What Lies Within

by Theemeadelis

The Demons The Lie Within Us - Part 2 This is the sequal to my first piece - The Evil Within. Id advise reasing that first if you havent already, else a lot of this won't make sense :-)

11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11.

1.

A deep weariness began to settle over Hayley as she entered into the Mikaelson Compound's courtyard from the deserted street outside. The hybrid sluggishly rolled her head and neck back and forth in an attempt to ease the tension that had built up in the muscles found there over the past forty-eight hours, as both stress and lack of sleep waged war on her body.

Candle light flickered throughout the large open space of the ground floor, it's soft comforting glow usually serving as a welcome embrace whenever she returned from her daily activities out in the city of New Orleans. Yet on this evening, as the hybrid began to follow the sound of familiar voices up the grand staircase and down the hall into the family's main living-room, the dancing naked flames only seemed to aggravate the tension currently grating along her nerves – the amber flickers of vigour and vitality a stark contrast to the mood of those currently residing in the home.

She finally came to a halt in the open entranceway to the furnished room, arms folding across her chest as she wearily leant against the doorframe to observe the scene unfolding within.

Sat cross-legged upon one of the Mikaelson's many antique couches was her daughter Hope - the young girl's eyes closed in concentration as the repetitive words of an enchantment quietly left her mouth. One of the young witch's arms was outstretched, a small pendant clasped in her hand as it dangled freely over a large map of New Orleans that had been laid out over the coffee table in front of the couch. Hope's other hand was clasped gently between both of Keelin's who sat next to the youngster on the cushioned furniture - the wolf's gaze fixed intently upon the piece of jewellery as it swayed gently back and forth suspended in the air.

A quick flick of Hayley's eyes across the room marked the presence of both Klaus and Elijah, as the brothers stood leaning against the mantelpiece of the room's large fireplace – each keenly watching Hope as she performed her spell. Behind the duo, large majestic flames leaped and danced their way up into the chimney as thick logs of wood crackled and burnt, providing the living-room with a comfortably warm atmosphere despite the cold temperatures of the storm that continued to rage outside.

Klaus's gaze momentarily strayed from his daughter, a brief inclination of his head acknowledging Hayley's arrival before the hybrid's attention returned to Hope. Elijah on the other-hand did not so much as glance in her direction, as the vampire stood twirling an expensive looking cufflink on his pressed shirt's sleeve. Hayley noted the concern that sat heavily upon her ex-lovers face, creasing his brow as he continued to watch his niece as she scryed - no doubt for his eldest sister's whereabouts.

iConcern that had unlimitedly set up home on all of their features over the past couple of days, squatting alongside its common companions; worry and unease. /i

Two days.

It had now been two full days since Freya had been violently abducted by a motorbike riding trio whom had attacked both the witch and Keelin on Bourbon St, and they were all still no closer to discovering where the witch had been taken, or who was responsible for her kidnapping.

The family had all reconvened at the Compound on the previous evening to update each other on the progress that had been made during the first twenty-four hours of their search for Freya – or rather lack of progress as it had eventually turned out.

Klaus and Keelin had apprehended and questioned a total of five vampires over the course of the day – each seemingly belonging to the same gang of bikers that Keelin had marked the scent of during in her confrontation the night before, and each just as frustratingly tight lipped as the next.

Their unsuccessful efforts had left both the hybrid and the wolf angry and exasperated, but one thing that had surprised Hayley as she had watched both of them return into the Mikaelson home, was that relatively little of that ire had been directed towards each other. She had fully expected the two polar opposite characters to be at each-other's throats after several hours spent alone together – especially given the murderous rage that Klaus had descended into when he had discovered Keelin's part in aiding the Nievera wolf Alanna to remain in New Orleans. But as the two of them had strolled into the courtyard late on the previous evening - their defeated postures signalling just how little information their efforts over the day had produced – it had not escaped Hayley's attention when Klaus had lay his hand briefly on Keelin's shoulder and given it a quick squeeze, before rushing off up to his daughter's bedroom to give the young witch a goodnight cuddle.

Unfortunately there had not been time for her to grill Keelin about the apparent thawing of Klaus's icy facade towards the wolf – but Hayley had made sure to store away the information to remember to ask the wolf how she had managed to break through to the Mikaelson Hybrid at a later date.

Elijah had returned home only a few minutes after his brother, and with the sandy haired Regent, Tobias, in tow. Had the high-witch of New Orleans been uneasy about being surrounded by the Mikaelson family whilst stood in their courtyard, he had certainly not shown it as he had proceeded to relay how both he and members of his coven had tried scrying for Freya's whereabouts by using some of the witch's personal effects that had been provided to them. Unfortunately their attempts had been unsuccessful – both when trying to locate the witch and in their attempts to detect the signature markers of the wiccan power that ran through Freya's veins.

Which in turn had only given further weight to Keelin's suspicion that something had been wrong with her fiancés magic when they had faced off against the gang of vampires.

Hayley herself had then had to relay to the group how her own efforts spent searching for information in the Bayou had been just as unproductive. Whilst Hope had spent some time catching up with Mary at the old wolf's waterside home, the hybrid had changed into her wolf form and scoured much of the marsh-lands surrounding the outskirts of New Orleans, searching for any indication that the biker gang were residing in the area, or had passed through it recently. She had committed to memory the scent markers that had laced the blood covering Keelin's torn clothes the night before, and had hoped that she would pick up on a similar scent somewhere in the thick foliage of the Bayou, indicating that the vampires were either hiding out there, or had at least passed through to provide them with a trail to follow. But there had been nothing. Nothing apart from the usual animal scents that she had come to know so well during her time spent running through the swamp on four furry legs.

As frustrating as her lack of progression had been – the hybrid's worry for Freya's wellbeing increasing with every passing hour - Hayley had still felt a large pang of guilt rush through her as she had returned to Mary's home later that afternoon to find both Hope and the old woman sat with brightly coloured party hats upon their heads as they shared a large piece of chocolate cake. Thanks to the eldest Mikaelson's abduction, the fact that it had been Hope's tenth birthday had been somewhat pushed to one side whilst her family rallied around trying to discover her aunt's whereabouts. Hope had of course declared that she didn't mind, and was just as worried for her aunt's safety as the rest of them. But it had still pulled on Hayley's heart strings as she had walked into the old wooden cabin and watched as Mary made a fuss of her granddaughter turning another year older.

iShe had made a mental note to spoil her daughter rotten once the current Mikaelson drama had been resolved. Possibly with a trip to somewhere far away from the constant supernatural war that waged itself upon the city of New Orleans./i

The only Mikaelson who had not returned back to the Compound at the end of their first day of searching had been Rebekah. The blonde vampire had called Klaus earlier in the day to say that she and Marcel were in the midst of formulating a plan to scour the areas of New Orleans that the city's supernatural faction usually tended to shy away from – the whole of the Business district, and the residential areas of Algiers, Terrytown, and Harvey. The King of New Orleans had rallied all the members of his vampire-cadre that weren't needed on business elsewhere, and given each of them a different area to scour for clues of where the new un-dead biker gang in town resided when they weren't out drinking in the various taverns of the city.

Josh and the other bar-managers of the Quarter had also been advised to report back to Marcel if any of the leather-clad gang entered into their establishments for a drink. Due to the ferocity of the storm that continued to hammer the city, not many of the cafes and bars along Bourbon St had remained open – most opting to close up-shop for the day thanks to the lack of locals and tourists daring to venture out from the warmth of their own homes. But there was still the odd drinking-hole refusing to bend to the will of nature- Rousseau's being one of them - and given the frequency with which members of the new gang in town had been seen downing shots of bourbon in the taverns of the Quarter, there was a good chance at least one member would show their face at some point over the next twenty-four hours.

Or so they had hoped.

"Nothing. There's just nothing for my magic to latch onto!"

Hope's quiet voice quickly pulled Hayley from her thoughts – the hybrid refocusing on her daughter as the young witch let the arm that held one of Freya's pendants over the map, drop down to her side. Turning to face the wolf sat next to her, Hope let out a frustrated sigh before lowering her eyes to her lap.

"I'm sorry Aunt Keelin - I thought that if I channelled your love for Aunt Freya then maybe it would help me locate her rather than just focusing on a personal belonging of hers alone. But I still can't pick up on any trace of her."

"Could her location be being cloaked by a spell, Hope?" Elijah asked, as Hayley watched Keelin smile weakly towards her daughter - no doubt in gratitude for the young witch's efforts to try and find her partner.

