A/N: Ahhhhhhh, I love all of you! Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following this story! You guys are the most gourmet kind of awesome sauce there is. Seriously, go find all the cookies in your house and eat them, because you deserve that sugary goodness.

I both had fun and struggled to write this chapter. I struggled to write the sexual scenes with Ella, since it hurt me to hurt her, but I loved writing the interactions between Kol and Claire. Claire will have her first perspective next chapter.

Warning: Abuse of a sexual nature in the first section with Ella and her client.

Please read, review, and enjoy! Thank you so much! :D Oh, and I apologize for yet again potentially butchering the alluring French language.

Chapter 2: Dear Sister

Ella's Perspective

My heart thundered like a wild stallion in my chest as the man led me to his dwelling, a house fancier and more opulent than I'd ever before seen. It made sense; he had one of the poshest voices I'd ever heard. "Come along, whore," he said, leering over his shoulder at me as if I were nothing more than a slab of raw meat. "My wife isn't home."

I fought the tempting urge to roll my eyes. Of course he had a wife; most of my clients did. They looked down at me from their lofty throne, spitting at my feet, yet most of them were scoundrels and cheats. But, since it was still my living, I plastered on a sultry smile and purred, "What a naughty boy."

He led me shamelessly through the back entrance of his mansion, and bile rose into my throat at the cabinets lined with pictures of his wife, sons, and daughters. And I was the scum of the earth, the dirt beneath a higher class man's shoe. As I was busy scrutinizing the photographs, the man's hand landed sharply onto my backside, and I yelped, before covering up my negative reaction with a well-practiced smirk. "Ah, perhaps I am the naughty one, non?"

There was something truly sinister about his answering grin. "Mmm, that you are." So, he would be that kind of client. Very well, I'd handled similar cases with enough class and dignity to receive a full paycheck with generous tips. "Go find my bedroom, sweets, and wait for me. I expect your clothes to be off." With another equally painful smack on the behind, he propelled me toward the grand spiral staircase, and I obeyed his clear instructions.

On the way to the master bedroom, I peeked into what had to be one of his daughters' rooms, and grimaced at the sight of frilly dolls and other childish playthings. She was a little girl, and had no idea about the knife her father was twisting into her back. It was disgusting, and unable to think about it any longer, I shut the door with a soft click, and continued on my quest.

The master bedroom was grand and stately, and I felt supremely out of place in it. There was a luxurious canopy bed and smooth, oak furniture, along with a heinous amount of knick knacks.

Ignoring the ring of fear that it brought every time, I shimmied out of my dress and undergarments, allowing them to pool at my ankles. Kicking off my shoes, I climbed onto the magnificent, mahogany blankets of his bed, and waited on baited breath for him to arrive. It'll be over soon, and then you can go back to Claire.

My heart all but stopped in my chest when he entered the room, armed with chains, a gag, and a whip of sorts. "Merde," I breathed. *Shit.*

"On all fours, and turn around, slut," the man ordered, and reluctantly, I positioned myself onto my hands and knees, my bare ass on prominent display for him. I hated how incredibly vulnerable I felt, for good reason.

The first lash that connected with my backside cracked through the room, then left a trail of fire in its wake. With much difficulty, I forced a whimper back down my throat. Be still, be quiet, and it'll be over soon. Two, three, four, five . . . each leaving an angry red mark that I'd likely carry for weeks. Be strong.

He then focused the whip on my tender thighs, and I couldn't help but cry out a few times. "That's it, tramp, just like that," the man groaned, and the sound of him pleasuring himself was almost as loud as the whip itself.

"Oui, monsieur," I hissed through ground teeth, reverting back to my native tongue in times of turmoil. The man then focused his attention elsewhere, snapping the whip onto my back, my shoulders, my stomach, even my breasts. He was a sadist, plain and simple. This is for your petite soeur, this is for your sister . . .

Blood was trickling down my body along with silent tears down my face when he flipped me over, making quick work in chaining my hands to the sleek, wooden head of the bed, and splaying my legs apart, restraining each ankle to an opposite bedpost. I bit down on my lip as hard as I could to keep from bursting into noisy sobs.

It made no difference, in the end, since he stuffed the gag into my mouth. I choked on the foul, rancid fabric that must've been used on dozens of other prostitutes. I wondered if I knew any of them.

