Chapter 19
The atmosphere in the compound was thick with tension. It had been hours since Santana had been taken by the Scorned, and the unease that hung over the Mikaelson household was palpable. Brittany was pacing the room in distress, her eyes darting back and forth, her hands wringing together in anxiety. Every time the door opened, her heart leapt in hope, but it was always a false alarm.
“I should’ve gone with her,” Brittany muttered under her breath. “I should’ve gone with her.”
Vincent was nearby, observing her pacing with a concerned but calm expression. “You can’t blame yourself, Brittany,” he said quietly, though his words did little to ease the knot in her stomach. “Santana’s strong. She can handle herself.”
Brittany stopped pacing and turned toward him sharply, her worry finally boiling over. “How can you say that? She’s gone, Vincent. They took her. And we’re just sitting here, waiting around like…like…” Her words faltered, a burst of magic crackling in the air as her frustration manifested. The lights flickered, the air heavy with the wild energy she couldn’t quite control.
“Easy, Brittany,” Vincent said, stepping toward her. “Just breathe.”
Brittany took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm the swirling chaos inside her. She clenched her fists, muttering an apology. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice softer now. “I just… I don’t know what to do. I’m just so damn scared.”
She looked over at Freya, who had been silently observing the exchange. Freya stepped forward, her expression both understanding and resolute. “Brittany,” she began, “I know how much you care for her, but getting yourself worked up isn’t going to help anything. We need a plan.”
Brittany looked at Freya desperately. “I need to find her. Please, I need to get her back.”
Freya gave a tight nod, her lips pressed together in thought. “I’ll help. But first, let me handle this. You’ve already been through enough. Let me take over the locator spell. You’ve already tried, and we need all our energy focused.”
Brittany hesitated, then nodded, a mixture of relief and guilt washing over her. She had tried earlier to cast the locator spell herself, but the magic had fizzled out every time, unable to find the connection to Santana. Maybe it was because her mind was clouded with panic, or maybe it was simply the complexity of the task, but either way, she felt helpless.
Freya set herself up in the center of the room, her hands raised slightly, and Brittany watched her intently, her eyes wide with anticipation.
Freya’s lips moved in silent incantation, and the air shifted, a small gust blowing through the room as magic swirled around her. The candle flames flickered in response. Her brow furrowed as she focused, her concentration unwavering. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity.
And then, with a sudden sharp exhale, Freya’s eyes snapped open. She stood still for a moment, her face unreadable, before she spoke, her voice steady but grave. “She’s alive. And she’s not alone.”
Brittany felt a surge of hope, at least Santana was alive, but a deep sense of dread filled her as Freya continued. “She’s being kept somewhere. I can feel the magic… it’s not the usual type. It’s not a witch’s magic. There’s something different about it.”
The words struck Brittany like a blow to the chest. “What do you mean? Where is she?”
Freya closed her eyes, her hands dropping slowly as she exhaled. “I can’t pinpoint her exact location, not yet. But I know she’s still fighting. I can feel it.”
Vincent stepped forward now, offering his reassurance. “Greta wants Santana alive, Brittany. That means she wants something from her. And knowing Santana? She’s not going down without a fight. She’ll hold out.”
Brittany nodded, though she didn’t feel the comfort that Vincent likely intended. There was still too much fear gnawing at her, too many unknowns. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore,” she whispered, feeling the weight of her helplessness crushing her.
Marcel, who had been pacing nearby, finally spoke up, his voice tight with worry. “My men are scouring the city. We won’t stop until we find her. We’ll get her back, I promise you.”
Brittany opened her mouth to protest, but then she bit her lip in frustration. She looked over at him, eyes blazing. “It was your men who let her get taken in the first place, Marcel! What makes you think they’re going to find her now?”
Marcel’s eyes hardened at the accusation, but before he could retort, Hope spoke up from behind them, her voice steady but filled with the weight of truth. “Unlike witches, Santana is a vampire. She’s immortal, under normal circumstances. You need to trust that she can hold her own. She’s resourceful.”
Brittany’s shoulders slumped, though the words didn’t entirely soothe her. “I just—I can’t lose her, Hope. I can’t.”
Hope gave her a knowing look, her expression softening. “You won’t. She’s tough, like you. Just… you have to trust that she’s doing everything she can to survive. She always does.”
Meanwhile, far from the chaos of the Mikaelson compound, Santana sat in the dimly lit room where Greta had placed her. The walls felt like they were closing in around her, but she kept her posture strong, refusing to show any weakness. She had to remain focused. She had to remain in control, no matter what they threw at her.
Greta had given her space, more space than she expected for someone who had been taken captive. The room was comfortable, more so than a prisoner’s cell, but that didn’t mean she was going to trust it. Nothing about this situation was what it seemed.
Greta had already made her intentions clear; she wanted Santana’s help in her crusade to rid the world of “impurity.” The words haunted her, and she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the choice that was being pushed on her. She had been trained to survive, trained to fight. But this was something entirely different. Joining the Scorned meant betraying everything she had fought for, everything she had cared about.
But she couldn’t deny the truth. She had been captured, and now, the only way out was through Greta. Santana needed a way to get back to Brittany. She needed to keep Brittany safe, and the Scorned’s offer was one of the few cards left in her hand.
“I’ll do it,” Santana said suddenly, her voice steady. She met Greta’s gaze, eyes fierce. “I’ll help you. But only on one condition.”
Greta’s lips curled into a smile, pleased by Santana’s response. “And what is that?”
“You keep Brittany out of this,” Santana replied, her voice hardening. “You leave her alone. I’ll do whatever you want, but if you lay a finger on her, I will make you regret it. Do you understand?”
Greta’s smile faded slightly, but she gave a nod, her tone shifting to one of agreement. “Fine. I will keep her out of it. But first, you need to prove your loyalty to us, Santana. You need to do something for us.”
Santana’s gut twisted, but she kept her face neutral. “What do you want me to do?”
Greta’s eyes gleamed with calculated ambition. “Your first task is simple. Retrieve the Original Tribrid, Hope Mikaelson. Bring her to us. Prove you’re on our side, and we’ll make sure Brittany stays safe.”
Santana’s heart stilled. Hope. The Mikaelsons' daughter. The one person who could tip the balance of power in ways no one could fully comprehend.
Santana swallowed hard, the weight of the task settling on her shoulders. She had no choice now. She had made her bed, and now she had to lie in it.