Blood of the Wolf

Chapter One:

Klaus ripped through the clearing like a storm front—fur, claws, golden eyes. Witches screamed spells at him. Wolves lunged, painted in charms. Compelled vampires tried to swarm him. He dropped them all. Broken spells fizzled in the mud.

In the cage, his siblings just stared. Kol’s cocky mouth went slack. Rebekah pressed her hands to the barrier like she couldn’t trust her eyes. Even Elijah’s mask cracked; his calm didn’t reach his eyes.

Kol muttered, hoarse. “Bloody hell. He’s… huge.”

Rebekah swallowed. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

They watched him tear through Esther’s army—fangs flashing, claws carving, body a blur of fury. He took arrow after arrow, each one burning through him. He staggered, but he kept moving.

Esther stepped forward, her bow of green fire snapping into being. She loosed a volley. Arrows hit him—shoulder, ribs, spine. His howl split the swamp, but he didn’t fall.

“Still you fight, bastard,” Esther hissed. “Still you pretend you’re theirs.”

Klaus shook, blood running, but his eyes burned hotter. He lunged and ripped her arm off at the elbow. Her scream cracked the air.

Freya stormed in, weaving a spell cage around Esther. “That’s enough.”

The clearing went still. Only the sound of Klaus breathing, ragged but steady. He turned his head toward the cage, golden eyes locking on his siblings.

His voice rumbled low, twisted through wolf’s jaws. “Don’t look so surprised. Hate me all you want—I’m used to it. I stopped waiting on kindness a long time ago.” He flicked a glance at Esther. “The only person who ever gave a damn about me was my real father. I hold on to that. Whether you hate me or not doesn’t change anything. But I’ll never let you die.”

Rebekah whispered, almost to herself. “He came for us.”

Kol’s voice cracked. “Took twenty arrows doing it.”

Freya knelt by Klaus, hesitating over the barbed shafts sticking out of him. “These will tear if I pull.”

Elijah finally moved forward, voice tight. “Then we do it fast. He stays in wolf form—it’s stronger. On three.”

They pulled. Klaus snarled, his body jerking, blood steaming on contact with poison. They pulled again. And again. He didn’t snap at them, didn’t collapse. Just stood there, shaking but unbowed.

Rebekah’s hand brushed his fur. “All this time… and we never saw him.”

When the last arrow hit the ground, Klaus shook himself once, blood spraying the mud. He padded toward the edge of the swamp, enormous and quiet.

Elijah’s voice was rough. “We’ve misjudged him. Again.”

Kol swallowed. “We always do.”

Freya’s spell tightened around Esther. “And one day, he won’t come anyway.”

Klaus shifted back a few minutes later, human again, shirtless, streaked in blood. He pulled on a clean black shirt from a stash and didn’t look at them.

“Don’t bother thanking me,” he said flatly. “I’ve learned not to expect it.”

Kol’s voice cracked. “Nik… why? After everything?”

Klaus’s eyes flashed gold for a second. “Because you’re my family. Doesn’t matter if you treat me like it or not.”

Esther sneered from the cage. “He’s poison. He’ll tear you apart.”

Rebekah’s voice shook. “You told us he was against us. That he hated us.”

“And you believed me,” Esther snapped.

Kol’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. We did. And every time something went wrong, we dumped it on him. Even when it wasn’t him.”

Elijah’s silence spoke louder than anything.

Klaus finally looked at them. His face was tired, not smug. “Believe whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. But I’ll keep saving you, whether you deserve it or not.”

He turned back toward the trees, standing in the dark, rain dripping off him. The silence stretched, heavy and raw.

Rebekah whispered, “Nik, we didn’t see you.”

Klaus’s voice was low. “That was the point. Easier for you if I was the monster.”

Elijah closed his eyes. “We should’ve seen anyway.”

“Yeah,” Klaus said. “Should’ve. But you didn’t.”

He walked into the dark, leaving them with Esther’s cage and the weight of their own silence.

Chapter Two: Fallout

The ride back from the swamp was heavy, the kind of silence that hummed in your teeth. The SUV bumped over potholes, headlights cutting through mist. No one said a word.

Klaus sat in the back, blood drying stiff against his shirt, eyes on the window. Every time the tires jolted, the wounds in his side reopened. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t make a sound.

Rebekah kept sneaking looks at him in the mirror. Her lips pressed together hard enough to shake. Elijah stared forward like he was trying to memorize the road. Kol tapped his knee until even he couldn’t stand the noise of his own nerves.

When they rolled through the compound gates, Klaus shoved the door open before the car stopped. Barefoot on the gravel, he walked straight inside.

Kol’s voice cracked after him. “Nik, wait—”

“Don’t,” Klaus said. The word cut off anything else.

They found him upstairs ten minutes later. He wasn’t there to greet them, but the open drawers were. Rebekah’s fingers brushed over folded shirts until they snagged something hidden. Paper.

She pulled one out, hands trembling. Letters. Dozens of them, ink faded in spots, edges curled.

Elijah plucked one carefully, unfolding it like it might tear. His voice broke halfway through the words. “If they need someone to hate, I’ll take it. Better me than watching them tear each other apart.”

Rebekah’s eyes blurred. “He thought he was protecting us by—by letting us hate him.”

Kol sat on the bed, staring at the pile. “Bloody hell. He made himself the punching bag on purpose.” His hands dragged through his hair. “And we let him.”

Freya picked one up, lips pressed tight. “If I play the villain, at least they’ll have each other.” She slid it into her coat like evidence. “He’s been writing these for centuries.”

Elijah folded the paper back up slowly, as if it might bite him. “No. He’s been carrying us for centuries.”

The door slammed downstairs. Klaus’s voice carried up. “If you’re going to read my things, at least have the decency to do it in front of me.”

They froze.

Klaus came up the stairs like a shadow, barefoot, blood still leaking through his shirt. He leaned against the railing, eyes rimmed red, jaw tight.

Rebekah stepped forward. “Nik—”

“Save it,” Klaus said, flat. “You found my letters. Congratulations. They weren’t meant for you.”

Kol’s throat bobbed. “Why didn’t you just say it? To our faces?”

Klaus laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Because you wouldn’t have listened. You never did.”

