists, badly bruised from her earlier attempt to escape her temporary imprisonment, Acheron pointed at them as if offended. “I thought I had told you she was to be brought here on her own terms, Commander.” In return, Kyrian brought his arms upwards in initial surrender until his temper flared and scorched all common sense. “Come on, Ash! You knew better than that. All it took me was two seconds in her mind to know she would never come here willingly. That's why you sent me, damn you! Don't think I don't regret doing... that. Stupid mistake, I fucking know it. You don't have to slap my ass, boss.” With that angry tirade, he vacated the room with furious steps. She almost followed him. “He's right, you know? I'm the first to admit his methods were a bit archaic but I wouldn't have come otherwise. This...” Her gaze fell on the bruises left by the merciless bite of shackles. “This is my fault. I don't do well in cages. And something tells me you understand that better than you let on.” A contrite expression fell on Acheron's features. What happened to this man? She couldn't put her finger on it but something about him pulled the strings of her heart in sympathy for his pain and everything he hid from the world behind those dark sunglasses. A familiar warmth spread from her wrists to her arms and rest of the body while his thumbs rubbed the marred flesh. It didn't take him more than two seconds, this walking enigma of a creature unleashed a mere sliver of raw power to return her skin back to its original shade, healing it completely. Unsure of what it meant, Bonnie decided to pull the plug to this ongoing mysterious meeting. She wanted answers and she was going to get them no matter what. If there was one thing she hated more than lies, it was being thrown into a situation she had no knowledge about. And she absolutely despised feeling so lost and disoriented. “Alright. Time's up. Who are you? And why was I brought here? You have one minute before I leave. I suggest you use your time well.”

[indurarinks]

the mardi gras conundrum

( 1. )

— “I'm the top of the food chain and well...you're the food.” 

