Chapter 1: The Ritual
The air in the voodoo temple was thick enough to chew, heavy with burnt myrrh and something older—something that made the fine hairs on Hermione's arms stand at attention. She clutched her leather satchel against her chest like a shield, her eyes darting across the velvet-draped altars that cradled human bones and bottles of liquid gold. Black candles flickered in every corner, their flames dancing across a pentagram carved into the bloodstained floor.
"Iris, I'm having second thoughts," she whispered, but her words were swallowed by the low, rhythmic drumming that seemed to come from the walls themselves.
Iris Potter stood beside her, radiating chaos in a neon-pink dress that barely covered her arse. Her fiery red hair was a wild halo around her cherubic face, and her emerald eyes sparkled with barely contained glee as she took in the macabre surroundings. She looked like a fairy who had wandered into a nightmare and decided to throw a party.
"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, 'Mione." Iris bounced on her heels, her small frame vibrating with excitement. "This is the most interesting thing we've done since we got here. And I mean actually interesting, not 'let's go to another stuffy wizarding archive and read ancient texts until our eyes bleed' interesting."
Hermione shot her a look. "We're here to research supernatural creatures for my book. Legitimate research."
"Uh-huh." Iris grinned, her teeth flashing white in the candlelight. "And that's why you're about to hyperventilate into your satchel?"
Before Hermione could retort, a woman emerged from the shadows. She was tall, regal, with skin like polished mahogany and eyes that seemed to hold centuries of secrets. Celeste moved like smoke, her white robes whispering against the stone floor as she approached.
"Miss Granger." Her voice was honey and velvet, with an undercurrent of steel. "I sensed your arrival the moment you crossed the threshold of the French Quarter."
Hermione swallowed hard. "Celeste. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I've studied your correspondences extensively, and your knowledge of the hidden witch communities in this region is—"
"Flattery will get you everywhere, little scholar." Celeste's lips curved into an enigmatic smile. She turned her gaze to Iris, and something flickered in those ancient eyes—recognition? Curiosity? "And you've brought a friend."
Iris offered a cheeky wave. "Iris Potter. I'm the fun one. She's the smart one." She jerked her thumb at Hermione. "Together, we're a complete person. It's very efficient."
Celeste laughed, a rich, genuine sound that seemed to echo off the sigil-covered walls. "You're a delight, little one. I haven't met a witch with your particular energy in quite some time."
"What can I say?" Iris shrugged, her dress slipping off one shoulder. "I'm one of a kind."
Hermione fought the urge to elbow her. "Iris is just accompanying me tonight. She's not directly involved in my research, but I couldn't leave her unsupervised at the hotel. She has a tendency to—"
"Start fires? Seduce unsuspecting strangers? Both?" Celeste's eyes twinkled.
"All of the above." Hermione sighed. "And it's my responsibility to keep her out of trouble, which is a full-time job."
Iris pouted dramatically. "I'm not that bad."
"You enchanted the hotel manager's toupee to follow him around the lobby last night."
"It looked lonely on his head. I was providing it with enrichment."
Celeste laughed again, and Hermione noticed the way her robes shifted as she moved, revealing glimpses of intricate tattoos that seemed to writhe in the candlelight. "I like her. She has spirit." She turned to Hermione. "You have requested to observe our sacred rituals. This is a privilege we do not grant lightly."
"I understand." Hermione straightened her spine, affecting an air of scholarly confidence she didn't quite feel. "I've spent years studying magical traditions across the globe. My goal is to document and preserve knowledge of all supernatural beings, including those who exist outside the traditional magical community. I believe that understanding leads to unity, and—"
"You believe in a lot of noble things, little scholar." Celeste stepped closer, her gaze piercing. "But knowledge without experience is just words. If you truly wish to understand us, you must be willing to participate. Not just observe."
Hermione's mouth went dry. "I didn't realize there would be participation required."
"There's always participation required, 'Mione." Iris elbowed her playfully. "You just have to be willing to get your hands dirty." She turned her full attention to Celeste, her emerald eyes suddenly sharp with interest. "What kind of ritual are we talking about? Blood? Fire? Sacrificial virgins?"
Hermione choked. "Excuse me?"
