Chapter 30: An Afternoon to Remember

The sun beat down on the Mystic Falls High School field, painting the sky a crystal blue that seemed to mock the tension in the packed stands. It was the day of the annual football game against the Salvatore School, and the air was alive with the raucous cheers of the crowd, the smell of freshly cut grass, and the off-key sound of the marching band trying to hit some random tune. Hope Mikaelson was at the center of the action, the red and black Salvatore cheerleading uniform hugging her figure as she gripped the megaphone tightly. "Come on, more energy!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the noise, her blue eyes sweeping over the girls as they adjusted their positions. But inside, she was somewhere else.

With each movement of the pompoms, with each rehearsed step, her mind escaped to the night before. Ethan . His name was like a whisper that wouldn't leave her alone, echoing in her thoughts like the wind through the trees. Who was that boy with the heterochromia eyes—one as icy blue as ice, the other as vibrant green as an untouched forest? Why had a stranger, someone she'd met for a handful of minutes in a dark square, become so deeply rooted in her soul? Why won't he get out of my head? she thought, her fingers tightening on the megaphone until her knuckles turned white. The image of him, his husky voice saying "a girl as pretty as you shouldn't cry," came back in flashes, warming her cheeks even under the blazing sun. It was just one night, one moment. But something in her screamed that it was more, and she didn't know why.

The referee's whistle ripped through the air, signaling the start of the game. Hope led the choreography with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times before, her brown hair bouncing in its ponytail as the cheerleaders cheered in unison. But her eyes betrayed their focus, wandering across the field until they found Landon Kirby. He was running on the Salvatore field, his sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, his face flushed with exertion as he tried to escape a tackle. Hope watched him, expecting to feel that familiar warmth, the spark that used to ignite her chest at the sight of him. But today…nothing. It was as if an icy wind had blown over her feelings, leaving only a cold void where there had once been something alive. Why? she wondered, frowning as he stumbled, the ball slipping from his hands. What had changed? Her heart remained calm, her hands steady, and she realized with a quiet shock that Ethan was occupying that space—a stranger she barely knew but who felt more real than Landon in that moment.

A few blocks away, the morning sun still warmed the streets of Mystic Falls as Ethan walked down the creaky stairs of the cheap hotel where he'd spent the night. The new leather of his jacket brushed against his shoulders, already molding itself to him like a familiar armor. He opened his wallet with a sigh—a thousand and five hundred dollars in crumpled bills, the last remnants of a life Lucifer had erased. I need more , he thought, the weight of reality falling over him like a shadow. Ever since he'd been ripped from his existence, ever since he'd lost everything, being close to Hope was the only thread that had kept him grounded. Even if she didn't remember, even if the whole world had forgotten him.

His eyes caught a faded sign on the corner: Marty's Auto Shop. The sound of tools clanking and the echo of classic rock drifted through the open door, mingling with the smell of gasoline and hot metal. Ethan knew engines—years of tinkering with his father on his Harley, his hands greasy and the roar of engines like a second language. It was something Lucifer hadn't been able to erase. He adjusted his jacket and stepped inside, the heat of the shop wrapping around him like a rough embrace.

A middle-aged man looked up from under the hood of a rusty Chevy. Gray beard, stained overalls, calloused hands clutching a dirty rag. "Can I help you?" he asked, his husky voice cutting through the radio.

Good morning sir, I'm looking for work," Ethan said, his tone firm but with a hint of relaxation. "I can fix cars, motorcycles, whatever you need. 

Marty stared at him, his eyes narrowed as if silently weighing Ethan's soul. "I've been struggling with this carburetor for two hours," he growled, pointing at the Chevy. "If you really know what you're doing, grab a wrench and help me. If it works, I'll hire you on the spot."

Ethan smirked, a mischievous glint in his heterochromia eyes. "Done." He grabbed a toolbox and popped the hood, the acrid smell of stale gasoline rising as he examined the engine. "It's clogged up like a sewer on a rainy day," he muttered, his nimble fingers disassembling the carburetor. Marty stood by, arms crossed, as Ethan cleaned the parts with precision, adjusted the airflow, and recalibrated the timing. "Try it now," he said, stepping back. Marty turned the key, and the engine purred to life, a low, satisfied sound.

Marty laughed hoarsely, slapping Ethan on the shoulder hard enough to elicit a grunt. "You're good, kid. You're hired. Stay with me today." He tossed Ethan a screwdriver, pointing to another car in the corner. "We'll get this one done before the end of the day."