Elijah’s voice was low. “Niklaus—”

“Don’t.” Klaus’s eyes flicked over each of them, one by one. “You believed her. Every time. No matter what I did, you chose her over me. That’s all there is.”

Rebekah shook her head. “We were wrong—”

“You think that fixes it?” Klaus snapped. His voice cracked, raw. “You think an apology makes centuries of this disappear? You don’t know what it’s like, standing alone with the whole damn world telling you you’re the problem.”

Kol whispered, “Nik, we see it now.”

Klaus’s eyes burned. “Now is centuries too late.”

The silence after that was worse than shouting.

He turned, walking down the hall toward his room. “Don’t follow me.”

The door slammed, rattling the frame.

They stood there in the echo, surrounded by his letters. Every scrap of paper was another cut, another confession he never trusted them to hear.

Rebekah finally sank onto the bed beside Kol, her face in her hands. “We made him into the monster we wanted him to be.”

Kol let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. “And the bastard actually believed it would help us.”

Elijah stood stiff by the desk, staring at the closed door. His jaw clenched, but his voice was small. “We don’t deserve him.”

Freya tucked another letter into her coat. “But he’s still here. For some reason, he’s still here. And we can’t waste whatever time he gives us.”

The compound was quiet again, but not the same kind of quiet as before. This one had claws.

 Chapter Three: Truths in the Ashes

The swamp was still steaming when they dragged themselves back through the compound doors. Mud streaked the floors. Freya’s wards snapped into place behind them like locks on a cage.

Klaus didn’t wait. He went straight for the balcony, leaning against the railing with his back to them, staring out over the courtyard. His shirt clung wet to his skin, blood soaking the seams. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let the night air burn through him.

Rebekah hovered in the doorway. “Nik—”

“Don’t,” Klaus cut her off without turning. His voice was rough. “Not tonight.”

Kol set his jaw. “We can’t just sit here and pretend nothing happened.”

Klaus finally looked over his shoulder, eyes golden in the dim light. “Pretending is all you’ve ever done.”

The words landed like a slap.

Downstairs, Freya tightened the glowing lattice around Esther. Their mother knelt in the center, pale and furious, one arm missing. Her voice cut through the room.

“You’re fools,” she spat. “You think this changes what he is? He’s still the bastard wolf. He’ll still destroy you.”

Elijah stepped closer, voice sharp. “No. You destroyed us. Piece by piece. With your lies.”

Esther’s mouth curled. “Lies? Everything I told you was true. He plotted against you. He resented you. He wanted to be the only one that mattered.”

Rebekah’s voice cracked. “And we believed you. Every damn time.”

Kol barked a laugh with no humor in it. “Funny, because tonight he stood between Elijah and a death arrow. Took twenty hits meant for us.”

Esther sneered. “A trick. He’s always been manipulative.”

Freya’s magic flared. “Enough. You’ll choke on your own lies if you keep going.”

Klaus finally came down from the balcony, slow steps echoing in the hall. He stopped a few feet from the cage, eyes locked on Esther.

“You slit his throat, didn’t you?” His voice was low, but it shook the room.

Esther froze.

“My father,” Klaus pressed, every word deliberate. “You killed Ansel. Because he loved me. Because you couldn’t stand it.”

Her composure cracked for the first time. “He would’ve taken you away from me.”

Klaus’s laugh was bitter. “Away from you? You mean away from your control. He looked at me and saw a son. You saw a mistake.”

Rebekah flinched like she’d been hit. Elijah closed his eyes. Kol swore under his breath.

Esther hissed, desperate now. “You were never meant to exist.”

Klaus’s eyes burned. “Then why am I still here? Why do I bleed and fight and carry this family while you stand there and spit on me?”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Rebekah whispered, voice trembling. “Nik, we— we hated you because it was easier than hating her.”

Klaus’s eyes flicked to her, unreadable. “And easier than loving me.”

Kol swallowed hard. “We blamed you for everything. Didn’t matter if you did it or not. We just… handed it to you.”

Klaus shook his head. “And I let you. Because I thought maybe if you all aimed at me, you’d leave each other whole.” He glanced at the letters still stacked on the table. “But it never fixed anything. Just broke me instead.”

Elijah’s voice cracked, quiet but raw. “We failed you.”

Klaus didn’t soften. “You didn’t fail me. You chose not to see me. That’s worse.”

Freya’s magic pulsed brighter, forcing Esther flat against the floor. “She won’t hurt you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Klaus didn’t look at Esther anymore. His gaze lingered on his siblings—guilt, shock, regret painted on every face. For once, he didn’t look smug. He just looked tired.

“I don’t care what you believe,” he said finally. “Hate me, pity me, whatever. I’ll keep saving you. Not because you deserve it. Because I can’t not.”

He turned, walking toward the shadows of the hallway.

Rebekah’s voice cracked behind him. “Nik—don’t go.”

Klaus didn’t answer. His footsteps faded, leaving them in the quiet wreckage of truth they couldn’t shove back into the dark.

Elijah finally spoke, voice hollow. “We built a family on lies.”

Kol looked at the letters, then at the blood drying on the floor. “And he carried it alone.”

Freya’s jaw tightened as she forced Esther’s cage smaller. “Then maybe it’s time we decide if we’re going to be his family… or her puppets.”

The only answer was silence.

Chapter Four: The Cub Beneath the Monster

The compound reeked of blood and burned magic. The siblings stood around the glowing cage that held Esther, her one arm pressed against her side, eyes fever-bright with fury.

“You think you’ve won?” she hissed. Her voice was raw but sharp. “I created you. I can unmake you. And Niklaus—Niklaus is a stain. You’re fools for clinging to him.”

Kol’s fists tightened. “We don’t need your permission to love our brother.”

Rebekah’s voice shook. “You never even tried.”

Esther laughed—high, jagged, like glass grinding in a wound. The cage flared, her power boiling out in unstable waves. “Then let him see what love costs.”

The air split with a sound like thunder cracking open the sky. Blue light tore a seam in the room, and a figure stepped through.

Broad shoulders. Grey eyes that cut through the dark like stormlight. A presence as steady as the earth.

Klaus froze. “…Father.”

Ansel’s gaze locked onto him, soft warmth burning through the chaos. He reached out, hand somehow solid despite the shimmer of death around him. “You were never a mistake,” he said. “You are my son.”

