Don't Fear The Reaper | Elijah Mikaelson

Midnight

Kol was quenching his thirst for vintage alcohol when ,out of the blue, a pretty bird decided to approach him.

"Not a single public execution or familial betrayal all night long. I dare say the infamous Mikaelsons have lost their touch."

Is she that ignorant or just a plain imbecile? She should thank Loki it's him and not his courteous brother she spoke to. Or worse, his social butterfly of a sister.

The vampire smiled with roguish charm as he kissed her hand, "Perhaps you'd like to be the first course of the evening love. We like to take our time to produce only the most exquisite of results."

Granted, she's not too lucky.

"I should hope so. That quick disposal of the novice warlock from the Garden district made me concerned with your sister's performance. That's why I came to you naturally. The legendary Alchemist. He who has bathed in the blood of thousands of creatures for both power and pleasure."

She had a strange allure to her. And an uncommon familiarity that sobered him up. More baffling about the encounter, he could feel her dampening her magic. It was a near perfect repression. Allowing a small portion to filter through, painting herself as a weakling with too high aspirations and a distinct lack of self-preservation.

But he knew the truth. A dam can't completely stop a flood. At least not for long.

She had the means to cripple him where he stood. Possibly his siblings as well, if they're caught off guard.

Kol notices the not-couple dancing from the corner of his eye, and resists the urge to punch his fist through a wall - preferably several. Yep, they're all doomed.

He knew he should've strong-armed Freya into attending as his date when flirtatious presents and subtle gestures didn't bear fruit.

He just has to hope this dark witch is a legitimate admirer intrigued with his arcane knowledge, instead of a complacent foe rightfully gloating before ushering his demise.

"That is my moniker. Magic and vampirism don't usually mix. But my travels have taught me how to fashion the closest equivalent of undead mystical amalgamations. I would be absolutely delighted to show you darling."

He skillfully placed his palm on her bare neck. Right now, they stood at a stand still. He can snap her vertebrae as quickly as it would take her to dissecate him. Should the stars favor him, his mystery girl will hesitate, insuring her death.

"After you dear."

But where is the fun in that?

Kol and the raven haired lady quietly slipped away from the party.

**

The past week was a bit of a blur. When one's life is measured in centuries, keeping track of mere days is exhausting and unnecessary. The memories all blend together.

Still, through the haze of booze and boobs, something felt off. A locked access from the innermost secrets of his mind.

But that's nonsensical, surely. No magic user on the planet can compel an Original. Especially Kol. The layers of runes inscribed on his physical form and spiritual warding keeps him safe from all interference.

He had tried once to follow the instructions of a group of Tabitan monks on meditation. Elijah mentioned it helped him curve his hunger, so it can prove useful to him.

Kol could care less about submitting to human societal norms on his feeding habits. He just noticed the teachings resembled actual wiccan practices and his interest was piqued.