Celeste's smile deepened. "Nothing so dramatic. We honor the spirits tonight. The ancestors who guide us, protect us, and sometimes, when they're feeling playful, torment us." Her eyes flicked to Iris. "The ritual is sacred, but what follows is more secular. We hold a celebration afterward. Music, dancing, libations. Many of my coven members will attend, and we often invite outsiders. Guests of honor."
"What kind of outsiders?" Iris asked, her voice deceptively casual.
"All kinds. Supernatural creatures of every persuasion. There's a community here in New Orleans that exists beneath the surface, hidden from the eyes of humans and wizards alike." Celeste's gaze lingered on Iris. "I think you would find many of them... interesting."
Iris's grin widened. "Are you trying to promise me there will be sexy people at this party? Because you should know that you're speaking my love language."
"Iris!" Hermione hissed, her cheeks flushing.
"What? She brought it up." Iris shrugged. "I'm just asking for clarification on the available entertainment."
Celeste threw her head back and laughed, the sound rich and full-bodied. "There will be many beautiful people at this gathering. Covens members and non-members alike. Creatures of all kinds who are drawn to the magic of this city." She tilted her head, studying Iris with renewed interest. "I suspect you will have no shortage of willing partners tonight, little one."
"Perfect." Iris winked. "I haven't had a proper workout in weeks."
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."
"Don't be such a prude." Iris looped her arm through Hermione's, squeezing affectionately. "When was the last time you had any fun that didn't involve dusty books and questionable archival practices?"
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but found herself at a loss. Her romantic experiences were... limited. Nonexistent, if she was being honest with herself. She'd spent years burying herself in books, in research, in the pursuit of knowledge. There hadn't been time for the kind of wild adventures Iris seemed to stumble into every weekend.
"Exactly." Iris nodded triumphantly. "It's been too long. And that's why tonight, we're both going to let loose a little. Live a little. Maybe even..." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
"Iris Marianne Potter, if you so much as think about—"
"Relax, Mum." Iris laughed, but there was something soft in her eyes. "I just want to see you happy. That's all."
Hermione's irritation faded, replaced by warmth. Despite her chaotic energy and questionable life choices, Iris had always been there for her—ferocious, loyal, and determined to drag her out of her shell. They'd been friends since they were eleven years old, when a bushy-haired know-it-all and a scrawny girl with a lightning scar had bonded over their shared loneliness.
"Fine," Hermione conceded. "But I'm not participating in any rituals that involve blood sacrifices or questionable bodily fluids."
"Noted." Celeste smiled, extending her hand toward them. "Follow me."
They walked through a labyrinth of corridors, each one more ornate than the last. The walls were covered in murals depicting scenes that made Hermione's historian heart race—goddesses with serpent hair, warriors wreathed in flame, lovers intertwined in poses that suggested congress was more than just a physical act. The air grew warmer as they descended, the drumming louder, until they emerged into a cavernous chamber that made Hermione gasp.
The ritual space was circular, surrounded by four stone altars at the cardinal points. In the center, a fire pit blazed with flames in hues she'd never seen before—violet, silver, deep crimson. A group of witches and wizards stood in a loose circle around it, their robes ranging from elaborate ceremonial garb to practical, almost casual clothing. They were diverse in every way imaginable—ages, races, genders, magical styles.
Celeste led them to a corner of the chamber, where they could observe without being in the way. "Stay here. Watch. Learn." Her eyes found Iris. "And try to behave yourself, little one."
"No promises." Iris settled onto a velvet cushion with all the grace of a cat, her legs crossed beneath her. She looked ethereal in the firelight, the shadows dancing across her delicate features. "But I am curious. What do your rituals involve? Blood? Sex? Sacred plants?"
"All of those, at various times." Celeste's smile was enigmatic. "Tonight, we honor the spirits of the crossroads. Those who stand between worlds and guide lost souls home."
She swept away into the circle, her presence commanding immediate attention. The drumming intensified as she raised her arms, speaking in a language that made Hermione's ears ache—ancient words that seemed to resonate in her bones. The witches began to sway, their movements hypnotic, organic.
