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║ Chapter 47 – Hunt in Mystic Falls 🐺⚔️ ║
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The tension hit before the engines even died.
Hope didn't remember opening the car door.
Didn't remember her feet hitting the pavement.
One second she was in the car—breathing too fast, gripping the edge of the seat like she could hold the bond together through sheer force of will.
The next—she was outside.
Running.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs, her wolf clawing at her insides, pacing, snarling, demanding action.
Every instinct screamed the same thing:
Too late. Too slow. Move.
Behind her, doors slammed. Voices overlapped. The pack. The squad. Her family.
But Hope barely heard any of it.
Because the bond was still wrong.
Not broken.
But dim.
Muted.
Like Nova was there... but far away.
And that terrified her more than anything.
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Hope's POV
The car hadn't even fully stopped before Hope was out of it.
Mystic Falls air hit her lungs sharp and wrong.
The bond was still... quiet.
Too quiet.
Wrong.
The Mystic Grill stood ahead, deceptively normal. People walked in and out, unaware that something violent had just happened steps away.
But Hope didn't look at them.
Her eyes locked onto one thing.
Nova's car.
Empty.
The rest of the group spilled out behind her.
The Mikaelsons were already there—Klaus, Elijah, Kol—and standing beside them was Matt Donovan in full sheriff mode.
Hope didn't greet anyone.
She couldn't.
Her wolf was pacing under her skin.
"Where is she?" Hope demanded.
No one answered.
Because they didn't know.
Derek stepped forward, eyes glowing faintly as he inhaled deeply.
Scenting.
Tracking.
His expression darkened.
"I've got her," he said lowly.
Malia was already moving beside him.
They didn't wait.
They walked away from the group, following something only they could sense.
Hope's chest tightened.
"Derek—"
"Stay here," he snapped. "We'll find where it starts."
They disappeared around the side of the building.
Seconds stretched.
Too long.
Then—
Malia yells out, "I found something!"
Her voice cut through the air.
Sharp.
Urgent.
Hope didn't think.
She ran.
The others followed.
Hope rounded the corner and stopped cold.
Malia was crouched low, one hand hovering just above the ground like she didn't want to disturb anything.
Derek stood beside her—completely still.
Too still.
The alley pressed in around them—narrow and dim, hemmed in by old brick walls stained with years of rain and grease. A flickering neon sign from the street bled weak light into the space, casting everything in uneven reds and golds. Metal dumpsters lined one side, lids half-open, the smell of stale food and damp trash hanging heavy in the air. Puddles caught the light in oily rainbows. Somewhere, a loose pipe dripped—slow, steady, echoing.
A security camera jutted from the corner above, angled toward the mouth of the alley.
And here—right here—the ground told a story.
On the ground—
Nova's purse.
And her phone.
The screen cracked, spiderwebbing across the glass.
Hope's vision tunneled.
The world narrowed to those two objects.
"No..." she whispered.
Her voice didn't sound like hers.
She stepped forward slowly at first—then faster—then she was on her knees before she even realized she'd moved.
Her hands shook as she grabbed the phone.
Still warm.
Recently dropped.
Her breath hitched.
The bond twisted violently in her chest.
Pain.
Fear.
And then—nothing.
Gone.
"NO."
This time it tore out of her.
Behind her, the group finally caught up.
"What did you find?" Stiles asked, breathless.
Malia didn't look away from the ground.
"She struggled," Malia said quietly. "Right here."
Hope's head snapped up.
"What?"
Malia pointed.
Scuff marks.
Faint.
But there.
Dragged footsteps.
A heel mark cutting sharply across the pavement.
"She didn't go willingly," Malia added, voice dropping.
Hope's stomach dropped.
Derek inhaled again.
Long.
Deep.
Then his entire body went rigid.
A growl started low in his chest.
Deep.
Vibrating.
Dangerous.
"What is it?" Stiles asked, more urgent now.
Derek didn't answer right away.
His eyes were glowing fully now.
Predatory.
Focused.
"I know that scent," he said.
Isaac froze.
"...no," he said quietly.
Derek didn't look at him.
Isaac stepped closer anyway, drawn by the scent like it had a gravity of its own. He inhaled—once, twice—deeper, searching past the sharp bite of wolfsbane and the copper tang of fear.
And then his face went pale.
"Derek..." Isaac's voice dropped, disbelieving. "Tell me I'm wrong."
Derek's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping as he stared at the ground, at the marks, at the story written in scent and scuffed asphalt.
"I'm not saying it," Derek replied lowly.
Isaac swallowed, eyes flicking back to the alley mouth like the past might walk in at any second.
"That's not possible," he said, faster now, like if he said it enough it would be true. "Peter killed her. I saw her funeral. She died."
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a half-step, then back again.
"And even if— even if somehow she came back," Isaac continued, voice cracking with confusion and dread, "why would Allison go to her? Out of everyone? Why go to her for help?"
The words hit the group like a ripple.
Confusion.
Tension.
Fear.
But Stiles—
Stiles went completely still.
His brain firing.
Connecting.
Replaying everything.
"Allison shows up..." he muttered.
"Nova gets a texts... But Nova blocked Allison's number." Lydia added quietly.
"Nova was watched, tracked and stalked, they found somewhere she would be isolated..." Aiden said.
"Needs someone strong enough to take her down..." Ethan finished. He paused, sniffing the air more carefully, expression darkening. "And... I smell wolfsbane."
Malia's head snapped up instantly. "Yeah," she said, voice low and dangerous. "They didn't just grab her. She was drugged."