Klaus’s throat worked. His wolf form trembled. The fury bled out of him all at once, replaced by something fragile, terrified, hungry. He staggered closer like a man too tired to believe.

Esther screamed, clawing at the runes of her cage. “No! He’s mine! You can’t take him!”

Ansel’s voice cut across hers, deeper than a growl. “You never had him.”

The blue light surged. Klaus’s body shimmered, bones snapping smaller, fur melting away. In seconds, the towering hybrid was gone. In his place: a boy no older than three.

He stood barefoot in the bloodstained room, curls sticking to his forehead, cheeks streaked red. Tiny fangs glinted when he hissed, high-pitched and uncertain. Golden eyes flickered as he chirped, then whimpered.

Rebekah gasped. “Nik…” Her voice cracked. “He’s—he’s a baby.”

Kol’s mouth opened, but for once, no words came out.

Elijah’s mask shattered. He dropped to one knee, hands shaking. “This isn’t—this isn’t an illusion?”

The cub blinked up at him. Then he turned, stumbling toward Ansel, and scrambled into his father’s arms with a tiny growl that melted into a sound halfway between a whine and a purr.

Ansel held him close, burying his nose in the boy’s curls. “The gods gave me this chance. To give him what you stole,” he said, eyes drilling into Esther. “And I will not waste it.”

Esther thrashed against the cage, her voice breaking. “You can’t—he’s mine! He was always mine!”

“No,” Klaus said, his tiny voice piping through the room. He bared his little fangs at her, a child’s hiss, trembling but fierce. “Not yours.”

The silence that followed was louder than any scream.

Rebekah sank to the floor, tears streaking her cheeks. She reached out carefully, brushing a curl from his face. “He’s still Klaus. But he’s trusting us. Look at him—he doesn’t even flinch.”

Kol crouched low, holding out his hand like he was meeting a wild animal. The cub sniffed it, then squeaked, batting his tiny claws against Kol’s fingers. Kol let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.

Elijah pressed a hand to his chest, staring like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “After everything… this is who he was underneath.”

Ansel looked at each of them, his arms protective around the boy. “If you want to be part of his life, you will treat him as your brother. Not your scapegoat. Not your shield. Your brother.” His tone left no room for argument.

Rebekah nodded hard, voice breaking. “Anywhere but here. We’ll go anywhere if it means he gets to laugh again.”

Freya tightened the glowing runes until Esther collapsed to her knees, screaming against the force. “I’ll hold her long enough for us to vanish.”

Ansel stroked Klaus’s back as the cub yawned, curling against his chest. “He’ll still be powerful. Still hybrid. But right now he’s just a boy. He’ll chirp, growl, and play. And he’ll need us to keep him safe.”

The cub chirped softly, pressing his face into Ansel’s neck. His golden eyes fluttered shut, tiny claws clinging to his father’s shirt.

For the first time in centuries, silence didn’t feel like a curse.

Chapter Five: Leaving the Ashes

The compound felt smaller after what had happened, like the walls themselves knew too many secrets. Every corner hummed with memories of lies, every shadow whispered Esther’s poison. The air tasted stale, heavy, like it had been holding its breath for centuries.

Klaus slept against Ansel’s chest, golden eyes finally closed, small claws curled in the fabric of his father’s shirt. Every so often he made a soft noise, half chirp, half growl, as though his wolf was still dreaming of battle. Rebekah couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked like everything they had never let him be.

“He’s so small,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. “How did we never see him?”

Ansel stroked his curls, steady and gentle. “Because she made sure you didn’t.” His tone was sharp, but his eyes never left the boy.

Kol leaned against the wall, arms folded tight. “Looks bloody innocent now. Just wait until he gets his teeth into my hand.”

Elijah gave him a look sharp enough to slice. Kol raised his hands, muttering, “What? I’m being honest.”

The cub stirred at the noise, chirped softly, then burrowed deeper into Ansel’s neck. Every sibling froze until he settled again.

Freya broke the silence. “We can’t stay here. The compound is poisoned. Every brick soaked with Mother’s lies.”

Rebekah nodded instantly. “The mansion in Forks. No one’s been there for decades. It’s secluded, protected.”

Elijah hesitated, his voice careful. “Leaving New Orleans is no small decision.”

Kol scoffed. “What’s left here? Another ambush? Another round of enemies who can’t wait to take a shot at Nik? He deserves better. For once in his life, he deserves somewhere clean.”

Ansel didn’t look up. His voice carried anyway. “We leave tonight.”

Rebekah let out a shaky breath, relief flooding her. “Good. The sooner we burn this place behind us, the better.”

Packing was quiet at first, like they were all afraid of waking Klaus. Rebekah folded his tiny clothes with hands that wouldn’t stop trembling. Kol raided the kitchen for food, muttering about needing enough bacon to feed a small army. Elijah walked room to room, touching walls like he was saying goodbye, though his face stayed hard.

When Rebekah opened Klaus’s dresser drawers, her heart stopped. Beneath neatly folded shirts were stacks of letters. Not the ones they had already found. More. Hundreds.

She pulled one out with shaking fingers. The ink was messy, water-stained. She read aloud, voice breaking: “If they need someone to blame, let it be me. Better me than them turning on each other.”

Kol grabbed another and swore under his breath. “If they think I’m the monster, at least they’ll love each other when I’m gone.” His voice cracked. “Bloody hell, he actually believed this.”

Elijah read one with hands that trembled for the first time in centuries. “Every time they look at me, I wonder if they’re waiting for me to fail. Maybe that’s all I am—a warning, not a brother.”

The silence was unbearable.

Freya took one, tucking it into her coat like evidence. “He carried this by himself. All of it.”

Rebekah clutched the cub tighter to her chest. He stirred, tiny claws brushing her neck. She kissed his curls, tears dripping down her face. “He doesn’t even hate us. He still—still trusts us.”

Ansel’s jaw was iron. “Not anymore. From now on, he doesn’t carry this alone.”

He reached into the drawer again and froze. Small black objects, no bigger than coins, glinted in the folds of fabric. He held one up. “Cameras.”

Kol’s stomach lurched. “You’re joking.”

Elijah pulled another out of the nightstand—tiny, sleek, humming with faint magic. “Microphones.”

