Nine:

The Cannibalistic Can-Can


Mystic Falls, Virginia, Salvatore Boarding House

Hemlock sat at the kitchen island, barefoot on the barstool, watching as Damon Salvatore came strutting down from the fridge, tray in hand. Stefan, standing beside his niece, crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

"I don't know about this."

Damon scoffed and placed the tray down on the marble top, between him and the frowning All-Blood.

"What is there not to know? We agreed to help Hemlock begin to understand what she is, and the first step in doing so is to ensure she can eat and therefore live long enough to figure it out. How much is she going to learn if she becomes desiccated?"

Damon gestured down to the tray, to the four lidded Styrofoam cups all lined up in a neat modest row.

Stefan glanced to Hemlock still staring deeply at the cups before her.

"And you want to try this?"

Hemlock shook her head.

"Look, my hunger was bad before I went to sleep, but I had a grip on it-… Sort of-… Okay, not really, but I wasn't-… I hadn't fed. I lasted six whole bloody years without giving into that… Urge. Now, after eating that Wiccan-"

The fiddling hands in her lap clenched.

"My throat is burning."

And now she knew how to ease that thirst, that burn, that indescribable hurt, and it would only get worse the longer it was denied. Everyone in the kitchen knew that.

Hemlock peered over at Stefan from the corner of her eye.

"And if the Mikaelsons decide to decline my deal, well… I meant what I said out there, I really don't want to go around devouring everything and everyone, but the longer I stay like this with this relentless thirst-… It's getting worse, and I won't be able to hold out much longer."

Rolling her shoulders and cranking her neck, Hemlock straightened up in her seat, slapping her hands down on the countertop.

"So let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

Stefan ultimately relented, the fact being that what Hemlock had said was true, leaving no room for much argument to be tossed back and forth, and Damon grinned, clapping and rubbing his ringed hands together.

"Welcome to Café Salvatore! Were the blood is heated to a cosy 98.6 degrees thanks to our in-house microwave. May I take your order?"

Hemlock jutted her chin out.

"Let's go left to right."

Plucking up the furthest left cup, Damon skidded it to the youngest Vampire across the table.

"Bottoms up, buttercup."

Hemlock reached for it, grasped it, popping the plastic lid that kept the blood warm off and discarding it on the kitchen island. Curiously, she leaned over and took an inquisitive inhale-

Her nose immediately curled up, wrinkled in distaste, head snatching away and her arm extended back out, holding the cup as far from her as possible.

"Merlin's tits on a truck!"

She cursed.

"What the fuck is that?!"

Damon winced.

"Human blood from my personal stash."

Stefan shuffled where he stood.

"Maybe… Maybe try pinching your nose? See if that helps?"

Hemlock shot a withering glare his way, still valiantly trying to hold the cup of blood as far from herself as feasible.

"Helps? It smells like rot and excrement left to mummify in a lake of sulphur. I've smelled better jockstraps."

Roughly and curiously, Damon bowed closer over the table, sniffing himself.

"It smells normal to me."

Stefan, too, nodded, arms wound tighter around his chest, keeping himself safely away from the sweet-smelling human blood wafting towards him, needing no closer introduction to the tempting ambrosia.

Hemlock sneered, but she did bring the cup back closer to herself.

"Alright… Alright. Down the hatch then."

Using her spare hand to pinch her nose tight, Hemlock brought the cup close, tilted her head far back, and drank it down in one, smacking the cup back down onto the countertop when it was drained.

Her throat bobbed.

"Oh, it's not that bad reall-"

Hemlock froze.

Completely froze.

Stefan frowned.

"Hemlock? You okay there?"

Nothing. Not even a blink.

"Hemlock-"

She cut Damon off with a hand raise, one lone finger held up, a strange gurgling, stirring, bubbling noise rumbling and-

And that was about when she swivelled in her seat, mercifully in the opposite direction of Stefan, and hurled burgundy blood all over the kitchen floor.

Stefan stumbled backwards in disbelief, even as Damon swiftly got over his own blow of surprise to speed around the counter.

"Oh crap-"

"Ack… Ow… I think it's over-"

She heaved again, unbelievably more blood spraying up the counter and across the floor, likely the remnants of Esther, twisted over herself as she retched and lifted everything back up in undulating waves that shook her entire frame and saw a fresh wave of blood bespatter.

Damon reached for her, grabbing her by the shoulders, frantic, uncaring of the half-digested blood now splashing across his expensive shoes.

"What do I do-"

Stefan floundered.

"I don't know! Get a bucket-"

Hemlock's head came back up from between her knees, breath heavy, cheeks pale, pupils slitted.

"It's fine… I'm fine… I think… I think it's done with…Fuck."

She grimaced, face knotting up, eyes screwing shut as if she were in physical pain.

"Fuck… That didn't feel good."

Damon lazily stroked at her still trembling back.

