Chapter 1: Jealousy
The mansion loomed like a gothic sentinel over the wrought-iron fences of the Garden District, its balconies draped in Spanish moss that swayed in the humid Louisiana night like the fingers of drowning women. Iris Potter tilted her head back and stared up at it, a grin spreading across her face that had no business being as wicked as it was.
"Fucking hell," she breathed. "This place is ridiculous."
The grand double doors had been carved with intricate vines and occult symbols that pulsed faintly under the torchlight, and Iris could feel the magic radiating off them like heat from a bonfire. Old magic. The kind that made her scar tingle and her fingers itch for her wand. But she wasn't here for magic tonight. She was here for something far more interesting.
Fun.
The word tasted like champagne on her tongue as she pushed through the doors, not bothering to wait for an invitation. The foyer opened up before her like a cathedral of debauchery, its marble floors gleaming under crystal chandeliers that had probably witnessed a thousand years of sins. Bodies pressed together in alcoves and against pillars, hands wandering, mouths meeting, laughter and moans weaving together into a symphony of excess.
Iris drank it in like she'd been dying of thirst.
Her dress was a scrap of emerald silk that barely covered her arse, held up by two thin straps that would snap if anyone so much as breathed on them too hard. No bra. No knickers. Just skin and silk and the promise of trouble. Her red hair spilled down her back in wild waves, and her green eyes glittered with the kind of chaotic energy that made sensible people cross to the other side of the street.
She loved it.
"Champagne?" A passing waiter offered her a flute of something that sparkled like liquid starlight.
Iris grabbed two. "You're a saint," she said, and downed the first one in three swallows. The bubbles burned her throat in the best way, and she grabbed a third before the waiter could escape.
This was what she'd been missing. Not the stiff formality of Ministry functions or the awkward hero worship of strangers who only saw the scar on her forehead. This was life. Messy and loud and absolutely unapologetic.
She wove through the crowd like a fish through water, her small stature letting her slip between bodies and around conversations without anyone really noticing. But she noticed everything. The couple in the corner who were definitely not just talking. The woman in the gold dress who was crying mascara tears while a man whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. The three men standing on the balcony above, watching the party like gods surveying their domain.
Iris looked up.
The one in the middle caught her eye first. Tall, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes that looked like they'd seen empires rise and fall and hadn't been impressed by any of it. He was holding a glass of what she assumed was whiskey, but something told her he wasn't drinking it for the taste. There was a predatory stillness to him, a coiled tension that made her think of wolves and hunting and the kind of danger that was worth running toward instead of away from.
The one on his left was all sharp angles and expensive tailoring, his posture so perfect it looked almost painful. Dark hair, dark eyes, a face that belonged on a Renaissance painting. He reminded her of a blade wrapped in velvet. Beautiful. Deadly. The kind of man who would apologize politely before he cut your throat.
But it was the third one who made her breath catch.
He was leaning against the balcony railing like he owned it, a lazy smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Dark hair, brown eyes that gleamed with something that looked a lot like mischief, and the kind of face that had probably talked its way out of a thousand executions. He was dressed in black, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that made Iris think about what those hands might feel like wrapped around her throat.
Fuck.
She raised her champagne flute in a mock toast, and the third one's smirk widened into something that was all teeth. She watched his lips move, forming words she couldn't hear from this distance, but she didn't need to hear them to understand the invitation.
Not yet.
Iris turned away, deliberately, and disappeared into the crowd. Let them watch. Let them wonder. She wasn't some acolyte to be summoned. She was Iris fucking Potter, and if they wanted her attention, they could come and get it.
---
Kol Mikaelson watched the tiny redhead vanish into the throng of bodies below, and felt something stir in his chest that he hadn't felt in decades.
"Did you see her?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the spot where she'd disappeared.
"The girl in the green dress?" Elijah's voice was measured, controlled, as always. "She's hard to miss."
"She's delicious," Klaus corrected, and there was something in his tone that made Kol's hackles rise. "Did you see the way she looked at us? No fear. No deference. Just... challenge."
Kol finally tore his gaze away from the crowd to look at his brother. Klaus's eyes had that gleam they got when he found something new to obsess over, and Kol knew that look all too well. It was the same look he'd worn a hundred times before, in a hundred different cities, over a hundred different conquests.
"She's mine," Kol said, and the words came out sharper than he intended.
Klaus raised an eyebrow. "Is she?"
"I saw her first."
"You saw her at the same time we did, brother." Elijah's tone was mild, but there was a warning underneath it. "Unless you've developed the ability to see through walls."
Kol ignored him. His attention was already back on the crowd, tracking the flash of red hair that moved through the party like a flame looking for something to burn. She was small—tiny, really—but there was nothing fragile about her. He could see it in the way she moved, the way she threw her head back and laughed at something someone said, the way she grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing tray like she was daring the universe to try and stop her.
She was chaos incarnate.
And Kol had always loved chaos.
"I'm going down there," he announced, pushing off the railing.
