'I would be lying if I said I wasn't expecting this sooner or later. For Esther's grand design to be carried out seamlessly, she needs the Bennett bloodline. More specifically their unique frequency of power. Given that there aren't many branches left on that particular family tree, Abby and Bonnie were the only real options for her to target. But even I have to admit, I didn't expect the "Mother of the Year" to make her move this soon.'
Michael stood in the center of a damp, stone-walled tunnel that branched off into what looked like a fortified hideout. He adjusted his phone, his expression was unreadable as he listened to Nolan's report from the Bennett estate.
"Avoid the more volatile Mikaelsons for now, Nolan," Michael said, his voice echoing off the stone. "The last thing we need is a full-scale family reunion on a suburban lawn. Take Abby to the secondary location immediately."
He paused, glancing at a collection of ritualistic artifacts on a nearby table. "Tell me you secured a sample of Finn's blood from the wreckage. If we have it, I want Abby to perform a locator spell the second she's behind a warded door or now if she's up to it. We need to know exactly where the 'Martyr' crawls when he's licking his wounds."
"Understood, Lord Michael," Nolan's voice crackled through the line. "She's already preparing the focus. We'll be moving now."
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the background of the call. "Tell my brother to pick up his goddamn phone!" Damon's voice was a rough snarl from the other end of the phone, clearly audible from wherever he was standing near Nolan. "I've been calling Stefan for twenty minutes and he's ghosting me. If he's busy playing 'Broody Vampire' with Elena while we're getting impaled by Originals, I'm going to kill him myself."
Michael sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'll send a message to your brother, Damon. Try to keep your blood inside your body until I get there."
As Michael reached up to cut the connection, Nolan's voice took on a sharper, more hesitant tone. "One other thing, sir."
Michael raised an eyebrow, "What?"
"It's the girl. Bonnie," Nolan said. "She overused her magic and is now currently unconscious."
"That happens to her every other Tuesday," Michael remarked dryly. "She'll sleep it off."
"No, sir," Nolan countered, his voice dropping an octave. "This caused a reaction. A physical one. The pigment in her hair... It's bleaching. It looks like her life force was the fuel for that blast and had been severely depleted according to Abby."
"She looks like a damn X-Man, Michael," Damon's voice interjected, sounding uncharacteristically grim and devoid of its usual playful snark. Michael's eyes narrowed as the casual detachment vanished instantly from his face. "Shit."
He stood in the silence of the tunnel for a heartbeat, calculating the variables. If Bonnie's magic was destabilizing her physical form, the Bennett line was more vulnerable than ever and Esther would smell that weakness from a mile away. That or of course the least favorite professor infatuated with the first immortal will come for her.
"Change of plans," Michael commanded, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Abort the secondary location. Nolan, get them all back to the boarding house in Mystic Falls immediately. We're consolidating our forces. If we're going to have a war, I want it on my home turf."
Michael cut the call, the silence of the tunnel rushing back in, thick and cold. He stared at the darkened screen for a moment before turning his gaze toward the shadows at the far end of the chamber.
"You know, your wife really is starting to become a thorn in my side," Michael said, his voice echoing off the damp stone.
A handsome man, standing by a heavy, iron-bound coffin, didn't look up immediately. He was tracing the lid with a practiced, lethal familiarity. This was the hybrid body that the Mikaelson patriarch was currently inhabiting, a vessel for the hunter of hunters.
"Well," Mikael said, his voice carrying that arrogant resonance that even a new body couldn't mask. "She always was a persistent little witch. Death didn't change that; it only gave her more time to stew in her own righteousness."
Michael turned fully, crossing his arms as he studied the man who had spent a millennium chasing his own children. "Tell me something, Mikael. You know your wife better than anyone living or dead. What do you think her next move is? Most of her primary options have been rendered null and void. We've dismantled her leverage."
Michael's tone was deadly serious. He wasn't looking for a quip; he was looking for the tactical insight of a man who had fought a psychological war for a thousand years.
Mikael finally looked up with a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "Esther is many things, but she is never without a contingency. You think because you've closed a few doors, she's trapped in the hallway?" He stepped away from the coffin, his eyes glinting with a dark amusement. "She's been lingering in the Veil for over a thousand years, Kan. She has seen the rise and fall of every soul that passed through. She has backups for her backups."
Mikael held up a single finger, ticking off the points with a mocking look on his borrowed face. "You've cut off her option for the wolves and they serve you now. You've stopped her approach to the Bennett witches." He paced a small circle on the tunnel floor. "That is a detriment to her plan, yes. A significant one."