The hours flew by with the clanking of tools and the sound of the radio, which switched from Led Zeppelin to Aerosmith as the sun rose and fell in the sky. Between engine tune-ups and oil changes, conversation flowed like fresh oil. "My daughter's in college, you know?" Marty said, tightening a screw tightly. "Engineering in Atlanta. She keeps telling me I can't fix anything without her to guide me."

Ethan laughed, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. "She seems smart. Must be a damned proud person."

"It is," Marty replied, his tone softening like heated metal. "What about you, kid? Where did you come from? Got any family around?"

Ethan hesitated, the crooked smile returning as he glanced back at the engine. "I'm from… a lot of places," he said, his voice light but with a shadow behind it. "Family? I'm kind of on my own now. But I can manage." He shrugged, letting the weight of the truth hang in the air.

Marty nodded, his eyes shining with quiet understanding. "I know how it is. Sometimes you just need a place to start over." He patted the hood of his car, satisfied with his work. "You're welcome here, Ethan."

"Thank you, Marty," he replied, his voice lower, filled with a gratitude he didn't know how to express. The day ended with the sun setting, and Marty patted him on the back. "That's it for today. Go get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

Ethan walked out of the garage, his hands still smelling of grease, his pockets a little heavier with the day's pay. The cool afternoon air brushed his face as he walked, but a sound cut through the silence—a low, almost primal howl coming from the forest that hugged the town. His werewolf instincts kicked in, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up like needles. A wolf? Here? he thought, frowning. Something tugged at him like a familiar feeling, and he changed course, his boots crunching over dry leaves as he entered the dense woods.

The forest swallowed the twilight, long shadows dancing between the trunks as Ethan advanced, the howl echoing closer, more urgent. The scent of damp earth and pine filled his nostrils, but there was something else—a pungent stench of sulfur and death. He stopped when he saw Hope and Landon through the trees, his heart leaping as he recognized her. She was standing, her hands glowing with magic, her face tight with concentration, while Landon held a broken branch like a sword, his eyes wide with fear. Ahead of them, a monster: some kind of hellhound/wolf, immense, with fur as black as night and eyes that burned like live coals. It was bigger than a Siberian tiger, in fact it might have been bigger than a polar bear, its fangs dripping thick saliva, the ground shaking beneath its heavy paws.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Ethan shouted, his voice tearing through the air like thunder, the shock escaping him before he could hold it in. Hope turned her head, her blue eyes meeting his in a mixture of surprise and recognition. Landon blinked in confusion as the monster swiveled its snout, its blazing eyes locking with Ethan as if assessing him.

Without thinking, Ethan ran, putting himself between Hope and the creature, instinct screaming louder than reason. Her scent—sweet, with a hint of lavender and something wild—hit him like a punch, and he felt the imprint throb in his chest. Hope took a step back, her racing heart reflected in her eyes. "What are you doing here, Ethan?" she asked, her voice shaking but filled with a curiosity she couldn't hide.

Landon gripped the branch, frowning. "Do you know this guy?"

Hope hesitated, her eyes darting from Ethan to Landon and back again. "Yeah…sort of. I met him yesterday," she said, her tone uncertain as she stared at Ethan's broad back, the leather jacket stretched tight against his shoulders.

Ethan gave a crooked smile, trying to ease the tension that hung like lead in the air. "I heard a wolf howling somewhere," he explained, chuckling softly as he glanced at the monster. "But I'd much rather it were just a wolf. Look at the size of that thing!"

Hope narrowed her eyes, a blush rising to her cheeks despite the situation. "This is no time for jokes, Ethan," she snapped, her voice firm but with a hint of exasperation that almost made him laugh again.

The hellhound growled, its red eyes boring into Ethan, and he felt a chill run down his spine. He glanced back, its heterochromia locking with Hope's, and then something changed—the icy blue faded, and both eyes glowed an intense green, unearthly like liquid emeralds in the dim light. Hope froze, her breath catching in her throat, her lips parted in shock. "So you're a supernatural being too, Ethan?" she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. "A werewolf?"

Ethan took a deep breath, his chest tightening as he stared into those blue eyes he knew so well, even if she didn't. "I've never done this right before…not since the first time," he said, his voice low, almost reverent, as he began to pull off his jacket, the leather falling with a muffled thud onto the damp earth. "But I think it's time to play hero." He tore off his shirt, revealing skin marked by old scars, and quickly unbuttoned his pants, tossing them aside until he stood completely naked in the twilight.

Hope and Landon's eyes widened in unison, shock written all over their faces as if the world had turned upside down. "What are you doing?" Landon exclaimed, his voice rising an octave, the branch trembling in his hands.

