Author's note: All Caroline wanted to do was ensure her fair-trade website helped the people who needed it the most. Instead, she gets caught up in a war between greedy, gunrunning werewolves and an insufferable hybrid on a supernatural scavenger hunt.
"Doing nothing for others is the undoing of ourselves."
― Horace Mann
Vervain-soaked cable ties. During Caroline's time as a vampire, she'd occasionally found herself in trouble — the kind that involved iron shackles, handcuffs, that one time with the cursed red licorice ropes, etc. But vervain-laced restraints really pissed her off. She grit her teeth as a sharp edge began to cut its way into one of her wrists, the vervain causing her skin to bubble and smoke. She banged her head against the rusted tin wall, causing the corrugated metal to vibrate and scrape against the concrete floor where she sat.
She'd come to eastern Kenya to source products for her fair-trade website, Eternal Good, and was pleased with the meetings she'd had with the Kamba tribe elders. Despite their well-known reputation for exquisite wood carving and pottery, she knew that most lived in poverty, forced to sell their wares for a fraction of their value. It was exactly why she'd started her website — to help people receive fair wages for their work and elevate their standard of living.
While her sources had indicated violent unrest within the local political climate, she was confident in her supernatural abilities. Overconfident, as it turned out. But then again, how was she supposed to know that an especially ruthless werewolf pack was involved?
A meaty fist connected with her cheekbone, causing her head to snap back against the thin metal wall once more. "Who are you? Why have you come here?!"
Despite the blinding pain that had her momentarily seeing stars, she still managed to roll her eyes. Apparently, she was in for the same set of questions the wolves had been harassing her with ever since they'd attacked her outside of the crumbling community center and drove her to the outskirts of a remote village. No wonder members of the Kamba tribe were unable to make a better life for themselves — the greedy werewolf pack had forced them to be their gunrunners. In league with the corrupt local government, they'd terrorized the tribe into smuggling guns among the warring political factions.
She suspected they were affiliated with the Somali militant group who had claimed responsibility for vicious attacks along the border. She angrily ground her teeth, black veins emerging as she recalled the destruction and chaos during the university attack in Garissa. Nearly 150 people were gunned down, with more wounded during the subsequent bombings. She would take her time with these wolves, and find out the depth of their disgusting crimes.
"My name's Caroline and I'm here to source products for my fair-trade website; just like I told your idiot pack mates on the ride over here." Spitting a mouthful of blood on his camouflage shirtfront, she growled, "Of course, my goals have shifted slightly, now that I see the best way I can help the tribe is to take out their trash."
He bared his teeth, a touch too sharp to be human. "Worthless creature! You think to take down my pack alone?!"
"I counted five of your pack's little puppies that I put down before you managed to catch me," Caroline taunted, turning her head so the next blow glanced off of her other cheekbone rather than break her nose. Putting herself in harm's way had honed her skills, and she'd learned the hard way how to defend herself. Not weak anymore.
"You killed five werewolves on your own? Impressive, sweetheart," called out another voice.
She raised an eyebrow, refusing to wince at how the movement caused several of her not-quite-healed gashes to bleed more. The new voice was wrapped up in a delicious accent that made her wary rather than swoon. There was power in that voice. She was taken aback by the disarming dimples and angelic features, but she hardened her glare, knowing better than to trust a face that pretty. There were always strings.
He moved like a vampire with quite a few centuries behind him — blatantly predatory, any trace of humanity long since forgotten. However, he smelled wrong. He smelled like a werewolf, and it wasn't just from his close proximity to the pack. She narrowed her eyes, thinking hard. While she'd seen some things over the years, the concept of a vampire-werewolf hybrid seemed silly. Like, TV-writers-had-run-out-of-ideas silly. She inwardly sighed. "Almost as impressive as an ancient hybrid."
"You've heard of me, then. Excellent," he crowed, gray eyes twinkling.
"No," she said flatly, "But I have eyes and since this whiny werewolf pack never learned how to throw a punch, my nose is working fine."
At her snarky outburst, the werewolf who'd been interrogating her snarled, "Stupid little vampire. The full moon is tonight. We'll bite you and leave your filthy carcass to rot in the sun."
Caroline felt a small sliver of fear at his words, having seen a few acquaintances over the years fall prey to a werewolf bite. It was a slow, agonizing death, and she'd staked a friend just to save them further pain. Carefully schooling her features into a mask of boredom and disdain, she taunted, "Do it. I'll just cure myself and come back here and kick your asses all over again."
"Idiot girl — there is no cure," her tormentor growled, the heat of his breath on her sweaty cheek making her want to gag.
