Good Little Witch

Part 1

You keep running, knowing that if you don't you'll die.
They're after you, somehow they'd found you despite all your hiding.
You simply can't catch a break.
It's been eight years and they still haven't given up in their hunt for you, they won't let you have any peace.
But you won't give in to them, you won't let them catch you, steal the magic you'd been born with.
It isn't like you'd chose to be a witch, you hadnt signed up for it or raised your hand; the magic had just come naturally to you, just like it had your mother and her mother before her.
But unlike them, you're not going to hang around and let it be used.
It's your damned gift, not theirs, and you refuse to bow down to their wishes, to let them use your magic for their own and then just dispose of you when it's all used up.
So when you'd turned twenty, when you'd fully come into your powers, you'd fled. You'd run away from your family, not that you'd been particularly fond of them anyway, had dodged the hunters sent after you, and that's what you're continuing to do now, almost a decade later.
You'd think they'd get tired of chasing you after all the years, but you suppose they want they're immortality to last.
Tough shit.
The women of your  family have been enslaved to the Mikaelsons for far too long, and you're not going to sacrifice yourself for them.
You know your magic is stronger then your mother's, who had died trying to perform the immortality spell on the youngest son of the Mikaelsons. You're the eldest daughter, so you'd been next in line to try the spell.
You don't want to die.
You don't even want to risk it.
You'd stolen all the spell books you could find and high tailed your ass out of that compound, and it's only been thanks to your magic that you'd survived as long as you had.
Funny how that works.
You give a furtive glance behind you, nervous and frightened that they'll get you. You don't see any of the family's hunters behind you, but that doesn't mean that they're not lurking, waiting for you to slow down and nab you.
So you're a little paranoid, anyone would be after being on the run for a decade.
It has saved your life numerous times.
You stagger out of the alley and into the crowded street, glancing around frantically. You quickly dodge into the crowd, hoping to blend in and lose your persuers.
It doesn't work.
You can sense them hunting you, hunting the books you'd stolen, they more important then even your own life. You don't want them to have them, to have the spells inside of them; they're not meant to be abused!
So fuck them already!
You grit your teeth, pulling your cap lower over your head, hiding the red hair beneath. Your eyes flick around nervously, but you keep low, trotting forward, fighting against the urge to break into a dead run.
You have no destination, no safe place. You just keep going, keep traveling until you get somewhere.
There has to be somewhere on earth they can't find you, right?
Somewhere they won't go to get you and hurt you?
You chew your lip, casting another look around before you duck into an alley, hoping to catch a moment of peace, your legs trembling from all the running.
You hate running.
You huff as you high tail it towards the end of the alley, finding it opened up behind two more buildings, giving you two escape routes should it call for it.
Convenient.
You let your breath go, leaning back against the cold brick wall, sliding down onto the concrete. You're starving, you haven't had a chance to eat, there's just not been time all day.
It's night time now, although the city lights are so bright it's hard to tell the difference between night and day. You hate the dark, it makes you feel more vulnerable, you can't see what's around you.
You press your hands against your face, your stomach rumbling, reminding you it needs food that you don't have. You also don't have money , so you suppose some petty thievery is due.
A candy bar a day keeps the faints away.
What was that!?
Your head jerks as you hear a splash, and you lurch to your feet, heart hammering painfully in your chest, so hard it feels ready to break through your bones.
Your eyes widen as you see someone walking towards you, and you turn immediately,  prepared to sprint down one of the alleyways.
Only to stop.
Uh oh.
"There you are," the hunter says as you back away from him, your eyes flicking around. They sent a man down every way out, so you're surrounded on every side.
So much for escape routes.
You clench your hands, balling them into fists at your side as you look around; you don't want to kill them, but you will. You're not going back to that place!
"You're not getting away this time, (Y/N)." Marcos says, and you swallow as you glare at him in front of you.
He's always lead the Mikaelsons security, and he's looked the same since before the day you were born, "gifted" by a witch with immortality; more like one of your ancestors was forced to perform the ritual on him and likely died because of it.
The spell isn't easy, it drains a witch and if you're not strong enough, you die.
"I won't go back there," you snap, standing completely still. "I'll kill all of you first."
"You can try." The Italian tells you, his dark eyes soulless and predatory just like his employers. "But I guarantee the ones of us who survive will make you regret it."
You can feel the anger in your stomach, curling and lashing like a trapped snake, the heat slowly working it's way up and through your body.
You hate these men and those they work for. You'd watch them burn before you'd offer them a glass of water.
You'd be the one to set the fire.
"You take one more set and I'll wrap your entrails around your neck," you say calmly, your eyes flaring as you let the magic in your blood come to life.