Once his clothes were removed, he did not wait another second before violently fondling my exposed chest, then shoving himself within me. I coughed and whimpered against the gag as he ravaged my aching body. During the agonizing intercourse, he periodically slapped me across the face, as to increase his deranged sexual pleasure. It took all my willpower not to break into two.

When he pulled out and finished on the bedsheets, we did not talk. After he unchained me, I pulled on my dress over the welts and slashes he inflicted upon me, brushing away the last of my tears. Quietly, without any fuss, he handed me my paycheck, and it was a considerable amount more than I expected.

It was worth it. It had to be. Everything was for her, for Claire. I had to ensure she survived, I had to, because I loved her more than life itself. Even if I allowed life to rip me to shreds in her name.

I left through the backdoor, and that was that.


Kol's Perspective

The damn witch was thirty minutes late to their lunch meeting, and Kol was growing impatient. Her so-called dark object was becoming less and less appealing, considering he could easily acquire something superior.

Sure, he'd shagged her a few times, and she was an acceptable lay, but her presence was irritating and her use dwindling. Perhaps he would drain her instead, so he could have a halfway decent day.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Mikaelson," the petite brunette squeaked, a healthy amount of cleavage bouncing around as she hurried to his table. Her blue eyes were wide with contrition and lust, and Kol found himself contemplating that her eyes were nowhere near as azure as the red-haired singer from the night before. Not that he was thinking about her, or anything of the sort; it was merely a passing observation.

"You're late," Kol said coldly, downing the last of his bourbon, relishing in the burn that trailed fire down his throat. "I'm a very busy man, Miss Lisa Blake. I do not like to be kept waiting. Now, before you waste any more of my time, show me the bloody artifact."

Her features twisting with obvious hurt that didn't affect him in the slightest, she pulled out the aforementioned object from her purse to put on display, and he rolled his eyes to the filthy pub ceiling. The pesky little witch brought him in for this? He could find a worthier magical item on the suspicious stand on the nearest street corner selling spices and disguised opium. "Unfortunately, darling, that isn't enough for me." Her lower lip began to wobble. "But you can be of some use to me."

Her smile brightened hopefully. "Oh yes, anything -"

Kol didn't let her finish before he lunged over the table and sank his elongated fangs into her jugular. Her startled shrieks amused him as the heavenly liquid gushed down his throat. He was none too gentle about it, either.

Before too long, her heartbeat ceased and her body slumped against the table, where he decided to leave her. Luckily for him, there were only other a few patrons and the bartender, who all gawked at him. Now, Elijah would scold him to simply compel them and move on his merry way, but Kol wasn't that type of vampire.

After slaughtering them all, and disposing of their mutilated corpses in the cellar, he strolled down the sidewalk, much happier than before. He garnered a few odd looks for the few droplets of blood that had dripped down his chin onto his dress shirt, but he hardly stopped to answer questions, and he wiped most of it away anyway.

Kol wasn't paying any particular attention to where he was headed, since his schedule for the rest of the day was abruptly cleared, as his witchy client was now rotting near vintage bottles of brew. Oh, well. Things happened, and he had to roll with the punches.

Kol frowned to himself when he realized where he ended up. The old, abandoned church from the day before. Why the bloody hell was he here, of all places, in the armpit of civilization? . . . Damn it to hell, he picked up that phrase from Elijah.

Well, he reasoned, he might as well find out if the red-haired girl was in there or not, since he'd come all this way. Straining his ears, he did not hear any suggestion of music being played inside, so he turned to go, when -

Children. Children? He loathed children, abhorred their very existence. But a high-pitched cry for help rang from the church, and it sounded eerily similar to the miniature human who'd been accompanying the red-haired girl on piano.

I should leave. There was nothing interesting in there for him. But then again, he had nothing better to do. And the miniature human had been a talented little pianist with boundless potential in the art, if guided more properly. Since theoretically the two girls did Kol a favor with their music, he supposed he might as well find out what all the commotion was about.

Since nobody owned the church, it was all too easy to barge through the front doors; he adored his dramatic entrances. But much to his disdain, none of the children even noticed him. Puny peasants. It was a strange sight. A horde of five to ten young boys, ages Kol could not decipher nor give a single fuck about, surrounded the miniature human from the night before. She cowered beneath them, and Kol simply watched, curious to see what would occur.

"Leave me alone," the miniature human whispered, her head snapping this way and that as she tried to focus on where the imminent threat was through sound alone.

