CHAPTER 18: THE HUNT BEGINS
POV: Alen
Salvatore School felt smaller after New Orleans—Gothic architecture that had once seemed imposing now reduced to quaint academia compared to the Mikaelson compound's ancient power. Alen unpacked in his dormitory room while the weight of his secret hunt pressed down like atmospheric pressure before storms.
Hope helped, chattering about makeup assignments and missed classes with the determined normalcy of someone trying to convince herself that routine could still matter. Her presence kept the Hollow dormant, but it also created the central problem of his existence—how to hunt souls when leaving Hope's proximity risked supernatural catastrophe.
"Professor Saltzman wants to see us in his office," Hope said, setting folded clothes in his dresser with domestic efficiency that felt both natural and impossible. "Debriefing about New Orleans, plus catching up on coursework."
"And planning how to maintain the fifty-foot proximity requirement without making it obvious that I'm magically leashed to my girlfriend," Alen thought, watching her move through his space like she belonged there. "Which I am, but admitting that creates complications I'm not ready to address."
The real complication lay deeper—Greta Sienna's files hidden in his laptop, detailed intelligence about cult gatherings and ritual sites that represented opportunity and risk in equal measure. Klaus's information painted a picture of systematic preparation for something catastrophic, ancient vampires stirring in response to careful manipulation.
"Three possible locations," he catalogued silently. "Abandoned warehouses where her followers gather, ritual sites prepared for multi-phase workings. I need to scout them, identify targets, plan approach vectors. But every step away from Hope risks Hollow resurgence."
His phone buzzed—intercepted communication from monitoring spells he'd woven into the school's network. Greta's followers, meeting in two nights at an old plantation outside the city. Real-time intelligence about a gathering that could provide both reconnaissance and harvest opportunity.
The moral calculus crystallized with uncomfortable clarity. He would have to choose between Hope's safety and cosmic justice, between proximity anchor duties and soul hunting that could save future lives.
"Unless I can find a way to do both."
POV: Alen
"You've been staring at that textbook for twenty minutes without turning a page."
Josie's observation cut through Alen's strategic planning like scalpel through tissue. He sat in the library's supernatural studies section, European History forgotten while his mind wrestled with logistical problems that defied simple solutions.
The Hollow stirred whenever he moved more than fifty feet from Hope—test conducted that morning under the guise of retrieving forgotten homework had confirmed Freya's analysis. Ancient whispers grew louder, black veins beginning to appear across Hope's skin before proximity suppression reasserted control.
"Just processing everything from New Orleans," Alen said, closing the textbook that might as well have been blank paper. "Original vampires, memory restoration, family politics that make our problems look simple."
Josie settled across from him with twin intuition that cut through deflection like enhanced senses through lies. "You're planning something. I can see it in your posture—the way you're sitting forward, scanning exits, cataloging resources. What aren't you telling us?"
"That I'm hunting souls to forge resurrection coins through twelve-hour torture rituals that would horrify everyone I care about. That cosmic entities gave me power to rewrite supernatural history through systematic execution of irredeemable villains. That every day I don't harvest another soul is another day someone innocent dies who could have been saved."
"Triad retaliation," he said instead, offering partial truth wrapped in misdirection. "Greasley escaped the facility raid. She knows we were involved, which makes all of us targets. I'm trying to anticipate her next move."
The lie came easily, built on foundation of legitimate concern. Dr. Veronica Greasley had indeed escaped justice, though not in the way Josie would understand. Alen's failure to complete the soul harvest during the facility raid meant Greasley remained free to continue her atrocities, scientific torture refined into systematic horror.
"Another target, another harvest opportunity. But pursuing her means leaving Hope's proximity, which creates a different set of problems."
Lizzie appeared beside their table with characteristic dramatic flair, settling into a chair with enough flourish to suggest deliberate performance. "Are we having serious twin discussion time? Because I have opinions about post-crisis psychological processing that absolutely need to be heard."
"Alen's worried about Triad retaliation," Josie explained, though her skeptical expression suggested she wasn't entirely convinced by his explanation.
"Mm, yes, very reasonable concern." Lizzie's attention fixed on him with predatory focus. "Though I'm more interested in how New Orleans changed the dynamic between you and Hope. There's definitely been a shift in energy—less careful circling, more established partnership. Care to elaborate?"
