It's been a year since I moved to Mystic Falls, and things have changed—my standing in this town shifted the moment I got together with Jenna.
I went from being the mysterious single dad everyone whispered about to Jenna's partner, the man she was building a life with.
My children went from being motherless bastards to Jenna's kids—her children, as far as everyone here was concerned.
And she bonded with them far more easily than I expected. She's proving as useful as I'd hoped she would be.
I got up and headed into the kitchen—only to find it a war zone.
"Iris, no—no, Iris, don't throw food at your brother!" Jenna shouted, and I stepped in to see what was happening. "Aaaah, Nik!"
Jenna was scrambling, trying to rein in Iris, who was hurling food at Harry—who was wailing at the top of his lungs.
I couldn't help but smile when our eyes met.
"Nik…" Jenna cried, rushing over with Iris in her arms and shoving the little girl toward me. "Here—scold her, will you?"
"Iris," I said, wiping food from her cheek, "you must not throw things at your brother. Do you understand?"
"Dada! Dada!" Iris babbled, beaming with delight.
"Dada… dada!" Harry started crying too, reaching his little arms up toward me. "Dada, dada!"
Well—some things never change. I noticed Jenna was already dressed for work.
"Leaving already?" I asked, stepping close, smiling, giving her backside a gentle squeeze before kissing her. "Can't you stay a little longer?"
"I can't—I have to hit my sales target today," she said, kissing me back. "Otherwise we'll never afford to take the kids to Disneyland."
"Hey—you know I'd take all of you," I said, meeting her gaze seriously. "You don't need to work. All you need to do is look after our children and make sure they're welcomed here."
That was what I thought—but I kept those words to myself.
"I know… but I want to take them there with my own money," Jenna said firmly, a little pout on her lips. "They're the closest thing I'll ever have to children of my own."
She kissed me and hurried out the door.
This was something we'd been dealing with lately.
About two months ago, knowing I was almost entirely infertile, we went to the hospital to see if there was any chance we might have another child.
What we found was worse than I'd imagined.
Jenna had a tumor on her uterus—rare in someone her age, but not impossible.
The doctor told us we were lucky she'd come in when she did; it could have grown, and if it turned malignant, it would have spread.
He gave us two options: remove the uterus entirely, or run more tests and hope it wasn't cancerous. But even if it wasn't, she'd still need surgery that would likely damage her ovaries.
He was straightforward about my results too—apparently, I produced only four viable sperm cells. Having two children was nothing short of a miracle.
He suggested extracting and preserving one of her eggs, then looking into surrogacy.
I thought about healing her with my blood—but I remembered what the show had made clear: one thing vampire blood cannot cure is cancer. It does the opposite.
So she had the surgery. The tumor was malignant. Thank God I didn't give her my blood.
I watched her drift off to sleep, breathed a quiet sigh of relief, then turned my attention back to the children.
Some time later…
"Nik… my sister invited us both over for dinner," Jenna said, looking up from her phone, surprised.
"Really?" I asked, suspicious. "Didn't you say your brother-in-law was a total jerk?"
"Exactly why I'm wary," she replied, frowning at the screen.
"We'll go," I said, kissing her forehead. "You want to see your sister, don't you?"
At the Gilbert house…
We arrived at the front door. Grayson Gilbert stood there, blocking the entrance, staring at Jenna with a scowl—then turning that same look on me.
He stepped aside to let us in, but didn't say a word.
Son of a bitch. He suspects what I am.
"Come on, Nik," Jenna said, pulling me inside. "In here."
That was all it took—apparently in this world, a vampire only needs to be invited in by someone already inside the home.
The women headed to the kitchen, leaving Grayson and me alone in the living room.
"So—what do you do?" Grayson asked, feigning casual curiosity as he poured himself a drink.
"Nothing too exciting," I said simply. "I own some properties and investments. I live off the income." I didn't mention I was drawing from the vast fortune Klaus had left behind.
"Drink?" He slid a glass toward me.
"Thank you." I took it and drank. I felt the burn—vervain. Weak stuff. Barely stung. "Excellent. What is it?"
"Bourbon. Got it from an old friend—says it's a hundred years old," Grayson said, smiling but with a look of clear disappointment in his eyes.
