BLOODBORN

Chapter 3

Elijah’s POV

Some wars never end.

They only change faces, names, cities.

I’ve fought in more than I can remember, watched empires fall and rise again, seen the world shift from swords to bullets to whispers in screens. But the blood remains the same. The vengeance, the loyalty. The cost.

And somehow, after over a thousand years, I’m still chasing after my brother like we’re boys again. Like I can still save him from himself.

Nick.

He burns through cities the way most men burn through women; fast, brutal, without apology. And I follow behind, dousing the flames, burying the ashes, pretending there’s still something human left in him to salvage.

But it’s not just the enemies we came here to face.

There’s something else.

Something older than even us. A shadow that’s lingered behind every war, every whispered prophecy, every bloodline we’ve tried to erase. A force even Niklaus fears, though he’d never admit it.

And it’s getting closer.

We don’t speak of it often. Because to name it would be to invite it. But we feel it. Every time the air goes still. Every time silence lasts too long.

We weren’t just driven out of Eastern Europe.

We were hunted.

And West London? It’s just our latest battlefield. One with polished streets and high gates, where monsters wear uniforms and enemies blend in with the elite.

I glance sideways through the tinted car window as we drive past the Thames, and there she is…Kylie. Slouched in the back seat like she owns the world and resents it at the same time. Our baby sister. Stubborn. Reckless. Brilliantly fearless. She looks out at the city like it’s daring her to blink first.

She’s the only one of us who still believes family is enough.

And maybe that’s why I fight so hard to keep her alive.

Because even when Nick forgets what we’re really up against… I don’t.

And someone has to survive this time. Someone has to remember what we were running from… before it finds us again.

I had just left Nick who was having yet another meal and seemed to enjoying the ambience of this new city. Blood soaked, teeth drenched and all, I could never understand it but that’s why I always remember to be on a higher alert. Our enemies were closing in now more than ever.

They were already in west London and they had to have picked this place for a reason, my family’s birthplace, it has a significance and I fear what lies ahead may be much higher than any of us expect. I had to make more findings on what’s going on, what their plan is . So I head out to meet a witch connect I had in the city ..

The moment I stepped into the bar, the past hit me like perfume on warm skin; intoxicating, dangerous, and all too familiar.

Celeste.

This place used to be a smoky little lounge tucked under a broken neon sign in Berlin. Now it was red velvet and gold, sleek, sensual, powerful. Just like her. She’d always had a taste for reinvention.

She wasn’t on stage tonight, but I could still hear her voice echo in my mind: husky, haunting, dipped in jazz and moonlight. She had sung like she was casting spells, and maybe she had been.

I remembered the first time I saw her. 1994. She was barely twenty. Frail and fierce, all at once. A wisp of a woman with olive skin, wild curls, and dark, defiant eyes that burned like fire behind the haze of cigarette smoke. She wore her sadness like silk. And when she sang, men forgot their names.

But not me.

I never forgot hers.

FLASHBACK – 1994, Berlin

She pulled me into the backroom like she owned the air between us. The music pulsed through the walls. Her fingers gripped my tie, lips brushing the shell of my ear as she whispered:

“You look like a man who wants to be ruined.”

I didn’t deny it.

She kissed like a curse…slow, deliberate, tasting every inch of my restraint. I pressed her against the brick wall, hands roaming the curve of her hips, the bare skin beneath her slip dress.

She moaned my name like it was ancient.

Her legs wrapped around me. Her breath hitched as I sank into her, hard and hungry, like something forbidden. The room was dim and sweltering, filled with the scent of sweat, s*x, and sage. Every movement was a promise and a warning.

When we were done, she bit my lip and said, “One day, you’ll come back for something else.”

She was right.

PRESENT – West London

I found her behind the bar now, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp. She looked older, yes but not worn. More dangerous. Like time had refined her magic into something fatal.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” she said, without looking up. “I was wondering when you’d walk through my door again.”

I stepped closer, slow and measured. “I need information.”

“You always do.” She finally met my gaze, that old fire still alive. “Is it love, revenge, or survival this time?”

“War,” I said. “The Bennett witches are planning something.”

She poured herself a drink. “Aren’t they always?”

“They’re aligning with someone. Someone powerful. I need names. Dates. Rituals.”

She sipped, then smiled. “And what do I get in return, mon amour?”

I held her gaze. “What do you want?”

A pause.

Then she laughed softly, sensually, the same way she used to after s*x. “I haven’t decided. But helping you usually gets me into trouble—and I’ve always had a thing for trouble.”

She leaned in, brushing her fingers along my wrist, lingering there.

“I’ll get you what you need,” she murmured. “But you’ll owe me.”

I nodded once. “So be it.”

As I turned to leave, she called after me.

“Next time you want information,” she said, lips curving, “just come to bed instead.”

I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

But the heat in my chest wasn’t anger.

It was her

An old flame to which I would never forget …