WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

3:08

| THE AFTERMATH:
CHAPTER EIGHT |

SOUTH AFRICA: 1579

The sun was setting fast, dyeing the sky in streaks of blood-orange and violet as the brush around them swayed with the wind. Dust kicked up in frantic clouds beneath their boots as Rhea and Kol tore across the uneven terrain, ducking between low branches and thorn-laced foliage.

"Why do we always end up having to run?" Rhea panted, her voice strained from both exertion and exasperation.

Kol let out a breathless chuckle as he glanced sideways at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into that maddeningly charming smirk she'd come to know all too well. "Because, my darling, we tend to make a habit of annoying the wrong people."

He stole a quick glance over his shoulder, then slowed his pace slightly. "I think we're clear... for now."

Rhea came to a halt, hands on her knees as she struggled to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling with every heavy inhale. Sweat glistened at her temples, her hair wild from the wind and the chase. She stood slowly, wiping a smudge of blood from her cheek—unclear if it was hers or someone else's—and looked at Kol.

He was watching her. Not with worry or amusement, but with a quiet, reverent awe.

"What?" she asked, her brow furrowed. Her voice wasn't sharp—just cautious. The way he was looking at her made something twist in her chest.

Kol took a step closer, head tilted just slightly. "Am I not allowed to admire your beauty?" he asked, voice low and laced with playful affection. "Even when you're panting like you've run from an entire angry coven—which, to be fair, you have."

Rhea rolled her eyes, a short laugh slipping past her lips despite herself. "You're ridiculous."

"Only for you."

She stepped toward him, her breath beginning to steady, fingers twitching like she wanted to reach for him. And she would have—she was moments away from rising up to kiss him—until a voice broke the stillness.

"Well. Now we have you trapped."

Both Rhea and Kol turned in unison, eyes scanning the tree line as shadows shifted and closed in around them. From the left and right, figures emerged in cloaks, their faces painted in ceremonial markings of red ochre and ash. Ten witches surrounded them in a perfect crescent formation, their energy crackling with fury and intent.

Rhea's eyes locked onto the leader, a tall man with a jagged scar running down his face, eyes alight with vengeance.

"Damn," Kol muttered under his breath. "I rather liked this shirt."

"You go left," Rhea whispered without looking at him, her voice calm and sharp as steel. "I'll go right."

Kol gave her a single nod, his expression shifting into something lethal and focused. And then—like lightning—they moved.