"It's possible I guess", Hope said as she swivelled her head around to face her uncle. "But in my lesson's with Aunt Freya, she's always told me that if there is a spell at work trying to mask someone's whereabouts, then you can usually feel the resonance of that enchantments power when scrying, even if you can't actually locate the person themselves."

The young witch sighed and shook her head in frustration before continuing.

"I can't sense anything. No magic or vibrations of any sort! There's just nothing there."

Hayley watched Elijah's solemn gaze slowly trail to Klaus, and then over to herself before the Original lowered his voice to an almost inaudible tone.

"If both the witch faction and Hope cannot locate Freya, and there no trace of any magic that could be cloaking her….could that mean that our sister is…."

"NO!"

Elijah was abruptly cut off by Keelin, as she quickly stood up off the couch that she had been sharing with Hope. Hayley could see tears beginning to shimmer in the wolf's tired eyes as she looked pointedly towards Elijah.

"Keelin," the smartly dressed vampire said softly, "I am not saying that we should give up hope or cease in our efforts. I just think that we need to consider the possibility that…."

"NO!" the wolf barked out once more, fiercely holding Elijah's gaze for a few seconds longer before moving behind the couch to begin pacing back and forth. "She's alive! I know she's alive!"

"But we can't know that for sure!" Elijah countered, his own voice uncharacteristically filling with emotion. "Our sister - as powerful as she is - has only the healing ability and lifespan of a human mortal. Should she have sustained a grave injury at the hands of her captors, or…."

"They needed her for something!" Keelin interrupted loudly as she paced, her eyes roaming wildly over the floor. "They could have killed her right there on the street, on the night that they attacked us. They had the opportunity to whilst I was surrounded by their vampire thugs. But they didn't! They instead took her back to….to wherever they're hiding, for a reason! If she's of use to them, then surely they will need her alive. So she has to be alive. She's…..she's"

Tears were now falling down the wolf's face as she turned towards Hayley, her gaze locking onto the hybrid in a pleading manner as though willing her friend to agree with her train of thought.

Pushing off the doorframe upon which she had been leaning, Hayley walked over to the wolf and quickly enveloped her into a hug. She could feel just how tense Keelin's muscles were as she rubbed a hand up and down the wolf's back – glancing over the brunette's shoulder to Elijah, as she spoke.

"Keelin's right," she stated, keeping her voice low so as to try and diffuse some of the tension in the room. "If they went to the trouble of moving Freya to another location instead of just killing her on the spot, then chances are they need her alive. We just need to find a lead….anything that gives us an idea of who this gang is, and why they have come to New Orleans!"

Elijah let out a long sigh, as he nodded his head in agreement. The vampire offered no further words however, his brow furrowing as he appeared to lapse into deep thought.

"Right, well…." Klaus suddenly stated, his loud voice booming throughout the room as his eyes glared widely at the drawing room's exit. "Just standing here like useless fools is getting us bloody no-where!"

Charging across the room from the fireplace, the male hybrid looked to have grim determination on his face as Hayley watched his hands ball into fists at his side.

"Where are you heading, Niklaus?" called Elijah from where he remained by the roaring flames of the fire.

Whirling around to face them all as he reached the doorway, Klaus threw his arms up in a gesture of frustration and annoyance – his voice soaked in ire as he shouted back towards his brother.

"I'm off to sodding well find our sister, Elijah! Someone must know of this wretched gang's whereabouts, and I'll rip the heads off every damned vampire, witch and wolf in this rotting city if I have to!"

Without waiting for a response, the hybrid stormed off down the first-floor corridor – Hayley's ears picking up on every step her daughter's father took through the Mikaelson house, and then for several metres more as his boots pounded along Bourbon St thereafter.

Pulling away from the arm that Hayley still had draped over her shoulder, Keelin made as though to chase after the enraged hybrid, quickly walking towards the rooms open doorway.

"Keelin, wait!", Hayley called out, trying to stop the wolf in her tracks. "I'd leave him be for a little while if I was you. He's not known to be in the most rational of minds when this worked up!"

Stopping just as she reached the exit, the wolf turned to face her, an expression of deep weariness engrained on her tear streaked face.

"I can't just sit here Hayley," Keelin blurted out, emotion rife in her tired voice. "I need to be doing something! I need to be back out there looking for her too!"

Hayley took a few steps towards her friend, understanding and sympathy coating her words as she attempted to get the wolf to see reason.

"I know… but its late, and you've been out searching none-stop since your fight with those vampires! You're going to run yourself into the ground if you don't try and at least get a little rest."

As if highlighting her point, the hybrid watched as Keelin began to sway slightly on her feet – the wolf throwing out an unsteady hand to brace against the wooden doorframe beside her. Blinking rapidly as though trying to clear her vision, the brunette let out a small huff of acknowledgement as Hayley reached her side.

"I just need a little food to line my stomach and then I'll be back out on the…."

"Stop ok. Just stop!" Hayley said somewhat sternly to her friend, as she placed a hand on her shoulder. "You are no use to Freya if you push yourself to the brink of exhaustion! It's not going to be light again for a good few hours yet, so why don't you take yourself off to Freya's old room and get some much needed sleep. We can all then resume the search again at dawn, ok?"

The wolf raised her eyes to look at Hayley with a tired, emotional expression upon her face.

"But what about Klaus?" the wolf countered, although Hayley could already hear some of the fight dissipating out of her drained friend's voice "He's likely to do more harm than good right now if he's left to his own devices. What if he destroys our one chance of finding Freya by killing a potential lead before…."

"Leave Niklaus to me," Elijah quickly cut in, the immaculate vampire already moving effortlessly across the wooden floor towards the exit. "I'll shall catch up with my brother and see that he keeps his beheading of the locals to a bare minimum!"

A grim smile tugged at the Original's lips as he nodded in brief farewell to both Hayley and Keelin, before quickly disappearing off in pursuit of Klaus.

"Come on", Hayley said calmly, as she grabbed hold of one of Keelin's hands and tugged her into the hallway. "I'll get you some fresh sheets for Freya's old bed. The rooms not actually been touched since the day you two moved in together, so apologies if it's a little dusty."

Despite her own insistence that the wolf got some rest, Hayley was still a little surprised when Keelin allowed herself to be pulled along the hallway towards the eldest Mikaelson's room.

i A sure sign that exhaustion must have finally been taking over the wolf's body!/i

Turning her head back towards the room from which they had just left, Hayley called out to her daughter, whom had remained sitting on the antique couch.

"Hope, start getting yourself ready for bed sweetie! I'll come say goodnight in a few minutes ok?!"

As a faint, resigned "ok mom!" reached her ears, the hybrid let go of Keelin's hand when the two of them reached the closed door to Freya's room.

"Get some sleep ok! Tomorrows a new day, and we'll scour every damned inch of this city until we find Freya and bring her home!"

As she placed a hand upon the brass knob of the bedroom door, Keelin paused mid twisting the handle – her voice low and tentative as she refused to meet the hybrids eye's.

"What if Elijah was right Hayley? What if Freya really is…I couldn't handle losing her when I've only just found her"

"We will find her Keelin!" Hayley said softly. "And knowing Freya, she'll be so pissed that she's been forced to miss her niece's birthday….she'll burn the whole damn city down herself, before casually walking into the Compound to no doubt wonder what on earth we were all the fussing about!"

No hint of a smile graced the wolf's face, as she sluggishly nodded her head gently before opening the door into Freya's bedroom and slowly walking into the dark room.

2.

The sweet coppery tang of fresh blood generously filled Halvar's nostrils, as he pushed open the ancient iron reinforced door leading into one of the many catacomb rooms dwelling under Baracuda bar. Soft flickering light provided by the three large fire-torches bracketed to the damp stone walls, danced and wavered across the expanse of the low roofed, oppressive chamber as the Clan leader's eyes quickly located the reason for his being there.

As he began to walk across the slippery stone floor, Halvar heard others begin file into the room behind him – the Jarl not needing to turn to know that it was Vidar and Fiske who now joined him as he continued his advance towards the far wall of the space. He had left instruction with the bar-manager in the tavern above to tell the two Jarl's to join him in the interrogation tomb at their earliest convenience - and true to form, the burly vampire had carried out his instruction with efficient competency.

There were not many of the Thralls that stood out to Halvar – the crass vampire biker's far too contemptible and beneath his own stature to even register on his radar the majority of the time. But he had to admit, the one whom had introduced himself Curtis when the Jarl's had first arrived at the run-down wooden tavern just over six months ago, had managed to impress him with the sheer amount of dedication and loyalty that the man had shown to aiding their cause. As such, the Clan Leader had promoted the vampire to the position of tavern manager – his main tasks to oversee and keep order amongst the Thralls whenever Halvar and the other Blood-Bound Jarl's were absent from the venue, and to maintain the up-keep of the building.