Hope went completely still.
"Wolfsbane...?" she repeated, barely above a whisper.
Her grip tightened so hard around the phone it creaked.
Images flashed—Nova weak, in pain, unable to heal properly.
Her stomach twisted violently.
"They poisoned her," Hope said, voice dropping into something cold and lethal.
The bond gave another faint, fractured pulse—pain laced through it.
Hope's eyes snapped shut for a second as it hit her.
She felt it.
Not clearly.
But enough.
Enough to know Nova was hurting.
Hope's eyes opened again—no softness left.
Only fury.
"They poisoned my mate."
Stiles' eyes widened.
"Oh no," he breathed.
Hope snapped.
"Someone explain. Now."
Her voice cracked like thunder—raw and furious and breaking at the edges.
The Mikaelsons shifted behind her instantly.
Klaus took a step forward.
Kol straightened.
Elijah's posture went razor sharp.
Family.
Threatened.
Unacceptable.
Stiles swallowed hard.
"...Kate?" he said.
The name didn't just land—it detonated.
Lydia's hand flew to her mouth. "No—she's dead—"
Malia's lips peeled back, a low, feral snarl vibrating in her throat.
Isaac shook his head quickly, confusion and dread tangling together. "That can't be right..."
Stiles didn't move. His eyes were distant, fixed on something only he could see.
"I saw it," Stiles said quietly. "Peter... he didn't just kill her. He tore her throat out." His voice dropped, steady but sober. "I was there. She was dead."
A heavy beat.
Then Derek spoke, each word measured and cold.
"Not permanently."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Hope's patience shattered completely.
"WHO TOOK MY GIRLFRIEND?" she roared.
The air seemed to vibrate with it.
Even Matt flinched.
Derek stepped forward.
"She's an Argent," he said, voice cold and controlled. "But not like Chris. Not like Allison was supposed to be."
Lydia swallowed, forcing the words out. "She doesn't just hunt—she enjoys it. The fear, the control. She plays with people first."
"She doesn't follow the code," Stiles added, jaw tight. "No mercy. No lines. If it breathes, it's a target."
"She hunts for fun," Malia growled. "For sport."
Isaac stepped in, anger sharpening his voice. "She seduced Derek—got close, gained his trust—so she could learn everything. Where the Hales lived. Who was home. How many there were."
Derek's eyes went distant for a second—then hardened.
"She mapped us," Derek said quietly. "Every entrance. Every weakness. She smiled while she did it."
A heavy silence fell.
Then Derek finished, voice like ice.
"And when she had everything she needed... she set the fire."
Lydia's voice shook as she added, "Locked doors. Accelerants. She made sure no one got out."
Stiles exhaled slowly. "She didn't just kill them. She turned it into a massacre."
Derek's jaw clenched.
"She burned my family alive."
Derek's voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.
"Peter, Nova, and Cora were the only ones who made it out," he added, each word measured. "Peter got them out through the back when the fire took the main hall."
A tight breath left him.
"They were nine."
The words hung there.
Heavy.
Final.
The Mikaelsons went still.
Completely still.
Klaus's expression shifted—something ancient and monstrous rising behind his eyes.
Kol let out a low whistle. "Well. I already don't like her."
Elijah's gaze sharpened, calculating. "She took Nova knowing what she is. Knowing what she means."
"And still did it," Klaus finished softly.
Which made it worse.
Much worse.
Hope stood in the center of it all.
Silent now.
Too silent.
Her fingers tightened around Nova's cracked phone.
Her knuckles went white.
"They hurt her," she said quietly.
The bond twisted again.
Faint.
Broken pieces of fear.
Her wolf surged forward.
"Hope—" Josie started.
Hope didn't look at her.
"She was afraid," Hope whispered.
And that was it.
That was the breaking point.
Her head lifted slowly.
Eyes glowing.
Gold bleeding through blue.
Hybrid.
Deadly.
"We find her," Hope said.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
A promise.
Behind her, the Mikaelsons moved.
Already shifting into action.
Across the street.
A security camera.
Pointed directly toward the alley.
Elijah nudged Klaus subtly.
Klaus followed his gaze.
Understanding clicked instantly.
"Elijah," Klaus murmured.
"I see it," Elijah replied.
Evidence.
A lead.
They didn't tell Hope.
Not yet.
Not until they had something concrete.
"Come," Elijah said quietly.
Klaus nodded once.
They moved off—calm, composed, terrifying.
To everyone else, it looked controlled.
To those who knew them—
War had already begun.
Back in the alley, Hope didn't move.
Nova's phone still in her hand.
Her scent everywhere.
Her presence gone.
The bond—
Silent.
Hope inhaled slowly.
Then—
"We find her," Hope said, voice steady and lethal. "And we end this."
I will find you, Hope swore silently, the vow sinking deep into the bond even through the distance, even through the interference. I will find you and I will save you.
The connection flickered—faint, fragile—but there.
Alive.
And that was enough.
God help whoever had taken her.
Because if they had hurt Nova—if they had even touched her—
Hope felt something dark and ancient unfurl inside her chest.
Cold.
Ruthless.
Mikaelson.
She didn't fight it.
Didn't soften it.
Didn't try to be better.
Not this time.
Not when it came to Nova.
Her mate.
Her family.
Her world.
Hope lifted her head slightly, eyes burning brighter.
Let them see it.
The protectiveness.
The savagery.
The promise.
If they had taken Nova and hurt her...
They had just made themselves her prey.
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