Kol woke the next morning in Klaus's mansion, his mood as dark and heavy as the thick, velvet curtains that draped the grand windows, shutting out any semblance of daylight. The air in the room felt oppressive, suffocating, much like his brother's constant presence. After Holly had whisked him away with her mystical transportation the night before, Niklaus had wasted no time in bombarding him with demands. The minute Kol set foot in the mansion, Klaus had been on him like a wolf hunting its prey, his words sharp and insistent.

"Where's the white oak?" Klaus growled, his voice low and dangerous, each word dripping with menace. "I hope you didn't think I would let you keep it in your hands?"

Kol had only just crossed the threshold when he felt his brother's looming presence closing in on him. The confrontation had come as swiftly and surely as a storm. But when Klaus learned the white oak wasn't in Kol's possession but rather entrusted to Holly's care, his rage simmered, a quiet but dangerous storm building beneath his surface.

"Oh, piss off, Nik," Kol snapped, his voice dripping with disdain. "I've had countless opportunities to use that weapon on you, and I haven't. So stop acting like the center of the universe for once in your life and maybe start focusing on the enemies you've created in this town. The same town, mind you, where we were woken. You might want to make sure none of them decide to use the white oak on us. But no, according to you, the greatest threat is always family, isn't it?"

Kol's words hung in the air like a storm cloud, but Klaus remained unruffled. He leaned back in his chair, his expression one of practiced indifference.

"Ironically," Klaus said in a calm, measured tone, "the idiots in this town are the least of our problems. They're aware of sirelines, but they don't know who sired the Salvatores, so for now, they're too afraid to make a move. It's always family that disappoints me the most."

"And how long," Kol pressed, "before they figure out it's your bloodline? Convenient for you, isn't it? The rest of us just have to endure?"

"If your witch would stop playing games and actually do her job, then none of this would concern you," Klaus replied with a sneer.

"Holly's done more than enough for this family," Kol shot back, his tone sharp. "She's not your personal witch on demand. This whole mess? You started it. After a thousand years, you'd think you'd have learned to clean up after yourself."

Klaus's mocking smile widened. "Ah, defending your little girlfriend already, are we?"

Kol narrowed his eyes, his patience fraying. "You know what, Nik? I'm really not in the mood for this."

Without another word, Kol turned on his heel and left, retreating to the sanctuary of his room.

The hot water cascaded over Kol's body, each droplet a soothing balm against the chaos of the past few days. The steam enveloped him, wrapping him in a cocoon of temporary peace as it washed away the dirt, the exhaustion, and the tension that had built up after days of wearing the same battle-worn clothes. He closed his eyes, letting the water course over his face, the sound of it hitting the tiles becoming a rhythmic hum that drowned out his thoughts.

Three days. It had been three long days since that non-date with Holly, and every hour since had left him feeling more worn, more tired, more conflicted. Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stood before the foggy mirror. His reflection stared back at him, older, rougher, with the beginnings of a three-day beard that gave him an edge he wasn't used to seeing in himself.

His gaze drifted to the symbol of the Deathly Hallows etched over his heart. There were still so many questions, so many mysteries left to unravel, but all of that would have to wait. First, the white oak problem had to be dealt with. Then, perhaps, he could think about asking Holly on a proper date. But how exactly did one impress a girl who lived in a beautiful castle in one of the most stunning places in the world? The thought frustrated him. If only he had the same means of transportation as Holly, able to leap from one place to another in mere seconds. He couldn't very well ask her to whisk them away on her magic for their date.

Kol's thoughts wandered again, and despite his best efforts to bury the emotions behind his mental shields, memories from two days ago crept in. For over a thousand years, he had longed for someone to love him. And now, it seemed he was on the verge of having that. But was it selfish to want more? To have his magic back as well? Could he truly ask for both?

Kol stepped out of the bathroom, the cool air of the bedroom meeting his damp skin as he crossed the room to where several unlit candles sat on the mantelpiece. Simple spellwork, he reminded himself—basic, elementary magic that any novice witch could perform with ease. In his former life as a witch, lighting a candle had been child's play, a task so trivial that he'd hardly given it a second thought. Now, though, it felt like an insurmountable challenge, a mountain he had no hope of scaling.