Rebekah’s voice broke. “In his room? Who would—”

“Does it matter?” Kol snapped. His hands shook as he shoved the letters back into the drawer. “He lived like this. Watched. Listened to. Every move judged. And we didn’t notice.”

Ansel’s voice was sharp enough to cut stone. “Bag them. All of them. Whoever did this will regret it.”

Freya swept the devices into a warded satchel, fury simmering in her eyes. “Someone wanted to know everything about him. Every thought, every weakness.”

Kol’s voice cracked. “And he knew. He bloody knew. That’s why he hid the letters. He thought even his own walls were listening.”

The cub whimpered, chirping in his sleep. Rebekah rocked him, whispering against his curls, “Not anymore, little brother. Never again.”

By dawn, the compound was stripped bare. Bags packed, weapons stored, ghosts left behind.

Rebekah cradled Klaus in the courtyard. He was awake now, golden eyes wide and curious. He sniffed the morning air, chirped, and reached for her necklace, batting it with tiny claws. She laughed through tears, kissing his forehead. “We’ll do better this time. We have to.”

Kol hovered nearby, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “I don’t know how to be a proper brother to him.”

Ansel looked at him. “Start simple. Feed him. Protect him. Play with him. He doesn’t need perfection—just presence.”

Klaus chirped again, squirming in Rebekah’s arms until Kol finally reached out. The cub sniffed his hand, then nipped lightly at his finger before squeaking in delight. Kol let out a startled laugh. “Alright, alright, I get it. You want me around.”

Elijah stood near the SUV, shoulders straight but eyes heavy. “Forks will give us privacy. Time. Distance from enemies.”

Ansel shifted Klaus back into his arms. The cub immediately curled against his chest, claws clutching his shirt. “What he needs most,” Ansel said, “is a family that doesn’t look at him like a weapon.”

The siblings fell quiet at that.

The SUV doors slammed shut, one after another. The compound loomed behind them, cold and silent. Not a home anymore—just a tomb for everything Esther had poisoned.

As they drove away, Klaus chirped once, soft and insistent. He wriggled in Ansel’s lap until Rebekah passed him a strip of bacon Kol had smuggled. The cub chomped it happily, tailbone wiggling against his father’s chest, and chirped again like the world wasn’t such a terrible place after all.

Rebekah stroked his curls, her voice breaking. “We’ll build you something better, Nik. Somewhere you can laugh.”

The road stretched north, rain thickening into mist. Behind them, only ashes. Ahead, a chance to start over.

Chapter Six: Wolves in the Rain

The road stretched long and wet under the wheels, rain painting streaks across the SUV windows. Forks lay ahead, grey skies heavy, trees so thick they swallowed the horizon. No one had spoken for hours. The hum of the tires and the steady sound of rain were the only voices in the car until Klaus chirped softly from Ansel’s lap. The cub shifted, sniffed the air, and pressed his nose against the cold glass. His breath fogged a circle on the window and he pawed at it like a cat, squeaking in delight.

Rebekah turned from the front seat, eyes softening. “Look at him. He’s curious about everything.”

Kol snorted, though it lacked bite. “Wait until he tries to chew on the seatbelt. Bet you ten quid he’ll do it before we even get to the mansion.”

Klaus chirped louder at Kol’s voice, tiny claws reaching in his direction. Kol sighed, leaned across the seat, and let the cub grab his finger. The bite was sharp but not painful. Klaus squeaked like he’d won a battle, tailbone wiggling with pride.

“See?” Kol muttered. “Bloody menace already.” But his smile betrayed him.

Elijah sat in silence, hands folded, eyes forward. He hadn’t stopped watching Ansel cradle the boy since they’d left New Orleans. Every so often his jaw clenched like words wanted to escape but never did.

By the time the SUVs pulled through the moss-draped trees and up the winding drive, the forest had swallowed the last of the sun. The mansion rose out of the mist like a shadow given shape—cedar and glass, tall windows reflecting rain, wide porches lined with moss.

Kol let out a low whistle. “Still standing. Looks like the humans really did think it was haunted.”

Rebekah’s hand brushed Klaus’s curls. “Perfect. Let them keep thinking it.”

Inside, the air smelled of cedar and dust. Klaus wriggled free of Ansel’s arms the moment his feet hit the polished wood floors. He scampered forward on all fours, claws clicking, chirping at the echo. Every corner was new, every scent a mystery. He sniffed under the stairs, pawed at a rug, then darted toward the fireplace.

Kol laughed, tossing his bag onto a chair. “He’s going to wreck the place before we even unpack.”

Ansel followed slowly, watchful but not stopping him. “Let him explore. Wolves need to claim their den. This is his now.”

Rebekah crouched down, holding out her hand. Klaus bounded back, leaping into her arms, squealing like he’d just found treasure. She kissed his curls, tears pricking her eyes. “You trust us so easily. After everything.”

Elijah stood by the tall windows, staring out at the rain. His voice was quiet, but it carried. “We don’t deserve it.”

Ansel turned, eyes sharp. “Then earn it. Starting now.”

They unpacked slowly, filling empty rooms with life. Freya lit wards in each corner, weaving protection through the walls. Kol raided the kitchen, discovering dusty shelves and muttering about the nearest butcher. Rebekah cleaned the upstairs rooms until her hands shook, muttering under her breath about making it safe, making it right.

Klaus followed all of them, chirping at whatever caught his eye. He stole a spoon from the counter, dragged it across the floor, then squeaked in triumph like it was a prize. He nipped Kol’s sleeve until Kol laughed and let him win. He curled in Elijah’s lap while the older brother pretended not to cry when tiny claws tangled in his tie.

Ansel explained as he watched them struggle to adjust. “He’ll need food constantly. His metabolism burns faster than you can imagine. Meat, fruit, clean water. And touch. Always touch. Wolves are tactile—he’ll need contact to feel safe. Deny him that, and his instincts will turn against him.”

Rebekah smoothed a curl from Klaus’s forehead. “He’s been touch-starved his whole life.”

Kol slid a plate of bacon onto the table. “Then we make up for it.”

Klaus chirped at the smell, wriggling until Ansel set him down. He barreled straight for the plate, grabbed a strip in his tiny claws, and ran across the floor squeaking like he’d stolen a crown jewel. Kol doubled over laughing. “The bacon thief strikes again!”