"It didn't look good either… Perhaps human's off the menu for the foreseeable future."

Stefan incredulously hit back.

"You don't say? She just projectile vomited her body weight in blood! I told you this was a bad idea-"

"How was I supposed to know it would do that to her-"

Ignoring the bickering brothers, Hemlock wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, winced one last time, and reached for the next cup, popping the lid. She wearily sniffed at it.

"Nope. Smells like muddy fur and ammonia."

She didn't try that one, instead reaching for the next, repeating the cycle.

"Smells… Alright. But weak. Really weak. I think I could stomach it, but it wouldn't be the first thing I reached for. Like at a fancy restaurant, no one orders a single ice cube."

And then she reached for the last, snuffling.

"Oh-"

Her pupils constricted tighter, slithers lost in the green, and she moved so fast, too fast to see, and before Stefan could really hear the oh of delight pass her lips the cup was drained and crushed in a tight fist.

She licked the last drop of it from her bottom lip.

"That one. That one was good."

Stefan knew what it was, could still smell it, and he glared over at Damon.

"You gave her your own blood?"

Damon sauntered back around the kitchen island, carefully circumventing the pool on the floor.

"Where else was I going to get Vampire blood at this hour of the day? You? You're so jacked up on Bambi you barely count as a Vampire anymore."

Coming to a stop around the counter, Damon grinned.

"And now at least we know."

Stefan exasperatedly scowled across at him.

"And what does it show us, this little test of yours?"

Damon grinned harder.

"It shows us, brother, that human and animal, the first two, are clearly no-goes. However, Wiccan, which I am speculating is a lesser version of whatever magic you have-"

Damon glanced to Hemlock.

"Is okay, not the best but it would do in a fix, and the last, Vampire, definitely is greenlit."

He chuckled.

"You're a little bit cannibalistic, that's all."

That's all?

Stefan shook his head, he too turning to face Hemlock.

"You can only feed on something supernatural. The more supernatural-"

"The better."

Hemlock finished lamely, finally relinquishing the empty cup as if it hurt her to do so, to let even a drop escape her grasp.

But then Stefan snapped to Damon.

"Where did you get Wiccan blood, anyway?"

Damon waved him off.

"Long story."

And quickly diverted attention.

"Which might explain why Mama Mikaelson filled you up, being the old hag-toothed Witch she was, but-"

"But why my throat is still burning. She was still just a Wiccan. Ancient or not."

The sound of the barstool being pushed away from the counter was loud, blaring and grinding, and Hemlock hopped up, away from the blood on the floor, running a tongue across her teeth.

She waved her hand flippantly, and the blood across the ground vanished in a plume of purple light.

Magic.

Right.

Stefan still had to get used to that. Seeing a Vampire cast spells.

"So, in short, I'm now cannibalistic. Explains why I nearly chomped into Hermione's neck when she turned her head-"

Hemlock shook her head before Stefan or Damon could ask exactly who this Hermione was, deflecting herself back onto the topic at hand.

"But even then, she didn't smell as good as the Mikaelsons or you two do. Might explain why I held out so long before being put under in a coffin as well. I wasn't around Vampires before. The temptation wasn't there. Other supernatural creatures will bridge the gap, but Vampire's are the main course… I'm fucked, aren't I?"

Damon kicked back where he stood.

"No… No. If the Mikaelsons go no deal, you eat them anyway, and then we simply have to find some other Vamp-ies for you to sink those teeth into."

Stefan sighed.

"Vampires that won't exist if she kills the Mikaelsons. The Sire-lines, Damon."

Damon winced.

"Right… Forgot about those troublesome things."

Hemlock, however, shrugged.

"I can find a way around those. Witch, remember? A pretty powerful one too, if I do say so myself. I'm fairly sure I can figure out an isolation spell to cut off the threads at the right place to keep the lines intact, maybe mix it with a heritage spell to keep the bloodlines protected-"

Hemlock clocked Stefan's look, and blinked owlishly at him.

"What? I'm really hungry and they smell really good."

Stefan pressed closer to the table.

"How about we leave unpacking all… That for a later date, and say, first, figure out how you have magic to begin with. Your… Vampiric nature should have cancelled out your ability to do magic."

Hemlock shoved the now vacated barstool back towards the island.

"Yeah, well, I shouldn't exist either, should I? Vampires shouldn't be able to procreate, and yet here I am. I'm just full of surprises."

Damon, nevertheless, pondered the question.

"Maybe us or Lexi have… Magic in the family? Not a lot for us, not enough to stand the turning, or be much use when we were alive, but seen as Hemlock was born Vampiric, it being with her from the moment of conception-"

Stefan intervened.

"The magic she too was born with might have had a chance to adapt and mutate while she was in the womb and the Vampiric nature wasn't as developed."

"Or-"

Hemlock grinned.

"I'm super badass, like… Ridiculously badass, and I defy all known laws of nature?"