Witchcraft 101, they'd call it—nothing more than a flick of the wrist and a whisper of intent. But for him, it was something far more elusive. He stared at the candles, feeling the familiar frustration bubble up inside him, a tight coil of anger and helplessness. He reached inward, searching for the spark of magic he had once wielded so effortlessly.

He closed his eyes, reaching inward to sense the magic, though he wasn't sure if what he felt was his own power, an echo of what he once had, or perhaps a reflection of Holly's magic. It might even have been all three.

Kol focused, trying to draw on what he identified as his own power. He willed the candle to light. Nothing. He tried again. Still, nothing. Again, and again, and again, with no result. His frustration boiled over, and in a fit of rage, he swiped the candles off the mantel, sending them clattering to the floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, anger and confusion surging through him. The power was so close, just beyond his reach, but he couldn't grasp it. It was maddening.

Suddenly, a commotion from elsewhere in the house caught his attention, followed by the unmistakable sound of his sister's voice. With a sigh, Kol pulled on some clothes and followed the noise, his curiosity piqued despite his frustration.

In the center of the grand foyer stood Rebekah, looking as regal and fierce as ever, while Damon Salvatore hung before her, bound in chains. His shirt was torn open, and blood dripped from wounds Rebekah had clearly inflicted herself.

Kol smirked as he took in the scene. "Sister, look at this, you're even worse than Klaus. I approve."

Rebekah shot him a withering look. "Yes, because it's my life's ambition to earn your approval," she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm, mirroring the words Kol said to her a couple of days ago. "Now go away. I'm busy."

Kol pretended not to hear her. "If you're trying to drain him of vervain, wouldn't it be more efficient to hang him upside down?"

"I'm perfectly capable of inflicting pain, thank you very much," Rebekah retorted.

Kol raised an eyebrow. "Well, excuse me. It's not like I have any expertise in the matter," he said dryly. "What did he do, anyway? Not that it matters. His very existence is an affront to vampires everywhere."

"He seduced me so Sage could get into my head and find out about the white oak," Rebekah admitted, her pride clearly wounded by the notion that someone would need an ulterior motive to sleep with her.

Kol couldn't resist. "Ah, once again your insatiable desire to throw yourself at any man who pays you attention will be the downfall of this family. Why am I not surprised?"

"You know," Rebekah shot back, her eyes narrowing, "why don't you go manage your witch and leave me to deal with this?"

Kol gave her a mock salute. "Now that you mention it, yes, I have somewhere else to be."

Kol approached Holly in the garden, the scent of roses and damp earth filling the air around them, but his mind was anything but serene. His expression remained carefully neutral, but inside, a storm brewed, indecision and desire swirling together in an uncontrollable tempest. What was the proper way to greet someone like her? A simple peck on the cheek? A kiss on the lips? Or something more formal, like a kiss on the hand? There were no guidelines, no etiquette for a situation as complex as theirs. How could there be when their bond—soulmates, perhaps—remained unspoken, hovering like a delicate thread between them?

As he stood before her, the weight of unspoken emotions felt heavier than ever. How did one behave in the presence of a woman who wasn't just extraordinary in every sense but also possibly his soulmate? The thought made his chest tighten, a mixture of excitement and uncertainty.

After a moment's hesitation, Kol made his choice. He wanted to save the romantic gestures for a proper date. He leaned in, pressing his lips to the pulse point on her neck, his hand resting gently on the opposite side of her throat. His breath lingered near her ear as he whispered, "Hello, darling," his tone dripping with seductive charm. The coarse bristles of his beard brushed against her skin, sending shivers cascading down her spine.

Inwardly, Kol cursed his own self-control—or lack thereof. He had meant to behave, to be restrained, but instead, he had made the greeting far more intimate than he'd intended.