Even Curtis however, was not permitted down into the catacombs below the main floor of Baracuda. As far as the vampire bikers were aware, all that dwelled down here was the bar's cellar, and rooms where the Jarl's spent their personal time.

iThe blood-sucking fools would probably run a mile if they knew the true purpose of the ancient chambers underneath their midst. /i

An ear piercing scream suddenly shattered the air, its despairing shrill tone echoing off the walls of the catacomb just as Halvar came to pass the wooden table standing in the centre of the room.

A wanton smile tugged at the Clan Leaders lips in response to the loud cry of distress, as his eyes wandered over the tools that lay strewn on top of the cloth covered bench.

Gone were the immaculately shining and unblemished metal contraptions that had reflected the surrounding fire light so perfectly only a day ago, when Ake had first unveiled his treasure trove of torture. In their place now rested a dull array of discarded instruments - each one so completely covered in a mixture of fresh and dried blood that Halvar had trouble distinguishing where one tool ended, and another began.

iHe had always wondered why the torment loving Jarl had kept the instruments of pain and death wrapped so delicately in such a finely made dark crimson cloth – as though one of the wooden chests where all their other weapons and armour were stored wasn't good enough for tools. But now, seeing how closely the tones of the fabric matched that of the witch's blood currently seeping off the various blades and needles into its fibres – he supposed that he could see a certain amount of poetic prophecy in the Ake's choice of swathing./i

The Clan Leader quickly noticed that one of the instruments on the table appeared to retain most of its polished sheen - its presence a menacing beacon of bright steel amongst its bloodied and used comrades. Without pause, Halvar swiftly plucked the device up off the red cloth – turning it gracefully within his hands as he eventually came to a stop to stand next to Ake.

A quick sidelong glance at the Jarl told Halvar everything that he needed to know with regards to how much Ake had relished taking his time over the past twenty four hours spent alone with the Mikaelson witch.

In stark contrast to the bloodied tools of his trade, the biker's clothes and exposed skin remained completely un-marred by the results of his time spent trying to break his subject. Being no stranger himself to having to extract information out of various captives over the many years of their existence, Halvar knew all too well that if a blade was slashed too quickly over skin, or a poker thrust too deeply into flesh at the wrong point on a body - blood would spray out wildly, peppering the perpetrator in a grisly tapestry of red were he foolish enough to not angle his body away correctly.

But despite the gut wrenching screams and whimpers that Halvar had heard coming from this chamber whenever he had passed by it over the past day, not a single drop of blood had made it onto his brother's being.

Not that he should have been surprised. The sandy haired man stood next to him was renowned amongst the other Jarls for excelling at this, and taking delight in his work. If charm and wit were Fiske's natural borne talents, and fearsome brute strength and violence were Colborn's, then the ability to find increasingly more creative and brutal ways extract information out of the most tight lipped of captives was something that Ake had simply been borne to wield.

Turning his attention away from the mercilessly grinning Jarl, Halvar let his cobalt eyes slowly roam over the broken figure of their guest, who's wrists and ankles remained tightly chained to the slick stones of the chambers wall.

Numerous small cuts and lesions littered the witch's arms and legs – the blood slowly clotting around them easily visible under the ripped material of her clothes. Most of the lacerations appeared to be shallow despite their angry appearance, suggesting that Ake had taken his time in slowly drawing a sharp knife across the woman's skin - applying just enough pressure to cause a searing pain in the flesh, without actually inflicting too much permanent damage.

The abnormal angle at which the witch's left forearm now bent just before it met her shackle bound wrist indicated that both the bones located there had been broken – no doubt, Halvar deducted, the cause of the scream that had rang just out as the he had entered the room, given the lack of swelling that had yet to form around the area, and the large metal hammer that Ake currently tossed from hand to hand as he watched his fellow Jarl assess his work.

The bulk of the blood that both coated the tools of torture lay on the wooden table behind them and soaked the woman's tattered clothes to point of saturation, appeared to be coming from two large open wounds across her abdomen – one lying just below her right breast, and its slightly smaller twin marring opposite side of her body. The flesh immediately around both wounds looked to be frayed and ragged, as though it had been further aggravated with a serrated device once the initial piercing blow had been dealt.

Halvar did not need to scrutinise the bleeding injuries any closer to know that his brother had picked those two areas purely for their locality to the woman's liver and pancreas. Any jailer worth his salt knew that if the blade of a sharp knife, or the tip of a scalding hot poker was plunged and twisted into right place of those particular two vital organs of the human anatomy, it unleashed an unbearable tidal wave of pain throughout the whole body – more often than not causing the subject's brain to think that it was on the brink of death.

Causing them to be overcome with uncontrollable fear!

Making them willing to do anything - offer anything - to survive.

The Clan leader also noted a large area of the exposed woman's torso that was deepening in colour – reds and purples choreographed together upon her skin to form a dancing trope of deep bruises and blistering welts that twirled and pirouetted in a macabre union of torture.

Knowing of his fellow Jarl's fondness for the smell of burning flesh, it did not take long for Halvar to fathom that Ake had probably taken his time in breaking several of the witch's ribs using either a metal hammer or crowbar that had first been heated in the fire of one of the chamber's torches.

Drawing in a deep breath, Halvar let the air out slowly through his nostrils as he raised an eye brow raised towards Ake.

"I seem to recall telling you brother, that we need the witch to remain functional by the end of this!"

"Oh her mouth functions just fine!" the Jarl huffed towards him, before turning on his heels and walking towards the wooden table. "The vicious and imaginative ways in which has been promising to slowly end my life have been rivalling some of my own finest work over the years!"

Placing the hammer which he had been twirling in his hands down upon the bench, Ake plucked a small red kerchief out of a pocket in his pants and proceed to wipe his face free of the sweat that had gathered there.

"She has a surprisingly high level of tolerance for a mortal woman", the Jarl commented as he moved to stand back beside the Clan Leader.

The witch's head was currently slumped forward, having appeared to have fallen unconscious after the last bout of pain that had been unleashed upon her – though Halvar wouldn't have put it past their captive to be faking her apparent blacked out state, in a feeble attempt to try and delay Ake's next damning blow.

"Mortal or not, the wench is a Mikaelson", Fiske remarked from where he and Vidar now idled behind the duo. "And members of that family are not particularly known for being easy to coerce!"

"So I can assume that she has not yet agreed to my offer?" Halvar asked, a slither of irritation seeping through into his words, despite having already anticipated that the witch would take longer than the average human to break.

Sighing lightly, Ake gestured towards the sagged woman with a hand.

"As of yet, no! But I can assure you Halvar that given more time, I will….."

"Time, Ake, is something that we do not have the luxury of!" Halvar interposed, his voice rising as further frustration stoked the fire that lived within him.

He took a step closer to Freya's slumped form and grabbed a fistful of the blondes sweat dampened hair to roughly jerk her head upwards.

Although Ake had left the witch's face untouched – a specific command that Halvar himself had issued to the Jarl via the Blood-Bond's unquestionable authority - her skin appeared to have turned both ashen and sallow during her time spent at the Jarl's mercy.

A far cry from the sun-kissed complexion of the woman they had first hauled into the dungeon two days ago.

Keeping his tight grip on the witch's scalp, the Clan Leader leaned closer into her body – bringing his lips up to the shell of her ear.

"I know that you are awake, Witch", he whispered - his voice caressing the fine hairs along the woman's skin like that of a lover trying to elicit a moan of pleasure from their mate. "I can tell by rhythm of your breathing!"

He paused briefly, his mouth lingering next to her ear as he allowed a heartbeat to pass to see if she would acknowledge his words.

"But should you need a little encouragement to join the conversation…." Halvar continued after gaining no response "….please, allow me to provide it."

Without pulling away, the Clan leader brought his free hand up to the open wound located over the woman's liver and slowly began to thrust his thumb into the bloody, torn flesh. Beads of sweat instantly began to appear along the witch's forehead, as the lids of her closed eyes tried to scrunch together in an even tighter fashion. Noting the clear signs of increased discomfort despite her continued refusal to engage with him, Halvar pushed deeper into her - twisting his thumb one way, and then the other as he increased the pressure applied by his hand.

A rasping cry of agony peeled forth from the Freya's lips, as she attempted to jerk her body back from Halvar's onslaught upon her - only to be quickly halted by the cold unforgiving stones of the chambers wall.

Seeing the woman's eyes finally prise open and begin to roll wildly around the room as she continued to gasp in pain, a large viper like smile spread across the Clan Leader's face.

