The Originals: The Resurrection Page 3

  “You have interesting hands,” she had informed him, brushing one fingertip along the lines that cut across his palm.

  “I might say the same,” he replied. Her fingers were decorated with precious stones set into heavy, intricate rings. Each of them must have cost more than she could make in a year reading palms, and he wondered what had prompted her to seek out such work. He doubted that she needed whatever Klaus’s clientele was willing to pay.

  “Then perhaps you should tell me my future,” she teased, catching his wrist more firmly and holding his palm toward the light of the nearest candle.

  “You can’t read your own?” Elijah asked, twisting his hand so that he could study hers more closely. Her skin was warm and supple. “What kind of a gift is that?”

  “I’m not so arrogant as to want to know my own future,” Alejandra said, “so whatever you see you may keep to yourself. But you, señor, have pride to spare. I can see it here”—she touched the base of his thumb, sending thrills up his entire arm—“and here, as well.” Her fingernail rested in a second spot on his palm, and he stared at it, fascinated.

  “You may have me confused with my brother,” Elijah murmured. “I simply prefer to be prepared for whatever might come my way.”

  “Your brother?” Alejandra asked, adjusting the angle of his hand again. “You have more than just the one. Your family is closer-knit than most.”

  Elijah chuckled at the understatement. “We can’t seem to escape one another,” he confirmed. Even Kol and Finn, staked by Klaus centuries before, had remained with their siblings. They slept deeply in coffins that the Originals had carried back and forth across the world. “Family is forever.”

  Alejandra smiled as if he had reminded her of some private joke between them, as if they were old friends who knew each other’s secrets. To his surprise, Elijah had to actually remind himself to be cautious. She was a stranger, however appealing she might be.

  “I hope you like them, then,” she told him, her voice brimming with laughter. “This line here is your life line, and it is...exceptionally long.”

  The words might have been innocent enough: Surely it was good for business to assure her customers of long and healthy lives. But there was no doubt in Elijah’s mind that Alejandra had known exactly what he really was, and that she had known it before he’d walked through the door.

  It was true that the supernatural inhabitants of New Orleans had grown overconfident, perhaps even careless. Rumors of their existence had become an open secret in the past few decades. Ordinary citizens knew what sort of creatures lived in their midst, and Elijah had been surprised to discover how much Alejandra knew about his kind and their rivals—more than any human should have, really.

  He had been thoroughly charmed, but forced himself to proceed cautiously. The last woman Elijah had found so intriguing had been used against him. Lisette was lost to him because he had pursued a life with her too eagerly.

  There was a stirring in the darkness in front of him, and Elijah tensed, ready to fight. But it was Alejandra who stepped out into the starlight, her body swathed in a hooded black cloak. She had kept up her work at the Southern Spot to avoid raising Klaus’s suspicions, and she smelled of smoke, whiskey, and lust.

  Beneath the hood he could just make out her sharp, strong chin, her high forehead, and the midnight curls of her hair. Elijah longed to push the hood back and kiss her, but he could hear more than one set of footsteps nearby and he couldn’t risk being caught with her in the open.

  He wrapped an arm around her instead, guiding her wordlessly toward the house he had prepared for their rendezvous. The previous occupant had been a politician who leaned a bit too far toward the werewolves’ interests for Elijah’s taste, so his death had served a variety of purposes all at once. “Here,” he said, opening the door and then stepping back to let Alejandra enter first.

  He caught her in the hallway, spinning her back into his arms before the door had fully closed behind him, and kissing her deep red lips.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KLAUS’S EYES SCANNED the torchlit streets of the Werewolves’ quarter. There was no sign of movement, no hint of a watch being kept. Were they that secure in their power? The werewolves were all sleeping, confident in their plan to attack his vampires in the morning. Guillaume had confirmed it on the hour—he’d spied the pack leader, Sampson Collado, going over his final strategy that afternoon. But Klaus would have the upper hand this night, just the way he had intended it.

  “Drive them out of their homes,” he reminded his soldiers. They were new to their strength, new to their heightened reflexes, senses, and appetites. A little practice would do them good, and what better training than a raid on the actual enemy? “Aggravate them, disrupt them. Don’t get pinned down; just turn the quarter inside out and then regroup at the garrison.”

  Klaus heard an appreciative rumble spread through his army. They were eager for a fight, eager to impress the more experienced vampires and especially their invincible general. This sort of raid was more than just a drill: It would help to separate the wheat from the chaff.

  “It’s not too late to reconsider,” a voice beside Klaus’s ear warned, and he gritted his teeth together before turning to stare down its owner. Oh, Lisette. Lisette had been pleasant enough before she had taken up with Elijah, but over the years her loyalty to her lover had grown increasingly irritating. Now that Elijah had ended their romance and taken up with some two-bit whorehouse fortune-teller, the fact that Lisette still took his brother’s side over Klaus’s was almost infuriating. “We could stick to their storehouses and shops, to disrupt them without showing our hand. There’s no need to provoke open war.”

