This is my first Kennett story. As always, reviews are appreciated. There will be smut in chapters two and three: just a warning. Hope you enjoy!

I do not own anything related to TVD. Unfortunately.

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Bonnie was having a terrible day. Her history professor sent her to the principal's office because she had humiliated him in front of the entire class (it wasn't her fault she was smarter than he was!), she was torn between a bickering Elena and Caroline, she'd gotten a C on a last-minute research paper, and she had spilled coffee on the front of her leather jacket.

Driving home, she huffed when a rock flew up and cracked her windshield.

Getting out of her car in her driveway, she screamed in frustration when the heel on one of her ankle boots snapped. Those were brand new!

You can only imagine her displeasure when she spotted a certain snarky Original standing on her front porch.

Apparently her day could indeed get worse.

Pulling off her heels and grabbing her backpack out of the backseat of her little Prius, she marched barefoot up the front steps, refusing to look at him as she made a beeline for the door.

"What do you want, Kol?" she asked bluntly, fumbling with her keys. "I am not in the mood for whatever obnoxious comments you might have."

"Bad day?" he drawled, a lazy smile forming on his face.

"Yes, and if you so much as look at me the wrong way I will give you the mother of all headaches." She jammed her key into the lock and twisted with more force than was necessary.

"Ouch," he winced. "No need to be so prickly, little witch. I'm only here to talk."

"Talk?" she asked suspiciously, hovering in the doorway to her home. On second thought, she stepped inside to safety – just in case he was planning something horrible. She wouldn't put it past him. The second-youngest Original sibling was notoriously volatile and vicious, mysterious and unpredictable. Even Klaus was wary of him, and anyone that made Klaus nervous was not someone to be trifled with. "What could we possibly have to talk about?"

He tilted his head, considering her. She resisted the urge to squirm under his dark gaze. She was surprised when he didn't ask to be invited in; then again, he probably knew she would refuse.

"Silas."

She sucked in a breath. She really didn't want to talk about Silas.

Pursing her lips, she took a moment to observe him as he observed her in turn. His eyes were so dark brown as to almost be black, and though he appeared outwardly calm his dark orbs glittered with something…she couldn't quite put a finger on it; perhaps mischievousness, but something much more sinister that had her back up. His wide shoulders were relaxed, his hands were in the pockets of his dark blue jeans, and his head remained tilted, watching her. His expression was unreadable. He was quite dashing, she admitted to herself grudgingly; he had a handsome face, thick unruly hair and was obviously very fit – if the muscles bunched below the sleeve of his short-sleeved t-shirt were anything to go by. She noticed that he was significantly tanner than the rest of his siblings, and for some reason her gaze was drawn to the slightly paler smooth skin of the inside of his forearms, the tensing of the muscles and veins there the only sign of his anxiety.

She decided she liked his arms and the turn of his wrists, dusted in sun-bleached golden hair, and knew that the hands in his pockets were probably strong and wide-palmed. She had a weird thing for hands; nice hands were sexy on a man. They could also tell you a lot about a person: were they a nail-biter? Did they have calluses from working outside or playing the guitar? Were they the smooth manicured hands of a pampered individual?

She schooled her face into a neutral expression (little did she know that her face was an open book to him; unbeknown to her she was terrible at concealing her true feelings). "What about Silas?" she asked dubiously. She had to admit she was a little bit curious about what he'd have to say concerning the ancient immortal she intended to raise from the dead. Nothing could change her mind, of course. But inquiring minds did like to know…

He smirked. "You haven't really done your research, have you, little witch?"

The pet name irritated her. Her jaw clenched. "Shane has told me everything I need to know."

"Your beloved Professor Shane in hopelessly deluded," he scoffed. "And I figured you were the type that would do your own digging."

"I trust Shane."

He shook his head irately. For some reason his disappointment made her feel smaller, shallower. Why did she care what he thought? She refused to let him make her feel like a silly, stupid little girl.

"You know, Miss Bennett, I spent much of my immortal life here on earth in the company of witches." Her eyebrows shot up with skepticism. "Don't look so surprised. I provided them with my protection – and the protection of my entire bloodline – in exchange for full access to their witchy little powers," he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets to gesture at her. She'd been right about his hands – they were beautiful.