"I knew somethin' was hidin' in here!" one of the gremlins shouted, triumphant, landing a hard kick on the blind human's ribcage. She released a sharp cry of pain. Kol frowned again. This was hardly a fair fight. "You said it was a ghost, Johnny, but it's just some stupid little kid."

"Maybe she is a ghost," another of them reasoned. "All I hear all goddamn day is some piano shite. Maybe she's hauntin' the place." Oh, please. Reasonably pleasant music did not constitute "haunting." Kol was an expert in the field of haunting; he could show them a trick or two.

"Or a ghoul!" a bigger boy chimed in, thumbing the straps of his overalls. "Look at her eyes. She's a freak. We oughta teach her a lesson, drive the freak outta the neighborhood. We'd be heroes!" In correspondence to his words, he grabbed her by the scruff of her ill-fitted raggedy dress, and tossed her into the aisle, where she landed with a hard thud.

Tears silently streamed down her cheeks, and she yelled, "I've done nothing to you!"

Something dark and feral stirred inside of Kol, as if he wanted to protect the miniature human. There was something about her innocent little face that reminded him of his long dead baby brother, Henrik, whom he protected from any and all threats. But not the wolves. Not the damn wolves.

And here, the boys circled her like a pack of wild wolves. One picked up a stick, and waved it around as if it were some sort of trophy. "Look-y here, it's her seein' eye stick!" In one swift movement, he swung it against her chin, and blood spurted from a gash in her soft pink lips. He then taunted, "Didn't see that, didya?" After that, he snapped it over his knee, and tossed the splintered pieces aside, rendering it useless.

The boys swarmed in on her, punching, kicking, hair-pulling, scratching, spitting . . . And yet, the miniature human fought back. She held up tightly coiled fists and attacked in the direction she assumed the assaults were coming from, her face screwed up in the utmost concentration. She wound up mostly hitting empty air, but damn if that little thing didn't try.

Kol decided to put an end to the whole affair, which worked famously when he reached for the oldest boy, a gangly teenager, and launched him into the air to crash straight through the front doors into the filth outside. The impact was enough to potentially kill him. "You lot like picking on people smaller and weaker than you?" he bellowed, allowing black veins to grow beneath his eyes and for his fangs to sharpen, igniting expressions of sheer terror. "Spoiler alert: so do I."

It was a brief spot of fun to chase the little goblins in every imaginable direction, offering threats of murder and dismemberment. Once the last boy fled the premises, he felt a tugging on his pants, and looked down to see the miniature human standing right beside him, unseeing eyes still swimming with tears. "Merci, monsieur, merci," she murmured, throwing her arms around his waist. *Thank you, sir, thank you.*

Kol's arms shot straight in the air as the miniature human actually hugged him. "De rien," he muttered, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. *It's nothing.* What was he supposed to do, pry her off like one might a leech? It wasn't as simple as the medieval practice of bloodletting.

"Je m'appelle Claire," she mumbled into his shirt. *My name is Claire.* Perhaps she slipped into her native tongue in stressful and traumatizing situations. It made sense. When Kol ever became upset, he often found himself cursing in Old Norse. It displayed her innocence and naïveté, though, that she outright assumed he could understand French. "Et vous, monsieur?"

Since he had utterly no idea what to do with his hands, he ended up resting one on the miniature human's head - but only because it was convenient, bloody wankers, no reading into it. "Kol. Je m'appelle Kol." *My name is Kol.*

Finally, she pulled away, and he suppressed a sigh of pure relief. Murdering people, that was swell. Burning houses down? Sure, sounded like a party. Getting so gloriously hammered that he stripped off his clothes and streaked through the Colosseum? Any other Tuesday. But an affectionate child? No, non, nein. That was where Kol drew the damn line.

It was a bizarre experience to converse with her, since she didn't bother looking up at him, her milky eyes staring into nothingness straight ahead. Instead, she tilted her ears toward him. "Merci beaucoup de me sauver." *Thank you very much for saving me.*

Kol wasn't used to being thanked for anything. Mostly because, well, he never did anything nice. He hadn't an ounce of humanity left in him. Without thinking, he blurted out, "Er, yes, that's nice and all, but for the sake of my reputation, if this isn't kept between us, I will demolish all of London. Anyway, how's that sister of yours?"

The child's brow creased, and in a show of impressive intuition for one so young, she said slowly and carefully, "Monsieur, I never said I had a sister."

