Stiles Mikaelson

12.

Marcel's loft do look like a safe home for vampires. They looked rather nasty. Stiles thought at the moment he set foot into the loft.

As an original, he sure grabs everyone's attention or should he put it this way, he's one famous man. The crowd of vampires started shouting and yelling upon his appearance.

"An original in town!"

"Stiles Mikaelson!"

"Yes, good morning." Stiles spoke. "I believe we can skip through the introduction part."

His eyes looked around the crowd but saw no signs of Marcel.

"Now, where's your so called brave and ambitious leader, Marcel? I would love to have a few words with him." Stiles grinned as he grabbed a glass of, he supposed, perhaps blood.

The noises from the crowds died down.

Very well, a bunch of loyal followers protecting their leader.

Noticed that he didn't say the word 'King' or 'Ruler'. Stiles never really thought of Marcel as a King. Despite being Nik's favorite son, he doesn't stand quite right in the Mikaelson family. Marcel took everything that his brother built, their home and their empire, then proceed to proclaim himself as king.

"No? Understandable." Stiles said restlessly.

He got tired of waiting.

Without hesitation, Stiles flashed toward the nearest vampires and pierced his sharp fangs into their necks, getting a taste of those succulent and sweet crimson fluid. Ignoring the fact that the victims were struggling in pain, he drank and drank, non-stop until they were nearly lifeless. He will keep doing it until Marcel shows up, otherwise, he's just going to kill everyone.

It was not that he was thirsty, it was just for fun. Pure satisfaction.

"Enough!" Marcel yelled, as he appeared out of nowhere.

"Well well, look who had decided to show up?" Stiles voiced, bloods were dripping down from his lips. "The self-proclaimed king of New Orleans, Marcel Gerard."

"You're in my territory, you don't get to hurt my people." Marcel growled in anger.

Marcel vamp speeded to Stiles and he tried to push him. However, Stiles foresaw it, and managed to push Marcel away in a quick and light movement.

"Where's my sister?" Stiles asked with a loud tone, gagging Marcel at his throat and then, he threw Marcel onto the ground.

"I don't know! I don't have her!" Marcel cried out.

Stiles walked swiftly to the fallen Marcel, and bent down to pull his head up.

"What do you know then? Come on Marcel, be useful." Stiles whispered in vexation. "Who's supposed to be performing the emerging ritual?Hm?"

"What are you talking about?" Marcel frowned in confusion before continuing. "It's Beatrix."

"Lies." Stiles spat.

"I'm telling the truth! I risked everything to bring Beatrix back just so she can perform the ritual on me. We had gone through the first phase!" Marcel said, as he struggled to breath.

Now, things were getting even more confusing. Marcel used Beatrix but Beatrix said otherwise and now things doesn't sum up.

Come on Stiles, think. Think, Stiles!

He yelled it all over and over in his mind, urged himself to figure it out. He always does. He knew things, but it's just not connecting.

It's not right. It's just not right because all that he could think of was Freya, and only Freya, but again, why her?