Hermione lost track of time, completely absorbed in the spectacle before her. There was something primal about the ritual, something that spoke to a part of her that had never been touched by textbooks or lectures. The fire danced higher as the possessed woman appeared to spin into existence, her movements becoming something otherworldly.
She was wreathed in chain links, her skin shimmering, teeth filed into points. Her face was a mask of violent ecstasy, contorted in pleasure-pain as the spirits descended upon her. Hermione watched, paralyzed, as Celeste's body moved with inhuman grace, her tongue licking flames from the fire pit. But then Her gaze landed on Iris, and the channeled goddess paused. She saw the little redbird watching with familiar magic and made a declaration that hung in the still air.
Celeste's body then dropped into a dead faint, sparking a round of sharp, barking laughter from Iris. Hermione jostled her hard in her ribs for the intrusion, finding it deeply inappropriate for such a sacred moment.
"What?" Iris grumbled. "It was funny. She literally collapsed in a heap. And I've seen theatrics before. Auntie Tilly's been known to collapse dramatically after any minor inconvenience."
Hermione gaped at her. "Iris, that was a sacred ritual. You can't just—"
"Laugh at the funny bits?" Iris grinned, but there was a glint in her eyes that Hermione didn't quite recognize. "You know, I felt something. When she was doing her thing. Like something was watching me."
Hermione's blood went cold. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know." Iris's grin faded, replaced by something more thoughtful. "Just a feeling. Like being sized up. Being weighed." She shook her head, dismissing it. "Probably just my imagination. Or the weed brownie I ate before we came here."
"You did what?"
"Relax. They were from a dispensary in Colorado. Totally legal." Iris patted her pocket. "I've got a few left if you want one."
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're going to be the death of me."
"Probably. But it'll be fun."
Celeste rose from the floor, her body swaying as several of her acolytes rushed to her aide. The priestess waved them off, her eyes finding Hermione and Iris across the fire. She made her way toward them, her steps steadier than they should have been after possession.
"You did well, little scholars." Her voice was slightly hoarse, her eyes still glowing with residual power. "The spirits were pleased."
"We were just honored to observe." Hermione's hands trembled slightly. "That was... unlike anything I've ever witnessed."
"Indeed." Celeste turned her gaze to Iris, her expression unreadable. "You felt something, didn't you? During the channeling."
Iris shrugged too casually. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'm just a regular witch. What would a spirit want with me?"
"Perhaps more than you know." Celeste's smile was cryptic. "But that's a mystery for another night. Now—the celebration."
She led them through another corridor, this one winding upward until they emerged into a courtyard that had been transformed into a wonderland. Strings of lights crisscrossed overhead, casting rainbow shadows across costumed figures. Tables groaned under the weight of food and drink, and a band played music that seemed to blend cultures and centuries.
The guests were arriving, filtering through gated entrances from the streets beyond. Hermione watched them with wide eyes, seeing creatures she'd only read about—different species of witches by their bearing, vampires moving with supernatural grace, wolves wearing human faces but betraying their true nature through physical tells.
It was a hotbed of magic, and underneath that magic, a different kind of heat was threading through the crowd. It seemed to rise like steam from the mass of bodies, most of the people in attendance wearing looks of open, predatory interest.
"See?" Iris nudged her, nodding toward a group of stunning vampires who were laughing with a cluster of witches. "Told you. Sexy people."
"Iris, you can't just—"
"Watch and learn, 'Mione." Iris winked, adjusting her dress. "Tonight, we drink, we dance, and we maybe find ourselves some trouble."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Iris was already gone, disappearing into the crowd like a fiery-haired missile. Hermione sighed. They were in New Orleans for three days, and Iris was already making an impression.
"'Scuse me, darling." A voice came from behind them—sweet and thick like honey poured over warm biscuits. Hermione turned to see a woman with a face like an old doll, porcelain skin, slightly crooked smile, and the most comforting vibe. "That friend of yours waltzed into our circle like she owns the place. She the life of the party everywhere she goes?"
A low, masculine laugh followed. "That's a question I'd like to know the answer to myself." Celeste stepped up to the newest arrivals, her smile deepening. Greetings passed between her and the newcomers, before she made introductions. "Hermione, these are friends of mine. This is Katie, and this is Silas. They run the bar next door. You should stop by sometime—I believe you'll find their establishment... illuminating."