Oh, fuck me over sideways. No shit, Kol, step up your game. "Yes, well . . ." For once, he chose the truthful route. "I heard your sister singing last night as you accompanied her on piano."

Her previously suspicious expression cleared up. "Je vais maintenant, Monsieur Kol." *I see now, Mr. Kol.* Then she giggled at herself, surprisingly him slightly. "Non, je ne vais pas. Mauvais choix de mots." *No, I don't see. Bad choice of words.*

Kol found himself chuckling at her quick-witted afterthought, much to his horror and disgust. Thus, he had to remove himself from the situation promptly. "Well, it was lovely meeting you and all, mademoiselle, but I must go . . . anywhere else." Now, that his job was complete, his conscious was light and airy as he strutted for the exit.

A tiny, timid little voice carried after him. "Monsieur?" He paused, after a moment's consideration. No, dammit, keep going. "I do not mean to bother you, monsieur, but les garçons threw my food into the mud and broke my walking stick. Ma grande soeur is working, and I do not know what to do."

Leave, Kol, leave her in the dust and massacre someone. "I'm hungry, monsieur," the child whispered, as if ashamed of her body's needs.

Aw, hell. "Fine," he bit, going back over to her with a scowl on his face that she wouldn't be able to see anyway. "I'm going to pick you up, so don't scream and cause a fuss." She stayed perfectly quiet as he placed each hand on her waist and hauled her up, balancing her on his right hip. Then, she just had to circle her little arms around his neck, and lay her head on his shoulder. Goddammit.

Kol wouldn't have picked her up in a million years if she could walk quickly on her own, but alas, those little gnomes ruined her walking stick. "Repeat anything of this," he exited the church with her securely in his hold, "and you are dead to me."

"Anything."

"Shut up."

"D'accord, Monsieur Kol." *Okay, Mr. Kol.*

"Do not call me Monsieur Kol, dammit, it's annoying."

"But that's your name. . . ."

"Shut up before I drown you in the gutter."

"D'accord, Monsieur Kol."

"I will destroy you."

"D'accord, Monsieur Kol."

"I will tear you limb from limb until there is nothing left of you."

". . . D'accord, Monsieur Kol."

"Dammit!"


Ella's Perspective

I'd been wandering the streets, and garnering judgmental looks from both women and men alike, as the dirty whore whose pimp or client roughed her up. But at this point, I simply couldn't care anymore. It wasn't as if I was so presumptuous as to say they were wrong.

I performed a double take when I saw a tall, brown-haired man carrying a little girl who looked suspiciously like my petite soeur. Putain de merde - she was! Ignoring any and all other pedestrians, I sprinted over to the other side of the road, and without an ounce of contemplation, leapt straight onto his back.

I dug my long fingernails into his neck and pushed in until blood bubbled to the surface. "Let go of ma petite soeur!" The man's hard muscles rippled against my front and he had the damn nerve to laugh.

After setting my little sister down on her feet, he clasped his hands back onto my thighs and pinned them to his hips. "Aren't you forward?" he simpered, as my petite soeur giggled at the sounds of it all. His grip was like iron, and as he turned his angular face to the side, I realized with a start that he was the man watching me from the night before. Qu'est que c'est? *What is this?*

After struggling hard enough to inconvenience him, he allowed me to slither down from his back, and hoisted me in front of him, keeping his hands firmly attached to my waist. His smile was downright devilish. "Hello, darling."

I ground my teeth together, and if it was possible, he grinned even wider. "What are you doing with my little sister?" I demanded with a clenched jaw. "Monsieur, I swear to everything holy, if you kidnapped her, then je te tuerai, morceau de merde!" *I will kill you, you piece of shit!*

He barked out a pleased laugh, and blood rushed to my cheeks. "He saved me, Ella," my sister explained, and I quickly deflated. "From horrible boys who found me in the church. Monsieur Kol is kind."

The man's eyes bugged out at the mention of "kind," as if he were distinctly aware that nobody had ever called him that before. Then, his lips twisted into a sort of grimace, as if that bothered him. But that wasn't what was on my mind.

