Father Kieran had warned them about going to the French Quarter. He specifically told them that witches and werewolves were not allowed there, especially not the werewolves. He told them it was for their safety, then recommended that they go to one of the vestries to watch TV. The vestries were storage rooms in the church, turned into sleeping rooms. They were thoroughly cleaned out and now had several sleeping bags and hidden snacks, all of them belonging to the youngest members of the packs. 

   Roseanne sat in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall and playing some war game on her phone. She could hear Father Kieran speak to those in the room, telling them that they could play board games or help in the kitchen with the amount of food that had to be prepared. She wasn't much of a cook, she was terrible at any kind of baking. Instead, she leaned further into the wall and continued to play her game. 

   It wasn't after a few minutes that she decided to stand and leave the storage-turned-bedroom. She went into the small chapel and noticed that there were several people seated about, heads bent down, mouths moving but no words coming out. When she was a little girl, she had seen her father pray numerous times. She knew quite well what they were doing, had done it herself, but stopped. Prayers were for those who were faithful, those who had not been killed or stolen, or were creatures of the supernatural. 

   "Roseanne?" She turned to see Father Kieran walk to her, a friendly smile on his lips. "You're Roseanne, correct?"

   She nodded.

   Father Kieran let out a breath and smiled a bit wider. "Nemiah told me about you."

   "About me?" She tilted her head to the side in curiosity. As far as she knew, there was nothing to say about her. 

   "He said that ever since you arrived, some strange things have been happening to you," he said. He pointed at two chairs at the corner of the room, and an invitation to sit. She didn't want to, but her legs seemed to move without hesitance. "He told me about what happened a few days ago when your bones broke. I'm only human, so what I know is from what I've learned from others. Werewolves only turn during the full moon, right?"

   "If you're going to ask me if I know what happened, I don't." She leaned back and pushed her hands in the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt. "I don't know what happened and I don't want to know."

   Father Kieran's brows furrowed. "You're scared... It's fine to be scared, Roseanne. You don't know what happened—"

   "—I'm not scared," she cut him off. "I don't need to be scared of anything, Father. Nemiah may be my alpha, but he doesn't know shit about me." She stood and began to walk out of the chapel.

   "He's not your alpha," Father Kieran uttered, stopping her. "I'm sorry for intruding, but Nemiah told me that his mate found you three years ago. I..." He took a deep breath and pulled out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. "You seemed familiar, Roseanne. I thought I saw you before, but I knew you weren't from New Orleans. When Nemiah told me your name, I remembered from where you looked so familiar." He pushed the paper towards her.

   Roseanne grabbed the paper and read:

PALISADES PARK COMMUNITY GRIEVES SUDDEN LOSS OF FAMILY

PALISADES PARK, New Jersey—An entire family killed in their quiet home in Palisades Park have been identified by investigators.

   Roseanne blinked several times and crumbled the paper into a ball. She couldn't bear to read longer, to stare into the smiling eyes of the pictures. Her blood began to boil; it begged her to wreck something. To destroy. She glared at the Father, wanted to strangle him and watch his blood flow against the floor of the chapel. "Why?" she asked, her voice poison. "Why did you bring this to me?"

   "I remembered you from this," the Father said in a soft voice as he pointed at the crumpled paper with his chin. "There was a school picture there, and your name. You haven't changed that much, Roseanne. I thought—"

   "—You thought I killed them," she cut him off. Her throat swelled up and her chest tightened, the anger in her rising like wildfire. If she wanted, she could burn him whole, then he would think of her as a murderer.

   Father Kieran shook his head. "No, I don't think you did. I know the pain of losing loved ones, Roseanne. I thought you could use someone to talk to, someone who would listen."

   Roseanne took a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders, allowing her eyes to stay on his. If looks could kill, the Father would have been a heaping mess of charred skin and bones. She swallowed and bit down on her tongue. "I'm fine," she said in a nonchalant tone. Without another word, she turned and walked out of the church. She knew she wasn't supposed to leave the church, to be in the French Quarter, but she needed to be away from everyone. Especially Father Kieran.

   The French Quarter was full of historical buildings in an array of colours, people of every race and colour walking around. The grand majority of them were full of adrenaline, screaming and dancing and taking pictures with their phones. A woman wore a white garland with BRIDE-TO-BE written in pink, a tiara on her head and a half-empty boot-shaped cup. A drag queen walked around with heels higher than anything, her head held high as people whistled as she walked by. She smiled at them and waved her hand, battered her long lashes, then invited them to her performance at the bar just down the street. She even stopped in front of Roseanne, introducing herself as Alexis Sarandon. 