  Her gray eyes were so earnest that Klaus could almost believe she was speaking for herself, rather than just parroting his brother’s usual ideas. Don’t make trouble, don’t strike first, better to be the victim than the aggressor....Klaus didn’t know how Elijah could stand it. The Mikaelsons’ lives were far too long to waste responding and reacting and hesitating century after century. They were entitled to forge their own fates.

  “There’s no need,” he agreed icily. “If you’d rather sit at home, Lisette, and wait for the wolves to come to your door, you’re welcome to do so. But if that’s the case, then it’s a toss up over who will kill you first—me or them.”

  She tossed her red-blonde hair back over her shoulder, the expression on her freckled face stopping just short of outright defiance. They had been friendly once, but Klaus knew better than to trust her now. Lisette’s association with Elijah had tainted her, and if she intended to prove herself in Klaus’s army, then she was already off to a bad start, talented warrior or not.

  “I’ll take a group around to the south,” she informed him, her voice clipped and nearly as cold as his own. “We can keep an eye on the perimeter for you.”

  “You want to watch my back?” He let his face convey the depth of his skepticism, but he signaled to a nearby cluster of vampires and gestured for them to follow Lisette. “Fine, then,” he said. “Show me how committed you are to our cause, Lisette. I’ll be watching with great interest.”

  She stalked off without another word, and about a dozen vampires followed her. Klaus looked back over his army, crammed into the narrow streets of the Werewolves’ quarter like a deadly wave about to break.

  “Go,” he commanded, and they leapt forward as one, pouring along the cobblestones toward the dark houses where their enemies slept.

  Klaus heard the crash of a door falling inward, then another, and the first shrill screams pierced the cool night air. The werewolves were stronger than humans, but without a full moon to unleash their true strength, his vampires easily overwhelmed them.

  A woman ran out into the street in a thin gray nightgown, clutching handfuls of jewelry to her chest while the telltale sounds of ransacking drifted out fro
m the house behind her. Klaus intercepted her smoothly, blocking her path before she even had time to realize she wasn’t alone in the street. “Allow me to take those for you, madame,” he suggested, taking the treasure from her unresisting hands. “I wouldn’t want them to weigh you down while you run.” His fangs snapped into full view, and the woman took the hint and ran for her life.

  The sounds of fighting filled the quarter, rising from every house and alley. Klaus prowled along the dark streets, monitoring the progress of his soldiers. By his count he had lost two already, dead so quickly that he was confident they wouldn’t be missed. Lisette’s group was nowhere to be seen, and he refused to hunt for them. If she really was patrolling the edges of the quarter, he would see evidence of it sooner or later.

  If she wasn’t, Klaus would chase her down and leave her corpse for Elijah to discover.

  “This way!” came a whispering hiss from his left, and Klaus’s senses adjusted to the soft footfalls behind him. He counted three of them: young male werewolves who had formed their own little resistance on the spot.

  Klaus smiled to himself and stood perfectly still, waiting for them to get close. He couldn’t tell if they recognized him or not, but it was obvious that they had no idea what he was capable of. He felt their breath on the back of his neck just before two of them grabbed him by the arms, and then, at last, he moved.

  Klaus wrenched his shoulders into motion and forced his hands toward each other, smashing the wolves’ heads together with a sickening crack. The third one threw an arm around Klaus’s neck, trying to strangle him or just hold on, but Klaus flipped him forward onto the cobblestones and then kicked him viciously in his side. The young man coughed and spat up blood, but one of the first two attackers staggered back up to his feet.

  “I didn’t come to kill tonight,” Klaus told him, relaxing into a ready stance. “There’s no reason you can’t still walk away.”

  The werewolf hesitated, glancing down at his two fallen friends, then back along the empty street as if he hoped to see reinforcements. A scream rose from a nearby house, before cutting off abruptly. “You attacked us in our beds, monster,” the werewolf reminded Klaus through gritted teeth. “If you didn’t come to kill, then I hope you came prepared to die.”

  He took a powerful jump off the ground, leaping through the air so forcefully that he could have been in his wolf form. But when his blow landed, Klaus could feel just how badly his strength fell short. He was more than an ordinary human, perhaps, but he wasn’t even close to a match for a Mikaelson.

  Klaus caught the werewolf’s arm and snapped it like a reed, and the young man howled in pain. But he lashed out with his good arm, ready to fight to the last, and in spite of himself Klaus had to admire that in an opponent. “I told you I didn’t come to kill tonight,” he repeated, parrying the blow and throwing the youth against a timbered wall. “But I’ll be back another night. It’s your choice whether you want to live for now.”

  The werewolf dropped into a crouch, winded from the impact, but struggling not to show weakness. His deep-set eyes glowed yellow out of a thin, clever face, and his shoulders were wiry and strong. He had been bred to attack Klaus’s kind on sight, but he seemed to have a bit of common sense floating around in his instinct-addled brain as well.

  The werewolf looked around, registering the sounds of violence and fear that were everywhere. Klaus waited for the young wolf to realize there was nothing to be gained by dying in an empty alleyway.

  “I won’t forget this, vampire,” the young man said at last, as ominously as he could manage under the circumstances. A faint gurgling sound came from the unconscious wolf whose ribs Klaus had cracked, while the other lay motionless.