Heat rose in Alen's chest, not embarrassment but recognition of how much had changed in forty-eight hours. Hope's trust, earned through actions rather than words. Klaus's grudging respect, purchased with Word of Command that had nearly killed him. Family acceptance that transformed political position within supernatural community.
"We're figuring it out," he said carefully.
"How wonderfully vague." Lizzie's grin suggested she found his evasion entertaining rather than frustrating. "Though I notice you're maintaining proximity protocols even during casual conversation. Fifty-foot radius, consistent positioning, unconscious adjustment when she moves around the library. Interesting behavioral adaptation."
Alen froze, caught in observation he hadn't realized was visible. Lizzie's analytical mind missed little, especially when it came to interpersonal dynamics that provided entertainment value.
"The Hollow suppression requires—"
"Close contact, yes, we gathered that from the dramatic explanations. I'm more curious about whether you find the proximity requirement restrictive or convenient. Does being Hope's magical anchor feel like obligation or opportunity?"
The question cut deeper than Lizzie probably intended, exposing the central tension of his existence. Proximity to Hope provided cover for enhanced abilities, family connection, and romantic relationship he'd never expected to deserve. But it also constrained his movement, limited his freedom to pursue larger objectives, forced him to choose between immediate comfort and cosmic responsibility.
"Both," he realized. "Obligation and opportunity. Prison and privilege. The perfect cover for someone carrying impossible secrets, but also the perfect trap for someone who needs freedom to hunt."
POV: Alen
Evening brought intercepted communication that changed everything—Greta's followers gathering tomorrow night, not two days hence. The timeline had accelerated, forcing decisions he'd hoped to postpone until better options emerged.
Hope sat beside him in the common room, working through makeup assignments while maintaining the casual proximity that kept ancient curses dormant. Other students moved around them with the careful normalcy of people pretending supernatural crises were manageable rather than existential threats.
"I need to follow up on some Triad intelligence," Alen said carefully, each word chosen for maximum plausibility. "Quick reconnaissance, nothing dangerous. Just confirming some leads from Klaus's sources."
Hope's pen stopped moving across her assignment. "When?"
"Tomorrow night. A few hours at most."
"I'm coming with you."
"The Hollow—"
"Needs you within fifty feet, I know." Hope's voice carried the patient tone of someone explaining obvious facts to obtuse audience. "Which means either we go together or you don't go at all. Simple logistics."
"Except it's not simple at all. Soul harvesting requires twelve hours of ritual torture that no one can witness. If Hope comes along, I either abort the mission or reveal cosmic powers that would terrify the person I'm trying to protect."
"It's just reconnaissance," Alen insisted. "Observing, documenting, building intelligence for future operations. No direct engagement, minimal risk."
"Then backup makes sense. Take Josie and Lizzie—combined siphoner abilities, coordinated spellwork, family members who won't judge whatever you're actually planning."
Hope's tone suggested she'd seen through his careful explanations to deeper truths he couldn't share. Not the specifics, but enough to recognize deception dressed as protection.
"She knows I'm lying. Not about what, but about why. Smart enough to sense manipulation, experienced enough to recognize when someone's trying to shield her from unpleasant realities."
"Fine," Alen agreed, hating the compromise even as strategic necessity demanded acceptance. "Josie and Lizzie. Quick scouting mission, gather intelligence, return before midnight."
"And figure out how to harvest a soul with witnesses, or accept that Greta's followers remain free to continue their atrocities. The moral calculus keeps getting messier."
Hope smiled—genuine expression that lit her face with satisfaction at winning tactical argument. "Good. Because whatever you're really planning, you shouldn't do it alone."
The words carried weight beyond simple logistics. Partnership. Trust. Willingness to share burdens even when full disclosure remained impossible. It was everything Alen had wanted and everything that made his larger mission infinitely more complicated.
Outside their window, Virginia darkness gathered like promise and threat combined. Tomorrow night, he would face Greta's cultists with family backup and limited options for soul harvesting. The resurrection coin pulsed patiently against his palm, waiting for evil souls to transform into cosmic currency.
"One way or another," Alen thought, watching Hope return to her assignments with domestic contentment that felt both precious and fragile, "justice will be served. Even if I have to redefine what justice means in the process."
The hunt would begin in twenty-four hours.
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