The cub devoured it, chirped proudly, then darted off to chase his own shadow in the hall.

That night, the rain softened into mist. Ansel stepped out onto the slick grass, the cub bounding after him. He shifted smoothly, his massive wolf form towering against the trees, scars and power etched into every inch. Klaus squealed with delight, shifting instinctively into his cub form, fur bristling, tailbone wagging furiously. He bounded in circles, rolled in the wet grass, then scrambled up Ansel’s back before sliding down with a squeak.

Rebekah stood in the doorway, tears streaming silently. “He’s… happy.”

Kol whispered, awe creeping into his voice. “No wonder they called Ansel the King of Wolves.”

Elijah’s face softened as he watched the cub barrel through the grass, chirping, fearless in the rain. “And no wonder our mother killed him.”

Ansel padded closer, his giant wolf form casting a shadow over all of them. He shifted enough to speak, voice rumbling. “This is our den now. A place for him to grow, to laugh, to heal. You will treat it as sacred. And you will treat him as your pack.”

Klaus bounded back into his father’s arms, chirping, fur soaked and eyes bright. Ansel pressed his forehead to the cub’s, a silent promise carved into the night.

For the first time in centuries, the Mikaelsons didn’t feel cursed. They felt like a pack. And under the rain-heavy sky, with a cub’s chirps echoing in the dark and an ancient king of wolves guarding them, it felt like the beginning of something none of them had ever believed possible.

Chapter Seven: Push and Pull

Rain never seemed to stop in Forks. It drummed on the mansion roof, slicked the trees, and left the earth soft and full of scent. Klaus was everywhere in it, bounding through the halls one moment, chirping at shadows the next, and dragging Kol’s coat halfway across the floor before squeaking in triumph when he managed to bury himself inside it.

Rebekah chased him with a blanket, laughing despite herself. “Nik, you little terror, you’re going to freeze.” She wrapped him up when she caught him, pressing her nose to his curls. He chirped at her, wriggling until she let him nip at her sleeve. She let him win, and he squeaked like he’d conquered the world.

Kol leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking. “You’ve created a monster. Congratulations.”

Rebekah shot him a look. “He’s three. He’s allowed to be a monster.”

“He was a monster at a thousand,” Kol muttered, but his smile didn’t fade. When Klaus toddled over and batted at his boot, Kol bent down without hesitation, scooping him up. The cub chirped, tried to climb onto his shoulder, and Kol let him, laughing when claws snagged his shirt.

Elijah watched from the window. His hands were clasped behind his back, posture perfect, but his eyes betrayed him. Every time Klaus squeaked, Elijah’s gaze softened for a heartbeat before he forced it still again.

Ansel entered with a basket from the market. The scents hit Klaus instantly—meat, berries, herbs. The cub scrambled down from Kol’s arms and darted forward, chirping so loudly it startled Rebekah. Ansel crouched, laying the basket down, and Klaus dove into it headfirst, tiny claws clattering against apples and wrapped packages of meat.

Ansel chuckled, pulling him back out before he could rip open the butcher paper. “Hungry again? I should’ve known.” He tore off a strip and handed it to him. Klaus gnawed happily, chirping between bites.

Rebekah frowned. “He eats like he hasn’t seen food in weeks.”

“He’s burning through it faster than you realize,” Ansel explained, smoothing Klaus’s curls with his free hand. “And he’s making up for years of hunger. Don’t stop him unless it’s dangerous.”

Kol grimaced. “Dangerous like him stealing my bacon stash?”

“Dangerous like chocolate,” Ansel said. His tone hardened. “Or onions. Or anything his wolf half can’t digest. Those would poison him.”

Rebekah’s stomach dropped. “He lived on scraps half his life. He could’ve—” She cut herself off, pressing Klaus tighter to her chest when he climbed back into her arms. “Never again. We’ll feed him properly.”

Klaus licked her cheek, chirping, as though agreeing.

That evening, the family gathered in the great room while rain streaked down the windows. Freya added another layer of wards to the mansion, whispering old words that glowed blue before fading into the walls.

Kol sprawled on the couch with Klaus perched on his chest, the cub chirping at every flicker of the fire. Rebekah braided his curls gently, murmuring about how soft they were. Elijah sat nearby, silent but attentive, every inch of him screaming with guilt he refused to voice.

Ansel leaned against the fireplace, arms folded. “He’s adjusting faster than I thought.”

“Because he trusts us,” Rebekah said softly. She kissed the top of Klaus’s head. “Even after everything.”

Kol snorted. “Let’s not pat ourselves on the back just yet. He trusts because he’s three. Give him a decade and he’ll remember all the times we—” He stopped at Elijah’s sharp look, sighing. “Fine. I’ll shut up.”

The moment hung heavy until Klaus chirped again, pawing at Kol’s nose. Kol blinked, then laughed. “Alright, alright. You win.”

The cub squeaked and curled against him, purring faintly. The tension eased.

But Forks wasn’t empty. The next morning, they took Klaus into town. Rebekah wanted new clothes for him; Kol claimed he needed better whiskey; Freya insisted they needed herbs. Ansel carried Klaus, the cub bundled in a soft blanket, golden eyes peeking out curiously at the world.

It didn’t take long before eyes followed them. Too many.

By the time they crossed the street toward the grocery store, a cluster of pale figures under umbrellas blocked their path. The Cullens.

Edward stepped forward first, gold eyes sharp. “You’re not human.”

Kol arched a brow. “And you are? Hate to break it to you, mate, but you don’t exactly scream normal.”

Rosalie’s voice was cool, sharp. “Cold ones. Vampires. We would’ve known if others lived here.”

Rebekah smirked. “Perhaps you’re not as clever as you think.”

Carlisle’s tone was polite, but beneath it, arrogance. “We’ve kept this place safe for decades. We don’t tolerate… unnecessary risks.”

Elijah’s lips curved in the faintest dismissive smile. “We need no lectures on discretion.”

Emmett grinned, but it had an edge. “You don’t sparkle.”

Kol barked a laugh. “Sparkle? What are you, disco balls with fangs?”

Alice tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “I can’t see you in my visions. It’s unnerving.”

Freya’s voice dripped with silk and venom. “Maybe your sight isn’t as perfect as you thought.”

