I finally left England. When I tried to buy my plane ticket, I discovered the wonderful news: my accounts had been blocked.
Damn you, Elijah… You got me this time, hahahaha, well played, dear brother. But—unfortunately for you—the old Klaus held plenty of private properties.
It didn't take long to sell the Welberg Castle in Germany, which had belonged to Klaus for over 400 years.
The German government—both magical and human—had always wanted to buy it, drawn to its history.
Too bad for them: Klaus held massive influence in Germany, having funded West Germany and helped negotiate reunification at the end of the Cold War.
He maintained those kinds of ties with nations across the globe: Japan, Brazil, Cuba, and several bordering Russia.
Which means I carry that influence now too.
I walked away with a fortune from the sale. Just the proceeds alone put me among the richest men in the world.
I boarded the plane and finally returned to Virginia, then drove my car the rest of the way home.
First, though, I grabbed a disposable phone and dialed in.
"Hello, brother," I said, grinning.
"Niklaus…" Elijah's voice dripped with pure resentment. "You had no right to sell that castle. It was our family's heritage."
Ooooh, word reached him after all. How delightful.
"You had no right to corner me by freezing my accounts," I replied, matching his tone. "Besides, I doubt our family will mind. They're settling in quite nicely aboard the Titanic… Oops. Shouldn't have said that."
I laughed. A low, irritated growl rumbled through the line.
"...…" Elijah's breathing sounded ragged. "Fine. I wash my hands of this. You are no brother of mine, Niklaus."
His voice was cold, venomous—and something inside me twisted with hurt.
It felt like whatever piece of Klaus still lingered in this body was begging me to apologize, to fix things with Elijah.
But I won't. The last thing I need is another Original near my children—other than me.
Too much attention. Attention draws enemies.
"Ohhh," I said, my tone hollow. "Good luck finding those coffins, brother."
I ended the call and drove home.
One day later.
I stepped up to the front door and rang the bell.
"Coming!" Jenna called from inside. She opened the door, eyes lighting up. "Niiik!"
She threw her arms around me, kissing me.
"You took so long," she murmured, kissing me again and again, squeezing me tight.
Ahhh… being loved feels so good. She was all over me, even though we'd spoken every single day.
"Oh, my love, I told you I'd be home soon," I said, kissing her back, slipping a hand to cup her and kissing the curve of her neck.
"Not now," she laughed, pulling back with a quick peck. "The kids are in the kitchen eating. Can't leave them alone."
Shame.
I let her go and followed her in—my heart melting at the sight: Harry and Iris in their high chairs, eating and making the most glorious mess imaginable.
"Papa!" They both cheered, banging on their chairs, beaming.
I'm here, little ones. I lifted them up, messy and all—cloth cleans easily; being together matters most.
While Jenna tidied, I played with the kids… and we made an even bigger mess, keeping it up until they finally fell asleep.
I offered to hire a housekeeper, but Jenna refused—insisting she'd handle it herself.
She surveyed the wreckage we'd made, hands on hips, and gave me a look that said you're in trouble.
"Nik, honey… how about you go take a walk while I clean this up?" she said, clearly exasperated.
Instead I pulled her close and kissed her deeply.
"Nik, no—I need to clean," she murmured, trying to pull away. "Later…"
"I've missed you so much," I whispered, hands resting gently—firmly, but human-soft—at her neck. She melted right into my kiss. "Come on, love… I've missed you."
"Fine… just a little," she sighed, yielding completely in my arms.
I lifted her up—bridal style, at a perfectly human pace; she doesn't know what I am—and carried her to the bedroom.
That afternoon was pure bliss. Every way, every angle… I claimed every part of her. Jenna cried out, gasping and arching—especially when she gave herself to me completely.
Two hours of the happiest time I've had in ages. I missed my woman so terribly.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her. I slowed, pulled back, and smiled watching her drift off.
I stroked her hair, curled around her spooning, kissed her forehead… and let myself rest.
It's daytime, I know—but I haven't slept properly since I left. Even if this body doesn't need much, the stress wears on you.
I closed my eyes—then felt it: the magic in the room shifted.
I gasped, sitting up fast. Jenna was gone.
Shit. What happened?
"Beautiful as this is—put something on. I've no interest in admiring what was never meant for me."
I recognized that voice. I sighed and turned. There stood Qetsiyah.
She looked much like her series counterpart… yet different. I'd only seen her once before, through Sheila's possession. She resembled the actress who played her—but wasn't her. And I certainly wasn't the Klaus from TV either. I looked younger, sharper—but never mind that.
"You summoned me here," I said, rolling my eyes. "I was enjoying my wife. You know—someone loyal, someone who doesn't betray you?"
"Ouch. Cruel words to a woman who was betrayed herself." She pressed a hand to her chest, feigning hurt, then snapped her fingers—and suddenly I was clothed. "Right. Down to business. That's why I brought you here."
"Great. How do I break my curse without sacrificing Elena?" I asked, meeting her gaze straight-on.
"In two days, your answer will reveal itself," she smiled. "Gaia is very pleased with you. You've ended one of the two Immortals. Soon his body will begin to lose that immortality—no soul, no spiritual power to sustain it. Things will return to balance."
"Oh, I think she's rather displeased with you," I countered. "After all—you created those Immortals."
"Not entirely. They served their purpose," Qetsiyah said with a wave of her hand. "But that's a story for another time. Know this: you've rewritten fate. And fate has consequences. Good luck."
She snapped her fingers. I was back in bed, curled around Jenna.
Nothing to do but sleep, I suppose.
Hours later.
"Nik…" Jenna stirred beside me. "My backside hurts."
She mumbled it, eyes glistening as she looked at me.
Hahaha… I'm so proud of myself.
"Don't worry, love—I'll take care of you." I held her close. She fussed about the soreness for a while, until her phone rang. She answered, voice still soft and sleepy.
"Hi, Dad…" Her eyes went wide. I kept my hearing muted—some things stay private. "Oh my god… Miranda? How is she?"
"We're coming right now," she said, panic rising.
"What happened, love?" I asked, alarmed by her distress.
"Nik—Grayson's dead. Car accident," she choked out. "And Miranda's in a coma."
No. Damn it. No. This wasn't supposed to happen—not yet. Elena's only twelve. Her parents weren't meant to die until she was sixteen, seventeen…
Then I remembered Qetsiyah's words. I changed fate.
Fuck.