  “You’ll remember that I let you live?” Klaus asked, raising one eyebrow in mock surprise. “Gratitude isn’t what your kind is known for, but I suppose there are exceptions to every rule.”

  The werewolf snarled, his eyes burning an even deeper yellow, but he was beaten and he knew it. He turned and fled, disappearing down the twisting streets and back into the chaos of the Werewolves’ quarter.

  Klaus caught just the faintest whiff of smoke as he watched the youth go, and he wondered if his soldiers were getting carried away. Enthusiasm was important, but Klaus had no use for loose cannons. He followed the scent, ready to deal with whichever vampires had gone rogue. The city was Klaus’s prize, the compensation—however inadequate—for all that had been taken from him.

  If anyone was going to burn it to the ground, it would be him.

  “You there!” he called when he saw a few vampires hurrying out of a house like thieves in the night. It was the next house down that was burning; he could see the sinister flickering of flames through the shutters. “Were you in that home just now?”

  One of them glanced over his shoulder at the house, and Klaus thought he detected some guilt in the man’s eyes. He snapped the vampire’s neck without another word.

  “I thought I was clear,” he snarled at the others, who shrank away from him in fear. “The werewolves aren’t such a formidable threat that we need to smoke them out. I intend to own this quarter, and so anyone who damages it risks making himself my enemy. I suggest a bit more caution—because the next time this happens you might as well do yourself a favor and burn with it.”

  He stalked away, listening to the whimper of the fallen vampire as his spine began to snap itself back into place. Just then, Lisette emerged from the burning house.

  “It’s out,” she said when she reached him. “You should tell your people to be more careful.”

  “I thought you were one of ‘my people,’” he reminded her, a sharp, warning note in his voice.

  “Of course.” She flipped her red-gold hair behind her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s why I’m here, putting out your fires. Watching your back, just like I said I would.”

  He stepped closer to her, watching for any sign that she might flinch. “You said you’d patrol the perimeter,” he pointed out. “The edge of the quarter is blocks away from here, and yet here you are.”

  A werewolf family ran along the street, each of them carrying a bundle of their belongings on their backs. Klaus watched them flee with disinterest—it was the wolves who’d held their ground and defended their homes who would pose a challenge the next time around.

  “Lucky for you I returned,” she answered gamely. “I smelled the smoke and I came. Look how high the moon has gotten. Half of your soldiers are already making their way back to the garrison, and the ones who chose to linger did so at their own risk. The raid was over.”

  Klaus wanted to shake her until her fangs rattled, to knock some fear into her stubborn head. One wrong word, one obviously false note, and he would kill her and be done with it. Klaus might just have to force her hand, was all.

  “Join them at the garrison,” he ordered, his mind made up. “Join them and start coordinating with the group leaders who have made it back. You’ll be planning our next attack, love, and you will be leading the charge.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE CLOSER THEY rode to Mystic Falls, the more Rebekah felt like there was a strange buzzing in her bones. She could almost hear it, the trembling anticipation of her homecoming.

  Rebekah hadn’t been to Mystic Falls in nearly a thousand years, but she could still picture how it had looked on the night she left. She hadn’t aged a day since then, but those centuries must have reshaped her former home. Even though she looked the same, Rebekah was a different person, changed in countless other ways.

  As Luc lead the way, pressing northward through the lush Virginia forests, all Rebekah could see was the countryside she had once known. She had run through these trees; she had dreamed beneath their shade. Even the smell of the air was familiar: rich dirt and the beginnings of spring.

  “We are close—I remember
the tree being not far from here,” Luc said, pulling a compass from his pocket. Starlight gleamed in his blue eyes as he turned to look at her. “You seem as though you belong here. Do you know the rest of the way?”

  “Almost,” Rebekah said in a soft voice. She could feel the humming inside her, the thrill of being back at the source of her power. At any moment, she knew she would recognize a path or the fork of a tree, and she would be back. She could almost hear her brothers’ voices and feel the play of dappled sunlight on her skin.

  “Is anyone expecting us?” Luc asked lightly. Rebekah couldn’t imagine being so casual or incurious, but Luc’s straightforward mind was part of his charm.

  “I don’t think anyone would be happy to see a Mikaelson returning to this land,” Rebekah sighed. It may have been generations since Mystic Falls had laid eyes on an Original vampire, but Rebekah was sure that they would recognize her on sight. Fortunately, making friends wasn’t the goal of this journey. All she needed was the White Oak tree, or whatever remained of it.

  The trees began to thin, and Rebekah could make out the roll of fields below the black sky full of stars.

  “Not far now,” she told Luc, hearing the strain in her voice. “Keep back from the tree line.”

  “Oh, is our presence here a secret?” Luc asked teasingly. “I didn’t realize there was something you were keeping to yourself.”

  In spite of her tension, Rebekah laughed. “You’ve been more than patient,” she admitted. “But consider carefully, Luc. You know who I am and what sort of problems tend to find me. If there’s something I haven’t told you, are you sure that you want to hear it? It’s not especially safe to be in the inner circle of my family.”