Rosalie’s gaze flicked to Klaus in Ansel’s arms. “And you’re parading a child around? Reckless.”

Ansel’s amber eyes burned. “He is not for you to judge.”

Klaus sniffed the air, wrinkled his nose, and gave a loud chirp of disgust before turning his back on them completely. Kol nearly doubled over laughing.

Carlisle tried again, too smooth. “Animal blood has kept us civilized. You’d be wise to follow suit.”

Ansel’s rumble was quiet but final. “Starving yourself on carrion makes you weak. My son will not live like that.”

Edward bristled. “It’s a moral choice.”

Kol leaned in, grin sharp. “No. It’s a boring choice.”

The Cullens stiffened. They weren’t used to being dismissed. Carlisle’s eyes flickered with something between curiosity and unease. “You’re different. Older.”

Elijah inclined his head the bare minimum. “Then tread carefully.”

Rebekah smiled sweetly, dangerous. “And stay out of our way.”

Klaus chirped again, tugging at Ansel’s shirt for another piece of bacon Kol had stashed in his pocket. Oblivious to the tension, he munched happily, ignoring the Cullens entirely.

The Mikaelsons turned and walked away, leaving the pale family standing in the drizzle, unsettled.

Back at the mansion, Klaus curled in Ansel’s arms by the fire, bacon clutched in his little claws. Rebekah sat close, whispering to him, her voice breaking as she kissed his curls. “We’ll protect you, little brother. Even from ourselves.”

Kol stretched out on the rug, eyes on the ceiling. “They’ll come sniffing again.”

Elijah’s gaze stayed on the fire. “Then let them. This time, they’ll find a family united.”

Ansel stroked Klaus’s hair, the cub chirping softly in his sleep. His voice rumbled like a vow. “No one takes him from me. Not again.”

And in the rain-soaked quiet, with danger circling outside and fragile love stitching itself together inside, the Mikaelsons began to believe it.

Chapter Eight: Full Bellies, Full Hearts, Heavy Shadows

The mansion felt alive now. Where once it was just cedar and dust, it now echoed with Klaus’s chirps, squeaks, and tiny claws clicking across the polished floors. Rebekah laughed more in two days than she had in the last two centuries, chasing him through the halls with a blanket as he bolted naked out of the bath, squealing in delight. Kol nearly fell over from laughing when Elijah, of all people, scooped the slippery cub mid-run and wrapped him like a burrito in towels, murmuring in his careful voice, “Your reign of chaos ends here.” Klaus chirped proudly as if he’d won anyway.

At breakfast, Kol flipped pancakes, grumbling the whole time. “Bloody ridiculous. Me, cooking for a three-year-old terror who thinks bacon is a food group.” Klaus clambered up Kol’s leg, tiny claws snagging fabric, chirping demands. “You’re not getting this,” Kol warned, spatula waving. Klaus squeaked, launched himself onto Kol’s shoulder, and snatched a strip of bacon with his teeth before darting down again. Kol cursed, nearly burning the pancakes, while Rebekah laughed so hard she cried.

Ansel only shook his head, voice patient but stern. “Instinct. Werewolf pups steal food. It’s how they learn to hunt.” He crouched, lifting Klaus gently from the floor. “But there are rules. He needs to learn to share, to eat what is safe.” He looked at the cub seriously. “No chocolate. No onions. No food that poisons the wolf.”

Klaus chirped dramatically, stuffing blueberries into his mouth instead, squeaking like the universe had wronged him. Kol snorted. “Drama queen. Definitely your son.”

Ansel smirked faintly. “Drama is in the blood.”

The laughter filled the kitchen, but the weight never fully left. Every time Klaus chirped, every time he reached out trustingly, Elijah’s eyes tightened like he couldn’t breathe. Rebekah kissed his curls with trembling lips, whispering apologies he didn’t understand. Kol played the fool, but his hands lingered too long when Klaus tugged his sleeve. Even Freya’s smile carried sadness. They all saw what he should have had all along and knew they had helped deny it.

That night, the rain turned heavy again, drumming against the roof as Ansel shifted into his wolf form in the yard. Klaus shifted eagerly into his cub shape, bounding through the wet grass, fur plastered by rain. He pounced on branches, rolled in puddles, squeaked when Ansel nudged him with his massive nose. The siblings stood under the porch, soaked but unwilling to go inside, watching the boy they had broken finally act like a child.

Rebekah’s voice was thick with tears. “He looks happy.”

Kol whispered, “God help me, I’d burn the world before I let anyone take that from him again.”

Elijah said nothing, but his hand clenched at his side until his knuckles whitened.

The cub bounded back, chirped at them, then darted into the trees. Ansel followed, protective but letting him run. That’s when the new scent hit—the sharp musk of wolves.

Shapes emerged between the trees, eyes glowing, bodies tense. The Quileute pack.

Sam Uley stepped forward, shoulders squared. “This is our land. We don’t tolerate strangers running wild.” His gaze flicked to Klaus, who chirped curiously from Ansel’s side. Confusion darkened his face. “That’s no ordinary child.”

Ansel growled low, stepping between Klaus and the pack. His voice rumbled through the night. “He’s my son.”

One of the younger wolves scoffed. “Looks more like some kind of—”

Klaus bared his tiny fangs, hissed, then chirped, pressing against Ansel’s leg. The sound was small but fierce.

Rebekah moved before anyone else could. She stepped into the rain, hair plastered, eyes burning. “You’ll watch your mouth. He’s our brother. Touch him, and you’ll answer to all of us.”

Kol followed, smirking but with sharpness beneath. “Trust me, mate, you don’t want that fight.”

Elijah stepped forward last, his calm sharper than any blade. “We have no quarrel with you, provided you respect our boundaries. We will not be threatened in our own home.”

Sam’s jaw tightened. His wolves shifted restlessly behind him, hackles up, but none stepped closer. His eyes went back to Klaus, who chirped again, golden eyes flashing in the rain. Something unreadable passed through his expression—worry, confusion, fear. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “We’ll be watching.”

The pack melted back into the forest, shadows vanishing between the trees.

Ansel scooped Klaus into his arms, pressing his forehead to the boy’s damp curls. “You’re safe. Always safe.”