Holly closed her eyes, every nerve in her body alive with the sensation of Kol's touch. The warmth of his breath brushed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine, each one more intense than the last. She wanted to freeze the moment, to hold onto the feeling of his arms around her, of his lips so tantalizingly close to hers. Her heart pounded in her chest, a wild rhythm that matched the heat coursing through her veins.

And then, there was his beard. The rough, scratchy bristles of it against her skin. It wasn't just the feel of it; it was the presence of it, the ruggedness it added to his already dangerous allure. She felt a flush of heat spread across her cheeks, her mind drifting to places she didn't often let it wander.

Daphne had been right—there was something irresistibly rugged about the lumberjack look. She opened her eyes, gazing into Kol's deep brown ones before her attention drifted back to that beard. Unbidden, her mind wandered, imagining how it might feel elsewhere, like on the inside of her thighs.

Where had that thought come from? She hated to admit it, but she owed Tom Riddle's visions for her rather advanced sexual education. She might still be a virgin, but she was certainly well-informed. Emboldened, Holly decided to challenge Kol, to see if she could unsettle him just a little. After all, why should he always have the upper hand?

"I have to say," Holly murmured seductively, "I'm digging the lumberjack look. I wonder how your beard would feel between my legs. I hope it leaves scratches."

Kol's eyes darkened with desire, and he didn't miss a beat. "Darling," he growled lowly, "the scratches won't be just on your thighs. You'll have them on your pussy from my mustache and burns on your knees because I'll have you on all fours, fucking you so hard you'll feel it for days. Now," he added with a wicked smile, "be a good girl and let me change the subject before I take you right here in the garden."

He turned Holly around sharply, pulling her flush against him so she could feel the unmistakable pressure of his arousal against her back.

What had she been thinking? Holly's breath hitched as the heat between them ignited. Did she really believe she could tease a thousand-year-old Original Vampire with sex-hair and devil-dark eyes and not suffer the consequences? But she had to give herself credit for trying. There was something exhilarating about provoking him, about seeing how far she could push before he snapped. She knew, too, that one day she wouldn't change the subject. One day, she would test his promise and call him on his non-bluff.

"One of these days," Holly said mockingly, mimicking his accent with exaggerated flair, "you're going to have to stop making empty promises, darling."

Her awful attempt at his accent broke the tension, and both of them dissolved into laughter. Holly was grateful for the release, though the tension hadn't entirely dissipated.

"Darling," Kol chided through his laughter, "never do that again. Your accent was dreadful." His smile faded slightly, a glint of seriousness returning to his gaze. "And for the record, I don't make empty promises. Every single one will be fulfilled. So yes, I'll certainly fuck you in a restaurant, and now we can add a rose garden to the list. I just hope the list keeps growing."

Still grinning, Kol grabbed Holly's hand and led her toward the library, where he had laid out a collection of maps and scrolls in preparation for the task at hand.

Holly asked Kol to spread the U.S. map across the table, followed by a more detailed map of Virginia and its surrounding territories. The spell worked in such a way that the larger the piece of white oak, the more precise the location it revealed. If the tree was still standing, Holly would be able to pinpoint the exact spot. But if it was just a sliver—like a stake—the spell would only reveal a general vicinity.

Holly reached into her purse and pulled out the white oak stake Kol had given her. With a small knife, she sliced off a tiny portion and crushed it with magic in a bowl. She then poured a potion from a vial she had brewed the night before, following an ancient recipe from Draco's family spellbook. As the liquid mixed with the crushed wood, Holly's expression remained focused.

She dipped five drops of the potion onto the map of Mystic Falls. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the drops began to spread, branching out in different directions across the town. Twelve locations appeared, but none of them were exact—just vague indications in the north, south, east, and west.

Dread settled over them both. The weight of what they had discovered hung between them like a thick fog, neither speaking.

Suddenly, Kol sprang into action. He bolted from the library, rushing down the hallway toward the foyer where Rebekah was still tormenting the chained Damon Salvatore.

"Leave," Kol commanded, his voice low but edged with an undeniable authority that vibrated through the room. The power of his compulsion hit Damon like a tidal wave, causing his eyes to glaze over as he fought desperately against the invisible force tightening its grip on his mind.