AN ANCIENT GREEK LEGEND Born to extreme wealth, Kyrian of Thrace wielded charm and charisma as powerfully as he wielded his sword. Courageous and bold, he ruled the world around him, and knew nothing save the very passionate side of his nature. Ardent, wild, and restless, he lived his life recklessly. He knew no danger, no limitations. The world was his oyster and he vowed to feed fully from it. With the strength of Ares, the body and face of Adonis, and the sensuous gifts of Aphrodite, he was sought by all women who saw him. They wanted him for their own, dreamed of possessing the proud warrior prince whose touch was said to be the closest a woman could ever come to paradise. But he was not a man whose heart was easily tamed. He was a man who lived for the moment, lived for his senses, and for the wild fulfillment of all his desires. He loved pleasure, both the giving and the receiving. The few women who had claimed him for a night of ecstasy lorded it over those who could only dream of touching his exquisite body. For he was passion. Desire. All things sensual and hot. A born warrior, he was respected and feared by all who knew of him. And at a time when the Roman Empire was invincible, he, alone, beat the Romans back with a hero's glee, and brought riches and glory to his name and homeland. For a while, 'twas said he would be ruler of the known world. Until an act of brutal betrayal made him the Ruler of the Night. Now he walks the shadowy realm between Life and the Underworld. Neither man nor beast, he is something else entirely. He is Solitude. He is Darkness. He is a shadow in the night. A restless, lonely spirit whose destiny is to save the very mortals who despise and fear him. He will never know rest or peace until he can find the one woman who will not betray him. The one pure heart who can see past his dark side and bring him back into the light. (Excerpt from “Night Pleasures” by Sherrilyn Kenyon) . . . Bearing through the entire lecture on politics and the affairs related to such a dull topic with squinted eyes, an immense urge to yield to it seeped through the cracks. Bonnie’s attention bounced back and forth from her phone to monitor the time yet again and the large windows that allowed plenty sunlight to invade the quiet classroom. Naturally, her mind wandered to other places. Some mystical, and others more realistic than she cared to analyze while, at the same time, her gaze lost itself in the entrancing beams of weakening light that blinded her momentarily. The sensation alone managed to pull a genuine smile out of Bonnie.          “See you guys next Friday.” The words drew Bonnie back to reality after two tortuous hours of an absolutely horrifying experience. The Professor stuffed the ancient-looking books and notes into his leather satchel, succeeding in exiting the auditorium before any of the students. She, being Bonnie Bennett aka the clumsiest witch roaming the Earth, quickly tucked all her books and loose sheets of paper beneath her arm only to trip on her own feet two steps later and land on the wooden floor unceremoniously, face first.          “Motherfucker!” Cursing her uncoordinated existence to all known deities, Bonnie took a second to contemplate every piece of paper and book scattered all around her as if a tornado had just passed by. As she released an exasperated grunt before pushing her figure off the ground, a few laughs and giggles traveled through the classroom from unhurried students that didn’t seem to have anything better to do than to mock her misfortune and uncoordinated self. Huffing at those bold enough to laugh at a royally pissed off witch, she made a hasty exit after fixing her hair, disheveled from the fall. . . . After several useless hours spent in the library, studying for the dreadful finals, she found herself surrounded by nothing but silence. She left the building, taking a turn in direction of her vintage Mercedes Benz, her Grams’ last car. Already beside her car, Bonnie unzipped her small purse to fish for the car keys when the weirdest sensation electrified every nerve ending with relative efficiency. The oddity of the experience prompted her to lift her chin and scan the surrounding area. In the horizon, the sun was setting. No sign of life. She was greeted with further silence. Even though her senses rang warning bells persistently with the great possibility of another preternatural existence nearby, she recklessly chose to disregard it. One nonchalant shrug of shoulders later, her fingers returned to their previous task by diving into her handbag, in search of those damned keys. As she did so, a piece of cloth was held against her mouth and nose. A very muscular arm snaked about her neck, the muscles rippling with the exertion of the aggressor’s actions. The foul stench of an initially unknown fluid, that had been previously poured onto the piece of fabric, became so intense within mere seconds that it didn’t take her long to put two and two together and recognize the chemical solution chosen to subdue her senses, her magic included– chloroform. Against Bonnie’s will, heavy eyelids began to shut as darkness closed in on her. The last thing her eyes see before shutting down completely was the vision of delectable tawny skin, certainly designed by the Gods for a woman to taste with her teeth and tongue, all night long. . . . The incessant aching of her neck pulled her from a deep, peaceful slumber, one that had been previously forced on her. Bonnie raised her hand to rub the sore region, consequence of the prolonged position of her neck, bent in an odd angle. The clinking of metallic chains drew a troubled gaze to the wrist bound to the wall behind her, ensuring her captivity. A deep feeling of dread coiled in the pit of her stomach the same moment realization robbed her of breath. How did she let herself get caught and kidnapped without much of a fight? Ferocious ire consumed every thought for there was nothing Bonnie despised more than to be captured like a mindless animal. Her head moved frenziedly from side to side in search of her captor but her vision refused to cooperate. It seemed the night had settled for several hours now and her weak, human eyes couldn’t capture enough light to see. A cool chill descended the length of her spine, the cold from the floor seeping into her bones. She trembled lightly. From the outside, ridiculously loud noises accompanied with the pleasant to ears jazz music penetrated through thick walls. She listened, hoping to collect enough intel about her whereabouts. The passing voices