Chapter 1: Voodoo Party
The courtyard of Celeste's coven house pulsed with a life of its own, lanterns strung between ancient oaks casting flickering gold across skin and stone. The air was thick with jasmine, bourbon, and the heady musk of bodies moving together in the half-dark. Kol Mikaelson leaned against a marble column, swirling amber liquid in his glass, watching the crowd with the bored amusement of a predator who'd seen every variation of human desire play out before him.
A tiny figure in neon green caught his eye.
She moved through the party like a lit fuse, all chaotic energy and infectious laughter. The dress barely covered her arse, vibrant as a poison dart frog, and she appeared to be wearing absolutely nothing beneath it. Her hair was a cascade of crimson flames, wild and untamed, and when she threw her head back to laugh at something a coven witch said, the sound cut through the bass-heavy music like a bell.
Klaus appeared at his side, a glass of whiskey in hand, his gaze following the same path. "I spotted her the moment she walked in."
"Naturally." Kol's lips curled. "You always did have a nose for trouble."
"She's a Potter." The name rolled off Klaus's tongue with something approaching reverence. "The girl who lived. The British wizarding world's darling."
Elijah materialized on Kol's other side, pristine in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. His eyes found the girl too—impossible not to, the way she drew attention like a flame drew moths. But his expression was more calculating than hungry.
"I've heard stories," Elijah said, voice low and measured. "The war she survived. The power she wields without formal training. Raw and instinctive."
Kol couldn't help but laugh. "She's a tiny thing. Can't be more than what—five feet?"
"Four ten," Klaus corrected, and there was something almost predatory in the way he said it. "And she's been making eyes at us all evening."
Indeed she had. The girl—Iris, someone had called her—kept glancing their way between dances, between sips of something pink and likely alcoholic, between the animated conversations she was having with anyone who crossed her path. She was the life of the party, a whirling dervish of charm and mischief, and every single move she made was designed to catch their attention.
It was working.
"I give her thirty minutes before she tries to leave with one of us," Klaus murmured.
"Fifty quid says she approaches us before then," Kol countered.
"You know I don't bet with my brother. It sets a poor precedent."
"Then perhaps"—Elijah's voice cut through their banter, smooth as silk—"we should simply take the decision out of her hands."
Iris felt their eyes on her before she saw them. Three men, standing apart from the crowd like wolves surveying a flock of sheep. The tall one with the dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes radiated a kind of dangerous magnetism that made her thighs clench. The one in the suit was devastatingly handsome, all sharp lines and controlled power. And the third, the dark-haired one with an almost feral grin, looked like he'd happily burn the world down for entertainment.
Her kind of people.
She'd been watching them for the past hour, sipping her drink, playing coy, pretending to be absorbed in conversations about potion recipes and Quidditch scores when every atom of her being was hyper-focused on those three men on the other side of the courtyard. There was something ancient about them, something that made her magical senses tingle with awareness. Not wizards, she was fairly certain. Something older. Something far more dangerous.
Something that made her pulse race and her skin flush.
"Who are they?" she asked the witch she'd been chatting with, a pretty Asian girl named Camille who'd been friendly since Iris stumbled into the party an hour ago, bored and looking for entertainment after Hermione dragged her to New Orleans for research.
Camille followed her gaze and her expression shifted, something flickering in her eyes that might have been warning. "Those are the Mikaelsons. Originals. Vampires. The oldest and most powerful in existence."
Iris let out a low whistle. "Well, shit. I don't do anything halfway, do I?"
"You should stay away from them." The girl's voice was earnest, almost desperate. "They're dangerous. They've killed people in this city for far less than what you're probably thinking."
But Iris had survived a war. She'd watched friends die, had her wand pointed at the Dark Lord himself before she was old enough to drive. Danger didn't scare her. Danger was just another word for opportunity in her book.
"I'd like to see them try."
She drained her glass, set it down on a nearby table, and began weaving through the crowd toward the three brothers. Her hips swayed with deliberate provocation, her bare arse cheeks peeking out from beneath the hem of her neon dress with each step. She could feel their gazes on her like physical touches, following the curve of her spine, lingering on the length of her legs.
"You know," she said, coming to a stop in front of them with her hands on her hips, "it's rude to stare without introducing yourselves."
The blond one raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "And it's rather bold to approach men you don't know, dressed like that."
Iris laughed, bright and genuine. "I'm Iris. Iris Potter. And I know exactly who you are. Klaus, Elijah, and Kol Mikaelson." She let her gaze sweep over each of them in turn, deliberately slow, deliberately appreciative. "I've been in New Orleans for exactly three days and I'm already hearing the legends."
