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Klaus’ sea travels are lonely, not that that’s unexpected. Most people don’t clamor to befriend a monster. It’s not superstition, but survival instinct, rather. The humans have their own issues: food, work, escaping the black death.
There isn’t much work that comes with maintaining a dinghy. Still, Klaus keeps track of the direction of the wind and inhales the smell of salt. He’s traveled this path many times, and he knows where to stop and feed.
He rarely sleeps, but when he does, he sees a woman on a green hill, a woman with fire in both hands, a crown of stars atop her head, and eyes that search him, look in crevices and valleys he’s long forgotten.
Ambling deeper into the dream-plain, he finds a beach, the wet sand squelching beneath him, and he sees a wave of dark hair in the water. Some sort of mermaid, maybe, which should be ridiculous, but then, a vampire-werewolf hybrid can’t afford skepticism. Maybe it’s only the water.
When Klaus wakes, his mouth is dry.
***
Birth and death aren’t quite opposites when you’re a Mikaelson. In a way, death is essential for revival. Klaus doesn’t fear death, but he does narrow his eyes in contemplation when he encounters a mist-swallowed island he’s never seen before.
There, he finds a modest home by the sea, a home where he shuffles sand on the floor. The walls are worn, and the largest room is a library of beaten tomes.
A woman, a stunning woman, finds him there, and her eyes are daggers. Why didn’t he sense her?
“Who are you?” she says, hands balled into fists. “Why are you here?”
Klaus introduces himself. She’s not impressed.
***
After he explains his situation, she shows him a spare bed. Her name is Bonnie Bennett. Her eyes are equal parts soft and hard, and her dress is practical.
How did she get here? Is she a prisoner?
Klaus helps collect herbs and food. Neither of them seem to enjoy being idle or making conversation over minutia, but after a few weeks, they settle into this strange domestic routine with diminished uneasiness. Bonnie grows annoyed when he tracks sand in, and he can hear her snore at night.
He wonders how long she’s been here, how long she’s been alone.
Bonnie reads often and examines the island flowers, openly reciting extensive knowledge of their medicinal properties; Klaus reads one of her time-beaten tomes and finds spells in various languages. As gloom gathers outside, he wonders if she knows what power she has at her disposal.
***
The water running at the heart of the island glimmers and dimples around smooth, black stones, and crickets and frogs belt the air with a hearty orchestra. Bonnie’s hand is warm.
One of the stones in the water floats.
Bonnie confirms Klaus’ suspicions. A witch, she’s a witch who can make the earth fly; she can cloak herself and the land. Cloaked, Bonnie Bennett should be anything but obscured from the world.
This is Bonnie’s quiet way of showing him who she is. Klaus doesn’t like witches, but he likes Bonnie, and he’s not incredibly keen on most people. A stirring in his heart murmurs that she’s different, that her power won’t burn him, but it’s likely a naive, foolish thought born of weakness.
Bonnie tilts her head, as if sensing his ire, and she squeezes his hand.
***
She speaks of her disappearing mother and her unfortunate foremothers, and Klaus’ heart aches for her. Either her words are authentic, or she’s the greatest actor he’s ever met. (And Klaus knows all about acting.)
He hunts deer at night, though he hates their taste. Bonnie’s taken aback when she finds out what he is in a glittering, moonlit grove, and a wariness sharpens her eyes. She’s so mortal, yet worldly and unafraid. She won’t be cowed, no matter what phase the moon is in.
Bonnie holds a distilled hurt in her eyes, seemingly cradles it to her breast like nightshade. A protective urge surges inside Klaus. The intrepid Bennett witch isn’t a seductress, isn’t a Circe or Calypso, but a lonely, sad, strong beauty who makes him yield with a touch like lightning. Chaste exchanges, fleeting nothings that say everything.
The island lotuses aren’t quite as red as blood; they are more like rubies in the sun. Oddly enough, the sun never seems to be in full form. The mist cloaking the beach and the island never seems to abate, so there’s always a tinge of darkness. Though the sun doesn’t hurt him, it comforts Klaus to see it blurred out. He’s always been a night person, and he wonders if Bonnie feels the same. Shame there aren’t many stars at night.
Still, a warmth stirs in him. He’s no longer alone.
***
Bonnie initiates the first kiss, tantalizing and slow. How long has he been here? Klaus is vulnerable with her even without revealing anything. She exposes his soul, in a way.
Yet, he trusts Bonnie, and trust, well, he doesn’t trust, he can’t. Even if Klaus does bear his soul to her, he can’t stay here. They can go to the mainland, he’ll conquer all vampire kind, then branch out to every supernatural influence, and Bonnie can be the queen. The people will love her, and perhaps tolerate Klaus.
She’ll have more power than any human king.
***
Bonnie comes to him that night, and he receives her. Her hands are callused and gentle as he pulls her so close that his heart becomes hers. When Klaus forfeits control of his body, he forfeits his soul too.