#freylijah

Footsteps in the hall interrupted her thoughts. Calm, measured, stopping directly in front of her door. The crease of Italian leather was a dead giveaway.

“You can come in,” she murmured, knowing Elijah would hear her.

Her door slowly creaked open and Elijah stepped in, footsteps muted on the rug. “You’re not wearing your ring,” he noted.

She shrugged. “I don’t like the weight of it.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

Freya put her hand back in front of the window and watched it blister up once more. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elijah stiffen but he made no move toward her; she admired his restraint.

She pulled her hand away from the light again and turned to face him. “How is everyone? I hear a lot of shouting….”

“Yes, well, that’s a default setting in this house.” He stopped at the edge of her bed, where she sat against the headboard. “They’re all...dealing. And how are you?”

Freya shrugged. “I’ve been burning my hand for the last hour. Before that I was sleeping. Before that I was crying. Before that I was still trying to do magic. And before that….” she trailed off and meet Elijah’s eyes. “Before that you were carrying me out of that hell hole.”

“I only wish I’d gotten there sooner.”

Freya stared at his face. It barely moved, but she could see every detail, every twitch, every emotion he kept hidden behind a wall. She could see the guilt, the fear, the tears that almost made it to the surface.

She wondered how he kept all his emotions under wraps so well, in ways that none of his other siblings had ever mastered.

But there were somethings he couldn’t hide. Like the shadow in his eyes that told her he was keeping a secret.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Freya-”

“Don’t. Don’t deflect, don’t lie to me, don’t try to baby me. I’m still your older sister and I deserve to know what’s going on.”

Elijah sighed. “Niklaus informed us that some of the...mongrels that did this to you escaped his wrath. He’s been rather determined to find them and ensure they receive proper punishment. He has hit many dead ends in his search, unfortunately.”

“And what has your search turned up?”

Elijah’s lips just barely twitched in a smirk. “I’ve turned up some answers. I have solid leads on 10 names, and I know Niklaus slaughtered 20….”

Freya shuddered and looked away. She had seen them all, and remembered their faces with more detail than she would like. “That would be the last of them. When are you going to tell Klaus?”

“I thought I would give you the option first.”

Freya’s head jerked up. “...The option?”

“You must be hungry,” Elijah said, false nonchalance in his voice. “And it couldn’t hurt to remind everyone that the Mikaelsons are not a family to be trifled with.”

“...You want to take me on a revenge mission.”

“Only if you want to. It would be good for you to get out of the house and you need to get used to your new strengths. And our baby brother is not the only member of this family that enjoys some righteous bloodshed.” For just a moment, Elijah’s eyes darkened and the veins below his eyes became visible.

Freya felt her face warm up as hers did the same. “When do we leave?”

His smirk grew. “As soon as the sun sets.”

--------------------

Freya had never been a violent woman. At least, she never considered herself so. Perhaps her witchcraft just made it easier to hide the urges, to distance herself from it. Did it count as violence if you could break someone’s neck without ever touching them, or boil their brain from 10 feet away?

Perhaps it had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, hiding behind the spells and her fear.

It wasn’t hiding anymore. Now, her hands tore through flesh almost as smoothly as her fangs and it felt amazing. She guzzled the blood of her enemies, her victims, her torturers- not that it mattered what she called them now because they were dead- almost faster than it would flow.

It was more than a need, more than a desire. It was a craving.

And for once in her long-but-short life, Freya. Gave. In.

She wasn’t sure how many she tore through before she finally came up for air. Could’ve been half of them, could’ve been all of them- But when she looked at Elijah he was covered in blood too so he must’ve killed some of them.

Freya slowly stood up, her eyes never leaving her brother. Her mind and heart were racing- too many thoughts, too many emotions, too much too much toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoo-

“Freya.”

She blinked and Elijah was in front of her. His hand came up and gently cupped her cheek, wiping away some of the blood. “How do you feel?”

Freya didn’t answer, not with words. She couldn’t find words to describe what she felt. There was too much happening- the way she felt, the way he was looking at her, the thrum of new blood rushing through her veins, the sound of her own heart beating-

It was too much for words. It was too much for thought. It was too much for anything but impulse.

And her impulse told her that Elijah was the only person in the world who could see her like this and never look at her differently for it.

So she followed that impulse, and she kissed him.

And when he kissed her back, she followed that impulse further down to his belt, unbuckling it as he held her against a wall.

He didn’t ask for permission, he didn’t ask if she was certain, he didn’t tell her to slow down, he didn’t tell her not to sink her fangs in. He just let her be, let her feel, let her run with her impulses.

“I love you,” she whispered as he entered her. “Always and forever.”

Elijah did not answer with words, but she knew he felt the same. She felt it deep in her bones, in her veins, in her heart.