Stefan chuckled.

"Or that, I suppose. Either way, we might be able to find remnants of a Witch or two in the family if we dig deep enough into the records. If not… We might have to go looking into the Branson side of things."

Hemlock nonchalantly shrugged.

"My bets on the Salvatore side."

She said as she scrutinized a keen eye over at Stefan.

"Given that you're under that rather nasty reincarnation curse too. You know, the same one as that Ellie girl."

Stefan stopped his drumming fingers across the countertop, giving his undivided attention to his niece, grimacing sluggishly as his voice strained stiff like a violin cord pulled too tight.

"Excuse me?"

Hemlock frowned; dark brows hooded.

"What did you call it? A Dobbledigook?"

"Doppelganger?"

Damon hesitantly questioned.

Hemlock nodded.

"That's it. You're a Doppelganger."

She stole another sweep of Stefan as the man in question wavered.

"I am not a-"

"You are. I can sense it. Old magic. Really old… Two thousand years? I think… Maybe a century or two more or less. Someone on the ol' family tree must have pissed someone else right off. Obviously they must have had magic too, in some form, or the spell wouldn't still be working, a battery keeping it going through the centuries. Marvellous spell work, ingenious really. The curse, from what I can sense, acts like a leach. Attaches itself and then uses the hosts own shattered remnants of magic to keep it powered through the generations, while keeping that core shattered to stop the host line from ever really shirking the curse off as it would be able to if it had its magical core back. If you're a Doppelganger, the magic I have is from your side."

Hemlock titled her head at him, and Stefan found himself pathetically tumbling down onto the barstool at his side. She seemed to notice his reaction, the lackadaisical slip and slide into shock, and the smile on her face dropped much as Stefan had. Pitifully and limply.

"You didn't know?"

Hemlock winced.

"I thought that was why you had your knickers in a bunch over the other Doppelganger. You know… Camaraderie and all that for living with the short end of the stick and not really having your own skin."

Damon ran a hand down his face.

"And you're sure of this? Absolutely positive?"

Hemlock rolled her eyes.

"No, I'm making it all up-… Of course I'm bloody sure! I thought you lot already knew!"

Damon braced himself against the countertop, arms straight, locked at joint.

"Well this… Makes things a bit more complicated."

Stefan, ultimately, gathered himself, shaking his head.

"No-… No. It's… We know now that the magic is on our side. We focus on that. We focus on Hemlock. This… This doesn't matter."

Damon scowled at him, cold eyes sparking bright.

"Oh, I see, when I try and bury my head in the sand I'm a coward afraid of emotional hurt, but when the almighty Stefan does it, you're merely protecting the innocents-"

Before an argument could blow up, Hemlock arose to put a cork in it.

"Look, clearly the issue of my existence and your Doppelganger-ness are linked to our hereditary ancestor who got themselves in this mess to begin with. They were clearly magical. We find them, we might just find answers. For both our questions."

Damon shrugged, backing down.

"It's a start."

Hemlock glanced down at herself, wincing at the splatter of blood dotted down her top, tugging the soiled cloth away from her chest as she meandered for the kitchen door.

"No, what is a start is me getting in the shower. I have regurgitated human blood on me and it fuckin' reeks."

Damon, too, went to leave the kitchen, grinning at Stefan as he waved a hand over to the kitchen counter.

"I'll just leave you to clean this up-"

"Damon, don't you dare-"

But he was gone.

Stefan groaned and turned to face the counter, the crushed, spilled, cups.

Brilliant.

He was a glorified house maid now.


Mystic Falls, Virginia, Salvatore Boarding House

Hemlock peeled the shirt and jeans from her body, wadding the lot up tightly, glowering at the stench still coming from the fabric to churn her stomach something vile.

There was no use for it.

The bra and knickers would have to go too.

Stripping down to nothing, Sirius's jacket safe and sound hanging on the hook on the back of the bathroom door, saved from the spillage by the protection spells she had weaved into the leather, holding her breath, Hemlock piled her clothes together, bundled them up on the bathroom floor, and vanished the entire lot.

No use putting them into the laundry basket at the side of the shower. They'd just stink up the entire room. The hallway-

The house.

Who knew humans smelled so-

Diseased inside?

Hemlock scowled as she slunk under the boiling hot spray of the shower, scrubbing furiously at her skin with a loafer and her nails, to get rid of the smell that still nauseatingly lingered on and around her.

There was still so much to do, so much to figure out, she needed a wand, Morgana knew where her last one was, likely still at the Bistro she was kidnapped from ten years ago, her wandless and nonverbal magic good but never as good as with a wand in her hand, and she needed to find potion ingredients in case of an emergency, perhaps a cauldron, definitely Mikaelson blood-

Circe, she was hungry.

Really, really, really hungry.

That cup of blood from the kitchen, Damon's, had been just enough to get her senses going, but not enough to slake any of the burn.