Then, his expression shifted, turning cold and sharp. "But do you really think she and Cade are sitting in the dark, helpless? According to you, Cade doesn't deal in 'null and void.' He deals in the inevitable. Do you honestly believe they don't have any options left? Think, 'Lord' Michael. What is the one thing Esther has always used when she couldn't find a living weapon?"
Michael went still. His mind raced through the board, discarding the broken pieces and looking at the empty spaces. He thought about the unlinking spell, the power requirements, and the nature of the "Other Side" where Esther had spent her exile.
Then, something clicked in his head with a realization so cold it felt like he was hit by a freight train. "Shit," Michael breathed as the pieces locked into a terrifying picture of where Esther would strike next.
Without another word, Michael blurred away, the air whistling in the vacuum of his departure as he tore out of the tunnel at a speed that left the dust swirling in his wake.
Mikael stood alone in the chamber, watching the spot where Michael had been. He let out a low, dry chuckle that sounded like dead leaves skittering over a grave.
"Always so fast to run," Mikael muttered to the empty air, his voice dripping with the bitter wisdom of the damned. "But you can't outrun a woman who is already standing at the finish line, waiting for you to trip."
——
Jeremy lay flat on his back, his chest heaving as if he'd just run a marathon uphill. The air in the room was thick with the scent of exertion and a strange, metallic tang that seemed to radiate from his whole body. Yeah, it was smelling of sex. He let out a low, breathless laugh. "Okay," a voice came from beside him, equally tired but laced with a hint of awe. "That ring is the real deal."
Anna sat up, her dark hair looked messy and came down sticking to her skin which was glowing from the intense sex they just had. She looked down at Jeremy, her eyes tracing the lines of his muscles, which seemed more defined than it was the first time they met, "Whew," she exhaled, shaking her head. "Whatever Michael did with that obsidian ring, it definitely rewired you in more ways than one. Your body definitely feels more durable and that stamina, mmmnn."
Jeremy chuckled, sitting up and flexing his hand. The obsidian ring caught the light, looking like a void wrapped around his finger. "It feels like the playing field finally leveled out," he said with a note of confidence in his voice. "No more being the 'human burden' in the room. Plus, it'll make things easier for... well, a lot of things. Keeping my sister and you safe being at the top of that list."
Anna moved back toward him, sliding onto the bed and lacing her fingers with his. She stared at the black ring before saying something, "We're going to need it," she whispered. "With Esther out there... a thousand-year-old witch looking to wipe the slate clean. It feels like we're standing in the path of a tidal wave and I don't want to die, not after just coming back to life."
Jeremy squeezed her hand, "I'm not letting anything happen to you, Anna. I mean it. Besides, Michael is just as invested in stopping her as we are and I don't think he's the type to play to lose."
"I hope so," Anna replied, resting her head on his shoulder. "Because if he does, there's nowhere left for any of us to go."
The quiet moment was shattered by a sharp, commanding shout from the floor below.
"Jeremy! Get your ass down here!" Alaric's voice boomed through the stairs, sounding surprisingly energized. "Stefan's here! We're heading out to see what these rings can actually do when someone's trying to punch your head off!"
Jeremy looked at the ceiling and sighed, though a spark lit up in his eyes. He looked back at Anna and offered a crooked grin. "Wanna come along and watch me potentially embarrass a hundred-year-old vampire?"
Anna smiled, a mischievous glint returning to her face. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. I want to see if you can actually keep up with a Salvatore now."
After a quick scramble to get dressed, the two of them made their way down the stairs. They rounded the corner into the living room to find Elena, Stefan, and Alaric waiting by the door.
Alaric looked at Jeremy and nodded toward the door. "About time. Stefan offered to be our punching bag. Let's see if Michael gave us a worthy weapon or just a shiny paperweight."
———-
Tyler sat at the end of the mahogany bar, swirling a glass of amber liquid. He looked out of place in his high-end clothes and expensive boots, but there was a stillness in his posture that kept the local regulars from testing him.
Hayley wiped down the far end of the counter, her eyes flicking toward him every few minutes. She tossed the rag aside, unpinned her hair, and grabbed a chair from a nearby table, swinging it around to sit across from him as her shift finally ended.
"Alright, stranger," she said in a low, husky drawl. "I've been watching you nurse that same glass for nearly two hours now. So? Are you ready to tell me what brings a guy like you all the way from Virginia to a hole-in-the-wall like this?"
Tyler looked up as a small smile appeared on his lips.