"Ethan, what—" Hope began, the words dying in her throat as a blush exploded across her face, dyeing her cheeks a bright red. She turned her head away instinctively, but her eyes stubbornly remained fixed on his figure.

Ethan laughed, the light sound cutting through the tension like a blade. "Look away, Hope, I don't want to embarrass you," he teased, his tone laden with mischievous charm as he cast a teasing glance in her direction. The monster watched, ears pricked, body tense as if waiting for something, an almost palpable expectation in the air.

Hope blushed even more, her fingers clenching the air as if she needed something to hold on to, but then Ethan sobered, his smile fading like a candle in the wind. He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, and murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, "This is it. I need your help now. I don't know how to do this right, so… help me." A deep voice boomed in his mind— Finally —and the wolf inside him responded with a roar that seemed to rip at his soul. The transformation came like a flash: his bones cracked in a symphony of quick, brutal cracks, his body contorting at impossible angles as he fell to his knees, a hoarse scream escaping him before turning into a primal growl. Black and gray fur exploded from his skin in a tidal wave, his muscles growing to colossal proportions, sharp claws slicing the air. Within seconds, he was a massive werewolf—over seven feet tall, his face fierce, wolfish features chiseled with brute strength, and fluorescent green eyes that shone like beacons in the darkness of the forest.

Hope froze, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stared at him. "He's a werewolf," she whispered, almost to herself, but then the details of his transformation hit her like a thunderclap. It's like no other I've ever seen. His body, how quickly his bones broke and reformed, the form that was neither fully wolf nor fully man—it was something new, something that defied everything she'd ever learned about werewolves. How is this possible? she thought, her eyes wide as her mind raced to Malivore, the pit of forgotten monsters. Could he be one of them? A monster no one remembers? The thought made her swallow hard, but there was something in his eyes—those fluorescent greens, the most beautiful she'd ever seen—that made her doubt.

Landon, on the other hand, was in pure terror. He backed away, the branch falling from his shaking hands as he stared at Ethan's colossal figure. "I've never seen anything this big in my life," he stammered, his voice cracking as he looked between Ethan and the hellhound, unsure which of the two terrified him more.

Ethan stood up, his broad chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his fur rippling in the wind like a living storm. He turned his head, his fluorescent green eyes meeting Hope's for an instant, and she felt a chill she couldn't explain—a heat that rose in her chest, an echo of something she couldn't name. It was as if those eyes reflected his heart, a connection that transcended words, time, memory. Then the hellhound growled, a sound that made the leaves tremble, and Ethan's attention turned to the monster. He let out a guttural roar, fangs gleaming in the dim light, and charged forward like an avalanche of muscle and claws.

The fight was visceral chaos. The hellhound sank its fangs into Ethan's shoulder, eliciting a snarl of pain as dark blood ran down his fur. But Ethan fought back with fury, his claws sinking into the monster's collarbone, the two of them rolling across the ground in a deadly dance of fangs and claws. Dirt and leaves and trees flew around them, the sound of snarls and cracks filling the air as they clashed, each blow echoing like thunder. Hope watched, her hands glowing with magic, her heart in her throat. She wanted to help, needed to help, but they were so intertwined that any spell she could cast would hit Ethan. I can't lose him , she thought, panic rising like bile. Why? The thought of that monster hurting Ethan, or worse, killing him, hit her with a force she didn't understand—the same desperation she'd felt protecting Landon, but deeper, more visceral.

Landon grabbed her arm, his eyes wide with terror. "Hope, we have to get out of here! This is crazy!" he shouted, his voice cracking as he pointed at the two colossal monsters.

"No!" she snapped, pulling her arm away, her eyes fixed on Ethan. "I'm not leaving him alone against that thing!" She didn't know why she said it, why she felt it, but the thought of leaving Ethan here, bleeding and fighting, was unbearable. She looked at Landon for a moment, seeing his fear, and then at Ethan, the werewolf who had faced hell for her. Something clicked in her mind, a spark of understanding that she pushed down—this wasn't the time for this.

"Ethan!" she screamed, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Throw him to our side!"

Ethan listened, his green eyes blazing as he grabbed the hellhound by the back. With a roar that sent birds flying from the trees, he hurled the monster toward Hope and Landon, its massive body spinning in the air. Hope didn't hesitate—she raised her hands, her lips muttering a Latin spell, and a wave of dark energy exploded from her fingers, wrapping around the monster like invisible chains. The hellhound froze, its paws shaking against the magic, its red eyes wide in helpless rage.

