WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

4:03

| FOR HOPE, FOR FAMILY
CHAPTER THREE |

RIO DE JANEIRO

The bar was mostly empty, the low hum of bossa nova music drifting lazily from a dusty jukebox in the corner. The air smelled of citrus and smoke, tinged with magic barely concealed beneath the surface. Rhea Monroe sat alone at the polished mahogany bar, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, letting its warmth seep into her chest. Kol had disappeared moments ago with the promise of a "quick snack," which likely meant some poor tourist had fallen victim to his charm—or his fangs.

She was just beginning to relax when an unfamiliar voice sliced through the music.

"Well, well... are my eyes deceiving me, or is that a Monroe witch in the flesh?"

Rhea didn't turn immediately. Her eyes narrowed as she took another sip of her drink, unfazed. "Depends who's asking."

A man approached, dressed in crisp linen and arrogance. He leaned against the bar beside her, eyes gleaming with interest. "No one of consequence. But it's not every day a Monroe wanders into Rio—especially when most witches here have long since vanished."

Rhea finally turned to glance at him. "A tragic tale, truly," she said flatly, her voice laced with boredom. "Though I'm sure you're about to tell it like you were the victim."

The stranger smirked, amused by her disinterest. "You carry an awful lot of power for someone so small," he mused, reaching out as if to brush his fingers near the edge of her drink. "And you know the old saying—sharing is caring."

Rhea set her glass down slowly and met his gaze. "Darling," she said, voice sharp as broken glass, "you wouldn't last two seconds with what's in my veins. And I don't share what I bleed."

The man's expression darkened. In one swift move, he grabbed her wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise. "That wasn't a suggestion."

Rhea barely flinched. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, "you just made a very poor life choice."

In the blink of an eye, Kol appeared.

He shoved the man backward with enough force to send him crashing into the barstools behind him. Bottles clattered to the floor. The music skipped, then stopped.

"Is there a problem here, mate?" Kol's tone was calm, deadly. Though he'd been off feeding, he'd never let Rhea out of his supernatural awareness—not for a second. His red-rimmed eyes shimmered with fury.

The man picked himself up slowly, rubbing his jaw with a sneer. "Of course. The wild Mikaelson," he said. "Wherever the female Monroe is, her rabid dog isn't far behind."

Kol's lips twitched, but not in amusement.

The man's voice dropped into something darker. "She may be beautiful, but we both know she's just a vessel. Her magic's the real prize."