The cool breeze of the midnight was more than welcome by his skin, and the muscles of his back thanked him as he stretched his arms upwards. The past weeks have been chaotic and stressful. Both, as Keeper and as Undersheriff. But of course, apparently, a man can't enjoy a little walk to his car in Beacon Hills.
No matter how much effort the other put in his footing, Werelion's senses were probably the most acute of any were creature. That, combined with the tendency of Beacon Hills' villains for dramatics, practically secured his survival, even before the confrontation started.
And so, David's steps came to a halt. The man behind him did the same. With a sigh, David spoke, his eyes fixed ahead.
"Deputy Smith, if you turn right back, and walk away, I'll pretend this didn't happen at all."
Only silence responded for a few tense moments, the only thing to hear was the lost whispers of the wind.
"I want to know what you are and why you worth so much in the list," the deputy responded.
With a bored expression, David turned around. William Smith was young, 25, deputy for the last 2 years — and utterly stupid to even consider doing the fool thing he was doing. There was something antagonistic in his expression as the gun in his hand aimed at David's chest.
"What good would that do, boy? You'll be dead before you even understand what it means."
"How will the Undersheriff explain the murder on one of his deputies?" William asked with a smirk.
As they locked eyes, David moved. His moves were so graceful and swift, that the deputy didn't even have a chance to catch them. Too focused on trying to be intimidating. The next moment William blinked; David already had a grip on his wrist.
It didn't take much effort to star to crack the bones beneath the skin. As William gasp loudly, the Keeper raised the gripped wrist, and with the pressure on William's hand, the gun fired in the air with a loud bang.
"You didn't even buy a silencer, you fool," the Keeper mocked.
The deputy started to whimper and beg for forgiveness. Something that wasn't coming his way, not after this fool stunt.
"I gave you the chance to leave, but my patience has run out," said David, as the pupils of his eyes started to glimmer in bright crimson red.
The man only had three seconds to scream, before pointy long fangs pierced the skin of his neck, with force enough to start breaking the bones, muscle, and tendons. And after he felt the blood spilling down his chest, David let go, and the body fell like a puppet that just lost its strings.
With an annoyed sigh, David started to get rid of the evidence.
"David, have you seen Smith?" asked the sheriff.
The Keeper looked up from his computer. "Nope. He didn't turn up today, why?"
Noah, the sheriff, shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You may want to come and hear this," he gestured towards his office, where two teenagers, Stiles and Lydia, were waiting.
Turns out, they had the theory that Lydia's grandmother, who has been dead for years, actually faked her death. Not only that, but they also thought she was, either helping, or actually was the Benefactor.
The theory had, somehow, a good basis, but the execution and explanation made no sense, and showed only many inconsistent conjectures.
After they explained, the Sheriff walked out to request Parrish to come. Turns out, no one had seen Parrish as of recent. No even his desk mate, Haigh, though, he did look strangely pleased about the other's absence.
Remembering what happened to him, the night before with Smith, David groaned. If anything happened to Parrish, Alistair wasn't going to be very pleased.
But then, a charred smell came to the Undersheriff's supernatural nose, and as the office doors were opened, someone walked in. It was Parrish, completely burned. His skin was completely black, although, it didn't look wounded, simply burnt. His clothes as well had been burned, leaving only some pieces of darkened cloth.
Parrish walked in some kind of trance, not really looking at them. He walked, until he stopped in front of Haigh, who was already on his feet, yelling that Parrish was supposed to be dead.
As he took out his gun, Parrish grabbed him, pinning him to the wall, and after a few gunshots encrusted in the ceiling, Parrish tackled Haigh to the floor.
The sheriff raised his gun to Parrish, but David put a hand on his chest, successfully stopping the man. With a smile, the Keeper watched as Parrish knocked Haigh out with just his knuckles. Unfortunately, not before Haigh shot one last time, wounding the sheriff in the abdomen.