If she didn't get something soon, she really was going to munch on Damon or Stefan Salvatore and then-

Then where would she be?

Fuck, this was a mess.

This whole day.

This whole decade-

Her whole bloody life, according to what she had learned earlier, and she had learned a whole lot. Her father was alive, undead, and currently downstairs, she had an uncle who apparently ate squirrels on a regular basis, her mother was dead, murdered by said undead daddio, there were Doppelgangers and Werewolves, Vampires and Wiccans and Sun and Moon curses…

Hemlock had the sudden and irrevocably sickening thought that she had awoken in some sort of supernatural teen drama. She swore, if there was one single reference to another love triangle, a I love you but I can't, or, Merlin forbid, I'm doing this for your own protection bullshit, she was going to vomit.

Again.

Just bone, already.

Half the problems in this town, as far as Hemlock could see, would be solved if any one of the participants got consistently laid more than once every couple of centuries, preferably by someone not shagging their brother, leading their decisions to fall to the monster known as blue-ball-brain.

Maybe, with how irritable she was feeling and her abrupt turn in thoughts, Hemlock was the one in need of getting laid. It had been over ten years.

She's surprised she hasn't got cobwebs down there.

Moreover, there might be more to this All-Blood stuff than feeding to this… Hunger. She felt itchy, caught in skin too tight, pumped up on that jittery sensation that she always got before she nose-dived on her broom, snitch so close to her fingertips, earth so close to smashing into her, glory and death teetering on one singular moment. Only the drop never came, the sudden pull up and out, the release-

It was frustrating, like having an ache just out of reach and sight but never mind.

Hemlock was balancing on the precipice of something great, she could feel it humming in her bones, and she wants more. Hemlock has always wanted more. She's greedy like that, and just honest enough to admit it.

To herself, no one else, but hey-ho, no one was perfect.

If I can't find a way to alleviate this feeling, maybe I could relieve something else. I could go out and find a nice lad or lady to-

Hemlock shook that thought clean off, ducking her face under the warm spray to wash away the shampoo soap suds. She was stronger, had always been stronger, and faster than most, sensitive to smells and touch and taste, even before dying at Tom Riddle's wand point and waking up to find food now ash on her tongue.

It had made dating… Difficult. Nearly impossible. One night stands even harder, and all of it so utterly unenjoyable.

Now-

Well, now was worse, now everything was amped up to fuckin' ten, her nerves were on fire and her skin was ablaze in a current and the neurons in her brain felt as if they were firing off too quickly but not lasting long enough, snapping and short circuiting, making it hard to concentrate, and in the heat of the moment she'd end up cracking the poor human's back like a glow stick.

This town does have a seemingly overabundance of Vampires, they might be able to withstand-

She, anew, winced at that one.

She wouldn't be able to help herself, that close, that filled up, this on edge, she'd bite.

You don't fuck a sandwich and then eat said sandwich, do you? Gross.

Regretfully, Hemlock's libido, a monstrous thing in and of itself since she had first seen Oliver Wood with his shirt off in the Gryffindor changing rooms and realised boys with muscles looked pretty neat, would have to take a backseat and shut the fuck up.

Food first, good fuck later.

Switching off the shower, and deciding the fluffy towel on the rack looked rather nice and deciding to dry herself off the muggle way, Hemlock wrapped herself up and padded over to the sink, conjuring a toothbrush to go with the toothpaste she had spotted.

Food.

That was the main problem right now. Food. If she had one good feed, she might be able to gather her thoughts properly, appropriately.

No wayward wondering what succulent-suit-man looked like underneath that stuffy collar-

Hemlock leaned over the sink and spat, scowling at herself glaring back from the mirror above.

"You're a right piece of work."

Her reflection almost seemed to laugh at her, and Hemlock turned away, the clock on the wall catching her gaze.

Five hours.

It had been five hours since she had given those bastards the deal, and Hemlock had thought she had been pretty damn clear on them having four hours. Plenty of time to come to a decision. What was taking them so fuckin' long? It wasn't like it was a difficult ultimatum.

Give me your blood willingly or die.

Where could the confusion be in that?

Fanged-Fido.

Of course.

He didn't seem to be the type to bare his neck lightly. If ever. He was, in all likelihood, kicking up a shit storm about the possibility of even surrendering to a compromise-

He does look kind of intense when he flashes those lovely eyes of his-

I told you to shut the fuck up and take a back seat.

It was no use.

This was getting ridiculous.

Hemlock whipped her hair up into a bun, transfigured the towel around her waist into some clean jeans and a top, forsaking the bra and knickers so her skin might just stop that sizzling-shivering for five fuckin' minutes, slid on Sirius's old jacket, toed on her boots, and squared herself off with one last glare into the mirror.

If she can't feed, and she can't fuck, there was one last option that had seen Hemlock through most of her toughest days, emotional highs and lows and all.

Fight.