Hermione extended her hand, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in her stomach. This was what she came for, she reminded herself. Immersion, participation. Real-world research she would never get from musty books in the Hogwarts library.
"I'm pleased to meet you both," she said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded.
"Charmed." Katie's hand was warm when she took it, her grip lingering. "We're always happy to meet new friends. Especially ones who look as eager to explore as you do."
"Careful," Celeste trilled. "These two will talk your ear off all night if you let them." She smirked at Katie, and Hermione realized she hadn't let go of her hand. The tall, dark-eyed woman's thumb was tracing small circles across her palm.
Hermione's heart began to beat faster. "Well, I'm here to learn about the community. All aspects of it."
"All aspects?" Silas's voice was a low rumble. "That's a promising thing to hear." His eyes gleamed. "We have a lot of secrets in this city. Things you won't find in any book." He leaned in closer. "But first, why don't we get you a drink? We can tell you some of our favorites."
"Happy to be led astray," she heard herself say, and caught their matching sharp-toothed grins.
As they led her toward a groaning drinks table, Hermione glanced back over her shoulder. She located Iris across the courtyard in a swirl of pink, already surrounded by a pack of admirers. There was a wild flutter of anticipation in her chest. The night wasn't over yet, and the world shimmered with possibility—dark, dangerous, intoxicating possibility.
The party had just begun.
Iris Potter was exactly where she belonged—in the center of chaos, wearing a grin that promised trouble and a dress that promised absolutely nothing resembling modesty. She'd kicked off her heels somewhere around the second hour, her bare feet carrying her across the courtyard as she sampled everything the night had to offer.
She danced with a witch who had flowers growing from her hair, kissed her deeply enough to taste the honeyed wine on her tongue, then drifted away when she got bored. She charmed a vampire into teaching her a card trick, then stole his wallet just to see if she could—slipping it back into his pocket before he even noticed it was gone. She ate something spicy from a vendor's cart and washed it down with something stronger, the liquor burning pleasantly down her throat.
"Darling, you're making the rest of us look lazy."
Iris turned to find a tall woman with skin like burnished copper watching her with amused approval. She was gorgeous in the way that made Iris want to climb her like a tree.
"Then maybe you should keep up," Iris shot back, winking.
The woman laughed, but before she could respond, Iris was already moving—spotting a cluster of sour-faced witches who looked entirely too serious for a party. Grinning, she reached into the pocket of her dress and produced one of George's more inventive creations.
The fireworks were technically illegal. Which made them infinitely more fun.
She lit the fuse and tossed it into their circle before slipping away into the crowd. The resulting bang was satisfyingly loud, followed by shrieks and a cascade of glowing pink stars that spelled out rude words in the air above the courtyard.
Iris doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach as the witches sputtered and cursed. One of them pointed at her, shouting something about consequences, but Iris just blew her a kiss and disappeared deeper into the party.
She felt alive in a way she hadn't in months. The weight of the war, of the prophecy, of being the Girl Who Lived—it all dissolved in the heat of the music and the press of bodies and the simple, glorious pleasure of being just another anonymous face in a crowd that didn't know her name.
Well. Anonymous except for the dress.
"Having fun, little bird?"
Iris spun, coming face to face with a man who moved like smoke. He was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way—dark hair falling into dark eyes, a smile that didn't quite reach them. He was dressed like he'd stepped out of another century, all tailored lines and old money.
"Aren't I always?" She tilted her head, studying him. "You're a vampire."
"Astute." He inclined his head. "I'm Kol."
"Iris." She offered her hand, and he took it, pressing his lips to her knuckles in a gesture that was equal parts charming and creepy. She couldn't help but laugh. "Aren't vampires supposed to sparkle or something?"
Kol snorted. "That's the least offensive thing I've been accused of in the last century." His eyes roamed over her, not hiding his appreciation. "You're not like the other witches here."
"Good." She pulled her hand back, letting it trail down his arm as she stepped closer. "I'm not like anyone, really. It's exhausting being this unique."
"I can imagine." His smile sharpened, and there was something hungry in his gaze that made her pulse quicken. "What brings you to our little gathering?"