She decided she liked his hands. She wondered what they would feel like…

No! Absolutely not!

"I find it hard to believe that Kol Mikaelson, almighty powerful Original and sadistic vampire extraordinaire, would stoop to running with witches," she said haughtily. "And there's no chance in hell they would allow you to use them in that way."

He seemed pleased at her description of him. "I used them, and they used me," he replied nonchalantly. "That's how the world works, darling. Having an Original on their side meant that no other vampire could harm them; my protection made them untouchable. And witches make powerful allies. They are not to be underestimated; the other members of my family, Elijah perhaps the exception, have never realized this. But even Elijah looks upon them as tools to be used at his disposal."

"And you don't?" she asked incredulously, rolling her eyes. "I suppose you ask them politely for their help and friendship?" Her words were laced heavily with sarcasm.

His eyebrows rose and he smiled. "Precisely." She scoffed. "We hardly make each other friendship bracelets and sing songs around a campfire, but there were a handful of select extraordinary witches that I can honestly claim to have enjoyed sharing company with. Contrary to what you might think, I hold witches in very high esteem. I would be a fool to think otherwise," he said slyly.

The appraising sweep of his eyes down her figure and back up made her shudder. His gaze was suddenly hot when his eyes met hers, but it was gone as soon as it appeared, his eyes once again turning to cool, sparkling obsidian. She thought, for a moment, that she could detect a hint of softness among the cruelty in his smoldering gaze, but she couldn't make sense of it and chose not to look too hard in case she were to get lost in his hypnotizing stare.

She decided she liked his eyes. They intrigued her, appealed to the inquisitive side of her mind. She wanted to reach through them and yank at his soul until she had thoroughly dissected it and it lay eviscerated and bare to her gaze.

He fascinated her.

"China, Aboriginal Australia, Africa, Haiti, New Orleans – all of these covens were so very different. However, all of the witches I met had one thing in common," he continued. "They always maintained a healthy skepticism. Trust does not come easily, or even naturally, to witches. I'm willing to bet you are no exception, considering the angry glare you've seen fit to grace me with since I've been here." That teasing light came back into his eyes again, his voice holding a gentle jest.

She decided she liked the lilt of his voice: a rich cadence not specific to any place she could put her finger on. It added to the powerful, mysterious aura that surrounded him.

"I'm suspicious of vampires in general," she countered, sniffing in disdain. "Especially unpredictable, infamously malicious vampires with a nasty temper and a lust for violence and blood that rivals that of anyone else I've ever heard of."

The wicked grin that flashed across his face made her heartbeat quicken. An unfamiliar feeling settled low in her stomach.

Desire.

"Ah…my reputation precedes me," he said, his tone almost gleeful. He waved it away. "Regardless of your distrust – and obvious dislike, though I'm certain I could change your mind if you let me in," he growled, his eyes taking on a feral gleam as they once again shamelessly perused her form – the sudden heat between them had her flushing, " – of me, it seems imprudent of you to trust someone so easily simply because they aren't a vampire."

"Shane is a good man."

He snorted. "You seem to be under the impression that 'good' is synonymous with 'human.' You are mistaken – human beings are capable of the same monstrosities that vampires are. And they can't even claim the excuse that we can: we are naturally monsters to begin with. Our abhorrent behavior is to be expected. Humans have no good explanation for such behavior."

She decided she liked his logic, though she would never admit that to him, or to anyone, for that matter. He had a sound mind and appealed to her rational side, and she could respect that. It was a rare occurrence to find a person that she could connect with intellectually – even her friends were unable to rise to her level. It was incredibly frustrating at times, and it made her feel alone more often than not. The fact that she felt a sense of camaraderie with the ancient vampire before her disturbed her; maybe she was lonelier than she first thought. She would have to work on that.

She frowned at him, remaining silent. She really didn't have anything to say in response – he was right on all counts. Perhaps she too easily trusted humans and dismissed their atrocities more readily than she would those of a vampire.

She knew he could sense his triumph, but neglected to gloat, which made her feel a little bit better about it. The last thing she needed right now was an overly proud vampire crowing about his victory on her porch. She got the sense that he knew it would sting her pride and put her guard back up, so he was resisting the urge to shove it in her face.