And if the mountain won't go to Muhammed-

Then Muhammed will tear that mountain down boulder by boulder until he gets what he fuckin' wants because he's Muhammed, and he doesn't need to sit around and twiddle his bloody thumbs.

No.

She can't do that either, could she? She goes trailing after the Mikaelsons, blows down their door with a huff and a puff, they would see if for what it was.

Desperation.

Hemlock can't have that, have them knowing just how desperate she was, just how on edge and frantic, if she went barrelling at them, they would realize they had her by the short and curlies.

They would realize they have a ledge to stand on.

Worse yet, after that recognition, they might realize they had room to bargain.

Merlin forbid they start trying to demand something from her for their continual blood donations.

Can't have that.

Best they think she was giving them a hand out from the rather small slither of goodness in her heart. So that brought Hemlock effortlessly and directly back to square fuckin' one.

No food in sight.

No fuck to be had.

No fight to be waged.

Balls…

Who knew being undead was so… Tedious?

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, and Hemlock heard the voices mutely arguing from downstairs and across the house before she even breached the landing. She had hoped it had been the TV, some soap drama, but now-

Well, now the voices were unmistakable.

And dreary.

"I told you I needed time Elena-"

"I know, but I just wanted you to see that-"

"Oh, I see. I see a whole lot right now."

"Don't be like that Stefan-"

"Stefan's right, Elena. You can't just-"

"Really? You turned Bonnie's mother, Damon. Don't you feel even a little-"

And Hemlock promptly, calmly, and resolutely swivelled on her heel, making her way to the far end of the corridor facing the back garden.

Not today, Satan.

No siree.

She was not going to be stuck in the middle of that.

What she was going to do was find a quiet, nondescript place where she could bloody think without being drowned out by the almost tragically unfunny comedy of this town.

Of her life.

Five minutes. All I want is five bloody minutes to get my head in order without someone else coming along and putting another thing on my plate.

By the sound of the voices, they were… In the drawing room. Right by the bloody front door.

One thing for it, then.

Hemlock heaved the window open, eyed the two-story drop, slung a leg over, and jumped.

She landed on her feet silently, the stars above speckles in the oncoming night, and she took a deep, calming breath.

Five minutes and booze.

Riffling out the packet of cigarettes from her pocket, Hemlock flipped on free, caught it in her mouth, and flicked her fingers, sparking the end to a sizzling amber with a splutter of magic, taking a drag.

Five minutes, booze, and somewhere fun.

With a chuckle, she sped off into the night.


Mystic Falls, Virginia, Bar and Grill.

Kol Mikaelson leaned deep against the pool cue, eyeing the table in front of him before he took the shot. It hit, the last ball pocketed with a click and a snap, and he grinned when he stood to his full height as the mortal woman crooned.

Of course he won.

Kol always won.

"How about me and you head around out back-"

He halted when the door rattled, a muted tick of a latch opening, watching a crown of black curls appear between the shoulders of two semi-drunk business colleagues in a booth to bounce their way through the Friday night throng towards the open top bar.

A delicate hand tipped in claret clawed nails on Kol's chest dragged him away from the sight of a woman skulking onto a barstool, glancing down to the coquettish smile from red stained lips shot up at him.

"What was that, handsome?"

Kol rolled his jaw.

He should leave.

He should leave right now. Slink out the backdoor he had been planning on luring the mortal woman through to drain in the alley way, where he would then skulk off back to the mansion, back to Rebekah and Klaus and Elijah still, six hours later, arguing over the ultimatum given to the brothers at the Salvatore doorstep.

He should leave.

Kol's siblings likely didn't know he was missing, given that he had left the three to it an hour ago and his phone was still blissfully silent, bored by their insufferable back and forth.

He should leave.

It was a stale mate, at the end. It had been for the last three bloody hours. Rebekah and Klaus didn't trust the All-Blood to uphold their deal today, and then not take a head tomorrow, considering the pact had been some sort of ploy to lull them into a false sense of security for one swift killing swipe. Elijah and Kol, however, had thought it was a rather reasonable offer, and it would, inevitably, buy them time, for a few pints of blood, to think of something to do.

If Elijah and Klaus had not hallucinated the encounter, which Kol had not originally been entirely convinced they had not before seeing that woman amble into the Grill, the bloody wild-thing known as the All-Blood could summon White Oak stakes.

Yeah… Kol wasn't going to be the one to tell them no. Nik could do that if he wanted to, and then-

Well, three birds down with one stone. The All-Blood would be fed for a while, Nik would get his long overdue comeuppance, and Kol would have a good laugh about it.

For the couple of hours it took for the All-Blood to track the rest of them down.

Still, Kol had left after the third rendition of Elijah's Neeklaus, and had come here, of all places, the only bar in town, to get a bite to eat and the sound of his siblings arguing out of his ears. He wanted some Akvavit, missed its taste, the comfort it brought, the flavour of home it invoked, but apparently the Grill didn't sell anything that didn't have an American flag on the bottle, so Kol had made do with the next best thing.