"There!" Halvar crooned as he slowly extracted his thumb out of the wound – its thick girth now liberally coated in bright crimson blood as he finally pulled it completely free of her tattered flesh. "Now we can talk like proper, civilised people?!"

A fit of coughing suddenly rocked the witch causing her body to jolt against the wall upon which she was chained – the juddering motion provoking another gasp of pain to escape her.

"There is….nothing…..civilised about you….." the blonde faintly managed to rasp out once the coughing had subsided, as her bloodshot eyes eventually found Halvar's.

Hate shone there, in the emerald green irises that he found glaring back at him with a surprising level of intensity and force, given all that the witch had already endured.

Hate - and a grim slither of determination.

i Ake was right,/iHalvar admitted to himself as he fierily returned the woman's glower. iShe was not yet at breaking point, not yet ready to give herself over to his control. Not even close!/i

"You of course know that this could all be over within seconds, Witch", he ventured, giving the woman a chance to concede despite the steely resolve that he could see still burning within her, "if you were just to drink a small amount of my blood willingly. A few drops and we could have you out of those shackles, patched up, and sent back to the comforts of your family home."

A heavy laboured breath forced itself from the witch's mouth, as her eyes gradually drooped to the blood-stained gravelled floor that lay a few inches beneath her restrained ankles. Halvar watched on as her cracked dry lips appeared to sluggishly form a series of words, despite their being no discernable sound to accompany them.

Fearing that the woman was actually going to slip into a true unconscious state for real this time, he slowly leant closer into her personal space once more.

"What did you…"

Without warning, the witch quickly raised her head up and venomously spat into Harlvar's face – wet globules of blood saturated saliva slapping over his nose and mouth before he had chance to pull back.

"I said, you worthless piece of shit", the woman managed to snarl despite her weakened state, "that you can all go to hell!"

Halvar angrily recoiled, taking a step backwards as his hand flew up to wipe the phlegm off his reddening face.

"I'll neverwillingly give you control over my actions!" the witch continued as her exhausted green eyes bored into his own. "Never! So you might as well just kill me and get it over with."

A palpable silence fell throughout the catacomb as Halvar felt the familiar burning rage within his core begin to roar and flare, its loud bellows demanding that he end this woman's – this mortal's – life for her insubordinate defiance.

Snarling as he bared spittle laced yellowing teeth, the Clan leader whipped his head around to Vidar and Fiske, both of whom stood with their eyes fixed viciously upon the stalwart witch.

"Move her, now!" Halvar bellowed, his already gruff voice deepening even further as the blood-bond's power surged within his veins.

The two Jarl's were in motion within a heartbeat, each shifting to a different side of the witch as they proceeded to unlock the metal shackles that now dug so deeply into her flesh that Halvar could clearly hear the cloying wet noise produced by the binds tearing through tissue and blood as they were forcibly ripped from the woman's limbs.

An ear-piercing cry of pain tore from their captive's throat as large calloused hands clasped down tightly over the freshly exposed, bloody wounds on her forearms. The corner of Halvar's mouth twitched into a sneer as further whimpers of distress continued to flow from the woman while Fiske and Vidar dragged her body across the gravelled floor, towards the centre of the chamber.

iGood!/i the Clan Leader inwardly raged to himself as he watched his brethren wrench the slumped witch's arms up towards the large hook protruding out of the catacombs low ceiling. iLet her whimper and bray in pain! Let her feel every single cell in her mortal body rupture and tear! Let her scream for death until her throat and lungs both filled with blood from the exertion! She would eventually break! They all did!" /i

As the other Jarl's finished re-shackling the woman's wrists onto the hook, Halvar sensed Ake take a step closer to him – his voice both low and vexed when he spoke.

"I could have broken her myself Halvar! A few more days and I'd have had her begging to drink from that vial of blood!"

"We cannot waste more any time, Ake!", Halvar growled out, disgusted by the dented pride radiating off his fellow Jarl. "Pain alone is clearly not enough to crush this Mikaelson witch's spirit!"

Not waiting for a response from the disgruntled biker he made his way over to the centre of the catacomb where the woman's bruised and bloodied body now dangled from the ceiling – her figure swaying gently back and forth as she strained to gain a foothold on the gravelled floor.

A sickening crack emanated out from the witch, quickly followed by another loud holler of pain as the tendons in her right shoulder gave way under the renewed pressure. The angle of her arm abruptly altered as a result, when its socket either ruptured or dislocated – Halvar could not tell which.

Fiske moved to take up position next to Ake, leaving Vidar to hover near the woman as Halvar grabbed a fist full of her hair once more.

"If there's one thing I've learnt over my lifetime witch, it's that even the fire burning within the proudest and most resilient of mortals can eventually be snuffed out. And yours…." the Clan Leader scoffed, as he forcefully squeezed upon her newly torn shoulder to elicit yet another tortured cry of distress, "is rapidly losing its flame!"

Taking a step backwards from the woman, Halvar fixed his blazing eyes onto hers as he motioned over to Vidar with his hand.

The tallest of the Jarl's quickly walked up to the dangling figure whilst pulling a large hunting knife from a sheath attached to the belt around his leather pants. With one quick swipe of the blade, the biker had ripped away what had remained of the witch's thin top and the blood-stained white bra that had been sitting underneath it.

As the remnants of her clothing fell away, leaving the woman's top half naked and shivering in the frigid atmosphere of the damp Catacombs, Vidar began to step backwards from her position - counting out loud to himself as he measured exactly four paces in distance. When he finally appeared happy within his position, the Jarl slowly shrugged off his leather jacket – letting the garment fall unceremoniously to the floor as he unhooked a loosely coiled leather whip from the back of his belt.

The Clan Leader's eyes darted briefly over to his now bare-armed comrade, before returning his attention back to the witch. His eyes languidly roamed over the newly exposed expanse of blood splattered skin - a part of his masculinity that had been dormant for many centuries stirring fleetingly as he registered the way in which the woman's nipples quickly hardened in the the cold air now mercilessly clawing at them.

"Let's see how that notorious Mikaelson resolve holds up under several lashes of an iron-tipped whip!"

Halvar watched within no shortage of delight, as fear - clear as the morning now breaking across the New Orleans wastelands high above them - began to flood into the witch's eyes.

A quick nod of the Clan Leader's head had Vidar flicking out the full span of his whip – the cast iron claw that had been fixed onto the end of the long leather lash centuries ago now scraping through the gravel covering the floor, as the Jarl cracked its length back and forth in preparation.

"This…." Vidar chuckled heartlessly as he sized up the woman's bare back with hungry eyes "…may sting just a little!"

3.

The torrential rain that had now been assaulting New Orleans for three continuous days remained relentless on its campaign of misery, as the people of the city persisted to hunker down and ride out what was now reported to be one of the worse storms to grace the state of Louisiana for the past ten years.

Tourist trade within the Quarter had all but ceased to exist since the heavens had first opened up, causing its streets to closely resemble those of a sodden ghost town, with only the occasional resident or local business owner to be found rushing quickly along the water saturated sidewalks – hoods pulled low over bowed heads as they braved the rain to reach their intended destination.

As Keelin stood tucked into the small alcove immediately outside of Rousseau's locked cellar door, she absentmindedly pulled the hood currently draped over her own head lower, whilst watching large drops of rain bounce off the cobbled alleyway's floor just a few feet ahead of her.

A cold chill ran along the wolf's spine as she began to gnaw gently on her bottom lip – the bitter breeze accompanying the storm still managing to nip at her skin despite the thick green hoodie that she had quickly swiped from Freya's closet earlier that morning to wear.

Slowly folding her arms over her chest in a futile attempt to conserve heat, Keelin felt a sharp pang of longing tug painfully at her heart, as the motion caused the scent of her lover to rise up off the garments material and begin to wrap itself around her being. Letting the rhythmic beat of the evening's rain begin to fill her ears, the wolf briefly closed her eyes as she called up a mental image of the last time she had seen the witch wearing the long-sleeved garment.

The two of them had been lay naked in front of their apartment's faux-fire, on the large hand-knotted rug that Keelin had purchased on her travels through Cambodia a few years before the Mikaelson's had barrelled into her life. She recalled that a fine sheen of sweat that had been glistening in the room's candle light had been covering Freya's breasts and toned stomached as the witch had lay panting slightly thanks to their third bout of love making that evening.

The wolf couldn't quite recall why, but the subject of whom – out of the two of them - could make the best Daiquiri cocktail had eventually arisen. Freya's fierce competitive streak had inevitably gotten the better of her, and the witch had suddenly leapt up off the rug and quickly disappeared into their bedroom without explanation.

