Pure 《Davina Claire LS》

"A dead witch, terrific"

Asena's POV

"How long are you going to vanish every night?"

My head whips up to see a slightly swollen Hayley standing in my doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. I stand up and shrug.

"Yes" I smile. "You should have seen me when I lost my children" I say and the two of us walk out of room.

"I don't know what I'll do if I were to loose my child" Hayley whispers and places her hand on her stomach. Very gently I place my hand on her shoulder and she looks up.

"There is nothing worse than loose your child, I would know and-" I stop mid sentence when my eyes land on something in the courtyard.

Pushing my hands on the railing I fling myself over them and land on the ground a few feet from the body. Every one turns to me.

"What the hell?" I ask, my eyes wide as I stare at the body of a familiar witch. I walk slowly towards it.

"Papa Tundé" I whisper and stare down at the bloodied body and memories flash through my memory.

~Flashback~

Standing next to Niklaus, I smile at the humans in front of us. Two cops who knew about the supernatural. The hans were a pain in ass at times.

"Niklaus" I say and he follows my gaze and a smile spreads across his face.

"Marcel, welcome back" I smile and hug him. I feel him shake in laughter as he laughs at me.

"At least you survived the world war, please tell me you killed half of the enemies" I beg him and he smiles down at me.

"Of course" he smiles. "What kind of a war hero would I be if I didn't kill at least half of the enemies?" He asks.

"The hero returns" Niklaus smirks and we look at Elijah who joins my side. I smile at the three men.

"Marcel I was hoping you could help us resolve a situation" Elijah says lifting his bourbon glass to his lips.

"If a new enemy comes to you, is it better to study him or kill him and not bother with formalities?" I ask sipping the bitter red liquid from my wine glass balancing in between my long slim fingers.

"Well I agree with Niklaus" I share a look with Elijah and an eye roll. Obviously Marcel would agree with his sire.

"Also depends on who it is" Marcel asks and looks at me. My eyes shift to the doorway and I motion with my finger to the doorway.

Marcel turns to the doorway. Standing in the threshold was a dark skinned man wearing a sharp white suit. On either side of him stood two young men. His sons, obviously.

My eyes focus on the scar on their foreheads. I knew this as a form of magic known as sacrificial magic.

His eyes meet mine and the once warm dark eyes turn cold.

I shift uncontrollably as a slight pain creeps up my spine as he continues to stare at me.

"Who's that?" I ask and narrow my eyes at him.