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She had poured herself a glass of the shitty merlot that had been sitting half-empty in her fridge for a week when she felt the skin on the back of her neck begin to crawl. Her apartment was in a decently safe part of town, and the building hadn’t had a break-in since Mrs. Sinnano down on 3rd had been robbed while visiting relatives in Florida, so she knew immediately who it was.
What the fuck she was was another question altogether.
Her mouth was bloody, the white sharp teeth drawing out of the boy’s neck like the fangs of a snake. Eyes caught somewhere between the pale sapphire hue she had seen before and a glowing gold.
She smiled at her, even though she looked angry at being caught. She had smiled at her with her sharp teeth and her bloody mouth and the half-dead body of one of the wannabe gangsters she’d been following sprawled at her feet.
“I thought you lot needed an invitation,” She said to the shadows outside her bedroom door, joking, but also not. It had nearly been a day, and she still couldn’t wrap her mind around what she saw outside the college.
Hope Mikaelson was a disarming woman, all five foot nothing of her. Even now, lurking in her fucking apartment uninvited, Lizzie was both scared and intrigued. Her sister would say it was the reporter in her, that their parents should have named her Caterina, because the curiosity was always a few steps away from killing her.
And when Hope Mikaelson stepped out of the shadow of her bedroom door, she realized just how close she had stepped to it this time. Crooked unions, low-level mobsters looking to make a name for themselves, co-orporations willing to go that extra mile. Lizzie had been in the crosshairs long enough to know when someone was looking at her with less than innocent intentions.
The brunette shook her head and smiled at her like she was a confused child. "I’ve always liked garlic, too." Mystic Falls apartments were small, so she was only a few steps away when she muttered, "Catch someone early enough after Italian and you can still kind of taste it. In the blood.”
Lizzie’s hand clenched hard enough around her wine glass that for a second she was afraid it would shatter. The blonde had never been the type of girl to believe in legends, ghosts and the kind of fairytale nonsense that her sister had adored their whole lives.
She licked her lips. They had been bloody from the boy, and she licked them like she had been seeking the last taste of a meal she had particularly enjoyed.
She took another step toward her, head tilting to the side like she was appraising her. She was in a surprisingly casual outfit; a black biker jacket - the silver zips glistening slightly in the bare light - black jeans with rough knee rips and a worn down Guns & Roses t-shirt that had a few stains - which she assumed were blood - barely visible.
There was a silver chain around her neck, but whatever charm was on it was hidden under her thick chocolate hair that fell in waves around her neck and shoulders.
“Stay the hell away from me,” Lizzie hissed, trying to ride the line between forceful and non-combative. She was brash, but not stupid, and she knew that this woman could very easily hurt her. She slipped around the side of her kitchen counter and into the living room backwards, careful not to trip on the carpet.
She followed her instantly. "Is that any way to speak to a guest?"
"A guest is welcome. You are definitely not.”
Hope’s mouth curled in a decidedly unfriendly way. "I don’t know why I can’t get into that pretty little head of yours, but unfortunately for you this leaves us with very few remaining options Ms. Saltzman."
Lizzie did not like the way she was looking at her neck.