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "So, what's the story? Running from a girl? Running from the law?"
"Just moving around," Tyler replied, taking a slow sip. "Drifting. One place to another. Seeing where the road ends."
Hayley arched a dark eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her face. "Drifting, huh? Now, why would someone like you be a drifter? Usually, guys with your build and that jawline have a life waiting for them back home. What's the mystery, Tyler?"
Tyler chuckled, the sound low and resonant. "What makes you think I'm mysterious? Maybe I just like the scenery."
"Oh, I don't know," Hayley said, her eyes narrowing as she scanned him. "It's just that you have this vibe. This tight, 'I'm on a mission' energy. Like you're waiting for a signal or looking for someone who doesn't want to be found. Drifters are relaxed. You? You're a spring waiting to snap."
"Maybe I just haven't found a reason to relax yet," Tyler countered, his gaze locking onto hers. The tension between them was strange to say the least.
The conversation between was surprisingly good and flowed like the bourbon; smooth, slightly burning, and deceptively easy. They talked about the road, the heat, where to go next and where to visit. But as the clock ticked past midnight, the quiet atmosphere of the bar shifted as a group of locals at a center table, fueled by several rounds of boilermakers, started getting loud.
"Hey, New Yorker!" one of them shouted, pointing at Tyler. "You think you can sit there all night and act like you're better than us? I bet you can't even handle the local water."
Hayley rolled her eyes, but a mischievous glint lit up on her face. "That's Victor. He's the local loudmouth. You want to shut him up, or should I?"
Tyler glanced at the line of shots Victor was lining up on the table. "I've got it."
What followed was a slow-burn drinking match that drew the entire bar into a circle. It was Tyler versus the swamp. One shot of high-proof vodka after another with the locals cheering, slamming their fists on the tables as Victor started to pale, his movements becoming sluggish and sloppy.
Tyler, however, remained unnervingly steady. His physiology burned through the alcohol almost as fast as he could swallow it. When Victor finally slumped over, face-planting into a bowl of pretzels, Tyler set his glass down with a soft clink.
Hayley whistled, leaning against the bar. "Well, damn. I wasn't expecting a soft boy like you to be able to hold his liquor so well. You just put the second champion under the table."
"I have a high metabolism," Tyler said, his voice completely clear.
The celebration was short-lived as only a few minutes later, one of Victor's friends, a massive guy with a neck thicker than Tyler's thigh, grabbed a young blonde bartender by the arm as she tried to collect the empty glasses.
"You ain't goin' nowhere, darlin'," the man growled, pulling her close enough that she stumbled. "We're just gettin' started."
"Let go of her," Tyler said, seeing the man start to touch the girl all over.
The man laughed drunkenly, shoving the girl aside and turning toward Tyler. "Or what, college boy?" He didn't wait for an answer before he lunged, swinging a heavy uncoordinated punch that caught Tyler across the cheek.
Tyler's head snapped to the side but he stood still for a second, feeling the sting, then slowly turned back. The man lunged again, but this time, Tyler moved away slightly and simply caught the man's hand in mid-air.
"Don't," Tyler whispered.
His grip tightened and the bones in the man's hand began to groan under the pressure. For a split second, Tyler's control slipped and his eyes changed color, they flared with a bright yellow color, and the fingernails on his right hand elongated into thick, black claws that drew beads of blood from the man's knuckles.
The man's eyes went wide and tried to move away from the iron grip.
"Get out," Tyler growled.
The man scrambled back, tripping over his own feet and bolting for the door, his friends following close behind in a confused scramble. Tyler took a deep breath and his eyes faded back to the norm and his claws retracted into his skin before anyone else could see. He turned to the girl, checking her arm. "You okay?"
She nodded confused before she hurried into the back room.
Hayley walked up to him, her expression did not look as thankful as he was expecting. "What the hell was that?" she asked in a hushed voice.
"He was just an asshole," Tyler said, trying to shrug it off.
"Oh, I know Victor and his crew are assholes, Tyler," Hayley said, her eyes fixed on him. "But 'assholes' don't make people's bones scream just by touching them. And assholes don't have eyes that glow."
She reached out, grabbing his shirt and pulling him toward the side exit. "Outside. Now."
They stepped out into the night outside the bar, the sounds of crickets and bullfrogs filling the silence. Hayley let go of him then turned back to him with her arms crossed and stepped into his personal space, "What the hell are you, Tyler? And don't give me the 'East Coast' bullshit. I want the truth."
Tyler looked at her, seeing the 'no bullshit' look in her eyes.
'Shit.'