"Boredom. Curiosity." She shrugged. "My friend dragged me here. Said something about research and understanding between communities." She rolled her eyes. "I'm just here for the free booze and the chance to cause problems."
Kol laughed, a genuine sound that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I like you. You're refreshing."
"Everyone says that." Iris stepped back, already losing interest. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a table of expensive-looking artifacts to knock over."
She was halfway across the courtyard when a hand caught her wrist. She looked down at the long, elegant fingers wrapped around her arm, then up at the man who owned them.
He was different from Kol—taller, broader, with kind eyes that held ancient weight and dark hair slicked back with meticulous care. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe.
"You must be the one causing all the commotion," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I'm Elijah."
"Charmed." Iris tugged her wrist free. "Now if you don't mind, I was in the middle of—"
"Causing trouble?" His lips curved slightly. "Yes, I can see that. I was hoping to introduce myself properly before you burn the place down."
"No promises." She grinned up at him, refusing to be intimidated by his height or his presence. She'd faced Dark Lords and Death Eaters. A fancy vampire in a suit was nothing.
"I suspect you rarely make promises you intend to keep." Elijah's eyes drifted over her, lingering on her bare legs. "You're a breath of fresh air, Miss Potter."
"How do you know my name?"
"I make it my business to know interesting people." His smile deepened. "And you, little one, are very interesting indeed."
Iris felt a flutter in her chest—not fear, but something sharper. Curiosity. These vampires were different from the ones she'd encountered before. They carried themselves like they owned the world, and maybe they did. She found herself wanting to know more.
"Iris!"
She turned to see Hermione weaving through the crowd toward her, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She'd clearly been enjoying the party as much as Iris had, despite her protests earlier.
"'Mione!" Iris waved enthusiastically. "Come meet Elijah. He's very fancy."
Hermione skidded to a halt, her eyes going wide as she took in the vampire standing beside Iris. She looked like she was about to say something, but then Elijah turned his calm, ancient gaze on her, and her words seemed to die in her throat.
"Miss Granger." He inclined his head graciously. "I've heard about your research. Fascinating work."
"You—" Hermione swallowed hard. "You know about my research?"
"The supernatural community talks." Elijah's smile was enigmatic. "And you've been asking a lot of questions since you arrived."
Hermione's face flushed. "I didn't realize my inquiries would attract so much attention."
"New Orleans is a small world, despite what you might think." Elijah's eyes flickered between them. "Now, I believe that friend of yours was looking for you." He nodded toward a tall witch with copper skin who was gesturing at Hermione.
"Oh." Hermione looked torn, clearly wanting to interrogate Elijah further but also not wanting to ignore her new acquaintance. "I should—"
"Go." Elijah's voice was gentle. "I'm sure we'll cross paths again. The night is young."
Hermione scurried away, casting one last glance over her shoulder. Iris watched her go with fond amusement, then turned back to find Elijah studying her with an intensity that made her feel exposed.
"What?" She crossed her arms defensively. "Got a problem?"
"On the contrary." He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the expensive cologne clinging to his skin. "I was just wondering what someone like you is doing in a place like this."
"Someone like me?"
"Someone who radiates chaos like a beacon." His voice was low, intimate. "Someone who clearly has never been told no in her entire life."
Iris's breath caught. "And what if I haven't?"
"Then you're in for a very interesting night." Something dark flickered in his eyes before he stepped back, inclining his head. "If you'll excuse me, there are matters I need to attend to. But I do hope we'll have the chance to continue this conversation later."
He was gone before she could respond, disappearing into the crowd with fluid grace that made her shiver.
Iris stared after him for a long moment, her heart pounding. What the hell was that?
She shook off the feeling and dove back into the party, determined to enjoy herself. She danced until her feet ached, drank until the world tilted pleasantly, flirted with a werewolf who smelled like pine and musk. She kissed him too, but his technique was sloppy and he was too eager—trying to grab her arse moments after their lips met. She pushed him away with a laugh and a pointed comment about consent that made him slink off in embarrassment.
By the time the night reached its peak, Iris was having the time of her life. She'd made enemies and allies in equal measure, charmed half the attendees and annoyed the other half. She'd stolen a vampire's wallet, pranked a group of witches with George's finest fireworks, and made out with at least four people of various genders and species.