"Legends?" Kol's eyes lit up with interest. "And what exactly have you heard?"
"That you're dangerous. That you're killers. That you've left a trail of bodies across a thousand years of existence." She stepped closer, close enough to smell them—sandalwood and whiskey and something darker, something ancient and predatory. "And that you know how to show a girl a good time."
The tension that rippled through the air was palpable. Klaus's eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her mouth before snapping back up to meet hers. Elijah's expression remained unreadable, but his fingers twitched at his side. Kol simply grinned, a wolfish smile that promised all manner of debauchery.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," Klaus said, his voice dropping to a register that sent shivers down her spine.
"Maybe I don't. But I'm willing to find out."
She meant to sound confident until, but even to herself her voice sounded a little breathy. These men were different than the ones she usually played with. They weren't impressed by her fame or intimidated by her power. They looked at her like she was prey—and despite everything she knew, everything she'd survived, she couldn't deny the molten heat pooling low in her belly at the thought.
"Sweetheart," Kol said, circling around her like a shark, "you appear to have a fundamental misunderstanding about how this is going to work."
Her head whipped around as he came to stand behind her, his breath warm against her ear. Elijah had shifted at the same time, moving to her left, trapping her in their triangle. Klaus stepped closer, chest brushing against hers, and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
"You came over here with the intention of choosing one of us," Klaus continued, his hand coming up to cup her chin, tilting her face toward him. "To see if you could take one of the big, bad Mikaelsons home with you. Isn't that right?"
Iris's mouth went dry. She'd planned to be the one calling the shots, but the way they'd moved, the way they'd surrounded her with casual ease, made her feel like a rabbit caught in a trap. And the worst part?
She loved it.
"I was hoping—" she started, but Kol cut her off with a laugh.
"Oh, she was hoping all right. You can practically smell it on her." He leaned in, his lips brushing the curve of her ear. "But here's what you don't understand, little one. When we see something we want, we don't wait to be invited. We take it."
Elijah moved closer, his hand finding the small of her back, his touch surprisingly gentle for the menace in his words. "And we've decided that we want you. All three of us. Tonight."
Klaus's thumb traced her bottom lip, and she could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. "You'll be coming with us. Not because you chose us, but because we've decided you're ours for the evening. Is that going to be a problem?"
Every rational part of her brain was screaming at her to run, to laugh it off, to pretend she'd just been flirting for fun. But the deeper part of her, the part that was tired of being treated like glass, tired of lovers who held back because they feared her fame or her power or her supposed fragility—that part was singing.
"I just bought a drink at the bar," she said, hating how breathless she sounded. "And I haven't even finished it."
Kol's laughter was dark and delighted. "Poor thing. She's actually trying to negotiate."
"Let me make this simpler for you," Klaus said, releasing her chin and stepping back. "In thirty seconds, I'm going to pick you up and sling you over my shoulder like a sack of flour if you don't come willingly. You're going to get a demonstration of exactly what happens to people who try to make deals with us."
"You wouldn't let me fall?" The words slipped out before she could stop them, an involuntary test that she immediately regretted.
Klaus smiled, and it was all sharp edges and ancient hunger. "Oh, I'd catch you, sweetheart. I'd always catch you. But the lesson would still be learned."
"Last chance, little necromancer," Kol said, his fingers walking up her spine. "Come quietly, or let him carry you out of here. Either way, you're leaving with us tonight."
Iris looked at each of them in turn, taking in their predatory gazes and coiled tension. She could feel the power radiating off them, ancient and terrible, utterly unlike the magic she'd grown up with. She was a Potter, and she'd survived the worst war in a century.
But these three were a different kind of war entirely.
"Fine," she said, her voice steady despite the trembling she felt inside. "But if you're going to take me home, at least buy me a proper drink first. I'm not above using my feminine wiles for free liquor."
Kol burst out laughing, and even Elijah's carefully controlled expression cracked with what might have been genuine amusement. Klaus shook his head, and she could see something like respect flicker in his eyes.
"One drink," he said, offering his arm. "Then you're mine."
She noticed how he didn't say mine alone. He said the possessive word with a particular slant, as if he meant all three of them. And somehow, impossibly, that only made her want to say yes more.
She slid her arm through his and walked toward the door of the compound, where Kol was practically skipping ahead with excitement and Elijah had positioned himself directly behind her, very close. But even as they passed into the private residence, her mind was racing.