"Kol—" Elijah started, but Kol was already gone, moving through the crowd with the kind of predatory grace that came from a thousand years of hunting. He didn't need to look back to know that Klaus was following. His brother couldn't resist a challenge any more than Kol could.
The party swirled around him in a blur of color and sound, but Kol only had eyes for one person. He tracked her through the crowd, watching as she stopped to talk to a group of witches who were clearly trying to impress her with some kind of spell. She looked bored. Unimpressed. Like she'd seen better magic performed by toddlers.
His interest ratcheted up another notch.
She was standing by the bar when he finally caught up to her, her back to him as she ordered something that made the bartender's eyebrows shoot up. Kol slid into the space beside her, close enough that he could smell the jasmine and something else—something electric and wild that made his fangs ache.
"You know," he said, leaning against the bar like he'd been there all night, "most people come to Celeste's parties to be impressed. You look like you're about to start a revolution."
She turned to look at him, and up close, she was even more captivating. Her green eyes were the color of Avada Kedavra, bright and burning and utterly unrepentant. Freckles dusted her nose and cheeks like constellations, and her lips curved into a smile that was equal parts invitation and threat.
"Maybe I am," she said. "You volunteering to be my first recruit?"
Kol laughed, surprised. It had been a long time since anyone had surprised him. "Depends on what we're revolting against."
"Boredom. Mediocrity. The patriarchy." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Take your pick."
"The patriarchy sounds fun. I've been revolting against that for a thousand years."
Her eyebrows rose. "A thousand years? You don't look a day over two hundred."
"Vampire," he said, watching her reaction carefully. Some people flinched. Others ran. A few tried to stake him.
She just nodded, like he'd told her the weather. "Explains the smell."
"The smell?"
"Old power. Blood magic. And something else..." She leaned closer, inhaling deeply, and Kol felt his dead heart stutter in his chest. "Werewolf?"
Kol's smile sharpened. "You're full of surprises."
"I try." She held out her hand. "Iris."
He took it, and her skin was warm against his. Alive. Human? No, there was something else there, something he couldn't quite identify. Magic, definitely, but wilder than any he'd encountered before. Uncontrolled. Untamed.
"Kol," he said. "Kol Mikaelson."
Something flickered in her eyes at the name, but it wasn't fear. It was interest. Hunger.
"I've heard of you," she said.
"And what have you heard?"
"That you're the dangerous one. The wild one. The one who doesn't play by the rules."
Kol's smile widened. "And that doesn't scare you?"
"Should it?" She released his hand and picked up her glass, taking a sip of something amber and strong. "I've faced worse than a thousand-year-old vampire with a chip on his shoulder."
"Have you, now?"
"I killed a dark lord when I was seventeen. You're going to have to try harder than that to impress me."
Kol felt something shift in his chest. Something dangerous. Something that felt a lot like falling.
Klaus appeared at his elbow like a ghost, and Iris's gaze flickered to him, then to Elijah who had materialized on Kol's other side. The three of them together was enough to make most people run for the exits, but Iris just looked amused.
"The whole set," she said. "I'm honored."
"Iris," Klaus said, and the way he said her name made Kol want to punch him in his perfect face. "You're new."
"To New Orleans? Yes. To existing? Not so much."
"She's clever, too," Kol said, and there was a warning in his voice that Klaus ignored.
"Clearly." Klaus smiled, and it was the smile of a predator who'd found interesting prey. "What brings you to our city?"
"Curiosity. Adventure. The desire to see what all the fuss is about." Iris shrugged, and the movement made her dress slip dangerously low on her chest. "I've heard the supernatural nightlife here is unmatched."
"And are you a practitioner of the craft?" Elijah asked, his eyes sharp. "Or merely a tourist?"
"Both. Neither. It's complicated." Iris finished her drink and set the glass down with a decisive click. "But I'm not here to talk about me. I'm here to have fun."
"What's your idea of fun?" Kol asked, and he didn't bother to hide the innuendo in his voice.
Iris looked at him, really looked, and her smile was the kind that made men do stupid things. "Let me know when you figure it out."
She turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd like smoke.
Kol watched her go, and for the first time in centuries, he felt something he'd almost forgotten.
Anticipation.
---
Sabine watched the exchange from across the room, and the acid in her stomach burned hotter with every passing second.
She'd been Celeste's chosen for three years. Three years of learning every trick, every spell, every way to please and be pleased. Three years of knowing that when the Mikaelsons wanted company, they came to her. Not to anyone else. To her.
And now this little redheaded bitch had walked in like she owned the place, and suddenly Sabine was invisible.
No.
She wouldn't allow it. She'd worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to be discarded like yesterday's garbage. The Mikaelsons were hers. Their attention was hers. Their favor was hers.
And this interloper was going to learn what happened to girls who tried to take what belonged to her.
Sabine's eyes tracked Iris through the crowd, watching as she danced with abandon, as she laughed with people she didn't know, as she drew every eye in the room like a flame drawing moths. She was magnetic. Reckless. Alive in a way that made Sabine feel dead by comparison.