Looking back at him, David could sense something in Parrish. There was a warmth in him, and it didn't come from the clear exposition to fire he had suffered, it came from within him. How, he could not explain, perhaps it was the raw rage that seemed to drive him at the moment.
As Alistair and his father entered the incredibly unprotected loft, they got glimpses of a conversation.
"I was set on fire, all of me should be gone," said Parrish, desperate.
"Not if you're like us," responded Scott.
"Like you?" Parrish asked.
"I don't think he's like us," countered Derek.
"Then what is he?" pressed Lydia.
"I'm sorry but I have no idea," responded Derek.
"But you knew about Jackson and Kira," pressed Scott.
"This is a little out of my experience. Maybe the bestiary has something, have you asked Argent?"
"There will be no need," announced David. "We bring answers."
Alistair rolled his eyes with a smile. "It's a mere theory at the moment."
"And?" pressed Scott.
Taking in the sight of Parrish, now cleaned and dressed, Alistair spoke, "You may be a Hellhound."
"A Hellhound?" asked Parrish flabbergasted.
"Like, from Greek mythology?" asked Lydia in an unsure voice.
Alistair looked at her confused, "Girl, Banshees literally come from Irish folklore."
The girl thought for a moment, before nodding. "Point taken," said Lydia, looking away. Parrish chuckled, gesturing Alistair to continue.
"So, just to take this out of the way, Hellhounds do not resemble the myth," Alistair said, looking at Lydia. "You won't be turning into a massive, three-headed dog," he reassured Parrish. "Hellhounds are amortal spirits that possess humans, just to be reborn within them, and follow a mission."
"What mission?" asked Derek.
Alistair shrugged. "Nobody knows, just like nobody can actually explain the reason any supernatural species exists, they simply do."
"And what do you mean, 'reborn'?" asked Parrish.
With a grimace, David spoke, "It means that you possibly died, before being reborn with the Hellhound. If, of course, you are really one."
"You think I died when Haigh set me on fire?"
"Nope, you probably died a long while," said Alistair.
Parrish seemed at lost of words. He kept looking from one person to the next, probably trying to make everything make sense in his head.
"And, as another Harbinger of Death, Hellhounds have a connection with Banshees," Alistair added, looking from Parrish to Lydia.
"Wait, wait, wait," Parrish said. "Before we even continue, I need to know, are you all like Lydia? Are you psychics?"
"Psychics?" Alistair laughed, everyone else looked about to burst laughing.
And so, for the next half an hour, they tried to explain to Parrish what had transpired in Beacon Hills the last three years, going into the necessary details about the involved supernatural species.
"Can you repeat what is a Kanima?" Parrish asked Alistair.
The Keeper smirked. "We can go back to that anytime, the only thing you need to know right now, is that every supernatural being in Beacon Hills, is part of the Deadpool. They don't really care about what you are."
"And about how many assassins are we talking about?" Parrish asked.
"Each day we lose count," chimed in David. "They have infiltrated every system. The hospital, the school, now the police. It's impossible to guess who'll be next."
"But I don't think Haigh had ever tried anything like this," Parrish argued. "He was taking the chance."
"Yeah, that's the thing. We're really not sure how anyone can have access to the list, most of these people are amateurs," Alistair said, looking at David. "But there are also others who are professionals."
After that, Lydia started to give them a summary of all of her discoveries at the lake house. Turns out, her grandmother, Lorraine, met Meredith, not met as in friends, as in heard of her, and took her to the lake house.
Lorraine met Meredith through Maddy, her lover. Lydia never met her grandmother's lover, but she read her name on trophies and plaques for yacht racing. When Parrish asked the woman's death, Lydia explained that her grandmother was actually a Banshee, and predicted her lover's death a weekend.
Lorraine tried to understand her gift with parapsychologists, building the white room from the lake house for that, but they found nothing. Then, she tried occultism, like tarot, psychics, mediums, but all of it failed too. Until they came upon Meredith from Eichen House, she also didn't understand what she heard.