Keelin had remained lying in front of the fire, smiling in bemusement as she had listened to various rustling noises emerging from their room, before the witch had eventually re-emerged a few minutes later – having donned the green hoodie that the wolf now wore standing in the alleyway behind Rousseau's.

Her lover had made a show of slowly sauntering across the open plan living area of their apartment towards the kitchen island - hips swinging from side-to-side under the hoodie in an exaggerated fashion as her long naked legs had prowled along the floor.

Keelin had quickly forgotten all about their cocktail rivalry as the heat in her core had quickly rekindled at the sight of Freya's provocative sauntering. She had swiftly made her way over to the witch to press her up against their tall Smeg-Fridge, and relieved her of the hoodie once more – its soft fabric falling to the ground as the wolf had made deft work of bringing Freya to her fourth orgasm of the evening.

A small sigh drifted out over the wolf's lips, as she let the fond memory of that heated night slowly recede out of her mind – opening her eyes once more as the harsh reality of her lover's absence came crashing back to torment and frustrate her.

Three days they had now been searching for Freya. Three days with absolutely nothing to show for their efforts except several dead vampire bikers – all of whom had remained frustratingly tight lipped despite the world of pain unleashed upon them by both Klaus and Elijah – and a constant nagging headache that refused to shift no matter how many painkillers the wolf took.

She knew of course that the persistent pain throbbing just behind her eyes was her body's way of telling her that she desperately needed to get some rest, and eat something more substantial than the pop-tart that Hayley had forced her to consume earlier that day - refusing to let the wolf leave the Mikaelson Compound until she had seen every last crumb be devoured.

It had been a terse compromise between the two of them, after Keelin had refused to waste precious time sitting down with the female hybrid and her daughter as they tucked into a spread of croissants and Danish pastries after what had no doubt been a sleepless night for them, similar to herself.

Precious time that could instead be spent on continuing her search her missing fiancé.

But as Keelin now stood waiting on the arrival of the last spark of hope that she had remaining, the wolf wished that she had at least grabbed one of the delicious smelling pastries on her way out of the Compound to consume on the go, as her stomach let out another rumbling groan of protest.

"Ahem!"

The sound of a deep voice being cleared just a few meters to her right sent a shockwave of surprise rippling through her body as Keelin jolted – extended canine's bared from under the hood of her sweater, and a growl rumbling in her throat as she quickly spun around in the alleyway to face the newcomer.

"Now is that anyway to greet the person who has come to aid you in your hour of need?!"

Keelin kept her lips pulled back in a snarl as she quickly assessed the figure now directly in front of her with the acute focus of her wolf eyes. Tall and thin in stature, the black-haired male stood with the casual ease of someone who was confident of being able to protect themselves in a dark alleyway deep within the notorious battlegrounds of the New Orleans supernatural factions. The hint of a smile seemed to ghost thin lips that were framed by a pale-skinned angular face, as obsidian black eyes narrowly stared back at her in an unwavering manner.

Although the man was wearing what looked to be a long, non-descript black rain-coat, Keelin quickly realised that the newcomer didn't have a single drop of water on him, despite being stood in the middle of an alleyway that was being thoroughly assaulted by rain. A quick once over of his entire frame revealed to her that the droplets of water on course to hit him seemed to make it within a millimetre of touching his being before suddenly disappearing , as though passing through some unseen portal that had spread itself around the man's whole body.

Her confusion in regards to the strange phenomenon must have been written across her face, for the dark-haired male suddenly let out a curt huff of laughter whilst gesturing to the wolf's own rain-soaked clothes.

"You may have fangs and claws my dear, but I have a few….gifts….of my own, shall we say!" the man chuckled, despite no hint of humour shining in his jet black gaze. "Now, if you are quite finished with your unnecessary display of mongrel hormones – shall we discuss the reason why you summoned me here to this vermin infested city of the damned?!"

Keelin allowed another small growl escape into the night, before slowly straightening out of her attack ready stance –her vision returning to normal as her canine teeth slowly receded.

"You are the one who calls himself Asyre?" she asked the tall figure, keeping her voice curt and hushed despite the continued roar of falling rain around them.

A slight inclination of the head was the only confirmation that Keelin received as the tall man continued to eye her in an expressionless manner.

"And you have the ability to locate someone for me? Someone whom conventional witch magic has been unable to find?"

As drops of rain now poured down her face in earnest despite the hood that remained in place, Keelin watched the corner of the man's eyes crinkle as his thin lips parted in a horrifying smile that revealed two uneven rows of needle point teeth.

"For a price my dear…..for a price!"

Swallowing down the cold tendrils of unease that had tried to crawl up her throat at the sight of the pale man's attempt at a smile, Keelin endeavoured to school her features into an impenetrable mask of indifference as she cautiously continued.

"And exactly much money do you require?" she asked, her words coming out sharper than she had originally intended.

"Oh, I do not deal in such trivial things as money, my dear!" the man drawled in a slippery voice as he waved an aging hand between them. "I have no need of the possessions or finery that you mortals waste so much of your irrelevant lives coveting so feverously!"

The wolf raised an eyebrow, as she once again studied the figure that stood just a few feet away from her.

"If we mortals are so irrelevant, why bother to engage with us?" Keelin ventured, willing her voice to remain calm. "Why go to the trouble of making it known that your services are for hire?"

The wolf had spent a large chuck of that morning visiting some of the more nefarious institutions and establishments that festered down the many forgotten paths and passages of the city's underworld.

Bars that, although appeared permanently closed to the general public from the outside, actually housed regular speakeasy events for the human faction's gang-lords, and the less aesthetically pleasing supernatural beings that could not put on a human appearances to the outside world – in the same way that wolves, witch's and vampires could.

Stores that sold simple trinkets and New Orleans souvenirs on the shop floors that they had open to unsuspecting locals and tourists of the city, but had an altogether more wicked and immoral stock of goods and services for sale to those that knew the right questions to ask, or the right currency to offer.

And lastly – but certainly not by any means the least important stop off of her morning – Keelin had ventured deep into the forgotten and mostly overgrown area of the Bayou that had once been known amongst the ancient creole wolves of Louisiana as the "Sa Ki Mal Peyi" – or The Evil Lands.

Exploring the wild area in her wolf body so as to be more acutely aware of her surroundings, and to be ready to either fight efficiently or flea quickly should the need have arisen – Keelin had eventually come across an area within the dense foliage that had housed a small wooden hut hidden amongst the various trees and vines of the swamp. Covered in centuries of dense thick moss and sprawling lichen, the structure would have easily gone unnoticed to any human eye that roamed over the area. Indeed it had not been by sight alone that the wolf had become aware of its presence, but instead due to the bitterly sour stench that had been seeping out from inside of the hut which had caused her canine nose to wrinkle in disgust as she had slowly passed by.

The unpleasant odour had only intensified as Keelin had cautiously approached the mossy structure, accumulating in a veritable aromatic punch to her gut when its previously camouflaged front door had suddenly flung open, revealing what the wolf had first assumed to be a hunched over old man stood in its wake. It had not been until a few minutes later, when the male had greeted her wolf form as though he had already been expecting her and beckoned for her to follow him into the hut, that Keelin had re-evaluated her first impression of the aging man.

He had not been merely hunched over due to arthritic bones, or bent down as she had originally assumed, but rather an actual primordial dwarf, whose small stature had been genetically coded since birth – which given the white covering of hair upon his head and deeply wrinkled face, Keelin assumed had been several decades ago.

Eventually, after the old man had realised that the wolf was not following him into the hut, he had returned out into the marshlands with what had appeared to be a dark tattered cloak draped over his arms – carefully laying the garment onto the ground before Keelin, before disappearing back into the darkness of what she had assumed to be his home.

After a few minutes of deliberation, the sound of breaking bones and shifting flesh had rung in the Bayou out as Keelin returned to her human form and quickly wrapped the fraying cloak around her body – surprised to find that despite the sickly smell radiating out of the hut, the cloak itself had an aroma of pine leaves and fresh cotton.

The dwarf had reappeared in his doorway a heartbeat after she had finished covering herself with the simple robe, and spoken what Keelin had later come to believe would have been his first words in many years, given the raw gravelly nature of his voice and poor grasp of language.

"You come to seek help finding a loved one!" had been the man's only words of greeting, posed as more of a statement of fact rather than that of a question.

A simple yet cautious nod of her head had resulted in the old dwarf shuffling once more back into the depths of the small camouflaged hovel - returning several minutes later with what had looked to be a small scrap of yellowing parchment in his hand, that he had promptly outstretched towards Keelin in invitation for her to take.