Ah. So your "friends" passed you some vervain-laced whiskey.
"Truly excellent," I said, sounding thoroughly pleased. "Though you look disappointed. Something wrong?"
"Not at all. It's just… from what my wife says, Jenna tends to fall for the wrong sort of men. You seem decent enough," he replied with a sigh, clearly irritated.
"She does," I agreed, holding his gaze steady. "But sooner or later you get it right, don't you? And she's got it absolutely right this time."
I watched his fingers tremble. I saw something tucked beneath the sofa—a stake. Does he honestly think he could take me down?
Even if my blood were half vervain, I could still snap his neck before he lifted a finger.
We kept talking. I made sure Jenna had plenty of time with her sister while I endured the company of her brother-in-law. Eventually the evening ended and we headed home.
A month passed. With Sheila's help, I located Freya—rescued her from the witches' asylum.
Then I found Finn's coffin among my siblings' and carried it to the cemetery.
I opened the tomb and stepped inside. There lay Mikael. His eyes flared when he saw me. I could feel the hatred radiating off him—and I smiled.
"Hello, old man," I said, grinning. "I'd say let's have a chat, but you're in no position to talk. So I'll speak, and you'll listen."
I pulled the white-oak stake from where it rested and held it over his chest.
"I could kill you right now," I said, tapping the wood against him. "But that would give your wretched wife exactly what she wants—and I'm not giving her the satisfaction."
I lifted him up, then brought forward the stretcher I'd prepared—Freya lay upon it, unconscious.
"Does she look familiar?" I positioned her so he could see clearly.
Mikael's eyes widened. For a moment he looked uncertain.
"Let me tell you a story," I said, setting him back in his resting place. "Once there was a woman who could not have children—but she desperately wanted them. So she struck a bargain with her own sister: in exchange for the chance to bear a child, she would surrender her firstborn to her."
I hauled him upright again, forcing him to look at Freya.
"I have someone here who saw it all." I pulled the dagger from Finn's chest.
The original brother gasped, consciousness returning.
"Niklaus.... what are you—Freya? Good God… is it you? I thought you'd been taken!" Finn tried to reach her, but I daggered him again.
"What are you doing?" Finn struggled—and I felt it. He's as strong as I am. And still weakened by the blade. That shouldn't be possible.
But the dagger took hold, and he fell back into the slumber.
I watched Mikael's eyes follow Finn—and I saw the hatred shift. The loathing he held for Finn made what he felt for me look like fondness.
"Hey—you're not touching him," I stepped between them.
"I have a proposition," I said, smiling cruelly. "I will give you Freya. But she will not wake—not truly. A curse holds her; she rouses only once every hundred years. That is how the witch made her immortal. Kill the witch, leave us in peace, and your favorite daughter is yours again."
I saw it in his eyes—he was already considering it. But I had one more thing to test.
"How about some incentive?" I bit into my own arm and pressed my blood to Freya's lips. "Will she wake if I end her life?" I raised the stake toward her.
"NO!" Mikael groaned, pain in his voice. I stopped.
"So you've made your choice," I said. "To kill the witch, you need the ashes of a Viking, the blood of whom she loves most, and the land she was born from. I don't know any Vikings… but I have the blood she loves most."
"I… know… one," Mikael rasped, voice weak but burning with rage. "My… daughter… give… her… to… me."
"Not until the witch is dead," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "Swear a geas—swear you will never hunt us again—and she is yours."
"Done…" Mikael whispered.
"Then we have a deal," I said, satisfied.
Days passed. Jenna lay face-down in bed, and I moved above her, my hips finding their rhythm against hers.
"Ah—Nik… I love you! I love you so much!" she cried out, arching, eyes rolling back.
"I love you too," I said—and the words slipped out before I could stop them.
Damn it. Why did I say that? It makes no sense. None at all.
I stared at the back of her neck. I could end it right here—one squeeze and it would be over.
I rested my hand against her neck… and I couldn't bring myself to tighten my grip.
Damn it. Damn it. I've fallen in love.
I looked over at her—already fast asleep, drooling softly against the sheets. I pulled away and lay on my back, staring upward.
This wasn't supposed to happen.