Curse of Ravens // Mikaelson

11 Show Me

"I asked where I can find Zetrov." My voice sharpened. I walked through the bar. It was the middle of the night, but the patrons inside were barely waking. Their day started now. All of them looked at me, a young girl who walked through a vampire bar and grill without fear.

"Run away little girl." A man stood up threatening, his voice thickly laden with a Russian accent on English words. It was almost hard to understand him. "You don't know who you're dealing with." He bared vampire fangs at me.

"I know precisely who I'm dealing with." I retort, clasping my hands behind my back. My kaftan was lined with fur, and I wore a hat that matched over my tightly braided hair. The Russian vampires seemed irritated with me. I was a woman with a mixed western European accent, looking for their maker. Their leader.

Their sire.

Of course they would be hostile. I'm surprised none have tried to rip my throat open yet.

"I asked for Zetrov." The last name rolled off my tongue, with all the attitude of condescension. This was the fourth vampire den I had been to. And I knew this was the one, because the third vampire den gave me this address.

Or rather, one of the patrons did when I had fractured every bone in his hand.

I stepped past the burly vampire, and walked towards the bar. Every seat was filled. There were few women, and all the men looked rough. The majority had beards, and they all looked at me in a way only Russians could.

With the kind of scorn and superiority complex that was paralleled in very few other countries.

I pulled a barstool out and climbed it like a ladder to stand on the bar, knocking over a glass. It fell to the floor and liquor and shards went everywhere, shattering over the floor. There were a few derogatory insults threw my way in Russian. Which I had the unfortunate knowledge to understand.

"We will never give up the leaders of Zetrov." One of them spat at me. "Witch cunt." The insult in English sounded more guttural than the ones in Russian.

"That would be a mistake." I tell him. "You see, I'm not any witch." My eyes glowed yellow and some of the vampires in the bar stood up, shocked at the sight of a wolf in these parts. "And you should know I'm not alone."

A snarl split the air, and vampires jolted upwards, immediately moving away as someone chomps down on one of them. In the crowd, a man with dirty blonde hair smiled wide, holding a vampire in a headlock, his neck ripped open by a werewolf bite. Blood shined on the Original Hybrid's teeth.

"The hybrid!" One of the vampires shouted, and there was a sudden tension of fear in the air that I savored. I met my father's gaze across the room as panic seeped into every corner of the bar.

"Good, my reputation proceeds me." Niklaus spoke loudly, still holding the vampire in his arms that suffered from the werewolf venom in his veins. "Perhaps if you give my daughter what she's asked for, I will spare your lives. Fail, and we'll extract the information in another, more unpleasant way." He threatened.

I raised my hand, and a cool sensation of magic flooded through me. "Knele." I command. Their knees hit the floor, and they all clutch their heads. The vampires entirely subjugated in a single manner.

"We'd rather die." A vampire shouted in defiance. "Filthy halfbreeds!" He growled.

"I was hoping you'd say that." I reply. And in a sudden action, we descend on them like the wolves we are.

I blinked awake, slowly sitting up and taking a sip of the water at my bed stand. I had fallen asleep after class, and the memories of hunting a vampire clan in Russia with my father had flooded my dreams. Whenever I closed my eyes, it was like the bloody visions flooded my thoughts again. Flashing behind my eyelids. Good times. After a few minutes, I sat up.