WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

4:01

| FOR HOPE, FOR FAMILY:
CHAPTER ONE |

The alley echoed with the pounding of footsteps—Kol and Rhea moving like twin streaks of windblown shadow through the backstreets of New Orleans, hearts synced in urgency. The scent of blood was thick in the air. Magic, heavier. The city felt like it was holding its breath.

"We need to split up," Rhea said, suddenly, the words slicing through the silence as they skidded to a halt at the edge of the block where Marcel's web of tunnels began.

Kol spun to face her, eyes already stormy. "No. Not a chance in hell."

"Kol—"

"I said no!" His voice was sharp, but it cracked halfway through, betraying the desperation underneath. "You think I'm just going to let you run off into a goddamn minefield of spells and Marcel's personal torture pit?"

Rhea stepped forward, planting a steadying hand on his chest. "You're not letting me do anything. And I know this isn't ideal, but Freya's down there, and if I'm right—and I am—then there's five years' worth of layered barrier enchantments keeping Klaus inside. She's going to burn herself out trying to break through them all alone."

He looked down at her hand, then into her eyes. He hated this. Hated how she always made sense when he least wanted her to.

"You need to help Rebekah," Rhea continued, softer now. "We can't risk losing any of us. We all have a part to play, Kol. Let me play mine."

His jaw clenched. "The first inkling I get of you being in danger..."

"You'll come running," she finished for him, a hint of fondness curling at the edge of her lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

She leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips—brief, but enough to say everything she didn't have time to.

"Go," she whispered.

He didn't like it. But he nodded, and with one final look over his shoulder, he blurred into the shadows.

Rhea turned toward the nearest storm grate and dropped into the tunnels.

**

The tunnels reeked of decay and old blood, the air thick with damp rot and residual magic. Rhea moved quickly, her boots splashing through puddles of stale water. Her pulse was loud in her ears, but her focus was sharper than ever.

She reached Marcel's dungeon in minutes—chest heaving, muscles burning—and what she found wasn't unexpected. But it was worse than she thought.

Freya stood in the center of a crumbling chamber, surrounded by a thick ring of salt that pulsed faintly with power. Her hands trembled, barely keeping the incantation stable. Runes on the stone walls glowed and flickered erratically, and the barrier shimmered like oil on water—fractured, unstable.