   "I want to invite you to my show!" she said in a high-pitched voice. "It's at the Golden Lantern in Royal Street. Here, I'll give you this flyer!" She pulled a flyer from her purse and pushed it into the young werewolf's hand. "You can get one free drink with this! Bye-bye, sweetheart!" She waved a manicured hand as she walked, her hips swaying side to side. 

   Roseanne blinked and stared after her with the flyer crunched up in her hand. No, not the flyer, but the printed out news article that Father Kieran had shown her. She glanced down at it for a second, the big picture in the centre staring back at her like the lifeless eyes of a statue. The memory was fresh in her mind, the push between siblings and the harsh Korean from their parents as they told them to behave in the studio. A breath escaped her lips as she pushed the paper back into her pocket and decided to follow behind the drag queen. 

   The Golden Lantern was full of men and women and several drag queens. There were full of laughs, the merriment that she couldn't recognise quite well. She knew the bits of joy when she was out with the pack cutting wood, when they returned home to eat and drink and laugh. It had been those small moments where she had smiled, had genuinely laughed. The bar's atmosphere wasn't as merry as those days, but it would have to do with the one free drink.

   She walked up to the bar and took a seat, ordered a simple whiskey when the bartender arrived. She wasn't fond of whiskey, or much things except the cheap beer she had shared with her pack, but she drank it nonetheless. The taste was strange, but she enjoyed it. It was what soothed the wildfire that burned inside of her, settling into a small kindled fire that only moved throughout her. That was the fire that had always been there, that had made its home between her veins and made her feel alive. 

   Her mother had always told her that she was rebellious, ever since she was a newborn. When she was born, she had refused to cry. Even now, it was a thing she did. She refused to cry, refused to let anyone see her in pain or anything. When her bones broke in the camp a few days ago was an accident, an act of weakness. 

   She wouldn't let anyone see it again.

   Roseanne left the Golden Lantern after one drink and seeing Alexis Sarandon do her show. She walked with her head down, counting the steps in her head and allowing the small simple buzz of the whiskey to surge through her system. The want to destroy was still in her system; it walked close to her, whispering simple nothings of death and destruction. She was a werewolf, it was all in her blood.

   The sound of glass breaking and groaning made her stop. She turned her head across the street, where she saw a man fling a woman against the bar with supernatural strength. He turned towards the man in front of him and flung him across the room. Roseanne wasn't one to help people, but she itched to destroy something. Why not destroy a bad man that was trying to kill two people?

   Roseanne jogged across the street and slowly opened the door. The man that had thrown the two others was dressed in a striking white suit that reminded her of bones that had been picked clean. He knelt in front of the man he had thrown against the wall, gripped him by the head and began to carve a symbol with what appeared to be a bone. 

   "As I recall, you're one of the few people Niklaus Mikaelson ever gave a damn about," the man said. "You know what he did to my family." He slapped his hand on the man's forehead.

   The man on the ground began to yell out in pain, his dark skin turning grey with darker veins protruding.

   The man in white stood and pulled out a white knife from his jacket. "The sins of a father paid for by the son," he said, voice carried with what appeared to be some kind of gentle breeze. "I will take pleasure telling Klaus how you died."

   Roseanne tried to fight the urge to save the vampire from whatever the maniac-in-white was doing, but the burn was there. She let out an animistic growl and sped towards the man, sinking her fangs into his neck and ripping out the flesh. It was the wild animal inside of her that wanted to bite the man, to kill him and make him suffer. The fire inside of her surged again as if someone had poured gasoline over it. 

   She pulled away from the man and allowed his corpse to fall to the ground. After a moment, she spat the piece of flesh to the floor and cleaned her mouth with the back of her hand as she hurried to the man on the ground and shook his shoulder. "Hey, dude, you gotta wake up!" She slapped his cheek several times, trying to get him to move or groan. "Come on, man!"

   "That is unfortunate."

   Roseanne turned her head to see the man in white stand, the bite in his neck nowhere in sight. The only sign that she had bitten him and ripped the skin was the blood on his shoulder and chest. He glared at her, eyes twinkling with something she had once been familiar with. Mischief. 

   "Ah," he breathed, taking a step closer to her. "I can feel it in you, almost taste it. It's strong... I'll take great pleasure killing you too." He raised the knife at her but was stopped by a figure grabbing him.

   "I remember killing you," the figure hissed. "I rather relished it. What a joy it is to relive fond memories." It was Klaus, with his mischievous blue eyes and the slight tussle of blonde hair on his head. His eyes fell on her for a moment, the shock allowing the man-in-white to throw him across the room. 

   "You're here." The man-in-white turned to face the Original. "Good. I can crush before the eyes of your son and her. Then, I will consume you three." He held a pose full of power, that radiated in him like dark tendrils wanting to scorch whatever they touched.