She did not notice that across the courtyard, two more sets of Mikaelson eyes had fixed on a bushy-haired witch who'd been watching the entire exchange with growing unease. The girl had followed her friend here, worried about the party. She was careful, analytical, and brave in her own way.
Freya watched her for a long moment, then turned to her sister Rebekah. "Now she's interesting."
The compound swallowed them whole.
Iris had expected a typical vampire lair—something gothic and foreboding with velvet drapes and centuries of dust. Instead, the interior was stunningly modern, all clean lines and warm woods, with original artwork adorning the walls and the soft glow of carefully placed lighting creating an atmosphere of understated luxury. She caught glimpses of a grand staircase, a library that made her breath hitch, and doors that led to rooms she could only imagine.
Klaus's hand never left the small of her back, guiding her through the space with the casual authority of a man who owned everything his eyes touched. Which, she suspected, he probably did.
"Your place is gorgeous," she said, craning her neck to take in a painting that looked suspiciously like a Monet. "Very... murder mansion chic."
Kol snorted from somewhere behind her. "Wait until you see the basement."
"Kol." Elijah's voice carried a note of warning.
"What? She's going to find out eventually. Might as well be upfront about our hobbies."
Iris's heart stuttered. She tried to tell herself it was fear, but the ache between her thighs told a different story entirely. She'd spent years searching for someone who could match her appetites, who wouldn't treat her like spun glass just because she was small and looked innocent.
These men didn't look like they'd treat anyone gently.
Klaus led them into a sitting room dominated by a leather chesterfield sofa and a fireplace that crackled with real flames. He released her, finally, and she found herself standing in the center of the room while the three brothers arranged themselves around her like a pack of wolves circling prey.
"Drink," Klaus said, already moving to a crystal decanter. "You said you wanted one."
"I did say that, didn't I?" Iris tried to sound casual, but her voice came out breathier than she'd intended. She perched on the edge of the sofa, acutely aware of how short her dress was, how bare she was beneath it. "Something strong. Whatever you're having."
Klaus poured three fingers of amber liquid into a glass and brought it to her. His fingers brushed hers as he handed it over, and the contact sent a jolt of electricity through her entire body. His eyes tracked the movement, watching her carefully.
"Iris Potter," he murmured, tasting the name like it was something rare and precious. "The Girl Who Lived. Savior of the British wizarding world. And yet here you are, alone in a vampire den, wearing a dress that barely covers your arse and no knickers."
She choked on her whiskey. "How do you—"
"I can smell you, sweetheart." His voice dropped, becoming something dark and intimate. "Every time you moved on that dance floor, I could smell how wet you were. How desperate you were for someone to finally take you properly."
Her face burned. She should have been mortified, should have felt violated by the revelation. Instead, she felt a surge of something that might have been relief. Finally, someone who didn't treat her like a child. Finally, someone who saw exactly what she was.
"You've been watching me all night," she said, proud of how steady her voice sounded despite her racing heart. "Tell me, Klaus. What else did you notice?"
He moved closer, his body blocking out the light from the fireplace. "I noticed you flirted with half the witches in that courtyard, but your eyes kept finding us. I noticed you have a talent for drawing attention without giving anything real away." His hand came up to cup her jaw, tilting her face toward him. "And I noticed that when you looked at me, you weren't afraid. Curious, yes. Excited, definitely. But not afraid. That's... rare."
Iris leaned into his touch despite herself. "I survived Voldemort. I figured I could survive a few vampires."
"Hundreds of years old vampires," Kol added cheerfully from behind her. "Originals. The ones the stories are actually about."
"Kol." Elijah's voice was reproachful, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he was enjoying this. "Let her catch her breath before you overwhelm her with our family history."
"I'm not overwhelmed." Iris pulled back slightly, taking a sip of her whiskey to steady her nerves. Her fingers were trembling, but these men would probably assume it was fear rather than anticipation. "I've been with people before. I'm not some innocent flower you have to handle with care."
Klaus's eyes darkened dangerously. "We wouldn't be handling you with care regardless of your experience, little one." He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Tell me, Iris. What do you want? What do you crave that you've never been brave enough to ask for?"
She hesitated. Words that had been burbling beneath the surface for years were suddenly taking shape, trying to climb out of her throat. And as she glanced at the three men around her, she realized that maybe she didn't have to be careful, just for a change. Maybe she could finally say what she actually wanted.
"Why you'd ask me that out of everything you might have asked me?"