Marcos pauses as he sees the color of your eyes disappear, turning a bright crimson; he knows not to move.
Damned witches.
He holds his hand up, telling his men to stand back.
He just needs to get the cuffs on you, then you'll be powerless against them. Unfortunately, he'd been trying to get the cuffs on you for almost a decade.
You'd always been rebellious, and you're considerably more powerful then your foremothers, he'd learned that the hard way.
You'd killed too many of his men, resisted your fate for far too long, and he's grown quite tired with chasing you all over the world.
You only have two other sisters, and both of them combined don't have the ability you do.
That's why the Mikaelsons want you so badly.
"You can't fight us forever," Marcos growls, frustrated.
"Maybe not, but I can kill you all until then," you say, your hands faintly glowing. Your nails are digging into your palm, and blood is dripping down your fingers, splattering against the concrete below you.
That's the problem with you specifically; you're a blood witch.
Usually when one of the Mikaelsons find one, they kill it immediately, too much of a chance they'd turn, won't obey.
Somehow you'd slipped past them, or your parents had hid your little talent so you wouldn't be killed.
Either way, as soon as you're bleeding, it's very difficult to get you.
"I'm going to kill you," Marcos says evenly, his eyes on yours, cold and angry. "But I'm going to torture you until you're begging for me to end it."
"That's not any way to speak to a lady."
What?
Your eyes flick over, and you stiffen as you see someone walking towards you, their boots splashing through the cold water of the alleyways, coat twisting around their legs.
Why did that voice sound familiar?
"This isn't your fight, testa di cazzo." Marcos snaps, his black curls falling in front of his eyes as he turns to face the new man. "Leave."
"I don't take orders from Italians." The man snaps, finally close enough for you to see him.
You stare at him in shock, momentarily thrown off guard.
What is he doing here!?
"Kill him," Marcos orders his man immediately.
Angelo laughs, and before the man can even follow the order, he's screaming, falling to the ground in agony as a hellhound tears into his flesh. You flinch, taking a step back as blood spews onto the walls of the alleyway, and your hand rises to your mouth at the gruesome crunching noises.
"Merda!" Marcos gasps, his eyes going wide in horror.
A demon.
Fuck this!
He doesn't say another word, he just starts running, and you stare after him in shock.
What the hell?
What's going on?
You hear the man behind you scream, and you tense as Angelo steps over the body in front of him, your eyes drawing to his as he walks towards you, not at all perturbed his dogs are casually eating someone's intestines a few feet away.
"Hello, Red," he says coolly, and you twitch at the nickname; you absolutely detest it, probably one of the reasons he uses it.
"What are you doing here?" You demand, backing away from him; you'd never known of Marcos to run from anything or anyone. "What are you!?"
"Now you're hurting my feelings," Angelo chuckles, his eyes on your neck. The black bruising where his teeth had been a few weeks ago still remains against your skin, and his venom still burns through your body, one of the reasons he's been able to track you.
He hadn't realized at the time that he was bedding a powerful witch on the run, but funny how things work out.
Now he needs your powers.
You stare at Angelo, your back pressing against the cold wall, your eyes wide. Your press your palms flat against the brick, muscles taut.
Your eyes flick to his dogs, then back to him.
You're allergic to dogs.
"You could thank me for saving you from your aggressors," Angelo says in amusement, standing a foot away from you, his eyes on yours. "That's the polite thing to do."
You don't say a word, causing him to sigh.
"Are we really going to do this? Look, I don't have time. I need your magic."
Of fucking course he did!
You bristle, but he shakes his head.
"Don't get all defensive, I've a proposition for you, my little witch. I know who you are, I know why you're running, and I've an offer you simply can't refuse," he purrs, slipping closer to you until your chests almost touch. He lifts your cap off your head, your blood red hair spilling down your shoulders in waves.
He likes your hair, it had been what had attracted him to you in the first place, one of the reasons he hadn't just taken you as a pet.
"For starters, I'm a demon. Which is something you should have noticed when we met," you scowl at him, "but you've not gone through all of your training, so I'll let it slide. As for my deal.... I have some business that I need assistance with, magical assistance, and you're the only witch I know who might be strong enough. In return, I take you to one of my estates and ensure that none of the Mikaelsons or their minions can get to you so long as I have need of you."
What?
You deflate a little, staring up at him. You're surprised.
When you'd met him at that bar a few weeks ago, when he'd come on to you, you'd thought there was something off about him, but you hadnt been able to put your finger on what.
He'd creeped you out, and you could tell he wasn't one of the most upstanding citizens of the world, but you'd been attracted to him, and after a few rounds of drinks you'd had no problem going to his room.
From what you recall it had been quite a time.