Blood.

Or he had been trying to, before being interrupted by what had come strolling through the door in leather and luck-

Kol should leave-

Kol never quite managed to do what he should no matter how hard he tried.

And that was never very hard to begin with.

Glancing down to the woman still grinning up at him, he shirked off her hand.

"Leave."

The flirtatious smile faltered on her pretty oval face.

"Excuse me?"

Kol's pupils dilated.

"Go home."

The hand fell from his chest limply, immediately, the woman stumbled away in a daze, and Kol… Well, Kol propped the cue up by the table, cut through the modest crowd, gaze latched onto a curved back, ears pricked.

"Disaronno? Fernet? Frangelico? Fuck… I'd take some Sambuca?"

The human behind the bar, the pallid, dawdling blond thing Rebekah had her knickers in a twist over… Mark? Matt?

Matt.

Dithered.

"Uh, we have… Whisky?"

Though Kol could only see the back of the woman, he suspected, by the way Matt shrank back, she had glared.

"Fine. That. Give the me strongest bottle you have."

Matt turned to behind the bar, about to edge down the way to the higher up shelves, but the All-Blood called him back.

"And when I say bottle I mean bottle. None of this shot crap."

Matt nodded hastily, disappearing with a quick shtick of his shoes against the tile, and Kol was just a few steps away-

The All-Blood turned, dazzling green eye peeking over her shoulder, fastened right upon his prowling frame at her back.

"And unless you have a certain special delivery hidden somewhere in those Levi's of yours, I really wouldn't come any closer."

Kol rolled and stole a barstool not two down from the All-Blood. Close enough, but not too close. The All-Blood, resting heavy on the bar, spun back around in her seat, the light sliding gently over her black hair until it shimmered slightly blue. A deep colour, a rich shade, a thick hue, like soot, a colour so intensely itself it was hard not to admire it or wonder what it would look like spread across skin in streaks and streams.

Kol's favourite colour had always been blood red, ironically even before his turning, pure and uncorrupted, the humble tint of life, but here, he thought, here he might just see a rival. Because that kind of black was not, despite what one might think, lacking in colour, but so filled with it that it could not help but become its own beast, an amalgamation of light refracted.

The Grill was buzzing with conversations, all of them vying with the low whine of the pop music humming through the speakers up top, the crowd young, students mostly, and still, over the noise, this clatter and clang, the All-Bloods smoke and smoulder voice resonated out alarmingly, as if she could whisper in a hailstorm and Kol could still be able to pinpoint that voice through the gale.

She observed him where he sat, settling into his seat.

"You're a brave one, aren't you?"

Matt came back with her bottle and a clean glass, sliding them her way, spotting Kol and-

Waxing white.

"Miss, you should really-"

Hemlock, that was the name Elijah gave, stole the bottle and glass, nodding for Matt to move along.

"I know what he is, and trust me, I'm not the one who should be afraid here."

Matt hesitated, confused, clearly, but Kol shrugged.

"Make yourself useful will you, mate? I'll have what she's having."

Matt, eventually, did as he was bid, grabbing the closest whisky bottle and glass he could before dumping them before Kol unceremoniously, perhaps he was quite smart for a human born and raised in Mystic Falls, Odin knew the others were woefully foolish and all too easy to snare, and bolted for the other end of the bar, as far away from the pair at the edge.

"Truth be told…"

Kol started as he poured himself a drink.

"I half expected Elijah and Nik to have made your swift return up if only to give them an excuse to bicker."

Hemlock downed her freshly poured drink in one, refilling immediately afterwards. She didn't wince at the burn, nor did she waver with her reply.

"If that's your justification of why you bastards have gone and made me wait-"

A razor-sharp evergreen glare over a humourless smile.

"I'm not impressed."

Kol sipped at his cheap whisky, and even over the cold tear of alcohol drifting into his nose, he could smell her all too clearly. Better here, this close. Pine and pomegranate, gunpowder and something dark and ripe like black cherries.

His gums tingled, itched, and Kol had to run his tongue over his teeth to keep the fangs safely away.

"I can see that."

More than see, Kol could feel the heat of her temper, and, uselessly he thought, it had been far too long since he had bedded a woman.

There was no other explanation.

The teeth, the tingle, the tight-fisted pulse that thrummed in his groin under the piquant-hot glare of the All-Blood.

Kol had always been reckless, irresponsible and egotistical, but he had never been suicidal. And that is what this is. Sitting here not two seats down, swigging whisky as if they were Prohibition pals, when he should have left, instead now prodding and provoking and-

Not forty-eight hours ago, this being, this small, tiny, colourful woman had ripped her way out of a sarcophagus and nearly had his carotid artery torn out his neck, had a whole prophetic ditty, only half complete mind you, about how she was destined to destroy them all, and here Kol was wondering what her hair would look like spilled across his pillow, or if she would smell just as good when stimulated just so-

Hemlock slapped her glass down, breaking the chain of thoughts rattling in his mind, empty anew, and swivelled slightly in her seat to face the Original leaning haphazardly on the bar, glass in hand and roguish gleam in his eye.