When Keelin had made no move to remove the paper from his hands, the aging man had let out a high pitched cackle that had caused his whole body to shake, before eventually calming himself once more.

"Read the words on the paper, and help with come!" the dwarf had eventually declared, after a few more heartbeats of silence between them.

Gripping tightly onto the edges of the cotton cloak with one hand, Keelin had cautiously stretched out her free arm and quickly plucked the parchment out of the man's bony fingers. A brief examination of its surface had revealed several words written in what she had assumed to be Latin, scrawled in a messy but legible calligraphy of black ink.

"A spell?" had been the question that she had guardedly posed to the old man, and the only two words that the wolf uttered during her entire time spent the Bayou that morning.

The dwarf had enthusiastically shaken his head in a negative fashion before simply replying, "Speak the words – help will come!"

Keelin had only looked back down at the old scrap of paper in her hand for a second – two at the most – but by the time she had raised her eyes once more both the petite old man and the opening leading into the small hut had completely disappeared, leaving only the sealed moss covered shack in their wake.

Completely perplexed by the whole experience, and not wanting to push her luck any further than she already seemed to have done, Keelin had quickly returned to four legs before darting back through the dense foliage of the Sa Ki Mal Peyi to the more familiar, well-trodden bulk of the Bayou.

"Questions, questions…. you ask a lot of questions mortal!" the obsidian eyed man remarked before drawing in a deep breath as he prepared to walk down the alleyway away from her. "If you are not interested in striking up a bargain then I shall be on my way….."

"Wait!" Keelin shouted above the noise of the falling rain. "If not money, what is your price to locate someone for me?"

The man halted in his retreat, slowly turning around to face her once more – a grim smile stretching his lips taught.

"Years, my dear…. I deal in years."

Silence filled the ally as Keelin rapidly blinked the rain out of her eyes, trying to make sense of the new-comers words.

"Years? What do you …"

The wolf's words were cut off as a blur of motion from above abruptly drew her attention. Within a heartbeat a hooded figure had landed directly behind the dark haired man, whose black eyes suddenly widened – an expression close to shock taking over his features.

The world seemed to slow to a stop – everything but the falling rain freezing in place as Keelin's eyes remained locked on the strange man and the dark outline of the figure now pressed up behind him.

A second passed.

Another.

Keelin's eyes flicked down to the man's exposed neck where a thin crimson line suddenly began to crawl its way across his throat, stretching the entire expanse of visible skin from one side to the other in less than a heartbeat. A distinctive smell of blood flooded into her nose just moments before the man's head lurched violently to the right and toppled away from his shoulders completely.

It was the wolf's eyes turn to widen as they watched the severed head land and roll across the water covered cobbles of the alleyway, before jerking back up to witness the remainder of the man's body crumple down to the floor in front of her.

Left in its wake stood the figure of a tall woman whose every feature appeared veiled under a dark red cloak. All except for a slim porcelain white hand that protruded out of one of the long sleeves, holding what looked to be a small, blood coated ceremonial knife in its grasp.

Keelin slowly blinked, before finally managing to jerk out of the stupor that seemed to have wrapped itself around her. Drawing her lips back into a snarl, the wolf let out a deep warning growl as her legs bent at the knee ready to pounce – canine teeth having once again descended down from her gums ready for action.

"Oh do try and calm yourself Darlin", a silky smooth voice chimed out from the shrouded figure. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have simply let you carry on making your fools bargain with the Ravmocker here!"

i That voice ….she knew that voice from somewhere./i

"Now…", the mysterious woman continued, before slowly raising up her arms to drop the cloak's top off her head "….how about you and me get ourselves out of this rain and discuss a few pressing matters over a glass of aged bourbon!"

Recognition began to crawl over Keelin as woman's hood dropped away to reveal a mane of long jet-black hair, bright sapphire eyes, and red plump lips that were slowly twisting into a wry smile

"Amelia?" she all she managed to say, the word vibrating out in a growl thanks to her inner wolf refusing to back down from the moment.

The woman's head dipped briefly in confirmation, before she raised the knife in her hand up to her lips and ran a tongue along the flat of its blade – appearing to savour the taste of the now dead man's blood.

Keelin could have sworn she saw a quick shudder run the length of Amelia's body as the woman swallowed the blood of the man lay decapitated between them.

Looking down towards the corpse that had belonged to the one slither of hope that the wolf had had left to locate Freya's whereabouts, Keelin felt her body begin to pulse with anger at the now lost opportunity.

"What the hell did you kill him for?" she growled towards Amelia, as her eyes locked back onto the tall woman. "I needed his help to…."

"Find Freya?" the sapphire eyed woman interrupted, her head cocking to the side before she let out a small laugh. "Believe me Darlin, no help that a Ravmocker could provide would be worth the price that they demand."

Amelia looked down towards the dead man, a grimace of distaste briefly distorting her features.

"A particularly deviant and repulsive breed of demon that likes to masquerade in human form - leeching life from those desperate enough to seek out its services!"

"Leeching life?" Keelin asked suspiciously, as her inner wolf continued to bristle towards the woman from her lovers past.

"That's what I said Darlin! Had I not been nearby to intervene, this particular Ravmocker specimen would have no doubt demanded several years of your life in exchange for claiming to be able to show you where your missing fiancé is currently being held."

Keelin's eyes widened at the revelation.

"If he knew where she is, why did you kill him?! Dammit Amelia, I could have gotten him to reveal Freya whereabouts to me without agreeing to any fucked up deal! I could have…."

"What - tortured it out of him? Like you and that brutish hybrid have been attempting to do over the past few days, to any vampire who's ever been within sniffing distance of a leather jacket?"

The dark haired woman fixed her gaze onto Keelin, as the wolf felt herself take a small stumbled step backwards in confusion.

"You…..you've been following us?"

"Oh honey," Amelia exclaimed, amusement flashing in her eyes, "the trail of mangled and decapitated bodies of un-dead vermin being left across the city hasn't exactly been hard to miss – even with this god infernal rain helping to clean up most the hybrids sloppy work! You two are lucky that most of the city are holed up their homes thank to this storm - otherwise I imagine you'd be facing some stiff questions from the human authorities. "

When Keelin did not immediately respond, a look of irritation flashed across Amelia's face which the woman quickly attempted to school into nonchalant boredom.

"I can see that I am losing you here Darlin, so let me attempt to put all of this into an easy bite-size morsel that even a barely housetrained mutt like yourself can understand"

A low growl rumbled out of Keelin's throat in reaction to the woman's slur against her wolf heritage, which the dark haired beauty appeared to choose to ignore as she continued.

"My good friend Freya has been taken by some unknown faction within the city. Neither you nor the extended Mikaelson family have been able to find a trace of either her or the men who took her, despite the clearly effective "maim first, ask questions later" tactics that you've undertaken."

Keelin's growl deepened further at the condescending tone which Amelia had adopted, despite letting the woman continue.

"Desperate and out of options, you decided to turn to a Ravmocker for help – no doubt calling out the ancient summoning words of the Ravmocker tribe. Speaking of which, I'm curious - how did you come to learn of their existence?"

The low rumbling within her throat was the wolf's only response to Amelia's bemused question, as Keelin attempted to reign in her rapidly growing dislike for the woman.

"Well I guess it is of no concern, I believe this particular specimen of the species was one of the last remaining in existence – and he's hardly going to be bothering anyone else anytime soon, is he!" the dark haired woman mused, more to herself than to Keelin. "So where was I…. ah yes, you being desperate to find you fiancé and all out of options!"

Keelin narrowed her eyes at Amelia as heavy rain continued to assault her face.

"I am still failing to see how any of this is your concern?!" the wolf said, her voice thick with suspicion. "Do YOU have something to do with Freya's disappearance?"

"Me?!" Amelia exclaimed in an apparent shocked tone. "God's, no! The last I saw my old friend was the very night that you and I first became acquainted in the bar that I believe we are currently standing outside of. Speaking of which, why on earth did you choose to meet the Ravmocker here? What is it with you humans and your insistence on meeting demons and monsters in dark, secluded alleyways?! It's like you all have a death wish engrained into your souls!"

The wolf's eyebrows raised at the question.

"I….I didn't know that he would be a demon when I…hold up, us humans? Are you implying that you are not human yourself?"

A wicked smile broke across Amelia's lips, before she threw a quick wink in Keelin's direction.

"What I am, Darlin, is someone who wants to help you locate your lost love! And unlike our deceased friend here, I will not be demanding anything in return for my aid."

Keelin took a moment to consider what the sapphire eyed woman had said – her eyes flicking back and forth between the headless body lay motionless on the rain soaked floor, and her fiancés one time friend from over a century ago.