   Klaus sped towards the man. With ease, the man-in-white grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the bar.  Klaus tried to fight back, but the man simply pushed him back. It was as if here holding on to a piece of wood, controlling it with just a flick of his wrist. He leaned down, closer to the Original, and whispered, "This time, I'm stronger." He threw Klaus on the floor. 

   Another growl rose from Roseanne's chest. It echoed through the room, making her feel strange. It was involuntary, as if it just needed to happen. A sudden gust of wind that pushed the flames higher. Without warning, or wanting, she stood and sped to grab the man-in-white and sink her teeth onto the other side of his neck. The man screamed but threw her off him as fast and easy as he had done with Klaus. She hit the bar, breaking several pieces of wood and one of them digging onto the small of her back. 

   The man-in-white grabbed Klaus by the neck and pressed the white knife on his forehead. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, the white's of his eyes the only thing she noticed. The blue appeared when the man-in-white took a step back and began to gasp for air. It was then when Klaus threw him across the room, then hurried to the man on the floor. 

   "Uhh, is he dead?" A blonde woman appeared, a worried expression on her face.

   "Get out of here," Klaus hissed at her. 

   "Is Marcel dead?" She went to move closer to the man, but Klaus stood and blocked her. "Did that guy kill him?"

   "He didn't finish him off," Klaus told her. "Marcel needs blood to heal. Go. Find someone off the street."

   The woman looked down at the man on the floor, whom Roseanne guessed was named Marcel. "I'll do it," she said.

   "No. I don't want you involved in this." Klaus stared at her with a soft look. She knew that look, had seen it with Nemiah and Agnes, between the other wolves that had found their mates or someone they cared about deeply.

   The blonde woman glared. "You don't control me anymore, remember?" She rushed over to Marcel and put his mouth to her neck. "It's okay, Marcel," she cooed. "It's okay..."

   Roseanne's face scrunched up with disgust as the woman allowed Marcel to drink from her neck. She hated vampires and wondered why the hell did she try to save him. Part of her knew that it was because of her desire to destroy things, have it be with fires or with her strength. It was the reason why Nemiah made her fight the most the nights before the full moon. She wanted to destroy something, and that ended up being the smashed wood behind her and the blood around her mouth and neck. 

   She felt someone grab her by the arm and pull her up. "You! What are you doing here?" Klaus stood inches from her, his face too close for her liking.

   She leaned back and shrugged his hand from her arm. "I saw a powerful guy try to take on two people and thought it was an unfair fight," she said as cool as she could. "Trust me, if I knew they were your friends I would have kept walking."

   Klaus's jaw clenched. "Why are you here?" he then asked. "Werewolves aren't allowed in the Quarter." He glanced around for a moment, then grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the bar. "You're lucky it was I that found you and not another vampire."

   Roseanne rolled her eyes and laid her free hand over her chest. "My knight in shining armour!" she breathed with as much sarcasm as she could muster. "I think I could take care of myself."

   "I do not doubt that," Klaus hummed. He stopped walking once they were a distance from the bar and turned to her. "What were you doing in the Quarter?"

   Roseanne opened her mouth to tell him the exact reason but stopped herself. There was no reason for him to know. "I sneaked out," she said. "I've heard about how lively the French Quarter is at night. So far, I managed to get a free drink, watch a drag show, and get my favourite sweater covered in blood." She glanced down at her sweater and almost gagged. 

   There was a difference between the blood of all creatures, especially when it came between vampires, werewolves, witches, and humans. To her, humans had the usual metallic scent, iron that has rusted over. Vampires had the scent of something that was off, rotten at times and saccharine at others. Always a mixture of both. The werewolves she had known and came across all had the familiar scents that distinguished them, earthy and musk with a hint of something she could never place. Witches had always been the scent of fresh herbs as if they had rubbed them all over their bodies.

   Roseanne realised that she could not pin down whatever it was that the Original smelt of. 

   "I told Father Kieran to not allow you to leave the church," he hissed. 

   "Well, Father Kieran doesn't control me," she snapped, shrugging his hand from her arm.

   "No, but vampires rule the Quarter and that means you could be killed at any moment," he snapped back. It seemed that he grew an inch taller, too close to her for her liking. 

   Roseanne huffed and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "I'm sure I saved your ass back there against some man with a tiny knife."

   Klaus let out an annoyed groan and began to walk away. He turned back to her and glared, hands on his waist. "First, you—"

   "—First I what?"

   He stared at her for a moment, brows furrowed. "First, I don't know what you did to me. You're no witch, so perhaps you have someone working with you. Secondly, you appear out of nowhere to try and save Marcel."

   "Tried and succeed," she said as she crossed her arms. "And I don't work with witches."

   "Tried and almost got yourself killed if it weren't for me," he cleared. There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but also the great curiosity that remained unanswered. "You're not going back to the church."

   Roseanne blinked. "W-what?"

   "You're coming with me."