They brought Meredith to the white room, and almost kill her, she was hospitalized, but never really recovered. All this ended in Lydia assuming fault of her recent suicide.
Lydia took out a paper, leaving it on the table for everyone to see.
"My grandmother created the code for the Deadpool," she finished. "I think she's the Banshee who put the names in it. She left this for me, the code."
"She didn't leave you the key, did she?" asked Scott. Lydia shook her head.
The night had been long and tiring, but just for as many questions they answered, more raised. Alistair couldn't fight the feeling in his gut. Things were only going in a slow crescendo, but if something was clear as day, it was that they were only getting ready to explode in their faces, and he wasn't willing to wait and see the result.
Throughout the day, Michelle had only got the chance to see Liam a few times in between classes. But every time her eyes fell on him, he looked the same. Scared, confused, and overly aware, almost jumpy.
Finally, after lacrosse practice was done and Liam showered, Michelle found him, deep in thought, sitting in one of the staircases.
"Hey," Michelle greeted, taking the spot next to him. "Are you okay?" she asked, squeezing one of his shoulders.
But, instead of relaxing, he seemed to stiffen under her touch, his eyes fixed ahead avoiding the sight of her.
"What's wrong?" Michelle pressed.
Laim sighed. "It just – Last night, my printer was acting crazy, it turned on itself, and I couldn't turn it off. No matter how much I pressed cancel, it kept printing."
"And what was it printing?" asked Michelle.
From the back pocket of his jeans, Liam took out a paper, handing it to Michelle. As the girl was reading the new updated names of the Deadpool, the coach started to scream from his office.
As they approached to help, they saw his printer acting just like Liam's. It was printing, on its own, endless copies of the Deadpool. The names of those who had died were already marked as such, and Derek had been taken out of the list.
"Do you see the difference?" Liam asked.
"Derek's gone," Michelle said.
"And I'm no longer worth 1 million, now's 5."
But that wasn't all. David's and Alistair's had also changed, going up a million each. Michelle's own name still stayed on top of the list, but thankfully, nobody knew anything about her real name, and for the time being, it was better staying that way.
"I don't know why I didn't, but I should've expected you when Hope said she wanted to come," Alistair said, looking toward the passenger seat.
"Oh, darling, is that a note of apprehension I notice on your voice?" asked the Original.
The Keeper rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, you know my mother was in Mystic Falls when everything broke down, right?"
Kol grimaced, looking outside the window. In the backseat, both twins, Michelle and Hope stifled their laughers.
"You'll have to excuse me if I worry about having an Original with your reputation, loose in an already werewolf-infested town," finished Alistair.
"I already promised I would behave, you have my word," responded Kol, raising his hands in surrender.
Looking back at the road ahead, Alistair smirked. "I don't know why, but that sounds less promising when is not Elijah."
"So," Hope chimed in, "You said you think there will be a strong hit by the assassins working on this Deadpool?"
"We have the theory," countered Michelle.
"There's been all kinds of them. Police deputies, medical personnel, high school students, educational staff, Astomis, passersby. From the most incompetent amateurs to professionals," Alistair said. He opened the glove box, handing Kol the list papers.
"Kate Argent?" asked the Original, thinking for a moment. "Aren't they hunters?"
"Not her. A stupid werewolf supposedly killed her, the fool didn't even bother check on it. Months later we found her in Mexico. Turns out she actually got to transition into a Werejaguar."
"I've never heard of those before," said Hope, Kol hummed in agreement.
"They're not very common. They generally are limited to very traditional pre-Columbian tribes. They were worshipped and stuff."
"Okay, and what are we supposed to do now?" asked Kol.
"You will have to pick your feeding source very carefully. I don't think is needed to tell you how to compel someone, right?" Alistair said, raising a serious brow.
