Chapter 8: The Mikaelson Arrival (Part 1)
The next three days were hell.
I spent them in the basement, trying to control the wolf that had woken up inside me. It wasn't working.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the transformation. Felt the bones shifting, the instincts rising, the territorial rage that wanted to mark this entire city as mine and challenge anyone who disagreed.
I couldn't let that happen. Couldn't lose control. But the wolf didn't care about what I wanted.
It just wanted out.
Day one, I tried meditation. Sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, breathing slowly, trying to calm the chaos in my head.
The wolf laughed at me. Metaphorically. Wolves don't laugh. But I felt its contempt anyway.
Day two, I tried feeding. Drained four blood bags, then went hunting in the warehouse district. Found a drug dealer who'd beaten someone half to death the week before and fed until I couldn't hold any more.
My strength climbed to forty-five percent. The wolf quieted for about an hour. Then it came back, hungrier than before.
Day three, I gave up on control and tried acceptance.
I stood in the empty warehouse, stripped to my waist, and let the transformation happen.
It took ten minutes. My bones cracked and reformed. My muscles tore and rebuilt themselves. My face elongated, fangs pushing through gums, and my hands became claws that could rip through steel.
When it was done, I was on all fours, panting, staring at the concrete with eyes that saw in shades of gold and gray.
Wolf.
I stood—awkwardly, the body didn't move the way I expected—and walked to the mirror I'd propped against the wall.
The reflection wasn't human. Wasn't quite wolf either.
I was caught halfway. A hybrid form—still bipedal, still roughly human-shaped, but covered in dark fur with claws and fangs and eyes that glowed like embers.
Jesus.
I stared at myself for a long moment. This was what Klaus looked like when he shifted. This was the power Esther had tried to suppress for a thousand years.
And I hated it.
Not the power itself. The loss of control. The way the wolf wanted to hunt, to kill, to run through the city and tear apart anything that challenged me.
I forced the shift backward. It took twenty minutes and left me shaking on the floor, human again but exhausted.
The wolf was getting stronger. Every transformation made it easier to shift, harder to resist.
I needed help. Or at least information.
And there was only one person in the city who might understand.
Davina found me on the fourth night, sitting on the warehouse roof, staring at the skyline.
"You've been avoiding me," she said, climbing through the window I'd left open.
"Been busy."
"Busy hiding?" She sat beside me, careful to keep distance between us. "Marcel said the Originals are here. Klaus, Elijah, and Rebekah. Everyone's freaking out."
"Smart."
"You're freaking out too."
I glanced at her. She was watching me with those too-old eyes, the ones that had seen things no teenager should see.
"I'm fine," I lied.
"Your eyes are flickering gold every time you blink. That's not fine."
Damn. I hadn't noticed.
"Hybrid transformation," I said after a moment. "Klaus broke his curse a few months ago. Being near him triggered mine. Now I'm trying to figure out how to control it before I shift mid-conversation and eat someone."
Davina's eyebrows raised. "You're a hybrid too?"
"Apparently. Esther used my blood to create the Originals. When Klaus became a hybrid, it activated the dormant werewolf DNA in my system through the bloodline connection." I rubbed my eyes. "It's complicated."
"Everything about you is complicated."
"Fair."
She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Is it painful? The transformation?"
"Like being torn apart and put back together. Every time."
"That sucks."
"Yeah."
We sat in silence for a while. The city hummed below us—jazz music, laughter, the occasional siren. Normal human chaos.
"Marcel wants to meet you," Davina said eventually. "Officially. He says you protected me, you're not trying to take over his city, and he'd rather have you as an ally than an unknown."
"What do you want?"
She looked at me, surprised. "Why does that matter?"
"Because you're the one who'd be stuck in the middle if Marcel and I end up enemies. So what do you want? Should I meet with him or keep my distance?"
Davina considered that. "Meet him. He's a good guy. Protective, yeah, but he's kept me alive when the entire witch community wants me dead. You two working together would be... safer. For me."
"Then I'll meet him."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
She smiled slightly. "You're weird, you know that?"
"Been told."
She stood, dusting off her jeans. "I should get back before he sends a search party. But Roy?"
"Yeah?"
"The Originals being here... does that change anything? Your plans, I mean?"
I thought about Klaus in the courtyard. Elijah in his suit. Rebekah looking bored. The way my body had reacted to their presence, the wolf waking up, the rage that wanted to tear them apart for what their parents had done.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "It changes everything."
Davina nodded like she'd expected that answer. Then she disappeared back through the window, leaving me alone with the wolf and my thoughts.
The Mikaelsons were here. In my city. Walking around like they owned it.
And sooner or later, I'd have to face them.
But first, I needed to make sure I could do it without losing myself to the wolf.
I stood, walked back inside, and started planning.
Control. Information. Power.
In that order.
And maybe—maybe—I'd survive what came next.
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