"Welp, here are your...muffins..."

Slight and relatively insignificant glimpses of unconnected scenes were the only memories of the dream Hope could remember from the night before.

Darkness. Flashes of red. Fingertips against flesh.

If she were to ever confide in anyone about her dreams, they'd denounce it as a sex dream and nothing more. Something everyone had at some point in their life when the desire was strong enough. Perhaps she could pass it off like that for a while, but deep down, she knew there was so much more to it.

Hope shook her head of her obscure thoughts. She had to focus on the task set in front of her today.

Sitting up from her position on the couch, she stretched her arms up, sighing in contentment as her back popped and cracked, relieving the tension on her shoulders. She felt fully rested and ready for the day ahead for the first time in days. She'd unpack and go shopping, maybe get some deep cleaning done. Suddenly, her mind drifted to the day before, and her gut sank, forcing her eyes to flash towards the curtain-covered window. A prickle of uncertain fear ran over her skin, leaving gooseflesh behind.

Had they followed her to Beacon Hills? She had to know.

She stood and walked towards the window, half expecting a grimy green pickup truck to be sitting on the curb, waiting for her to venture outside. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves before reaching forward to draw back the curtain. And like ripping a band-aid off, Hope quickly pulled the curtain aside. Warm sunlight greeted her, and no sign of the truck. She smiled, happy to see they hadn't followed her. It was a pleasing, prideful moment.

Hope disappeared up the stairs and began scoping out the different areas of the house - her house - images of how she might put the rooms to use, entering her mind like a quick breeze. The process took up much of her thought, and she was glad.

After freshening up in the main bathroom, which was impressive for the house size, she pulled her hair into a tight ponytail and slipped on a simple white t-shirt. She scoffed, looking down at her favorite jeans that now had a gaping hole covered in dried blood.

"Perfect," she muttered, tossing the useless jeans into the wastebasket next to the sink.

In the first hour of work, Hope had accomplished quite a bit. She'd unpacked and placed everything in its rightful place, dusted the shelves, swept the carpets, and even mopped the kitchen floor. But, by noon, her stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten breakfast. So, settling down in the kitchen, which now smelt of lemon-scented cleanser, she made herself a mug of coffee and broke out a bag of pretzel crackers to tide her hunger over until she could go to the grocery store.

The coffee was good, and so were the crackers, but her hunger wasn't subsiding. Then she realized this was a different hunger. One that wouldn't be satisfied by food.

Hope wasn't a complete fool. She had brought enough blood bags to keep herself fed for several weeks, but what about when they were gone? A trip to the hospital alone to steal another supply was a bit intimidating.

Setting her mug down, she headed toward a small wooden door in the kitchen, one that leads down to a cellar of sorts. She assumed its past usage might have been a storage place for wine, but when she entered earlier that morning, there was nothing but cobwebs and dust bunnies residing inside. She reached above and pulled on a silver chain that turned on a single light at the bottom of the stairs, leaving everything behind that one light concealed in thick darkness.

Hope descended the creaky wooden stairsteps and turned the corner where a small white cooler sat. Inside held twenty full bags of O Positive blood. That number might be problematic to some vampires, but Hope was different. Since she was only a quarter vampire – a quarter werewolf and the remaining witch – she had a much easier time getting along without blood and could quickly get away with one bag a week so long as she held a healthy human diet.

She took a bag in her hands, spun off the cap, and sipped the tangy liquid inside. Her eyes darkened, her body reacting to the pleasure the blood brought her. Once the bag's contents had been drained dry, she tossed it aside into a bin she'd dispose of later. When she closed the cooler's lid, she heard a distant ding dong.

It seemed she had a visitor.

As she climbed the stairs, her stomach gnawed at her, but not due to hunger. Instead, she was terrified to open the door and come face to face with the owner of the green truck. It took her a few deep breaths to calm her heart rate enough to continue up the staircase, close and lock the door to the cellar, and then proceed to walk to the front door.

To her surprise, she didn't feel her instincts screaming for her to turn and run, so she swung it open to greet her visitor.

It was a boy. Tall and lanky, dark hair that seemed to grow thick after a buzz cut, and probably the friendliest smile she'd ever come across. Although he was a handsome boy, the way he held himself suggested to her he was a bit awkward. He held a basket in his hands, and from what Hope could tell, there were muffins inside. Store-bought, but a nice gesture all the same.

"Hello," Hope answered, using her usual northeastern accent rather than her Louisiana drawl. However, she couldn't help but pay attention to the fact that his heart suddenly jumped two beats as if he were running a triathlon.

The boy put a hand against the door frame and leaned, trying for an attractive pose, but nearly dropped the basket in his hands. He had to scramble to keep them from smashing into the washed wood of the porch.

"Hi," was all he managed to say at first, then he saw Hope's eyes glance down at the basket and quickly tried to recover himself, "Oh, uh, yeah, these are for you. You know, kind of a welcome to the neighborhood gesture..."

Hope smiled; her suspicion had been correct. Awkward. "Thank you, I appreciate it. I'm Hope," she paused and quickly thought back to the name she'd put on the paperwork, "Montgomery."

"Stiles Stilinski," he responded as he passed her the basket of mini muffins, "So uhm...welcome. To the neighborhood, I mean. I live right next door..." he trailed off. "I'm sorry, are your parents home? My dad is kind of the sheriff and likes to meet new neighbors...to ya know, just get to know."

Hope raised a groomed brow and tilted her head to the side, studying him for a moment. "Get to know?" she asked, biting her lip, "To make sure we aren't drug dealers?"

Stiles' eyes widened. "No, God, no," he quickly interjected, "Wow, no, I didn't mean that."

She laughed and nodded, "I live alone, but I promise to behave."