"You won't help me with my feeding?" asked Kol, feigning alarm, his smirk so wide, the shiny white tip of his fangs could be seen. From the backseat, Hope and Michelle made loud gagging noises at the shameless attempt of flirting.
The Keeper made a humming sound, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Perhaps if you behave, I'll give you a hand. Or a neck."
"Oh, don't tease me with that."
"Oh God, can the two of you just get a room or something?" exclaimed Hope.
"Like, it's seriously appalling," added Michelle.
"You would think an Original would be more skilled when flirting," Hope whispered to her twin.
"I heard you, dwarf," said Kol. "And for your information, I've seduced countless people throughout the centuries."
"Not impressed," Michelle and Hope said in unison.
"Hate to break it to you, but I'm also not impressed, darling," Alistair joked.
When Esther opened the door, her eyes jumped open. She was clearly not expecting the sight in front of her.
Hope waved at her, with a wide and nervous smile, gesturing towards Kol. "Sorry for this meddlesome."
Esther nodded with a smile, before looking back at the Original. "Kol Mikaelson," she greeted.
"Esther Rookwood, dear," greeted Kol. "It's nice to see you doing fine, it's been a long time."
"It was, in fact," Esther gestured for them to enter. "And what brings you to Beacon Hills? I thought only Hope was coming."
"Oh, well, you know, taking care of my niece and stuff, and also taking the chance to bond with my newly discovered niece," he gestured at Michelle with a smile.
Esther shared a long look with her son, and that was enough to not believe a single word. Kol sent them his more innocent smile, with his usual boyish charm, almost impossible to not trust him.
"I'll never understand your kind's preference for highschoolers," she said, walking up the stair with Hope and Michelle.
With a laugh, Alistair patted the Original on the shoulders, "We all see the intentions behind your pretty face."
"Oh! You think I'm pretty?" Kol asked, following Alistair upstairs.
"Not the point, Kol," the Keeper said, opening the guest room door for Kol.
The Original stopped for a moment, before his face took a more serious expression, his voice softer, "It wasn't the wrong calling, right? Coming, I mean."
"That I don't know as of now. But time will tell, won't it?"
"I suppose," Kol sighed.
Alistair nodded. "Anyway, there'll have a bonfire party in a couple of hours, if you want to attend."
"As your date?" Kol asked with a renewed smirk.
Alistair laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I won't be attending. I have things to do at the Sheriff station. But Michelle is taking Hope, perhaps you can go too."
"Not sure I want to tangle myself in a teenage hormone-infested place," Kol grimaced.
Alistair chuckled, nodding, "Yeah, me neither."
"Do you mind if I go with you?"
"Hmm, I don't see why not. As long as you behave."
"Pinky promise," Kol said in a serious voice, raising his right pinky.
With a smirk, Alistair linked his own pinky with Kol's, before leaving the room.
There was a tall structure for a bonfire fired up, there was loud music, there was people screaming, there was people jumping, and there were people getting drunk. All it took was arriving for Hope to regret coming at all. And looking at her twin, she guessed Michelle felt the same.
"I was born in New Orleans, but I never quite got used to the noise," Hope said.
"Yeah, I'm really not a party person myself," Michelle agreed.
"What are we supposed to do here, anyway?"
"Watching out for anything suspicious," Michelle said, looking around, spotting Scott in the distance. "Come," she grabbed one of Hope's arms.
As they approached, the true alpha blinked repeatedly, scratching his eyes as he looked from one twin to the other. Michelle laughed.
"Michelle?" Scott said in an unsure voice, looking at both girls.
"Scott, this is Hope Mikaelson, my twin sister."
"Twin? Yeah, I think I just noticed." He continued to look at both with wide eyes, probably trying to spot any noticeable difference.
"Hope, this is Scott McCall, the true alpha I told you about." With a nod, Hope and Scott shook hands.