Klaus offered a small, predatory smile. Because we can smell it on you. Feel it in how you carry yourself. You've had playmates who've touched you like you might break.
Iris could feel her heart hammering. There was one test, she decided, to see if he actually meant any of this. Tell them what she truly wanted. No filter, no pretending. Nothing to hide her, just her naked truth.
What are you thinking, Potter? she asked herself. Those three words you could easily say. But she stares straight at him to get a reaction out of him.
"Everything, Klaus." She tips her chin up. "The kind of everything people are too scared to ask a girl like me for."
She thought she saw his pupils expand, swallowing blue until his eyes were nearly black. The air crackled with tension.
"You want three ancient vampires to take you to their red room and use you until you forget your own name?"
Her pulse hammered in her throat. "I want someone who won't stop when I cry... and may still give me what I ask them for."
The silence that followed threatened to swallow them whole. She could feel every second stretching out, long and filled with tension. Then Elijah steps forward, bringing his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face to meet his.
"That can be arranged," he said, voice steel wrapped in silk. "However, we do not simply take. Our games follow a certain code." He bent forward and pressed his lips, almost imperceptibly, against her temple. "This isn't a pickup. It is a claiming."
She should run. She knew she should have been running. The beast that, for once, she had allowed to slip its leash was staring right back at her, and she, in turn, was bare and willing in front of it all.
"Show me," she breathed. "Stop talking and show me what you do to girls who ask for things they shouldn't."
Kol was the first to move. His hand fisted into her hair—not cruel, but commanding—and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. She felt the graze of fangs, a hint of what he could do if she pushed just a bit harder.
"We don't take you to the red room yet," he murmured against the column of her neck. "The first time, we break you in properly. We want to watch your eyes when you understand exactly what you've gotten yourself into."
Klaus moved in from the front, his hands hooking beneath her thighs, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. She gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist without thinking. The dress rode up, bunching around her hips, leaving her completely exposed to them.
"Since you're so eager," Klaus said, carrying her toward a door she hadn't noticed before. "Let's see how well you handle being the centre of attention."
The room beyond was nothing like what she'd expected. Soft candlelight flickered across a massive four-poster bed draped in dark silk, and exposed iron sconces bracketed the walls. The air was warm and heavy with sandalwood and something else—the metallic tang of anticipation.
Kol released her hair only to grab the hem of her dress. Klaus set her down, and she barely had a moment to catch her breath before the neon green fabric was ripped up and over her head, leaving her completely naked.
She stood there, bare and exposed, heart pounding as all three men looked at her at once. She was not built like some idealised goddess; she had a lithe, compact figure, small round tits tipped with nipple rings, and a lean waist that flared into hips she knew were generous. Her auburn curls were trimmed into a neat strip above her cunt, and she could feel how wet she was, her slickness running down her inner thigh.
"Fuck," Kol breathed, his eyes traversing the length of her. "She's perfect."
"Come here, little one." Elijah's voice was commanding, and her body obeyed before her brain could catch up. He guided her to the bed, settling her against the pillows, arranging her limbs with deliberate precision until she was splayed out before them like a feast.
"The safe word is 'kremser' if you want us to stop," Klaus said from somewhere near the foot of the bed. "If you can't speak, tap twice on whatever surface you can reach, and we'll pause."
"And what if it's allowed?" Her voice came out too eager, and she saw the smirk pass between the brothers. "Do you mean—"
"We like them wet and desperate when we play," Kol said, crawling up the bed to hover over her, his weight caging her in. "We're going to kiss every inch of you, tease you until you're sobbing and begging. Then we're going to fuck you—all of us."
Elijah moved to her side, his hands settling on her hips, tilting her toward him. "And since you've been a very naughty girl, flaunting yourself in front of us all evening—you're going to take everything we give you. You don't get to come until we say so. Understood?"
"Yes." The word ripped out of her, raw and honest. "Please. I understand. Please."
"Please what?" Klaus asked, his voice dropping to a growl.
"Please fuck me. Use me. I've been so good at pretending to be satisfied, and it's killing me slowly. I need someone to make me forget and then do it again. I need to be filled and left dripping and find that I can't walk straight tomorrow—" Her words broke into a moan as Klaus's fingers found her cunt, sliding through her slick folds.
"Look at that," he mused, circling her clit with deliberate pressure. "All this arousal from talking about being used. You are a filthy little thing, aren't you, Iris?"