"I brought something for you to take a look at." He moved to grab something that rested on the porch rail; she hadn't noticed it before. To her great surprise, it was a grimoire. A very old grimoire, if she were to take a guess.

"Where did you get that?" she asked accusingly, her voice harsh. What witch had he killed to acquire such an ancient text?

He chuckled. "So little faith in me, Miss Bennett," he said amusedly. "I didn't steal it. It belonged to a witch I was…familiar…with in Italy during the Renaissance." The way the word familiar rolled off his tongue and the smirk and raised eyebrows that accompanied it made it apparent that they'd been more than familiar.

She shuddered. What kind of witch would let this creature touch her?

Then again, looking at him, she realized it was not so far fetched. He was simply gorgeous, with his face and body and hair and skin and his beautiful hands.

She decided she liked the cleft in his chin. She longed to dip her thumb into it.

"How did you come to own it?" she asked suspiciously. She still wasn't sure he wasn't lying. No witch just gave her grimoire to a vampire willingly. It was unheard of.

"She gave it to me," he said matter-of-factly, shrugging.

Bonnie snorted. As if. "Right. And why on earth would she do that?" Her voice was rife with skepticism.

He stared her in the eye, his face smooth and unreadable. "Because it once belonged to my mother."

She inhaled sharply. "Oh."

Really? Oh? That's all she could come up with? Come on. She was better than this.

"Yes, 'oh,'" he replied, amused with her wide-eyed expression and lack of intelligent speech. "I let her keep it until her natural death in 1542 at the ripe old age of eighty-four. She left it to me before she passed."

"Huh," she replied.

"You doubt me?"

"No," she said, caught off guard by the revelation. "I just find your apparent relationship with witches fascinating. I've never heard of witches working so diligently with vampires before."

Kol smiled, pleased with the statement. "Before I was daggered in 1912 I was famous for it. No one messed with covens and witches under my protection. Unfortunately many of those relationships faded with my absence; I have already started to rekindle them since my return," he said sincerely. "Starting, I hope, with you."

He offered her the old grimoire; after a quick hesitation she took it, cradling it gently in her hands. She looked down at it in wonder, trailing her fingers across the pages in a loving caress. She could feel the power humming against her palm. A thousand years of memories and the imprint of hundreds of witches at her fingertips.

"Why give this to me?" she inquired quietly, confusedly. "You don't even know me."

"Oh, I eventually plan on changing that," he said darkly, the tone of his voice effectively making her knees go weak. He continued, "You're a very powerful witch, Miss Bennett. I've become attuned to that sort of power over the years; looked for it, even. I could feel it radiating off of you from a hundred feet away. I could use an ally like you by my side in the coming years. In turn, I can offer you things."

"What kinds of things?" she asked warily; however, she could not keep the curiosity out of her voice. It would be nice to have something in return for her powers; she'd never gotten so much as a "thank you" from her friends, even when she had put her life on the line for them. Even when Grams had died for them. The idea of protection and some sort of compensation for her services appealed to her.

"Protection, to start with," he began casually, "against vampires, werewolves, humans, and other witches. I have the ability to keep you, and any family you might have, safe; I could ensure that generations of your family line will remain unharmed. Secondly, access to countless grimoires I've collected over the years – most were obtained through perfectly honorable means, I promise – and the spells that they contain. Contacts: I know by now you must desperately long for witch company, and it seems there is none to be found in Mystic Falls. I can introduce you to others of your kind, witches you can learn from. And witches who can extend your life," he finished, tilting his head.

"Extend my life?" she asked unbelievingly.

"Indeed," he replied, smirking. "I knew a witch once that died when she was two-hundred and three years old. That was an extreme case, of course; but I could guarantee you'd live well into your hundreds. You'd spend years looking young and just as stunningly beautiful as you are now," he said with a grin.

She tried to ignore the compliment, but it made butterflies flutter in her stomach. She narrowed her eyes, squinting at him, searching for any hint of malice and ill intention in his face. When she found none, she did something she'd never thought she'd do in a thousand years.

"Would you like to come inside?"