"So, what were you looking for? Someone?" Michelle asked.
"Ye-Yeah, I was going to greet Malia, actually," Scott gestured to where the Werecoyote was dancing and drinking.
In silence, the three approached the girl. The girl seed in her zone, dancing freely, while drinking from a hip flask.
"Malia! What are you doing?" Scott asked.
"Getting drunk!" Malia replied, before her eyes fell on Michelle and Hope. She had a similar reaction to Scott's, blinking and trying to focus her eyes on both of the twins at once. "And I think I'm getting at it."
"This is my twin sister," said Michelle, gesturing toward Hope.
"Since when do you have a twin sister?"
"Since I was born, apparently," Michelle shrugged.
"Hope Mikaelson, a pleasure," the Tribrid introduced herself, offering Malia her hand, a smile on her face.
After an intense moment, looking her up and down, Malia finally took the offered hand. "Malia Hale." Her eyes came back to Scott, who seemed in deep thought. "So, what are you lot doing here?"
"Making sure no one gets hurt," said Scott, coming back from his own mind.
"Sounds like fun," said Malia sardonically.
Scott sent her a tense smiled. "Not to ruin your fun or anything, but we can't get drunk."
"What?" Malia asked, seemingly, alarmed.
"It's because of our inhumanly fast metabolism, the body absorbs the alcohol before it can do any kind of effect," offered Hope.
"Our?" Malia and Scott asked in unison.
Michelle and Hope locked eyes for a moment. Michele sighed.
"I thought it was pretty obvious," the Keeper said. "Twins," Hope added, gesturing to herself and Michelle with her hand.
"You would need at least, I don't know, 10 liters before feeling any tingling. Or you can mix it with wolfsbane for a faster effect, if you don't mind it burning your throat and probably your stomach," chimed in Michelle with a sarcastic smile.
Malia looked crestfallen, looking at the hip flask in her hand, before looking back at Scott.
"You should probably tell all this to him," she said, gesturing a table far behind them. In the table were Liam and Mason. Liam was filling a soda bottle with illegal alcohol.
Michelle groaned, as Hope followed their eyes.
"Is that who you mentioned?" she asked with a smirk. "He's cute."
And without waiting for Scott, Michelle started to walk towards Liam. The boy kept refilling his bottle, drinking one after the other as if he was a dead man in a desert drinking water.
"I'm gonna go for another drink. And I'm, in fact, getting drunk," Liam told Mason, trying to ignore the approaching figures of Michelle and Hope.
After finishing that bottle, Liam dropped it empty to the floor, before walking away, leaving Mason behind. The boy looked defeated.
"Giving you a hard time, isn't he?" asked Michelle.
"Yeah, he's being hardheaded – I mean, he's always been, but not with me, not for –" Mason stopped abruptly. Wide-eyed, he gazed both twins for long seconds.
Michelle groaned, rolling her eyes. "Mason, this is Hope, my twin sister. Hope, this is Mason."
"Since when do you have a twin sister?"
"Since we were born?" Hope said.
"Fair point."
"Michelle!" exclaimed Liam, approaching with a new drink in hand.
"Liam –"
"You want a drink?" Liam asked, extending a shaky arm with a bottle. The boy's footing was loose, he was barely staying on his feet, not in enough control to keep his body straight.
"If he's a beta, he definitely shouldn't be this drunk," said Hope. Liam's gaze fell on her.
Liam's face contorted with a clouding confusion that Michelle would've found adorable if she wasn't trying to protect him from an endless list of assassins.
"Why are there two of you?"
"Because we're twins, idiot. How much have you drunk?" Michelle snapped, taking the alcohol bottle from Liam's loose grip, and throwing it to the floor.
"To many to count! I knew you would come! I mean – I hoped you would come, I –hic– Thank you for coming," Liam stumbled over his words, ending with a cute little smile.
Getting closer to him, Michelle sighed, "You shouldn't be able to get drunk."