Rebekah’s hands shook as she touched Klaus’s back. “He’s just a child. Why does everyone see a threat first?”

Kol’s voice was sharp. “Because that’s all we ever showed them.”

Elijah’s silence was louder than anything. He turned back toward the house, his posture perfect, but his shoulders carried centuries of weight.

Inside, Klaus chirped, reaching for Kol’s pocket until he was handed another strip of bacon. He munched happily, tailbone wiggling as though nothing had happened. The siblings watched him, torn between laughter and tears.

Rebekah kissed his forehead again. “We’ll keep you safe, little brother. From them. From her. From ourselves.”

Kol ruffled his curls, smirking faintly. “And maybe from your own appetite, if there’s any bacon left in this house.”

Klaus squeaked indignantly, stuffing the last piece into his mouth.

And for a moment, despite the wolves in the trees and the shadows of the past, the mansion rang with something they had almost forgotten: family.

Chapter Nine: Wolves in the Rain, Blood in the Shadows

Forks never stopped raining, but the storm that gathered around the Mikaelsons wasn’t just weather. Klaus had been in cub form for hours, chirping as he tore through the house, dragging one of Kol’s boots across the floor before trying to bury it under a blanket. Rebekah laughed and chased him, Kol shouted about “bloody thieves,” and the cub squeaked in triumph when he finally tucked the boot behind the couch.

The laughter broke when the knock came at the door.

Elijah opened it to find Carlisle Cullen standing in the drizzle, posture composed, his family behind him like pale statues. Edward’s gold eyes were sharp, scanning the house. Rosalie crossed her arms, her disdain obvious. Alice hovered like she’d lost a thread she couldn’t find.

Carlisle smiled politely, too smooth. “We’d like to talk.”

Elijah didn’t move. “We made it clear. Stay out of our way.”

Carlisle’s smile didn’t falter. “You’re different. Stronger. But your… lifestyle. It will draw attention.” His gaze flicked to Klaus, who bounded into the hall and chirped at the sight of strangers. “And the child—”

Ansel growled, stepping into the doorway, the cub instantly pressing against his leg. “He is not your concern.”

Rosalie’s voice was sharp, cutting through. “He’s dangerous. Look at him.”

Rebekah’s temper snapped. She swept Klaus into her arms, clutching him tight. “He’s three years old. He chirps and steals bacon. That’s the danger you see?”

Klaus squeaked as if offended, then sank his little fangs into Rosalie’s sleeve when she reached toward him. Rosalie jerked back, glaring. Kol howled with laughter. “Seems he’s got good taste already. Knows who to bite.”

Carlisle’s mask cracked slightly. “You can’t raise something like that here. It’s reckless.”

Elijah’s composure fractured. His voice came low, trembling with suppressed fury. “Do not presume to lecture us about family. You feed on animals and call it morality, but you starve yourselves and pretend it makes you better. You think that makes you civilized? You know nothing about what it takes to protect a child from a world that hates him.”

The Cullens stiffened at the venom in his voice, but Ansel was already done. He stepped forward, towering, his amber eyes glowing. “Leave. Now. Or I will teach you what real predators look like.”

Edward opened his mouth, but Alice pulled his arm sharply, eyes wide with frustration. “I can’t see them, Edward. I can’t see any of them. It’s like they’re outside the weave entirely.”

That shook them. The Cullens exchanged uneasy glances before Carlisle nodded stiffly. “We’ll be watching.”

They vanished back into the mist, but the tension lingered long after.

That night, the wolves came.

The Quileute pack circled the mansion, their glowing eyes flickering between the trees. Sam Uley stepped out into the open, rain soaking his hair, jaw set. “We warned you. That boy doesn’t belong here.”

Klaus chirped from the porch, oblivious, munching on a strip of bacon Kol had bribed him with. The sound made the wolves flinch.

Ansel shifted smoothly into his massive wolf form, placing his body between his cub and the pack. His growl vibrated through the ground.

Rebekah moved up beside him, eyes blazing. “Come closer and see what happens.”

Kol pulled a dagger from his belt, spinning it casually. “Please, I’m begging for an excuse.”

Elijah stood at the top of the steps, rain dripping from his hair. His voice cut through the storm. “You see a threat because you’ve never seen what love looks like. This boy is ours. And if you challenge that, you will lose.”

Sam’s wolves bristled, but something in Klaus shifted. His golden eyes flared, and he let out a tiny, high-pitched growl that rumbled louder than his body should’ve allowed. The sound was instinct, pure and raw. The wolves faltered.

Sam’s gaze flickered with unease. “You don’t understand what he is. What he could be.”

Ansel’s wolf form snarled so loudly it rattled the porch windows. The pack broke, retreating into the trees, but their shadows lingered.

Inside, the siblings were shaking with adrenaline. Rebekah clutched Klaus so tightly he chirped in protest, pawing at her face until she loosened her hold. He nipped her chin, a playful squeak, and she broke into tears, kissing his curls.

Kol paced, voice sharp. “Everyone wants him. Everyone sees a monster. I’m bloody sick of it.”

Freya laid wards over the windows, her hands trembling. “Mother twisted us all into believing the same. We were blind for centuries. That’s why it feels familiar—everyone else is still blind.”

Elijah finally broke. His voice cracked as he spoke, his composure shattering. “We called him monster. We believed every lie she told us. We drove him to hide in letters and empty rooms, to carry every burden so we could be free of it. And still he saved us. Again and again.” His voice broke entirely, and his hands covered his face. “We don’t deserve him.”

Rebekah sobbed softly, rocking Klaus. “We don’t, but he still chirps for us. Still trusts us.”

Kol stopped pacing, his humor stripped raw. “He wrote letters blaming himself for everything, so we could stay a family. And what did we do? We hated him for it.”

Freya whispered, “We were children under Esther’s spell too. But he was the one who bled for it most.”

Ansel shifted back, human again, Klaus cradled against his chest. His voice was calm but iron. “Then change. Right here. Right now. Stop thinking about what you deserve. Start being what he needs.”

Klaus chirped and reached for Elijah. Trembling, Elijah took him. The cub pressed tiny claws against his tie, golden eyes staring straight into his. Elijah crumpled, sinking to his knees, sobbing as the boy climbed into his lap and curled against him with a trusting squeak.