After a few heartbeats, the wolf simply let out a heavy sigh before silently turning to make her way back along the alleyway towards Bourbon St.

"Wait," Amelia called out from behind her, "don't you want to hear what I know?"

Pausing in her heavy steps, Keelin twisted her head over her shoulder to look at Amelia with tired eyes.

"Here's what I know! You don't have any clue as to where my love is - because if you did, you would not be stood here bothering to offer me aid. I might not know what connection it was that you had, or still think that you have with my fiancé - but I do know that whatever your interest is in finding Freya, it will not be borne from a place of altruism."

Keelin watched as the smirk that had been tugging at the dark haired woman's lips the entire time they had been conversing, finally looked to disappear.

"I'd advise that you stay far away from me, Amelia, and from Freya. Because if we cross paths again, I'll happily show you just how savage and un-house broken this wolf can be!"

She let a glimpse of her inner wolf flash briefly in her eyes, before turning back towards the alleyways exit and resuming her weary walk back to the Mikaelson Compound – leaving the dark haired beauty behind in the pouring rain.

4.

Pain.

She had long since descended into a hell world filled with nothing but the agonising claws of white hot pain tearing along every inch of her broken body, and the echoes of her own tortured screams ricocheting through her head like the whaling of a wild banshee determined to let the world know of the torment it had endured.

Freya had quickly lost track of the number of lashes that she had been made to endure at the hands of the Jarls - each snap of unbearable agony eventually all melding into one large suffocating blanket of insufferable torment and pain had that stolen the very air from her lungs.

She had tried, at first, to keep count of each time the sharp metal shards fixed onto the whips tip had torn into the flesh of her back, ripping away skin and muscle to leave a trail of what felt like scorching hot lava to slowly burn its way into her.

But by the time the leather whip's crack had boomed out into the chamber for either the third or fourth time – she could not remember which - her mind had already buckled under the weight of the agony tearing at her very being.

She had lost consciousness a few times - that much the witch could still recall as she now struggled to keep afloat in the endless sea of pain that engulfed her. The brief respites of darkness and oblivion had rapidly become Freya's only ally during her time spent hanging from the large hook fixed into the chamber's ceiling. An unlikely friend that she had desperately welcomed with open arms each time its black tendrils had crept up on her - and equally one that she had mourned the loss of with a never ending torrent of tears each time it had departed.

The Jarls themselves were clearly no strangers to torturing people in order to obtain what they wanted. Every time that she had passed out – her mind unable to bear the whips assault upon her flesh any longer – the tall Jarl who had held the leather lash would pause in his onslaught, and wait until the Clan Leader had managed to rouse her back into the waking world once more.

And each time that she had reluctantly returned to the agony of consciousness, Halvar's bearded face had been there – nose to nose with her own as he had asked for the third….eighth….twelfth time if she was now ready to willingly give herself over to his control. If she was finally ready for all of the suffering and torment to end, by the simple act of her drinking the small vial of blood that he had continuously held within his grip.

The torch lit chamber had roiled and churned around the witch in a throbbing haze of suffering every time she had tried to focus her tear-filled gaze upon the blue-eyed Jarl demanding an answer from her. And every time, she had tried to will the words to form in her mouth to tell the unwashed piece of shit exactly where he could shove that tiny ampoule of his blood.

But she had not been able to find the strength. The strength to form those words of defiance. The strength to rip her chin away from the rough hand that had so often gripped onto it, forcing her to meet the Clan Leaders stare. The strength to scream out to the Jarl that she was a Mikaelson - and Mikaelson's did not betray the safety of their family members, no matter how much pain they were subjected to.

No – any slither of rebellion or defiance that she had had left within her after the cruel ministrations of Ake and his vicious tools of torture, had all too quickly bled out of the deep gashes that now pulsated in agony along the ruined remains of her back.

A sharp cry of pain now escaped her lips, as Freya once again attempted to lift her cheek off of the rough cold gravel upon which it was pressed – only for her head to collapse immediately back down upon the ground with a thud.

There was simply no energy left within any of her muscles.

Her body had not only been subjected to the horrors of physical torture, but had also been starved of any food since her incarceration days, or weeks ago – the concept of time now a strange and mystical being, one which mocked and laughed at her as it remained forever just out of her reach.

The bearded bikers had however not been completely inept in their hosting skills. Water had been forced down her throat at least a handful of times now from what her tormented mind could recall. The Jarls no doubt making sure that her body did not shut down completely due to the onset of dehydration.

The lack of strength in her arms and legs had not prevented her from at least trying to push herself up off the floor that she now lay crumpled upon – however each feeble attempt had only served in stoking the fire of agony that still raged and burned along every inch of her body.

A body that she imagined must now look even worse than it felt, considering that Halvar had not even ordered the other Jarl's to re-secure her against the catacombs wall after Vidar had finally ceased his relentless assault upon her back. The chains around her wrist had simply been disengaged from hook protruding out of the low ceiling, before her body had been allowed to collapse unceremoniously onto the gravelled floor – where she now remained, shivering in the chambers frigid air despite the searing fire that she could feel burning along every single cut and gash littering her body.

Despite her blurred vision not being able to make out anything other than the small stones pressed up against her face, Freya knew that the Jarl's had long since left her alone in the dimly lit Chamber, having departed soon after the whipping had stopped.

Halvar had been enraged.

She had felt the fury radiating off the Clan Leader, its energy so fierce in intensity that it had somehow managed to pierce through the hurricane of pain decimating its way across her body, to register in the tatters of her mind.

The Jarl had shouted and seethed at the other men in the room as Freya's limp and bleeding body had swayed back and forth from the hook - declaring each of them to be an incompetent and useless fool. He had thrown insult after insult towards the bikers, mocking everything from their masculinity to their intelligence for not being able to break the will of a lowly incapacitated, powerless, mortal – Mikaelson or not.

As pain had roared down both of her arms from the motion of Vidar roughly unhooking her from the ceiling, the witch had been thankful for the small mercy of the Clan Leader not having the ability to see directly into her mind. For it if he had, Halvar would have realised just how close she had come to breaking as the last few lashes of Vidar's whip had landed upon raw and bloodied, skinless flesh. Just how close she had come to begging for all of the pain and suffering to come to an end.

Just how close she had come to accepting that dammed vial of blood.

By some luck of the god's however, or simply a small twist of fate in her favour, the Jarl had appeared too consumed in his anger towards his own brethren to notice the thin precipice of surrender upon which Freya had been perilously teetering on.

And so they had left her – collapsed on the ground and free of any bindings to the wall or ceiling. Painfuly tight shackles remained secured to her wrists and ankles, but they were no longer fixed to anything else within the room. Such were her captives' confidence in the fact that her body was now too broken to be of any use to her should she have the notion to try and escape.

And they were right in that assumption. As the witch lay fragmented and ruined, bleeding out on the chambers cold and unforgiving floor, she knew that the Jarl's were right.

There was nothing in her left to give. No spark of defiance. No witty comeback or promises of a dealing the Jarl's a painful death once she was reunited with her brothers and sister. No bargains or promises to try and deceive the bearded men with, in an attempt to have them set her free.

Nothing.

Nothing, save for the fact that she had still not given up that last shred of free will flickering weakly inside of her.

Her mind - as unravelled and frayed as it now was – still at least remained her own.

The sound of a door creaking open on rusted hinges suddenly shattered the silence that had fallen over the chamber after Halvar and the other Jarls had left. Dread immediately began to wash over Freya once more, intensifying the shivers that were already wrecking their way along her battered body, as gravel covering the caverns floor crunched under approaching footsteps.

Silence filled the room once more, as the nearing steps came to a halt just as they had been about to reach her. Unable to summon any energy to lift her head from where it lay face-down on the floor, the witch eyes strained back and forth in their sockets as she tried to gleam any details of whom the newcomer might be.

Seconds quickly turned into minutes as the only discernable sound in the room around her continued to be the unsteady beating of her own heart, thrumming out a malevolent rhythm to which the pulsating pain running through her whole body diligently marched along to.

She was being watched – Freya didn't need any of her missing power to be able to feel the presence of another's eyes boring into her through the thick silence that currently choked the room.

Another handful of heartbeats – another failed attempt by the witch to roll herself over onto her back so as to better see who now stood in the chamber with her.

How long were they going refrain from announcing their presence? What were they waiting for? Were they here to inflict more pain upon her in yet another attempt to have her willingly drink Halvar's blood. Were they just there to watch her, under orders from the Clan Leader to make sure that she didn't try to escape?

As if she could somehow find the energy within her to even make it to her feet, let alone breakout of this…..place!

