WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

3:07

| THE AFTERMATH:
CHAPTER SEVEN |

"You know..." Rhea whispered, her voice fragile in the silence of the empty infirmary. Her body was curled tightly into itself, knees drawn to her chest, the soles of her boots scuffed and still damp from the rain outside. "I'd give anything to be anywhere but here... but with you."

She looked at him—at what remained of him.

Kol's desiccated body was sprawled against the far wall, motionless, suspended between life and death. The veins across his face were darkened like cracks in marble, his lips tinged with grey, and his eyes—though closed—looked almost sunken. The dagger in his chest gleamed dully in the low light, white oak ash clinging to the hilt like dust from a forgotten tomb.

"I think I knew I loved you the moment we met," Rhea continued, her voice a breath above a whisper. "It wasn't dramatic, or sudden. It was quiet... like the part of me that had always been waiting for you just... exhaled."

She reached out, fingers hovering over the hilt of the dagger, but she couldn't touch it. Her hand trembled, her breath hitched. Her heart wasn't ready to lose him again—not truly. And taking that dagger out, she feared, would be the last nail in his coffin—or hers.

So she pulled back.

The silence sat heavy for a moment. Until the wind changed.

A low whistle moved through the room, and then came the gust—sharp, unnatural. The infirmary windows rattled violently in their panes. Tables scraped against the floor. Dust erupted from the corners, swirling in the air like ash in a storm. The hanging lights above swung back and forth, casting long, jagged shadows along the walls. The wind grew in force, howling now. Furious. Alive.

Rhea stood, startled, turning in place. Her boots slipped slightly on the ground as she made her way toward the exit, eyes darting toward the doors—then to the ceiling as the lights flickered. One burst above her with a sharp pop, raining down sparks. She ducked instinctively.

She turned back—and froze.

Kol was gone.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

"Kol?" she called cautiously, eyes scanning the room.

She took a step forward, heart pounding. Her hand was halfway raised to summon a warding spell when she heard it—a soft scrape of boots on the floor. Behind her.

She turned.

He was there.

Fangs bared. Eyes bloodred and glassy. His chest heaving with shallow, hungry breaths. His expression was twisted with confusion and desperation—like he didn't know where he was, or what he was doing.

"Kol—" she whispered.

He didn't respond. He lunged.

He moved faster than she could react, slamming her against the bar with a force that cracked the wooden panels. Her breath left her in a gasp, and before she could scream again, his mouth was at her throat.