CHAPTER 12: WOLFSBANE AND WARNINGS
Two months since resurrection, and Kol had started to feel like he might actually survive this borrowed life.
He stood in his attic—less wrecked now, furniture replaced and windows repaired—adjusting the tie Elijah had insisted he wear to Marcel's charity gala. The Original vampire had strong opinions about appropriate formal wear, and arguing with Elijah about fashion was a battle nobody won.
"You look uncomfortable," Davina observed from her perch on the windowsill. She wore a borrowed dress—dark blue, elegant in its simplicity—that made her look older than eighteen. More confident. The girl who'd resurrected him seemed like a different person from the young woman watching him struggle with formal wear.
"I feel uncomfortable," Kol admitted. "Corporate Marcus wore suits daily. But Kol's memories suggest he preferred causing chaos at formal events, not attending them peacefully."
"Try not to cause chaos tonight?"
"No promises."
She laughed, sliding off the windowsill to help with his tie. Her fingers were steady against his throat, magic humming faintly beneath her skin. They'd been officially dating for a week now—though given the kissing, studying together until dawn, and the way she'd started keeping spare clothes in his attic, Kol suspected they'd been dating unofficially for much longer.
"There." Davina stepped back, examining her work. "You look almost respectable."
"Tragic." Kol pulled her close, stealing a quick kiss. "Ready to be bored by New Orleans' elite pretending charity matters more than social climbing?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
The gala was exactly as tedious as Kol had anticipated.
Marcel's compound had been transformed into something resembling a five-star venue, complete with live music, excessive catering, and enough wealthy humans to make the vampire population salivate. The ostensible purpose was raising money for Quarter renovations. The actual purpose was Marcel flexing his authority while networking with the city's power players.
Kol and Davina made their entrance fashionably late, drawing stares from the assembled crowd. An Original vampire dating the infamous Harvest girl made for compelling gossip.
"They're staring," Davina murmured.
"Let them." Kol kept his hand at the small of her back, possessive and protective. "Anyone who has a problem with us can take it up with me."
They mingled through the crowd—Kol making small talk with the ease of combined corporate experience and centuries of aristocratic socialization, Davina holding her own despite her youth. She'd grown so much in two months, confidence replacing the fearful girl he'd first met.
Then Francesca Guerrera approached, and Kol's void sense screamed.
"Mr. Mikaelson," she said smoothly, extending her hand. "I've heard so much about New Orleans' newest power broker."
Kol shook her hand automatically, maintaining polite expression while his supernatural senses exploded with information.
Werewolf curse. Dormant but present. The genetic marker threaded through her blood like ticking time bomb, waiting for her to trigger it through killing someone. And it wasn't just her—his void sense, now hypersensitive from the contact, detected dozens more throughout the room. Dormant werewolves, all hiding behind human facades.
"Charmed," Kol managed, releasing her hand. "Ms. Guerrera. Your family's reputation precedes you."
"I hope favorably." Her smile was practiced, political. "We've worked hard to establish ourselves as community leaders."
They exchanged meaningless pleasantries while Kol's mind raced. This was wrong. The Guerrera family weren't just criminals—they were an army waiting to activate. But why? What was their endgame?
When Francesca finally excused herself, Kol immediately pulled Davina toward a quiet corner.
"We have a problem," he said quietly. "Guerrera family. They're not just human criminals."
"What are they?"
"Sleeping werewolves." Kol kept his voice low, scanning the room. "Dormant curse carriers. At least twenty in this room alone, probably more throughout the city."
Davina's eyes widened. "But if they haven't triggered the curse—"
"They're planning to." Kol's void sense tingled, following the threads of dormant power throughout the gala. "This many curse carriers in one family isn't coincidence. It's strategy."
Emergency war council convened in Marcel's office an hour later—Kol, Davina, Elijah, Marcel, and Josh, who'd been pulled from door duty.
"Explain," Marcel demanded.
Kol laid out what his void sense had detected, marking a map with locations of known Guerrera properties. "They're positioned throughout the Quarter. If they trigger their curses simultaneously—"
"Instant werewolf army," Elijah finished grimly. "Coordinated assault when vampire defenses are unprepared."
"But triggering the curse requires killing someone," Davina pointed out. "They can't just flip a switch."
"Which means they're waiting for something," Kol said. "Some event that justifies mass activation."
"Klaus," Elijah said quietly. "When Niklaus arrives, tensions will escalate. The perfect cover for the Guerreras to trigger curses and blame it on factional violence."
Marcel's jaw clenched. "How long do we have?"
"Months, maybe." Kol studied the map, void sense showing him patterns he couldn't quite articulate. "But we need countermeasures ready."