Shaking free of Kol's clutch, I knelt down in front of Claire, and placed feather-light touches of pressure on each shoulder so she knew I was there. Now that I looked more closely, there were bloody marks on her face. "What do you mean des garçons found you in the church?" When she explained it to me in her childish way as Monsieur Kol waited impatiently by my side, I grew progressively angrier and angrier. I spat, envisioning my hands wringing out their little pathetic necks, "Je vais brûler l'église vers le bas avec ces fils de salopes à l'intérieur!" *I'm going to burn the church down with those sons of bitches inside!*

"That seems a touch blasphemous, but I do love to set things on fire," Monsieur Kol hummed from above me. What a goddamn bastard he was, mocking my absolutely reasonable display of outrage!

"Ta gueule, connard," I snapped at him before I had the chance to think it through. Claire's delicate, almost white eyebrows mingled with her hairline and I fought back a cringe as Monsieur Kol clearly worked on translating the term in his mind.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I saw the comprehension and then a curious combination of mirth and annoyance bring light to his chocolate brown eyes, preparing for him to strike me across the face. I flinched as a hand brushed against my cheek, then found myself almost leaning into the touch; the last man to touch me so gently was my late papa, and he'd died more than six years before.

"Do you think I am going to hit you, darling?" His lips trailed against my jaw as he moved forward to whisper into my ear. "It appears -" with the tips of his fingers, he caressed a developing bruise on my cheekbone, ever so lightly - "that somebody already has."

My eyes fluttered open and I ducked my head away in shame, crossing my arms as a shield of sorts. But that was a mistake, for his eyes wandered to my shoulder, where the strap of my dress had lowered, and on full display was an violently red welt. Defensively, I tucked the fabric back into place, and his eyes met mine, his expression unreadable.


Kol's Perspective

Kol had been amused when the red-haired little minx jumped onto his back, as if she could stand a chance in a fight with the most violent creature in all of history. Her barely contained rage toward the boys who attacked her sister had amused him even more. When she told him to fuck off and called him an asshole, that had amused him the most.

Kol was not amused when he saw the welts on her shoulder. It looked as if somebody attempted to whip the skin off her, and he found himself wondering where else the perpetrator hurt her. Enough, Kol, you've killed hundreds of thousands of people, who cares about a bruise or a scrape or two?

But yet . . . "Who did this?" he murmured, and she gnawed on her visibly swollen lips. The miniature human stumbled on her own feet as she endeavored to stay away from the current of pedestrians, so Kol found himself placing a lazy hand on her head to balance her for a moment. Surprisingly, she hadn't been bad company. In fact, the little thing entertained him with her dry humor and sharp intuition.

Kol had enjoyed the short amount of time he spent in the little girl's company more than he'd enjoyed anybody else's for years - decades, even, if he felt like being honest. It disgusted him. He'd met his fair share of perky witches over the years, but he'd grown bored of each of them before the week's end. He hadn't grown bored of the miniature human, unfortunately.

The miniature human - Claire, Kol remembered - reached over and slipped her delicate fingers into his much larger hand and he jumped as if a bolt of lightning struck the earth not a meter away. She liked him. It was no surprise that Kol attracted women like flies to honey, considering he was woefully attractive, but she couldn't even see him. It had to be his irresistible charisma.

She had called him kind. Obviously, she either had no clue what the word meant, or no man had hardly ever been kind to her and thus she had nothing to compare to. Nobody had ever called him kind, because he wasn't kind. Yet, somehow, it endeared Kol to her. Nobody ever seemed to truly appreciate his company if he wasn't driving them to ecstasy in bed - at the very least, not his own family, as they always left him out. Perhaps it was not horrendously awful to feel appreciated, even if it was by a miniature human.

So, sue him, but he let her hold his hand. He was fully prepared to slaughter any and all unwanted witnesses.

The red-haired girl, Ella, had not answered yet, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt. He wanted to hear her sing again. He wanted her voice to tear through his blackened heart once more, so he could feel something again. And no, Kol would never admit this to anybody for as long as he lived, and if anybody found out, they would meet a brutal and sticky end.

"It does not matter, monsieur," she finally whispered, and Kol abruptly realized two things. One, it did matter to him, for whatever pathetic reason, and two, she did not respect nor care about herself enough to stop the abuse. Her vibrant, revealing blue eyes flickered down to the little girl beside him, and he discovered the truth. Whatever was happening to her, whatever pain she was choosing to endure, she was doing it for her.

That was what a family was supposed to look like, Kol decided.

A/N: Imagining Kol with his own little family emits ungodly, fangirl-esque shrieks from me. I can't handle my own feels. Anyway, what did you lovely people think about this chapter? How will their interactions continue, and what will inevitably bring them closer together? Stay tuned! :D