"Kol!" Rebekah's voice was sharp, her eyes blazing with irritation. "Get your own hostage! I'm not finished with this one." Her words were laced with a mix of possessiveness and anger, as if Damon were more than just a pawn in a larger game, but a personal tool for her revenge. She stepped closer, her body taut with frustration, unwilling to relinquish control.

"I said, leave!" Kol repeated, his compulsion stronger this time.

Damon's resistance faltered, and though the chains bit into his skin, he tried to comply with Kol's order, dragging himself painfully toward the door.

"How many white oak stakes are there?" Kol demanded, his voice cold as ice.

"Twelve," Damon answered, unable to resist.

Rebekah gasped, a cry of outrage escaping her.

"Where are they?" Kol pressed, his tone sharper.

"Four with me and Stefan. One with Elena, one with Matt, one with Bonnie, two with Caroline, one with Tyler, and two with Alaric," Damon answered truthfully.

Kol turned to Rebekah, his expression deadly serious. Kol's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Call the younger Salvatore," he ordered, his eyes glinting with deadly intent. "Tell him he has exactly one hour to gather every single one of those twelve stakes and bring them here. If he doesn't, I will start sending his brother back to him—one piece at a time, starting with his heart." His tone was cold, devoid of any trace of mercy, as though the prospect of dismembering Damon was nothing more than a tedious chore.

Rebekah made the call, her face pale with worry. Guilt gnawed at her. Kol had been right all along. If she hadn't slept with Damon, the Scooby gang wouldn't have known about the white oak. But Damon had made her feel desired, pretty, even though she knew he still loved Elena. And now, she was regretting it all. Instead of focusing on her petty games with the doppelgänger, she should have seen the danger coming.

There were twelve stakes in town, and Rebekah had been too busy indulging her insecurities to realize the threat they posed.

Holly joined them, looking visibly frustrated after failing to pinpoint a more precise location from her spell.

"Don't stress yourself, darling. The idiot squad will hand them over soon enough, in exchange for Damon's miserable life," Kol drawled, his gaze lingering on Holly, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"Hmm," Holly mused, her tone sharp. "I think they might need a bit more convincing. Did my display of power at Esther's ritual not make it clear enough that we're not to be trifled with?" Her eyes glinted dangerously, the reminder of that night still fresh in her mind.

"They're just stupid enough to ignore the threat, little witch," Klaus's voice echoed as he appeared in the foyer, his presence as sudden as it was imposing.

Holly rolled her eyes, unimpressed. She glanced at Damon, bound and barely conscious, then at his hand. With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a small red gift box. Without uttering a word, Holly's eyes narrowed in cold calculation. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she severed Damon's finger—the one adorned with the precious lapis lazuli ring—like it was the simplest of tasks. Blood dripped steadily to the floor as she made the dismembered digit float gracefully into the gift box. The sound of the ring hitting the bottom was oddly final, and she sealed it with a precise, almost delicate bow. The contrast between her calm demeanor and the brutality of her actions was chilling, making everyone in the room feel the weight of her merciless power.

Kol watched the scene unfold with a mixture of fascination and growing respect. He didn't flinch when Holly severed Damon's finger, her calm precision sending a shiver of satisfaction down his spine. The small, bloodied token floated effortlessly into the gift box, and Kol's lips twitched into a smirk.

A cruel smile curved Holly's lips as she conjured a parchment and quill, elegantly seating herself at the table.

"Dear Idiot Squad of Mystic Falls,"

Holly's voice dripped with venom, every syllable laced with disdain.

She paused, letting the insult sink in, her eyes glinting with amusement at the thought of their panic.

"It has come to my attention that in your unparalleled stupidity, you've recklessly stumbled into matters far beyond your insignificant comprehension."

She tapped the quill against her lips, as if considering her next words with cruel precision.

"You have exactly one hour to deliver twelve white oak stakes to Klaus's mansion.

After that, I'll kindly begin sending you pieces of Damon Salvatore, bit by agonizing bit, every ten minutes.

The final gift—his still-beating heart, torn straight from his chest. Let's hope, for your sake, we've come to an understanding.