"You and your pack clearly have been keeping tabs on me while I've been here. I'm sure you've noticed the connections I've made, the effortless way I've been able to move among the warring territories without incident? There's powerful shamans who can shape the world as they choose, and I'm fortunate enough to have earned their blessing." Caroline leveled the werewolf with her fiercest glare. "Try me, bitch."
She did her best to keep her heart rate steady, refusing to twitch a single muscle and give away the fact that she just spun a ridiculous number of lies. There was no cure for a werewolf bite. The only shaman she knew was an old fisherman missing a thumb who made a fucking fantastic amaretto sour. And the last time he'd done magic bigger than a locator spell, he'd accidentally caught his hair on fire. And his bushy eyebrows. She thought his ears had finally grown back, though.
The calculating look on the smirking stranger's face was hard to read. He flashed his dimples at her before commanding the werewolf, "Leave us." Her captor bristled at the order, but seemed to have enough fear of the hybrid to do as he asked — for now. Werewolf tempers bubbled too close to the surface to truly let things go. Even if she hadn't recognized the power behind his tone, the self-assured confidence he wore like a second skin boasted of an uncompromising leader. She found herself curious about the events in his life that had created that enormous ego. Damn those dimples.
He casually sat in the dented metal chair across from her, nodding politely as he introduced himself. "Klaus Mikaelson, Original Hybrid. And you're quite possibly the boldest young vampire I've ever met, sweetheart." Tipping her a saucy wink, he whispered conspiratorially, "I also know for a fact there's only one cure for a werewolf bite — my blood."
"Awesome, then I'll know who to bite if these wolves sneak in a nibble when I make my escape later."
Klaus chuckled, admiration in his tone as he observed, "You are a delight, Caroline. Tell me, do you fight off werewolves for sport back home?"
She shrugged, doing her best to keep her voice light despite the darkness that flooded her mind. Almost a century had gone by and she still carried those damn memories. "Mystic Falls didn't have werewolves when I lived there — at least, none that I ever knew about. But they did have a vampire problem. I still don't have all the whys and hows of what happened to me, but after I became a vampire, some memories returned that I didn't like. Took off the same night I was turned and never looked back."
Her sheriff mother shoving a shotgun in her face, refusing to see her daughter as anything other than a monster. She didn't want to know how Caroline was shaking from her body's new urges. How she was reliving the terror-filled memories of cruel fangs, mocking laughter and a viselike grip.
He seemed intrigued by her revelation, a brief flicker of anger marring his handsome features when she implied the compulsion and the dark things done to her. She also noted his reaction to her hometown. Mystic Falls was familiar to him. Something to explore later — provided she managed to get out of this mess.
He relaxed into the chair, casually resting his arms behind his curly head as he told her, "You're a survivor, love. As a token of my respect, I'd free you from those bonds, but it seems you've already removed your restraints and only are pretending to be shackled to determine how much of a threat I pose."
"So much for the element of surprise," she said dryly, flicking the blood-streaked plastic ties onto the floor between them. She was shrewd, studying him carefully while doing her best to ignore the way her heart fluttered as she caught him checking her out again. "You're not a part of this pack. But you want something from them. What is it?"
"Clever girl." He considered her, seemingly weighing his options before finally revealing, "I'm having some difficulties with a few acquaintances in my kingdom, and it's rumored that the Serratura Medallion has surfaced in this area. I'm currently in delicate negotiations with this pack to recover it."
Suspicious, she asked, "What kind of damage does it do?"
A wicked gleam flared in his gaze as he explained, "It's a bronze disc carved with intricate hieroglyphics that produces an unbreakable boundary to trap both the living and the dead."
Caroline's breath caught as she recalled an odd interaction with one of the Kamba elders. She'd been admiring a beautiful wild olive wood carving, the painstaking precision of arthritic fingers that could transform a splintered chunk of wood into a delicate ribbon that seemed to float on the breeze. The collar of the elder's brightly colored kitenge shifted, and she noticed an unusual coin threaded with a strip of leather hung from her neck. It looked old, and she immediately was intrigued, but before she could ask about it, the woman quickly had covered it back up, a nervous tremor to her hands that spoke volumes.
"Ah, it seems you're familiar with the object I seek."
She lifted her chin defiantly. "Yes."
He was perceptive, his gray eyes alight with mischief as he surmised, "But you've no intention of revealing its location to me."
"Nope."
Several pack members suddenly burst into the building, the leader Caroline had spat on earlier still fuming. From the way he and his lieutenants glared, it seemed they were ready to attack both of them.
Klaus smirked, winking at her as he said, "Then I look forward to our negotiations, love — after we punish these wolves for rudely interrupting us."