They spent hours planning, combining Elijah's political knowledge with the grimoire's tracking spells and Davina's magical analysis. Marcel provided intelligence on Guerrera operations. Josh documented everything, creating detailed files.
Somewhere around three AM, Davina dozed off mid-sentence, head dropping onto Kol's shoulder.
Kol froze, suddenly hyperaware of her warmth against his side, the soft sound of her breathing, the complete trust implied by falling asleep surrounded by vampires.
"When did this happen?" he wondered, carefully adjusting so she was more comfortable. "When did she become the person I'd burn the world to protect?"
Kol's memories of failed romances surfaced unbidden—Astrid, Mary-Louise, countless others he'd hurt through carelessness or cruelty. The original Kol hadn't known how to love without destroying what he cared about.
But Marcus Chen had loved carefully, cautiously, building relationships on mutual respect and genuine affection. And whatever Kol had become—transmigrator, hybrid consciousness, something new—he carried both approaches inside him.
"I won't hurt you," he whispered, too quiet for anyone else to hear. "I promise."
Davina shifted in her sleep, unconsciously pressing closer, and Kol's chest tightened with emotions he hadn't felt since his original body died on rain-slicked Boston pavement.
Marcel noticed, expression softening. "Take her home. We're done for tonight anyway."
Kol carefully lifted Davina, vampire strength making her weight negligible. She mumbled something incoherent but didn't wake. He carried her through the quiet Quarter streets, past closed shops and late-night revelers, to her building.
Inside her apartment—she'd given him a key two weeks ago—he settled her on the couch, pulling a blanket over her sleeping form.
He should leave. Let her rest. But instead, Kol found himself sitting on the floor beside the couch, watching her breathe, marveling at how something as simple as her presence could make him feel human again.
"You're staring." Davina's voice was sleep-rough, eyes still closed.
"You're supposed to be asleep."
"Was. You carrying me woke me up." She cracked one eye open, studying him. "Why are you sitting on the floor?"
"Making sure you're okay."
"I'm fine, you overprotective vampire." But she smiled, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his. "Come here."
Kol hesitated, then climbed onto the couch, fitting himself carefully around her. She curled against his chest with a contented sound, already drifting back toward sleep.
"Love you," she murmured, so quietly he almost missed it.
Kol's breath caught. "Davina—"
But she was asleep again, breathing deep and even, oblivious to the emotional grenade she'd just dropped.
"She loves me. She actually—"
The weight of it settled over him, terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. She loved him—not Kol Mikaelson, legendary Original vampire, but whoever he'd become wearing Kol's face. She loved the person who taught her magic and made spreadsheets and tried to solve supernatural politics through corporate restructuring.
"I love you too," Kol whispered into her hair. "God help us both, but I do."
Morning came too quickly.
Kol woke to Davina watching him, morning light making her eyes bright. "Did you sleep?"
"Some." Vampires didn't need sleep the way humans did, but he'd dozed fitfully, hyperaware of her presence. "We should present the Guerrera findings to Marcel properly. Last night was just preliminary—"
"Kol." Davina touched his face. "About what I said—"
"You said you love me," Kol interrupted. "And I said it back. We don't need to discuss or analyze or—"
She kissed him quiet, and for several minutes, the Guerrera conspiracy ceased to matter.
Eventually, they made their way back to the compound, where Marcel had already assembled his inner circle. Kol presented the findings properly—documented locations, confirmed curse carriers, projected threat assessments.
Marcel remained skeptical until Kol demonstrated the void sense, pointing out three of Marcel's own people who carried dormant werewolf curses without knowing it.
"They're playing the long game," Kol concluded. "Building an army while everyone thinks they're just criminals."
"Then we play longer," Marcel said, jaw set with determination. "You said you could detect them?"
"Yes."
"Then we start identifying every Guerrera with the curse. Map their positions. Prepare countermeasures." Marcel's eyes hardened. "They want a war? We'll give them a war they can't win."
In the Guerrera mansion, Francesca studied a map of New Orleans, marking vampire territories and witch strongholds.
Her cousin entered, closing the door quietly. "The Mikaelson sensed something. At the gala. The way he looked at you after shaking hands—"
"I noticed." Francesca set down her marker. "He has abilities we didn't account for."
"Should we accelerate the timeline?"
"No." Francesca traced the French Quarter's boundaries. "We wait for Klaus. When he arrives, chaos will provide perfect cover. The Mikaelson can sense us all he wants—by the time he realizes the full scope, it'll be too late."
She smiled, cold and calculating.
"New Orleans will belong to werewolves again. Just like it was always meant to."
Unaware she'd been discovered.
Unaware that Kol Mikaelson was already building defenses.
Unaware that she was playing chess while he'd introduced an entirely new game.
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