It was infuriating.
The vial was hidden in Sabine's dress, tucked into a secret pocket that had been sewn in for just such occasions. She'd stolen it from Celeste's private stores three months ago, waiting for a situation like this one. A situation that required... discretion.
The aphrodisiac was potent enough to make a nun abandon her vows. Ten times the normal dose was lethal to most humans. But Sabine didn't care about most humans. All she cared about was getting rid of the competition.
She waited until Iris was alone at the bar, ordering another drink, and slipped the contents of the vial into the fresh glass the bartender had just poured. The liquid shimmered faintly for a moment before settling, and Sabine smiled.
Then she went to find her brother.
---
Iris didn't notice anything unusual about the drink.
Why would she? The champagne tasted fine, crisp and cold and exactly what she'd ordered. She finished it in four swallows and set the glass down, swaying slightly to the music that pulsed through the mansion.
But then something changed.
The music seemed to get louder and softer at the same time, ebbing and flowing like waves. The lights seemed brighter, the colors more vivid, and the heat from all the bodies pressed together seemed to sink into her bones and pool somewhere low in her belly.
She blinked.
What the fuck?
The feeling spread, crawling through her veins like honey laced with fire. Her skin tingled. Her heart raced. And between her thighs, she could feel a familiar warmth building, unfamiliar in its intensity.
She looked down at her empty champagne flute, and a terrible suspicion crept into her mind.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
The bartender. The drink. She'd been drugged.
Her vision swam, the edges going a little soft, and she gripped the bar to steady herself. She needed to leave. She needed to get back to her hotel, figure out what was in her system, and--
"Hey there."
A voice in her ear. A hand on her arm. She turned, and there was a man she didn't recognize, with dark hair and dark eyes and a smile that was all teeth.
"Don't think I've seen you around before," he said, and his hand was moving up her arm, pulling her away from the bar. "I'm Alex."
Iris's brain was foggy, but not foggy enough to miss the way his friends were gathering behind him. Three of them, all with the same hungry look in their eyes. All with the same predatory stillness she'd recognized in the vampire named Kol.
"Not interested," she said, and was proud that her voice didn't shake.
"That's a shame." Alex's grip tightened. "Because I think you're exactly what I'm interested in."
His other hand came up, and Iris saw the syringe too late.
The world went black.
---
Kol saw her go down.
One minute she was there, standing at the bar with her red hair spilling over her shoulders like a sunset, and the next she was crumpling like a marionette with cut strings. A man caught her—one of Celeste's acolytes, some nobody with delusions of grandeur—and began dragging her toward the back of the mansion.
Kol was already moving.
He caught up to them in the hallway, and the sight that greeted him made his blood boil. The man had Iris propped up against the wall, her eyes half-closed, while two of his friends leered at her like she was a piece of meat.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?" Kol's voice was ice, and the shift in the air was immediate. The men turned, and he saw the recognition in their eyes.
"Kol," one of them stammered. "We didn't know she was yours."
"She's not yours either. Back off."
But then Kol noticed something. Iris's eyes had opened, and they were wrong. Her pupils were ringed with purple, the color of a deep bruise, and her breathing was short and fast. She looked feverish. Desperate.
"What did you give her?"
Alex—the man who'd caught her—had the decency to look afraid. "Just a little something to help her relax."
Kol grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the wall. Behind him, he heard Klaus and Elijah arrive, felt their presence like a shift in the air pressure.
"What did you give her?" Kol repeated, and his voice had gone full vampire, the growl underneath it rippling through the hallway like thunder.
"It was Sabine's idea!" Alex choked. "She gave it to us, said it would make her easy, said she'd be anyone's by the time we were done—"
Kol's vision went red. "Where is she? Where's Sabine?"
But Iris was moving now, pushing herself off the wall with a strength that surprised him. Her eyes were wild, her skin flushed, and she was looking at him like she was drowning.
"I need--" She grabbed his shirt, pulling him close. "I need something. I don't know what's happening to me."
The purple ring in her eyes had darkened. Whatever drug was in her system was working fast, and Kol could smell the magic on it, could feel it twisting through her blood like a poison.
Aphrodisiac. An extremely strong one.
"She needs to purge it," Elijah said, his voice tight. "She needs to sweat it out, use it up, or it will burn through her system and kill her."
Kol looked at Iris, at the way she was trembling, at the way her fingers were digging into his chest like she was holding on to him for dear life. Her pupils were so dark the purple was almost black.
"How long?" he demanded.
"Hours. The magic needs time to process through a human body." Elijah's jaw clenched. "The Red Room."
Kol didn't hesitate. He scooped Iris into his arms, ignoring her whimper of protest, and started toward the private wing of the mansion where the Mikaelsons had established their own space.
"Klaus," he said over his shoulder. "Find Sabine. Find everyone who touched her."
"And then?"
Kol's smile was sharp enough to cut glass.
"Make them regret they ever looked at what's mine."