"I..." he began, lifting his hands slightly, only to drop them again in an exasperated manner. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. Finally, he sighed.
"Zara... You never say anything. Trust me, you don't. Okay?" His voice came out nervously, his eyes searching hers frantically.
She could see a plea in them, begging her to accept whatever this was.
"No..." she replied slowly, shaking her head. "Ethan... I... What is this, Ethan?"
"You don't have to know, Zara. Trust me, it's better if you don't... This—"
"Trust you?" she asked sharply, her voice rising with disbelief, fading into a low, disbelieving laugh. She shook her head. "No, Ethan. Trust? You're not even telling me a damn thing!"
"'Cause I can't!" he almost yelled, gripping her shoulders gently. "Zara, this... it's dangerous, okay? This is a secret that can—and will—get you killed. And hell, you're not telling me a damn thing either! Because how the fuck are you not being compelled?"
Compelled...
There was that word again. She could swear she had heard it before, but she couldn't place where or when. A show maybe...?
Fangs...
The Originals...
Klaus Mikaelson...
"No," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat for what felt like the thousandth time that night. "No... They don't exist..."
"Exactly," Ethan said, though he clearly had no idea what she was talking about.
She chuckled, throwing her head back with laughter—laughter at her own confusion, at the ridiculousness of it all. When it faded, she let out a long exhale, brushed her hair away from her face, and stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets.
"It's late," Ethan said softly after a long silence. "You should head home. I'll walk you."
"Why would you do that?" she snapped.
He tilted his head. "This is a dark alley. Gangs... dangerous men..."
"Yeah. And vampires."
"I thought we established those don't exist?" he said, raising a brow.
"Okay. Then explain what you are."
"Drop it, Zara," Ethan said, sighing as he grabbed her arm and began walking.
"I don't need you to walk me home. I'm fine on my own."
"Why? Are you scared I'll drain you of blood?" he snorted.
Zara rolled her eyes but didn't protest. She eventually fell in step beside him.
The alleyway was silent, apart from the occasional distant shuffle of footsteps. As they got closer to the main road, they could hear the revving of car engines as they zoomed. The city was brightly lit, there was loud music playing somewhere, the smell of cigarettes in the air and cheap designer knock-off perfumes.
Ethan flagged down a cab and opened the door for her, sliding in beside her. He rattled off her address to the driver.
"How the fuck do you know my address?" Zara whisper-yelled. "Other than being a—"
His warm hand clamped over her mouth.
"Your dad's my coach. I've been to your house several times. Forgotten?"
"Oh—"
The rest of the ride was quiet.
When the cab pulled up to her house, her father was pacing on the porch, his phone pressed to his ear.
"Oh thank God," he breathed when the door opened.
Zara glanced back as Ethan stepped out, paying the driver.
"Zara, you had me worried. Noah tried lying that you were with him, but I sniffed that right out!" Santiago Castillo scoffed. Then his eyes lit up. "Ethan!"
"Sorry, Coach. We went over to Wendy's Coffee and, uh... hung at the park. Didn't realize how late it got."
"I see. Why don't you come in and join us for dinner, Ethan?"
"I'm visiting a friend for that. Later, Coach." Ethan didn't wait to hear more. He turned and walked off into the night.
Zara stepped through the door that was slightly ajar, greeted by the warm smell of pasta and grilled chicken, but she wasn't hungry.
"I made pasta," Santiago said, trying to usher her toward the dining room.
"Already had snacks with Ethan," she lied, her lips tightening.
She headed up the stairs, skipping the eleventh step that always creaked, her fingers grazing the banister.
In her room, she dropped her backpack on the bed and sank down beside it, staring at the chandelier hanging above. She rolled onto her back with a soft groan—then it hit her.
Ethan's fangs.
She sat up sharply, her chest rising and falling, heart pounding harder the longer she thought about it. She couldn't ignore what she'd seen, no matter how much she wanted to. It hadn't been a trick of the light.
Without thinking, she rushed to her reading table like she was being pulled there. She dragged out the chair, sat down, and opened her laptop, clicking into Chrome before she could second-guess herself.
Fangs meant he had to be something superhuman.
Her brain flitted between every half-remembered fantasy book and supernatural show she'd ever seen. Her thoughts tangled together, panicked and messy as she was trying to connect what she saw about Ethan with one of those shoes or books.
Her closest guess.
The originals.
But was it based on a true life story?
Hell, if this was something like Annabelle or Chucky, she could have believed that maybe it was real. After all, those horror movies were formed out of true-life stories, no matter how unbelievable they were.
She opened a tab on Google and typed in the originals, scrolling through the Wikipedia pages and all the whatnot she could find. She opened a certain site that led to the origin of vampires and how they were made, but it was more or less talking about how Klaus Mikaelson and his brothers were made by his mother, who was a witch.
Then she closed all those and opened a new one.
Are vampires real?
Signs someone is a vampire.
Can people compel others?
Klaus Mikaelson real life?
She jumped from link to link, falling into a black hole of fan theories, historical vampire myths, supernatural forums, and show recaps. Most of it sounded made-up, over-the-top, mystical, or too vague to help, but she couldn't stop.
Then she heard a knock on her door.
She panicked, instantly switching tabs and typing the first educational thing that came to mind: "Benefits of recycling in developing countries." Her fingers hovered awkwardly on the keyboard as her father's voice called from the hallway.
"Come in," she said quickly.
The door creaked open, making her to wince.
Her father stepped in, holding a plate with a cover on it. He just walked over and leaned against her desk.
"Zara," he said gently, "I just thought maybe you could change your mind about, you know... having dinner."
She sighed, the lie already forming on her tongue. "Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate it."
"It's okay. Just don't stay up too late," he said, kissing her hair and ruffling it the way he always did after dropping the plate. "Remember, you've got school tomorrow."
She nodded and smiled. "I have just English homework."
He glanced at her screen, his brows pinching slightly.
And in that moment, Zara realized her "educational" research had nothing to do with English.
"Just... stuff that'll relate to the essay I need to write," she added quickly.
He gave her a disbelieving look but shrugged. "Alright."
He turned to leave, then popped his head back in just before closing the door.
"Go to sleep once it's eleven. You hear me?"
"Yes, Dad," she replied.
When she finally heard his footsteps retreating down the hall, she closed the tab about recycling and reopened the one about vampires. Then she opened three more.
What makes someone move fast?
Why do people have red eyes?
Why can't I stop thinking about someone's fangs?
She searched everything she could think of: "The Originals true story?" "Is Twilight based on real events?" "Can someone be immune to compulsion?" "Vampire myths in real life." "Witch blood and vampire rules."
Every time she closed a tab, she opened three more. Her eyes burned, and her body begged for sleep, but she couldn't stop.
She didn't notice how much time had passed until her vision blurred, and her lamp cast longer, duller shadows across the wall.
Morning light crept in through her curtains.
Her plate of food was still untouched, her legs were numb from sitting down for too long, her eyes were dry from staring at the screen of her laptop for too long.
The only thing that was not exhausted was her mind, because she was so determined to find out whatever it was.
Her eyes flickered to the bottom of her screen.
7:01 a.m.
"Shit," she cursed.