Yours sincerely, The Baddest Witch in Town.

P.S. You're too insignificant in the supernatural world to know my name."

She signed the letter with a theatrical flourish, sealing the doom of the Scooby gang in ink. The others watched in silence as she placed the note in the box with the severed finger, then sealed it.

"Fawkes," Holly whispered softly.

A burst of golden fire erupted in the room, illuminating every corner with a brilliance that was almost blinding. From within the flames, a magnificent phoenix emerged, its radiant feathers shimmering like molten gold under sunlight. The bird's wings stretched wide as it soared through the air with a grace that seemed almost supernatural. With a single elegant movement, it descended, landing softly on Holly's shoulder, its talons barely making a sound. The air around it crackled with an ancient, magical energy, as if the very presence of the phoenix had shifted the balance of power in the room. Holly, without breaking stride, conjured a treat for the bird, which it accepted with a gentle nibble.

"Take this to the Salvatore Boarding House," she instructed. "If no one's there, fly to Elena's."

Fawkes let out a melodious cry before grasping the ribbon of the box in his beak. With another flash of fire, he disappeared, leaving the room in a stunned silence.

"So, we're not going to talk about the magic bird?" Rebekah broke the silence, her tone half-joking, half-curious.

Kol, who had been watching the entire exchange with growing curiosity, was equally baffled. . How in the world had she managed to bond with a creature as majestic as Dumbledore's phoenix? He couldn't help but marvel at her power, her audacity. For the first time in centuries, Kol found himself wondering if he had finally met someone as dangerous and unpredictable as he was. His gaze lingered on her, filled with admiration and intrigue.

"Rebekah," Kol interrupted smoothly, "this really isn't the moment for that."

Rebekah smirked. "Oh, defending your little girlfriend, are we?" Klaus taunted from where he leaned casually against the doorframe.

Kol's eyes blazed with intensity as he stepped forward, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "For God's sake," he spat, "I'm not just defending some fling. I'm defending my woman, my partner, my soulmate. So piss off, before you make me show you just how serious I am." The raw emotion in his voice hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken promise of violence if anyone dared to challenge him.

The room fell silent. Holly's heart thundered in her chest, each beat feeling like a deafening drum. Did he know? Did Kol truly believe they were soulmates? And if so, why hadn't he said something sooner? Perhaps for the same reasons she had held back. But now, he had said it—publicly.

The tense atmosphere was broken by Stefan's sudden arrival. He glanced at his brother, worry etched on his face, before tossing a travel bag at Klaus's feet without uttering a word.

"How rude," Holly muttered, her irritation evident. "Not even a knock or a greeting."

"Ah, but that's today's youth," came Elijah's voice, smooth and cultured, slicing through the tension like a knife. His sudden appearance was as effortless and unannounced as ever, yet it carried an undeniable weight. As if he had materialized from thin air, Elijah stepped into the room with his characteristic grace, his sharp eyes taking in the scene with quiet judgment. "Or perhaps," he added with a wry smile, "it's only the inhabitants of this town, always in a rush yet consistently lacking in manners." There was a knowing glint in his gaze, as if he had seen this dance of power and chaos play out a thousand times before.

What is it with these Originals and their penchant for making entrances? Holly thought wryly.

Klaus crouched down, his movements deliberate and almost leisurely, as if savoring the tension in the room. His fingers traced over the zipper of the bag before he yanked it open with a flourish. Slowly, methodically, he began to pull out the stakes, one by one, counting them with a cold, clinical efficiency. But beneath the surface, there was a flicker of something darker—amusement. The corners of his mouth twitched upward as he glanced at Stefan. "My math may be rusty, but I'm counting ten stakes," Klaus said, his voice dripping with mock politeness. "And ten is not twelve, is it, Stefan?" The dark amusement in his eyes was unmistakable, as though he was already imagining the torment that would follow.