"Yes," she sobbed, bucking her hips against his hand. "Yes, yes, fuck—"
He withdrew his hand, bringing his fingers to his lips and tasting her with an almost reverent expression. Then he grabbed her hips and flipped her over, pulling her arse up and shoving her face into the pillows. She heard the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of a belt buckle, and then the unmistakable sound of a hand meeting flesh as his palm connected with her arse in a sharp slap.
She cried out—half pain, half pleasure—as the sting radiated through her. Another slap, then another, each one precise and deliberate, painting her skin with fire. She was completely at his mercy. Her body, her pleasure, her pain—all of it was theirs.
"You're going to count each one," Klaus ordered, hitting her again. "And thank me each time you do."
"One, thank you," she gasped, and lost track of time as he continued to spank her until her arse was burning. And through the haze of sensation, she felt Elijah's hands on her hips, knew that he had settled behind her. The broad, blunt head of his cock pressed against her slick entrance, the sensation making her whimper with need.
"Please," she begged. "Oh god, please—"
Elijah slammed into her with one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. She screamed—a raw, animal sound that she would have been embarrassed about if she could still form coherent thoughts. He was thick and long, filling her completely, and he didn't wait. He began to move with a controlled, punishing rhythm, each thrust driving into her womb and making her eyes roll back.
"That's it, darling," Elijah murmured, his hand fisting in her hair like she was his to master. "Take all of me. Let go and let us own every inch of you."
Klaus moved to her front, his hand wrapping around her throat with just enough pressure to make her see stars. She opened her mouth to gasp and he took the opportunity to push his cock past her lips, long and proud and filling her till she choked. She moaned around him, the vibration making him growl deep in his chest.
"That's it, little one. Take me down your throat like the perfect little whore you are."
Her body was a conduit of pleasure, three points of invasion working in unison to drag her apart. Elijah pumped into her from behind, his rhythm punishing and precise, while Klaus fucked her face with shallow little thrusts that made her drool. And all the while, Kol positioned himself behind Elijah, his fingers finding the tight furl of her arsehole.
She had never done this before, never felt this level of invasion. But Kol's finger was slick with something—likely from her cunt, mingled with his spit—as he pushed past the tight ring of muscle. She gasped around Klaus's cock, the pressure stinging, her eyes watering.
"She's so tight back here," Kol murmured to Elijah, sounding equal parts curious and hungry. "You feel how she clenches? I think she wants us to fill every hole until she can't think straight."
Klaus pulled out of her mouth, leaving her gasping and drooling and desperate. "You want that, pet? Want us to open you up until you can take all three of us at once?"
"Yes," The word was barely a whisper, raw and broken with need. "Yes, please, I want it. I want—"
Her want was abruptly cut off as Klaus thrust back into her mouth, silencing her. Elijah began to pound into her harder, hitting a spot deep inside her that made the world go white behind her eyes. Kol worked another finger into her arse, stretching her slowly while Elijah kept up the relentless rhythm between her legs.
"Close," Elijah grunted, pulling out of her sudden. "I'm going to come all over your face."
He yanked her up, off Klaus's cock, hauling her to her knees. She was covered in spit and slick and her own sweat, and she knew she had never looked more debauched or felt more beautiful.
"Open," he said, and she obeyed. "Open and take it all."
His orgasm hit him as he spilled his seed over her tongue and across her lips. She swallowed greedily, her own need still burning like an inferno between her legs. She looked up at them, three ancient predators surrounding her, and knew she was utterly claimed. Pride surged in her chest as she licked her lips clean.
"Is that all you've got?" she asked, goading them despite her desperate need for more. "I thought Originals were supposed to be relentless."
Kol's grin was feral as he stepped forward, his hands finding her hips and spinning her around. "Oh, we're just getting started, sweetheart."
He shoved her forward onto the bed, onto her hands and knees, and she heard the unmistakable sound of fabric and belt. When she looked back over her shoulder, she saw him stroking his cock—long and hard and glistening with how eager he was. He settled behind her, aligning himself with the wet mess between her legs. Then, with one brutal, merciless shove, he impaled her entirely on his cock, deeper than anything she'd ever had, and she screamed into the duvet.
"Fuck yes," he hissed through his teeth, pounding into her with a feral pace that made the bed frame slam against the wall. "You feel that? That's what you get when you walk into our territory wearing a dress like that. That's what you get when you look at us like you're the one in charge."
Iris could barely breathe. He was everywhere—thick, relentless, hitting spots that made her see stars. Behind her, Klaus and Elijah moved into position, waiting their turn.
"There will be time for the red room, pet," Klaus said, his voice dark with promise. "But this is going to be a long night."