Ethan wasted no time. Still bleeding, his torn shoulder dripping dark red onto the ground, he charged forward with fierce determination. He clamped his massive hands over the monster's mouth—one on the upper jaw, one on the lower—the giant muscles tensing as he pulled with brute force. The hellhound struggled, claws scraping the ground, muffled growls echoing in despair, but Ethan was stronger. With a primal scream, he wrenched the monster's jaws apart, bones snapping like dry twigs, until, with a horrible ripping sound, he tore it in half. The two halves fell to the earth, the body crumbling into black ash that the wind carried away.

Hope and Landon stood transfixed, the heavy silence falling over the forest like a curtain. Ethan lifted his head, chest heaving, and let out a visceral howl to the sky—a sound that was both victory and savagery, reverberating through the trees like the scream of a true werewolf. Then, as quickly as it had come, the transformation reversed: his bones snapped back into place, his fur receded like a tide, and he fell to his knees, human again, naked and exhausted, his shoulder bleeding in dark rivulets.

Hope ran to him without thinking, her heart racing as she knelt beside him. "Ethan, are you okay?" she asked, her voice shaking, her hands hovering over his wound, hesitating between touching and pulling away. Panic still pulsed through her veins, mixed with something else—a relief that overwhelmed her, a need to protect him that she couldn't explain.

He looked up at her, his heterochromia back to normal, his green still glowing with an echo of the transformation. A faint smile curved his lips, his husky voice barely above a whisper. "I told you I was going to play the hero, didn't I?" Then exhaustion overcame him, and he collapsed into her arms, her weight warm against his chest.

Hope held him, her heart clenching as his blood stained her hands, hot and sticky. Before she could process what she was feeling, a low growl cut through the silence, coming from the shadows between the trees. She looked up, tensing, to see a figure emerge—a wolf, with dark brown fur and golden eyes glowing in the dim light. It snarled, fangs bared, and stalked forward.

Landon stepped forward, hands raised, fear still etched on his face, but with a hint of relief. "Hope, it's okay! It's Rafael, our friend!"

Hope's shoulders relaxed, recognizing the familiar features even in wolf form. "Rafael," she murmured, nodding at Landon. But her attention returned to Ethan, still unconscious in her arms, his naked body exposed to the cool night air. Her face flushed—a mix of worry that tightened her chest and embarrassment that burned her cheeks. Her eyes flickered downward for a split second, drawn to something she didn't want to admit, then widened as she took in what she saw between his legs. Oh my God , she thought, shaking her head as if she could erase the thoughts. "Landon," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor, "please get his clothes and put them on."

Landon hesitated, his eyes darting from Hope to Ethan, still dazed by everything he'd seen. He stepped closer to Ethan's body, but stopped, his gaze falling on the same spot Hope was trying to ignore. "What the fuck?" he muttered, his eyebrows rising to his forehead, his voice louder than he'd intended. "Shit!" He quickly ran over to the pile of scattered clothes—the leather jacket, the torn shirt, the pants—picking them up in clumsy movements and throwing them over Ethan as if he were covering a bomb about to explode. The jacket fell askew across his chest, the pants partially covering his legs, but at least the essentials were hidden.

While Landon dealt with that, Hope turned to Rafael, still in wolf form, his golden eyes fixed on her with a mixture of confusion and alertness. She stood slowly, leaving Ethan lying carefully on the soft earth, noticing how the wounds on his body—the torn shoulder, the scrapes on his ribs—were already beginning to heal, the skin regenerating at a preternatural rate that left her both fascinated and relieved. He's going to be okay , she thought, her chest heaving a little.

She stepped closer to Rafael, the cool forest air brushing her skin as she reached out to him, her fingers spread in a calming gesture. "Rafa, I know you don't know me anymore," she said, her voice soft but firm as she placed her hands on the rough fur of his head. The werewolf stopped growling, his golden eyes softening as he recognized her. "I'll help you get out of this, okay? Just trust me." She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, feeling the heat of magic pulse through her veins. She knew she could guide him back, as she had done before with other werewolves at school, but her mind was still on Ethan—his blood on her hands, the weight of him in her arms, and that connection she could no longer deny.

Landon stood to the side, holding the broken branch as if he still expected another attack, his eyes darting from Rafael to Ethan and back to Hope. "This is getting weirder and weirder," he muttered, almost to himself, as the forest fell into an uneasy silence, only the sound of the wind and Rafael's heavy breathing filling the air.

Hope opened her eyes, her fingers still on Rafael, and glanced quickly at Ethan, now covered by his clothes but still vulnerable. Who are you, Ethan? she thought, her heart clenching with questions she knew she would have to face soon.