Maybe, however, the last few centuries locked in a coffin had turned Kol's brain to mush.

Cheers, Nik.

"I'm going to give you one last warning. Leave."

Kol grinned over the rim of his glass.

Suicidal or salacious, one thing remained. Kol was selfish. Selfish, greedy, gluttonous. The list went on. He wanted, and he took. He played, and he won. He hungered, and he ate.

Human or Vampire, that had never changed.

So, when a pretty little thing with sharp, sharp teeth comes around with just those colours, and just those smells, and just so…That, who was Kol to finally, at last, have some restraint?

He'd leave that monotony to Elijah.

"Come now, darling, don't be so-"

"If you're not here to settle the deal, and you don't want to be flung out the nearest window for a fist fight in the street, and, by the smell of that muggle woman's perfume still on your shirt but nothing else, you're not here for a fast fuck, I'm not interested."

Kol's brows shot up, and he mirrored the All-Blood from earlier.

"You're a blunt one, aren't you?"

Hemlock scoffed, regaining her drink, sipping at the amber.

"I know what I like, how I like it, when I like it. If that unsettles you, that's on you and your fragile masculinity. This isn't the seventeenth century anymore, Fabio. You can say sex without blushing beneath your chastity fan all fluttering in your excitement."

Kol chuckled, deep and thick.

Fragile.

He rolled the word around his mouth, over and through his teeth but not his lips. It tasted… Strange. He'd been with humans before, countless, faceless moments seeking highs that grew fainter the older he got, the further away from his human memories, until they bled together into one amorphous blob of incomplete delights not worth the effort to instigate. He'd been with Vampires too, between the times he was sequestered in a coffin, but still, his age, his power, it always gave him the upper hand, always left him dry-mouthed and strung up, pent up, never able to truly let go because if he did, when he did, they'd be in pieces and Kol would be left still-

Kol.

"No one's ever called me fragile before."

And yet, yet, sitting here, next to Hemlock, he was the fragile one. The one caught in a grasp holding back, a set of teeth on edge, between the palms of something that could squeeze and break.

It was a strange feeling, to be the weaker of the two. Not entirely unpleasant either, Kol would admit.

Thrilling, truly.

Hemlock poured herself another glass.

"Trust me, I'd snap you like a toothpick."

Kol leaned closer over the bar.

"Want to find out for sure? You haven't even seen what I can do with my tongue yet, darling."

Evidently, he had prodded the tiger too far, as Kol was prone to do, as the glare she shot him was hot and heavy and-

Hungry.

"You'd end up as an empty blood bag before that tongue could do anything but scream."

Kol's answering grin was merely fiercer, wider, wilder.

"But what a way to go."

Nevertheless, Kol relented.

For now.

"But, I suppose, that can wait. The nights still young, you're clearly after a feed, and I'm after fun, so… How about we meet in the middle?"

The All-Blood hesitated, glass halfway raised to her mouth, and there-

There Kol had her.

Just like him, she was a creature that couldn't resist the danger.

"What did you have in mind?"

Kol leaned further to the side, so she could get a clear view of behind him.

To the pool table.

"One game. You win, and I'll make the deal with you, and you can have my blood… Anytime, anywhere, any-when."

Hemlock cocked her head.

"And if you win I leave your siblings alone? That it?"

Kol chuckled, shaking his head.

"No. They can go strike their own deals with the devil. If I win…"

There it was again, that feeling, the hairs on the back of his neck up and awake, the prickling to his skin, the sudden zap of his blood and the thrum deep in his belly-

It was more than lust, more than thirst, more than hunger and risk and devilish delight.

Underneath the All-Bloods glare, remembering how it had felt to have her teeth at his neck, the rush of breath against the skin of his pulse, that moment of life and death and something glorious, Kol felt the most alive he had in-

Since he had died.

That was what he wanted.

That.

He felt a little bit human underneath her gaze, and wasn't that a little bit magical?

"If I win we find out just how fragile I am between the sheets."

It was reckless, it was stupid, it was irresponsible, hasty-

It was Kol.

The All-Bloods finger tapped along the rim of her glass, keen eyes peering, sweeping, weighing him up-

A smirk blossomed on her face.

"Oh, I like you."

She dashed her glass down, plucked up the bottle of whisky, and made for the pool table.

"Game on, Liquorice-lollipop."

Kol smirked, stood, and spun to follow the tiny woman.

Kol always, always won.


Mystic Falls, Virginia, Bar and Grill.