"I don't know," Liam whined, "I feel drunk, but I don't like it," he said with a pout.
Looking over his shoulder, Michelle saw Malia still speaking with Scott, but she was just like Liam. Her footing was unsteady, and she almost fell to the floor.
"You know, it's a bit of a disrespect to just sit on the desk," Alistair said, looking up from his papers.
Kol looked up from his own paper, sending him a wide smirk. "You stop caring about that kind of things after a thousand years alive."
Alistair rolled his eyes. "You're technically a reanimated corpse, inhabited by the same spirit as your first life."
Kol pointed at him, playfully, "Hey! My bitch of a mother did the best she could, no one's been able to perfectly replicate the Immortality Spell."
"I still think all of this about the supernatural is nothing but a joke of your lot," Parrish commented with a sigh.
Alistair sent him a smile. "It never gets better, trust me." Parrish smiled.
Kol looked at the two of them with a soft frown, before looking down at the four papers in his hands. "Were all the bodies in your reports delivered to the morgue by this, L. Brunski?"
Alistair started to look at that part of the reports, and effectively, the five reports in his hand coincided. Brunski had been the one, the only one from the entirety of the Eichen House staff, to deliver all the bodies.
"And every single one of them was a suicide," the Keeper added.
Parrish made a fast pass through with his own reports, agreeing, followed by Kol. Every single person had killed themselves, only to be delivered after by the very same man, Brunski.
"Lydia and Stiles went alone to see that guy at Eichen House," informed Parrish.
"And you let them go on their own?" Alistair demanded.
"They told me to wait!" Parrish argued.
Alistair gave him an incredulous look, "But they're idiots!" The pit on his gut only heavied. "We need to go," and without waiting for Kol's or Parrish's response, he walked out of the sheriff's station.
"Okay, you're fucking wasted," sighed Michelle. With a gentle, but strong grip, she grabbed Liam by the arm, taking him back to where he had been sitting.
"Stay here," she said firmly, before looking at Hope. "Let's go see if we can find some water."
Hope nodded, and the walked away, but there was a strange feeling creeping up Michelle's spine. And apparently Hope felt the same, as she looked around.
"Is it just me, or some of those deputies overly focused on us?" Hope asked.
"Well, last week one of them tried to kill my father, and another one tried to kill a fellow deputy, I wouldn't be surprised."
"Damn. And I thought New Orleans was fucked," Hope said. "At least you don't have a coven, a werewolf pack, and the Original Family in war."
"I thought those times were behind?"
"Oh, no, they are, but they weren't always at peace."
After grabbing the water bottles, they turned back, but the scene had changed. Mason was sprawled on the floor, with some guys from the lacrosse team helping him up, but Liam was nowhere to be seen. Scott and Malia were also gone.
"Mason, where are they?" Michelle asked when they reached the boy.
"I – I don't – The deputies took them," he stumbled.
"Took them were?" the Keeper demanded.
"I – I think they were walking towards the school," Mason said.
Without waiting, Michelle started to walk, with Hope on her heels.
As they approached the building, one voice came from inside. "It's gasoline. Haigh says we gotta burn you." Even from the distance, Michelle could detect a hint of sadism in the voice. The man was probably smirking down at Scott and the others.
And that was followed by the sound of a liquid, the gasoline, being drop over someone. Michelle and Hope hurried their steps, reaching the darkened school hallway. The music from outside seemed to be going higher, and Michelle started to hear a ringing in the inside of her ear, but it wasn't enough to deter her walk.
As she entered, she saw Scott, Liam and Malia, the latter two unconscious. They were all damped, and the place stank of gasoline. In front of them, crouching, was an older deputy, almost bald, holding a lighter.
Michelle came up the man, "A man as old as you, has no business killing teenagers," she said out loud.