A look of surprise crossed his features. "You live alone? Wait, how old are you?"

"Twenty-two..." Hope smiled, "I know. People say I look way too young for my age."

"Oh yeah, you kind of do," he paused, "Not that that's a bad thing," he added quickly.

She had to admit. Stiles was entertaining to talk to; maybe having him as a next-door neighbor wouldn't be dreadful.

"Welp, here are your...muffins," she watched his eyes glance down and quickly back up to her eyes as if he didn't dare look down again. She was suddenly aware that her t-shirt easily revealed the outline of her bra. "If you need anything, call out for Stiles, and I'll be right over. Not that I'll be waiting for you to call my name or anything..." he laughed awkwardly, "Because that would be weird..." His expression could be easily read as Dear God, shut me up now.

"Right, well, thank you, Stiles. I do have a question. Can you tell me where I can find the nearest car wash around here?" she asked, nodding towards her black crossover. Well, it was usually black. She hadn't stopped to wash anything off on the way from the motel. A thick layer of dirt and grime covered the paint.

"Yeah! That I can help with. There's one a few blocks from here. It's called Suds," he said, giving her the directions. He glanced towards her car again. "So, did you drive a long way to get here then?"

Hope nodded. "New Orleans," she smiled, "The desert dust wasn't too friendly."

"New Orleans, like Mardi Gras?" he asked, "Now that sounds like a freaking awesome party."

"Oh, it is. You should make the trip sometime. It's well worth it."

They conversed a moment longer before he had to leave. Hope watched him hop into a pale blue, beat-up Jeep. He waved, much like a little kid waving at his friend across the park, and disappeared down the street.

At least this place was friendly. But then again, the day was still young.

Hope didn't take long to find the Suds car wash Stiles mentioned. There was a self-wash service and an automatic available. She preferred the self-wash, considering she could ensure it met her expectations. She pulled into the carport and parked, searching for the cleaning instruments. Unfortunately, she found much more than a hose.

"I'd dust it off first if I were you," a deep voice spoke, catching her off guard.

Hope's throat clenched, her voice lost. As if it fell into some unreachable abyss. It was the man with the tattooed knuckles. A long jagged scar, something she didn't notice before, ran down from his brow to beneath the collar of his jacket, like a single claw mark. He was younger than she expected, in his early thirties maybe, but he seemed aged by his chosen lifestyle.

"What?" she gasped softly, voice distant as she felt like her heart might explode from her ribcage.

"Your car," he said, picking up a soft feathered brush, holding it out to her, "If I were you, I'd dust it off before using the hose." His heated eyes were shocks of blue lightning. Her skin prickled the way they grazed over her body.

Hope glanced down at the brush, getting a good look at the tattoos inked across his knuckles. On each knuckle, excluding his thumbs, spelled out the word Chasseur. Written in another language, she thought. Her first instinct was that it said chaser. Then she knew better.

Chasseur in French could translate to - hunter.

"You seem surprised to see me, Hope."

Stiffening at the sound of her name on his lips, she looked up to meet his eyes once more. How did he-

"How did I know?" He finished her thought. He chuckled then and smirked as he reached into his back pocket and removed a sleek black phone, holding it up for her to see.

It was her phone, the one she'd left at the motel. The man unlocked it with ease.

"You really should be careful where you leave your personal belongings. Some things are hard to replace." Then, smirking, he scrolled through her gallery. "It took me a little bit to connect the dots, but when I did," he laughed, "Oh, it was a euphoric feeling to know I'd come across the daughter of Klaus Mikaelson. The legendary original hybrid."

A chill skimmed down her spine as she listened, trying to keep her breathing even.

"Looking through your texts," he continued, "Here you tell this lad Josh that you'd be traveling to Beacon Hills, California," he laughed, shaking his head again. "Oh, and to answer your friend's question... Yes, it is too soon to call him back." He grinned, twisted humor in his eyes as he tossed the phone to her, which she easily caught.

"What do you want from me?" Hope asked, her voice stronger than she expected. "Did you come to get your ass kicked again, or have you come to beg for my forgiveness?"

He smiled. "I'm not here to kill you, Hope. Not yet anyway. It isn't every day a hunter like myself runs into someone so," he paused, thoughtfully, "Extraordinary."

"Oh, you think I'm extraordinary?" she asked with a raised brow and crossed her arms, cocking a hip to the side. "Then you are already aware of what I'm capable of? Somehow, I doubt that."

"I know you're dangerous, but I know you're just a scared little girl biting off more than she can chew." He took a step forward, forcing her to back up and press herself up against the side of the car. He inched closer, pressing his hands against the vehicle on either side of her, cutting off a quick escape. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Hope. I suggest you keep this conversation a secret or I will pay a visit to that boy next door."

Her heart dropped at the mention of this man visiting a sweet person like Stiles. A sudden fiery temper erupted inside of her. "If you go anywhere near him or his house or any innocent person in this town, I will shove that little pistol you have hidden in your boot so far up your ass you'll be snorting gunpowder." She shoved him then, forcing him back a couple of steps. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm busy."

The man stepped back, eyes narrowed. "Have a good day, Hope. It looks like it's going to be a sunny one." He began backing away and then turned sharply on his heel, disappearing from her line of sight around the corner. Only when he was gone could she breathe again.

What exactly was she up against here? The more she ran over the conversation in her head, the more she started to think this whole idea was a colossal mistake. But things were different now. Hope was different. She had to ensure this man didn't try to hurt anyone because of her. She'd stop him, even kill him if she had to.

After turning her car back to its original color, Hope decided she'd go ahead and get her grocery shopping done while it was still light. The last thing she wanted was to be walking to her car alone at night and have an unwanted appearance from that man. She never did get his name, so, for now, she'd go with Dick. The reasoning was self-explanatory.