WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

prologue

| FOR HOPE, FOR FAMILY:
PROLOGUE |

The stench of blood hung thick in the air, metallic and warm. Sunlight filtered weakly through the towering cypress trees, dappling the forest floor with gold—but the stillness of the clearing had long since been broken.

The prison transport van sat crooked among the roots, its rear doors hanging wide, revealing a dozen or more prisoners slumped inside—unconscious, some barely breathing, their throats marked by fresh punctures. The ground around it was soaked with crimson. A grotesque mosaic.

Elijah stood a few feet away, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a silk handkerchief, as if that could restore his dignity. Kol leaned against the van, licking blood off his thumb with theatrical flair, his pupils still dilated from the high of the feed.

Freya, arms crossed, scowled at the scene before her, disgust warring with practicality.

"Is this absolutely necessary?" she snapped, her tone sharp enough to slice through bone. "We look like a pack of rabid dogs."

From where she was sprawled across a fallen branch, Rhea cracked one eye open. The sunlight warmed her bare arms, and her expression was nothing short of smug.

"Do you want them full-strength," she asked dryly, "or do you want to drag Klaus out of whatever hellhole Marcel buried him in with just you, me, and a bad attitude?"

Freya's jaw clenched.

"Death rattles are distracting," she muttered. "And I'm trying to break through a cloaking spell that's older than anything we've faced. Alone, I might add."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic." Rhea stretched luxuriously, back arching as she yawned. "I'm enjoying the sun. You might want to try it sometime, Frey. Exposure to natural light might actually improve your mood."

A scream tore through the clearing, shrill and guttural—one of the prisoners, likely still clinging to life just long enough to regret it.

Rhea didn't flinch. She just smirked.

"Kol," Elijah called, exasperated, "would you please?"

The scream stopped.

Kol sauntered back into view, blood smeared down the side of his throat, looking like the devil himself after a satisfying meal.

"Better?" he asked innocently, as if he hadn't just traumatized half the forest.

"You were saying?" Elijah asked Freya, pointedly ignoring his younger brother.

Freya exhaled, pushing a few stray curls from her forehead.

"I don't have much to go on," she admitted. "But I think Klaus is still in New Orleans. Somewhere deep beneath the Quarter. I've been trying to trace him, but the magic masking him is... ancient. Layered. I need to get closer."