faded, no valuable information found in the bits and pieces of casual conversations she managed to understand. Her frustration mounted. Bonnie had yet to meet her incarcerator, but it seemed he was not currently in the premises. A strange, twisted curiosity fed her urge to come face to face with the faceless creature. From her limited angle of vision, when this mysterious man caught her by surprise, Bonnie was able to capture the sight of the most masculine arms she had ever seen. Even though the chance to admire his height was stripped from her, Bonnie could tell he was exceptionally tall. Most likely around 6’5-ish from when he pressed his entire body against hers in a most intimate way while effortlessly succeeding in gaining control over her. . . . His extended absence presented her with the perfect window of opportunity to free herself from the biting shackles. Without giving it much thought, Bonnie quickly blasted the metallic restraints as soon as she managed to gather enough juice to fuel her magic and her skin tingled from it. Yet a surprise had been waiting for her all along. Not only the shackles didn’t break loose, the nasty smell of burnt flesh indicated the discharge of magic had backfired on her. Pain spread through her like a lethal poison, slowly infecting her every cell. Pure iron was the only element on Earth with the ability to overpower my magic, temporarily dulling it into inexistent levels. The chains must have been made from it. Shit. The brute, certainly inhuman, held an apparent extensive knowledge on her species. This couldn’t be good. For her. Desperation won over rational thought for several heartbeats. She fought against the restraints in a feeble attempt to unlock them while logic screamed at her they wouldn’t budge. They didn’t. Cries of despair filled the air.          ‘Please God, get me out of this mess.’ Her captor chose this moment to barge into the room he had her caged in, silently and promptly compelling her to cease her ongoing and frankly useless escape. His presence alone exuded command and demanded respect.          “We both know it’s useless. Even with your impressive powers, you’re powerless with those chains on.” His thick foreign accent instigated a fire within her that had been dormant for months. At that, Bonnie almost laughed when the picture of her, Bonnie Sheila Bennett, becoming something akin to a victim of Stockholm syndrome invaded her mind. A pair of vibrant green eyes studied the masculine body towering over her, drinking even the smallest of details of the piece of perfection standing just mere inches from her. Definitely a body made for sin, she decided. His blonde hair along with the pair of the most eerie midnight eyes she had ever seen made the deadliest of combinations, stirring a lustful thirst. How unusual for her to experience such carnal sensations in the predicament she was in. The conjugation of the man with the nobility dripping from his aura would render any woman awfully quiet.          “My apologies for the earlier crudeness from my part. I’m Kyrian.” With a scoff ready to flee her mouth, Bonnie rose to her full height slowly, sliding over the wall behind me before throwing a glower in his general direction.          “Are you kidding me?! You’re actually apologizing for kidnapping me?” He was quick to elevate both hands in the air like a twelve year old child who just got caught with his hands in the cookie jar. He, then, flaunted a boyish smirk laden with mystery.          “Look, I know my methods weren’t the most conventional ones but I’ve been watching you for days, Bonnie. After a couple of days I knew I would never be able to convince you to come with me to New Orleans... By the way, are you aware of the leech that has been trailing you wherever you go? That dude has some serious issues.” This time, a disturbed scoff escaped her. Then, she shrieked.          “I’m in New Orleans?! No. I can’t be here. You’ve got to be the stupidest male I’ve ever crossed paths with and trust me I got my fair share of idiots in my life. What are you? I need to go back! And… I am aware of him... I’ve grown quite used to it. His intentions come from a good place in that cold heart of his.” Bonnie surprised herself when she quickly defended the bane of her existence. Lifting the shackles binding her wrists until she had his attention, she asked him in a dry tone.          “You mind?” Another derisive snort slipped past her lips while Kyrian slithered his hand inside his pocket to retrieve the key to her freedom. Perhaps it was the knowledge of sharing the same room with an angry witch coerced him to grant her wish immediately.          “I can’t bring you back home just yet. There’s a reason why you’re here, Bonnie. Your family’s name is known around these lands. Every witch in the French Quarter whispers your name with respect and reverence on account of your lineage and natural dexterity to yield magic. And we need you… You’ll learn about my kind soon enough.” Once unbound, Bonnie eased the discomfort around her wrists by rubbing them with circular motions. Naïve curiosity adorned exotic features.          “We? Who’s we? Why would you need my help in particular? Don’t you have enough witches here?” A mask of unyielding gravity settled onto chiseled features a moment prior to dropping words in his heavy Greek accent.          “Come.” He gestured for her to follow his retreating figure as he headed to the door to welcome the barely breathable heat of a typical New Orleans’ night. The combination of colors with the myriad of different, pleasing sounds and musical notes conjured the most overwhelming and breathtaking picture Bonnie had ever set her eyes upon. Momentarily distracted by a group of professional jazz musicians, a grin forced its way upon her lips. Like a child during Christmas morning, Bonnie looked absolutely mesmerized by the talent and vivacity of the city. Kyrian’s taunting voice lured her focus back to him.          “We’ve heard that you have dealt with such creatures before and it seems that the dark forces from your world have decided to affiliate with those from our world. My boss, Acheron, will fill you in. Just be prepared…” A frown darkened her features. “Prepared for what?”

He chuckled despite the initial warning tone in his words. “You’ll see when you meet him.” Ever eager to drink from the fountain of knowledge and highly interested in learning about Kyrian and his kin, Bonnie joined him, at last, strolling down the busy, crowded streets in direction to a destination that was yet unknown to her.