"What—" the man said. But Michelle didn't give him the chance to finish, before grabbing his head, and using small force to rotate it sideways, breaking his neck in the process. In that moment, the music from outside stops abruptly, and Malia and Liam started to recover awareness.
As the man fell dead, from the hallway three other deputies approached, hands jumping to the holsters on their hips. Hope turned back to them, extending an arm, she concentrated for a second, before snapping her fingers. The next second, all their heads rotated forcefully sideways on their own. The hallway was filled with the sound of bones breaking, before the men fell to the floor, just as dead as the first man.
Michelle grabs Scott by the arm, bringing him up. "I hope you're a day closer to understand why killing is sometimes necessary."
She then approaches Liam, helping him up more gently than she did with Scott. Beside her, Hope helps Malia up.
Eichen House was, strangely, silent. There was no scream from patients, not anything that said someone alive was in there. Brunski's office was empty, they searched the drawers, where Alistair found 500 dollars.
"Those idiots paid to be killed," the Keeper groaned, pocketing the money. "Can you hear them?" Alistair asked Kol.
For a moment, the Original stopped, looking forward, concentrating on his hearing. "Coming from the basement."
With a nod, the three of them make their way towards the basement, more specifically, the file room. From outside they heard Brunski's voice.
"I'll admit it Stiles, I have no special talent, like Lydia, but somehow, I knew I'll get the chance to do this again." The man's voice carried nothing but malice and sadism.
As they entered in silence, they saw Brunski crouching on the floor. In front of him, Lydia and Stiles were handcuffed to shelves, sitting on the floor. The orderly had a large syringe in his hand. He made a move towards Stiles, before turning, grabbing Lydia by the chin, and piercing the needle into her neck.
"NO!" Stiles screamed, fighting against the restraint of the handcuffs.
"Drop it, now!" yelled Parrish, gun drawn at Brunski. "Take your finger from the syringe, and slowly take it out of her neck," he ordered.
But Brunski stopped his moves, but instead of obeying, he laughed. "Young deputy. You're just a kid. I bet you've never—"
But before he could finish, Kol had vamp speeded towards him, his hand entering the man's back, grabbing his beating heart. The orderly let out a loud gasp, dropping the syringe. Without taking the man's heart out, Kol moved back, dragging a barely alive Brunski. Parrish and Alistair moved quickly, making fast work of the handcuffs.
"He — He killed my grandmother," Lydia said, still gasping. "And he controlled Meredith!"
"He used her to create the Deadpool," added Stiles, as he massages his wrists.
"And he killed her when she tried to help us," Lydia accused in a sharp voice.
Brunski started to cough blood and laughed. "You think it was me? That I controlled her?" He laughed again. "Idiots... she controlled me."
And in the midst of his confession, his head falls down, dead. And they were left in the room with yet another thing that changes everything.
Taking his hand from the man's back, Kol looked at the door, before standing up, he moved Alistair in a second, putting the Keeper behind himself.
"Oh god," Lydia gasped, "It wasn't him. He's not the Benefactor."
"No," a female voice came from the entrance, where Kol was looking at. It was Meredith, walking slowly, with a lost gaze. "And... he wasn't on my list. But he was a bad person," the Banshee said in a distant voice, her eyes focused on Brunski's body.
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－ ５１０８ ｗｏｒｄｓ －
Author's note
Okay, so, buckle up, 'cause from here and on, we'll be seeing a great deal of the Original Family in the mess that is Beacon Hills. I really want to read what you guys think of their involvement, and what do you expect in the future?
Also, last chapter of the year. I made it a little bit longer, to make it fair the wait, hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Once more, I'm really sorry for how the updating schedule was messed with my new book (The Exchange Student), but, starting the next year, after my break, we'll be back to regular updating.
Thank you for all your support and love for this story, I really appreciate it, from the bottom of my heart. Happy almost-New-Year!
Comments, votes, and follows are always appreciated.
- 𝐣. 𝐟. 𝐜. 🐼💜