"Pathetic!"

The low gruff voice grated harshly on her ears as it appeared to materialise up from the cold gravel that her face was pressed against.

Her heart began to pound along in a faster rhythm, its sound now near deafening in her head as sharp tendrils of fear began to claw at the few shreds of skin remaining on her back.

"Pathetic and weak!"

The statement was stronger this time – louder, as it resounded through the chamber with an almost echo like quality.

She knew that voice. She had heard it before.

"All of you – every single one of your kind – are nothing but useless, feeble bitches that crumble to the ground at the first hint of a little hardship!"

Through the disorienting fog of her exhaustion, Freya finally recognised the hate filled gravelly tones as belonging to the overweight biker - the one whom had glowered at her across Rousseau's on the night that she had seen Amelia. The one whom had simply stared at her with something akin to a dark hunger as his fellow Jarl's had taunted her and Keelin on the night she had been abducted.

The Jarl that Halvar had referred to as Colborn.

She had purposely marked the sound of his voice when her captors had first revealed themselves to her in this chamber of hell, days….weeks….months ago.

As she had committed all of their voices to memory - or at least the ones who had spoken in her presence.

"Look at you, shaking on the floor like a beaten dog! Is that what you are wench, a wretched beaten dog waiting for its master to teach it some discipline?"

Freya barely had time to register the sound of gravel shifting, before a heavy black boot swiftly collided into her side – eliciting a muffled cry of pain to escape from her raw throat as more of her ribs fractured from the force of the impact.

The coppery taste of blood began to fill her mouth, either from the inside of her cheek that she had bitten when the Jarl's kick had jarred her, or from something far worse tearing somewhere deep within her body. She could not tell which.

"You know dog….", the biker continued - his voice now sounding more distant, as though he had strolled casually across the dimly lit chamber whilst Freya had been drowning within the new tidal wave of pain flooding her chest, "….you might have Halvar fooled into thinking that you are still no-where near breaking point - that the Mikaelson blood running through your veins is somehow making you more resistant than the average human is to my fellow brethren's methods of torment. But do you want to know what I think, dog?"

The sound of small stones and pebbles suddenly shifting were the only warning that Freya had, before a rough calloused hand clamped down tightly across the lower half of her face, before it twisted her head up as far as the taught tendons in her neck would allow.

Irises that churned and roiled with infinite vortexes of crimson and black now glowered into her own barely open eyes, as the bearded Jarl's face hovered mere centimetres above her own. The rancid smell of the overweight man's stale breath smothered over Freya's nose, causing bile to quickly rise up in her throat - its acrid tang mixing with the coppery palate already lingering in her mouth.

"I think, that you are just one small push away from lapping down that blood like a starved bitch."

A cruel sneer began to pull at the Jarl's mouth as his eyes continued to bore into her.

"And I'd wager a tankard of Curtis's finest ale that the wolf I've seen you associating with, is the key to you making you kneel!"

The greasy haired Jarl let out a rasping snigger of amusement as Freya's red-rimmed quickly eyes widened in response to his words.

No.

NO!

He couldn't know of her relationship with Keelin…could he?

The witch's mind whirled as she desperately tried to push down upon the pain that now threatened to overwhelm her completely, so as to try and recall the times that Colborn had seen her outside of this hellhole cavern.

Seen her and Keelin.

The wolf had walked past the hulking biker and his gang that night in Rousseau's – leather jacketed vampires jeering and catcalling her lover as she had made her way to the bathroom. But she remembered that the overweight Jarl's attention had been solely fixed on her, a predator's grin twisting his mouth as he had stared across the bar.

And then again on the night of her abduction – unlike the fair featured Jarl who had leered over Keelin like a deranged school boy lusting after the head cheerleader who never gave him the time of day – Colborn had only been looking at Freya. The same gluttonous sneer on plastered his face.

"She reeks of you…. did you know that?" Colborn mused, as he finally let go of the painful grip that he had on her chin. "The human wench who's really a wolf, stinks of the Mikaelson witch who now lies here bleeding at my feet, nothing more than a broken dog."

The Jarl let out a huff of amusement at his own choice of words, as he began pacing back and forth next to her collapsed body.

"So, I found myself wondering, why would the dark-haired bitch smell so strongly of a Mikaelson wench? The two of you are not mother and babe. Nor are you sisters born from the same womb. So why would her skin and clothes be teaming so vividly with your scent markers, that I could smell them as clear as the day each time she passed me by?!"

Agony flared in her dislocated shoulder as she desperately tried to move an arm under her frame in an attempt to push herself up off the floor. An attempt that was quickly foiled by the gruff biker, who casually kicked out at her injured shoulder as his pacing took him past her.

Freya's resulting scream resonated loudly around the whole catacomb as she landed back into the gravel with a thud, right onto the raw flesh of her destroyed back.

As Colborn came to a halt next to the witch, his eyes now looking down upon her, the smirk that had been lounging upon his mouth quickly dissolved, leaving only a grimace of distaste in its wake.

"She's your lover!" the Jarl spat out in disgust, as his narrowing eyes looked down his nose and beard at her. "And the one whom we should have had chained up in here from the start – helping her become acquainted with Vidar's whip and Ake's blades as you were forced to watch on!"

A torrid mixture of fear and anger began to flare painfully within her heart, as the despicable reality of the Jarl's words began to rip its way through her mind.

"N….No!"

The word rasped from her throat at an almost inaudible volume, as the effort of trying to speak caused sweat to break across her dirt covered forehead.

"She….she is…n…nothing….to….me!"

She had to try – try and convince the cumbersome Jarl that Keelin meant nothing to her. Was simply a casual associate whom she had happened to be with each time he had seen them together.

If they brought Keelin here, if they hurt the wolf in the way that they had tortured her, the pain that they had wrecked upon her body….No!

She had to try.

"Just a…an….acquaintance."

Excruciating agony ripped through her whole body as the Jarl suddenly gripped under her armpits with his hands and hauled her body up off the cold floor – as though her weight was nothing more than that of a child's ragged-doll to him. A thunderous roar ripped out of the Jarl's mouth as quickly twisted them both around – the chamber becoming a dizzying blur of motion to Freya's eyes, before she was abruptly thrown against an unyielding edge of the wooden table that had previously housed Ake's blades and knives.

The Jarl was immediately upon her, one rough hand pushing her neck down towards the surface of the bench, whilst the other gripped painfully onto her hips and pulled them back towards his rock-hard frame.

Panic tore through the witch as her face and chest were violently pressed down against the rough grain of the tables wood – the full weight of the biker's body crudely pressed up against her dangling legs, preventing any hope of a struggle.

Not that she had any strength left in her to struggle.

Not that she had anything left in her at all.

Hot, sour breath slithered across the shell of her ear as Colborn pressed the heavy bulk of his torso over the raw remains of her back in an attempt to reach her face - eliciting yet another cry of pain from deep within her chest.

She could feel him then – even through the agony that was now shredding at her very soul thanks to every cut, and gouge, and burn, and lash that they had subjected her to – she could still feel heat of the Jarl's manhood throbbing through his pants as he pressed his crouch painfully against her backside.

"I want you to think about your lover, witch!" the Jarl sneered into Freya's ear, as the abrasive coarse hair of his beard smothered over the side of her face that was not pressed against the table. "Think of everything that we will do to her if you do not kneel before us and drink that damned blood!"

The distinct sounds of a belt being ripped free from its confines and a metal zipper being hastily unfastened, mixed with the Jarl's heavy breaths in her ear and the thunderous cry of her own heartbeat roaring in her head.

iKeelin… Oh god, no!/i

"Think about every scream and plea for mercy that will rip out of her whoring throat…." Colborn's voice rasped, as his breathing began to pick up in pace, "…when I'm buried deep inside of her!"

A strangled sob was all that managed to leave Freya's mouth as the horror of the biker's words struck a wound in her soul far deeper than any of the horrific gashes that now marred her back.

"That is of course, "the biker continued, his voice forcing its way into her ear with invisible oiled talons, "once I am through fucking you!"

She felt the bulk of the biker's weight pull away from the back of her legs briefly, as a rough hand quickly hooked its way under the rim of her dirt covered denim jeans. The forceful snap of the material being ripped away from her skin with just a singular powerful tug from the Jarl barely registered on the witch's body, as a cold numbness began to ripple its way across her naked form.

And as Colborn deftly freed himself from the confines of his leather pants – a groping hand roughly pulling her legs apart to allow the biker to push the tip of his manhood up against her core – a single, fragile word ghosted through Freya's mind before it too began to lose itself in the impassive coldness of shock.

iKeelin…./i