Stefan's chest heaved as he took a deep, shaky breath, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. He could feel the weight of the situation crushing him from all sides, the pressure to save his brother while trying to stay one step ahead of the Originals. His eyes flickered briefly to Damon, bloodied and barely conscious, and then to Klaus, whose cold gaze bore into him like a predator watching its prey. Every nerve in Stefan's body screamed at him to run, to fight, but he knew he was trapped. There was no escape from this, no easy solution. Only desperation and the hope that somehow, against all odds, they could survive.

"We... we gave Alaric two stakes," Stefan admitted, his voice tight. "But there's a problem. Because of the Gilbert ring he wears, Alaric's developed an alternate personality—a vampire hunter. He took the stakes and hid them somewhere. Neither we nor Alaric know where."

"How convenient," Elijah remarked dryly. "A story too good to be true."

"Believe what you want," Stefan snapped. "That's the truth."

Klaus turned to his siblings, his expression dark. "Well, what do you think? Should we start with Stefan's body parts, or Elena's?"

"This is ridiculous!" Rebekah stepped forward, swiftly unfastening Damon's chains. The vampire collapsed, gasping, as Stefan rushed to his side.

"What are you doing?" Klaus demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"I brought him here. I'll release him. My rules now," Rebekah replied icily. "Bring us the remaining stakes and you'll live. Take your brother as a sign of good faith."

She grabbed the duffel bag of stakes and stormed out, leaving Klaus to glare at Stefan.

Klaus's voice dropped to a low, deadly growl as he stepped closer, his eyes darkening with fury. "Bring us the stakes," he commanded, his words slow and deliberate, each one dripping with menace. "All of them. Or I will start a war that will burn everything you hold dear to ash. I will wipe out everyone you care about—slowly, methodically. One by one, until there's no one left to mourn you." His eyes bore into Stefan, daring him to challenge the threat, leaving no doubt that Klaus would make good on his promise without hesitation.

Stefan helped Damon to his feet, his face pale as he led him out, the door closing heavily behind them.

"They're stalling," Holly said once the Salvatores were gone.

"Pardon?" Elijah asked, turning to her.

"Elena and Caroline left town an hour ago, heading for Denver to meet Jeremy. They're hoping to learn whose bloodline they're linked to, so they can decide which of you to kill first. They think they can get that information before they're forced to hand over the stakes."

"How do you know this?" Kol asked, his eyes narrowing.

Holly smirked. "I read his mind. Weakest vampire I've ever encountered, honestly."

"Suggestions?" Elijah asked, his voice calm but tinged with urgency.

Holly's eyes glinted with determination as she turned to Kol, her voice unwavering. "We go to Denver," she stated, her tone firm and unyielding. A flicker of raw power rippled through the air as she spoke, a subtle reminder of the strength she held just beneath the surface. She locked eyes with Kol, the connection between them crackling with unspoken understanding. "We'll get there before they do, and when we do, I'll make sure Jeremy's abilities are neutralized. Permanently, if necessary." Her words were not a suggestion, but a declaration of intent, her confidence radiating in every syllable.

Kol nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I'm in."

"Fine," Elijah said. "You two go. Meanwhile, we'll keep searching for the remaining white oak."

"Stefan's desperate," Holly warned, her voice low. "And dangerous."

"Don't worry," Klaus said, his voice dripping with false confidence. "As long as they don't know whose sireline they're tied to, they won't risk their lives."

Famous last words, Holly thought grimly.

Rebekah strolled back into the room, looking freshly dressed, her mood significantly lighter.

"And where do you think you're going?" Klaus asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Matt's taking me out on a date," Rebekah announced with a smug smile, her eyes gleaming with self-satisfaction. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, as if the mere mention of Matt was enough to solidify her victory in whatever petty game she had been playing. "Honestly," she added with a playful smirk, "he couldn't resist. It's almost cute how much power I have over him." The casual, almost dismissive way she spoke of Matt made it clear that for her, this was more about the thrill of control than any genuine affection.

"There are still two white oak stakes out there," Klaus reminded her, his previous bravado forgotten.

Rebekah gave him a dismissive wave. "What are they going to do, kill me? I don't think so."

And with that, she swept out the door, leaving the Originals and Holly to their brewing storm.