It was neck and neck to the very end. Kol won a pot, Hemlock won the next, and around they went until only the last snap shot mattered.

The best sort of game, one drawn out to the close, a steady build-up to one match before it sparked.

The ball, so to speak, was in Hemlock's court, and wasn't that charming? She took a clear shot and won, she got her fill of blood, but if she threw the aim-

She circled the table, eyeing the arrangement, humming as she spiralled beneath the fluorescent glow.

"You know, I'm not convinced this wasn't just an elaborate ruse for you to get an eyeful of my arse bent over this table."

Cue perched in front of him, Kol leaned his chin on top of his folded hands balanced on the chalked point, grinning.

"Oooh, I've been had. Whatever will I do?"

Hemlock clucked her tongue, snorting as she came to a pause in her pacing across the other end of the pool table, fingers drumming on the mahogany.

"You're brother's aren't going to like this much."

Kol rolled his eyes.

"My brother's can go get fucked-"

But then shrugged.

"Actually, I will be the one getting fucked if you miss this shot, which you will, and they'll still be arguing over the doilies. I would feel sorry for them if I was anyone else."

Hemlock eyed the table between them.

She had the shot lined up. Kol could see it, and if he could he didn't doubt those impossible eyes had missed it.

However, she hadn't taken it yet.

That said all that needed to be said. She had the shot but she hadn't taken it.

"You know if I miss this move, I'm going to bite anyway, right?"

"I'm betting on it."

Hemlock laughed, loudly, black curls almost glinting indigo in the bob of the golden light above.

"You're bloody insane or suicidal and I can't figure out which one is more likely."

Kol shrugged.

"We're all mad here, I just own it."

Hemlock bent deep at the waist, lining up the cue, balancing it on the dip of her thumb and forefinger. Kol slunk closer to the edge of the table, boot underneath the rim, turning his ankle just right, waiting...

The boring sort of hunger was winning out in that little war she was raging in her mind.

Kol couldn't have that.

"Well, in the next five seconds you're going to be bloodless too-"

The cue pulled back, began to lurch forward-

Kol kicked his foot at the table leg as point met curved face. The table jolted, moved, screeching on the beer-stained floor, the white ball rolled under the force and-

"Ah, bad spot of luck there."

Kol smirked as he slunk to the side, plucked the white ball from the pocket it had rolled into without hitting the last ball, lined his own shot up, took it and won.

The All-Blood pulled back and hissed.

"That-… You cheated!"

Kol smirked over at her.

"I never said I was going to play fair."

Not when the prize was so utterly delectable.

Hemlock glowered, spitting like an alley cat as she threw her cue down, nearly hard enough to splinter the wood.

"Another game!"

Kol shook his head.

"We agreed to one game, and as you can see, I won."

"You won because you cheated!"

She reeled for him, and Kol chuckled as he plunged around the other side of the table, tutting.

"Ah, ah, ah! Are you really going to do this with all these poor mortals around? Shouldn't we find a private place before you try and get my shirt off at least? Oh, I see… You like exhibitionism-"

Hemlock crouched right as Kol dipped left, keeping the table between them.

"I'll get your head off your shoulders-"

Kol bustled.

"I won, perhaps not fair or square, but I won. My place or yours?"

Hemlock braced, teeth flashing white, eyes yellow, black hair blue and Kol's chest heaved inside, reeled between his ribs, a pitter-patter, pitter-patter of a frantic beat he had not felt since forever.

There it was, this feeling, this sense, the adrenaline and the humanness and the rush driving inside so hard he felt his eyes swim and his mouth water and his stomach drop out-

"How about your grave?"

Kol matched her grin.

"Kinky. I like it."

Hemlock kicked away from the table.

"You're insufferable. Why I even considered tossing the shot-"

Kol buffed, grin still sharp, perhaps sharper, pointing.

"I knew you were thinking of throwing the game! Why so angry, darling, now we both get what we want-"

"What I want is to wrap my hands around your neck."

"You're just chock-full of deviant desire, aren't you? Well, you've come to the right person to alleviate some of that pent up-"

Somewhere in the background of Mystic Falls, a siren whirred, and the anger on Hemlock's face washed to a sort of disquiet wildness.

"Or-"

She cut Kol off.

"We play one last game. My favourite."

Hesitation-

Who was Kol kidding? There was no hesitation. Not even a shred.

This was far too much fun.

"What game precisely?"

Hemlock smirked.


Woo or Boo?


A.N: I am, unfortunately, very busy tomorrow and can't update, so instead of leaving it two weeks I thought Mikaelson Monday could come a day early! There's no preview for next chapter neither, as there isn't really a snippet I can get that doesn't give away too much. So here we are, hope you all liked it!

Thank you all for the follows, favourites and reviews! Really, you've all been very kind, and I hope this chapter at least brought a smile to your face. As always, if you have a spare moment, don't forget to drop a review, and I will hopefully see you all soon! Take care!