To Be Loved By A Mikaelson

The old plantation house hummed with an eerie silence, broken only by the creaks of ancient wood and the distant hum of New Orleans. Hayley, her hand wrapped tightly around a heavy fire poker, crept down the grand staircase. Every shadow seemed to stretch, twisting into grotesque shapes in the dim light.

“Who the hell are you?” Her voice, though low, carried a sharp edge as a blonde woman, impossibly elegant, strode into the living room as if she owned it. The newcomer didn’t even glance her way, waving a dismissive hand. “Ah, you must be the maid. Fetch my bags from the car, would you?”

Hayley's grip tightened on the poker. “Um, hello? Not the maid.”

The blonde finally turned, her gaze sweeping over Hayley before lingering on her stomach. “You must be the one my bastard brother knocked up. I was expecting more of a bump. Speaking of brothers, where’s Elijah?”

Hayley shrugged, a wave of annoyance washing over her. “Beats me, he’s long gone.”

The blonde’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, long gone? Elijah doesn’t welch on deals. Which means Klaus has done something dastardly.” A furious roar erupted from her, echoing through the house. “KLAUS! GET OUT HERE AND TELL ME WHAT YOU’VE DONE WITH OUR BROTHER, YOU BLOODY WANKER!”

Hayley winced at the volume, but a flicker of curiosity pulled her forward. This was going to be interesting.