In other words, a typical Tuesday night for Iris Potter.
But she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
It wasn't the casual, appreciative gaze of the partygoers who'd noticed her entrance. This was something else—an attention that felt almost predatory. Like a hawk circling a field mouse.
She scanned the courtyard, trying to locate the source. Her eyes passed over shifters and witches and vampires, all lost in their own revelry. And then she found them.
Three men. Standing on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, so still they might have been statues. They were clearly together, clearly powerful, and clearly fixated on her.
The one on the left was Kol, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he watched her with a hungry smile. The one on the right was Elijah, his expression unreadable, but his posture radiating coiled tension.
And in the center, a man she hadn't met yet. He was golden-haired, broad-shouldered, with a face that belonged in a Renaissance painting and eyes that seemed to hold centuries of secrets. He was the most dangerous of the three, she could tell instantly—the way he held himself, the way the other two deferred to him without even realizing it.
Iris raised her glass in their direction, a defiant gesture of acknowledgment. She didn't look away, didn't shrink back. She held the stranger's gaze for a long moment, letting him know that she saw him too.
His lips curved into a smile that made her stomach flip.
The girl was magnificent.
Klaus Mikaelson leaned against the balcony railing, watching the tiny redhead tear through the party like a hurricane in a neon dress. She was chaos incarnate, a force of nature that seemed to sweep everything up in her wake. He'd watched her charm a vampire, prank a coven, and kiss half a dozen strangers without any apparent interest in settling on just one.
She was utterly, completely delightful.
"I want her," he murmured, not taking his eyes off the girl.
"Naturally." Kol appeared at his side, his grin sharp and predatory. "I called dibs first, though."
"You called nothing. I was about to introduce myself when she ran off to cause more trouble." Klaus shot his brother a look. "But you'd think she'd be more careful about offending the local vampires. Not least because I'm sure she felt us watching her."
"She's clearly not one to be intimidated by anyone," Kol observed. "She's different."
"She's got no idea what she is." Elijah's voice came from behind them. "She moved with the strength of a wolf, but her scent is pure witch. It was impossible to tell if she's just exceptional or something else entirely."
Klaus felt a spark of interest kindle in his chest. A witch who moved like a wolf? Now that was a rare and intriguing combination.
"Maybe we should introduce ourselves properly," Kol suggested, and Klaus could hear the hunger in his brother's voice, the same hunger that had driven them to share partners in the past.
Klaus has spent years travelling the world, chasing pleasure and novelty through the veins of countless willing victims. His tastes have evolved over the centuries, growing darker and more specific. The chase was half the game—nothing was sweeter than claiming a prize made difficult. But the other half was intimacy, stripped back to its barest form: a body yielded, a soul laid bare.
"Look at her." Klaus gestured toward the redhead, who had just lit another firework, sending a cascade of shimmering colors across the courtyard. She cackled with delight as witches and vampires ducked and swore. "She has no idea what she's playing with."
"Or she does," Elijah countered quietly. "And she simply doesn't care."
Klaus found himself smiling. "Yes. That's what makes her so enticing."
They watched her for a long moment, three predators studying their prey. There was no rush—the anticipation of the hunt was part of the pleasure. Let her run. Let her play. They were patient hunters. The hunt, after all, was almost as sweet as the kill.
"Iris Potter." Klaus tested the name on his tongue. "Where do you come from, little bird? And what magic flows through your veins?"
"You feel it too, don't you?" Kol's eyes narrowed. "There's something about her. Something that calls to us."
"Kol—"
"I'm serious, brother." Kol's voice had lost its mocking edge. "I've never felt anything like it. She's got power wrapped around her like a cloak. Power that doesn't come from normal channeling."
Klaus has felt it too, the moment he set eyes on her. A resonance deep in his veins—like she'd been cut from the same cloth as him. It was a sensation he'd only felt once, when he and his siblings had been turned, when the spell had forged their family with magic thick enough to drown in.
The thought should have been impossible. But there she was, a whirlwind in the midst of the party, glowing with power that defied easy classification.
"Bring her to me," Klaus said finally, his voice soft.
Kol was already moving.t