Rebekah knelt beside them, tears streaming. Kol crouched, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Freya rested her hand on Elijah’s shoulder.

Ansel stood over them all, voice steady. “You are not cursed. You are not broken. You are a pack. And this cub will grow knowing nothing else.”

The fire cracked in the hearth. Rain battered the windows. And for the first time in centuries, the Mikaelsons clung to one another, not out of fear or manipulation, but out of raw, fragile love.

Klaus chirped softly, tucked into Elijah’s lap, his little fangs peeking as he yawned. The sound was small, but it echoed through the mansion louder than any vow.

Chapter Ten: Teeth in the Dark

The rain hadn’t stopped in three days. Mist clung to the trees, wrapping the mansion like a shroud. Klaus didn’t mind. He darted through the halls in cub form, chirping whenever Kol tossed him scraps of bacon or when Rebekah scooped him into her arms and spun him until his squeaks turned into breathless laughter. To him, Forks was a playground. To everyone else, it was a war waiting to happen.

Kol was the first to notice the watchers. He leaned against the porch railing with a drink in hand, eyes narrowed toward the treeline. “Pale statues,” he muttered. “Been standing there since dawn. Don’t even blink.”

Elijah joined him, tie loosened, face set. “Cullens.”

Kol smirked without humor. “At least they’re quiet. Unlike our furry neighbors.”

The wolves came at dusk. Not attacking, not yet, but circling. The scent was thick enough that even Rebekah wrinkled her nose. Klaus padded to the door, ears twitching, tiny claws scraping the wood. He chirped once, uneasy.

Ansel lifted him, pressing the boy close. “Instincts don’t lie,” he murmured. His amber eyes glowed faintly as he scanned the trees. “They’re testing us. And they’re not the only ones.”

Freya stiffened, her hands sparking faint blue. “Someone else is here.”

She was right.

By midnight, hunters moved through the forest—warded arrows, wolfsbane traps, charms meant to blind vampires. Behind them came witches, their spells humming low, drawn by whispers of an immortal child.

The mansion was surrounded.

Klaus squeaked nervously, hiding his face in Ansel’s shirt. Rebekah stroked his back, whispering, “Shh, little brother. We’ve got you.”

The first move came from the Cullens. Carlisle stepped out of the mist, posture calm but eyes tight. “We warned you. This child—whatever he is—will bring war here.”

Ansel’s growl shook the porch. “He is my son.”

Edward’s voice was sharp. “He’s a hybrid cub. He will kill.”

Kol barked a laugh. “He steals pancakes and chews my boots. That’s his kill count.”

Rosalie stepped forward, venom in her tone. “You’re blind. He’s a monster waiting to grow.”

Rebekah snapped, her voice shaking. “He’s three years old. He chirps when he’s happy. You dare call him a monster? You sound just like her.”

The wolves arrived then, fur bristling, eyes glowing. Sam Uley’s voice carried through the storm. “The land won’t survive with him here. His scent—unnatural. We can’t let this stand.”

Klaus growled, high-pitched but defiant, tiny fangs flashing. It silenced the clearing for a heartbeat.

Then the hunters loosed their arrows.

The first hissed past Elijah’s shoulder. Ansel shifted in an instant, colossal wolf towering, Klaus tucked against his chest as he snarled so loudly the trees shook. Kol’s dagger flashed, pinning a hunter to a tree. Freya’s wards erupted, catching spells midair.

Chaos broke loose.

The Cullens, startled, turned their fury on the hunters. Rosalie tore a bow apart with her bare hands. Emmett grinned, punching a man clear across the clearing. Carlisle shouted for restraint, but Edward’s snarl drowned him out.

The wolves shifted, their massive forms clashing with hunters in a frenzy of fur and steel. Sam barked orders, but half the pack ignored him, circling closer to Klaus.

Rebekah dropped her blade into the mud and scooped her brother from Ansel’s arms mid-fight, holding him tight against her chest. “Stay with me, Nik. I’ve got you.” He chirped once, frightened, then sank his tiny claws into her dress, refusing to let go.

Kol fought like a devil, blood on his hands, laughter sharp as knives. “Come on then! Who’s next?” But when he glanced at Klaus and saw fear in those golden eyes, his grin faltered. He swore under his breath, throwing himself harder into the fight to keep them away.

Elijah snapped a hunter’s neck with brutal precision, his face twisted with something raw. “Never again,” he hissed. “You will not touch him. Not him.”

The wolves hesitated. Sam saw it—the siblings circling Klaus, fighting like a true pack, not a broken family. His jaw tightened. “Fall back,” he ordered, voice hoarse. His wolves obeyed reluctantly, pulling into the treeline, leaving hunters broken and Cullens unsettled.

When the clearing finally stilled, bodies lay scattered, the rain washing blood into the mud.

Klaus chirped softly, curling against Rebekah’s chest, trembling. She kissed his curls again and again, whispering, “It’s alright, little brother. It’s over.”

Kol wiped blood from his hands, muttering, “For now.”

Elijah’s composure cracked entirely. He sank to his knees in the mud, hands trembling, his voice breaking. “We almost lost him. Again. Because of us. Because we let this curse define him before he even had a chance to be.”

Freya knelt beside him, voice fierce. “Then change it. Write something new. The world will call him monster. Let us be the ones who call him son, brother, pack.”

Ansel shifted back, towering but steady, Klaus tucked safe against his chest once more. His voice rumbled like thunder. “You all see it now. He was never the beast. He was the cub. The boy. And you—” his eyes burned at each of them in turn “—you were supposed to be his family. Start acting like it.”

Rebekah sobbed into Klaus’s curls, Kol dropped his knife into the mud with shaking hands, Elijah bowed his head in shame, and Freya held the wards tighter around them all.

Klaus blinked up at them with golden eyes too knowing for a child, then chirped once, soft but clear. He pressed his tiny palm against Elijah’s face, as if forgiving him without words.

Elijah broke completely, clutching the boy close. “I don’t deserve it. But I’ll spend eternity earning it.”

The rain kept falling, the forest hushed, the wolves and Cullens gone—for now. And in the ruin of the battlefield, the Mikaelsons stood together, no longer fractured siblings but a pack.

Klaus chirped again, soft and insistent, and in that sound was both innocence and the weight of a vow.