Thorfinn walked through the village, two guards trailing behind him. They were there on Lagertha's request, even though he found it unnecessary. She'd insisted that the Jarl might have spies lurking, waiting to put a knife in his back, and as much as he disliked the idea of bodyguards, Thorfinn relented. Still, it seemed laughable. Wherever he walked, the villagers greeted him warmly, offering small gifts or words of thanks. In just a few days, he'd done more for them than the Jarl had in years, simply by providing food to those who had been deprived of it for far too long.
His thoughts drifted back to the prison he'd uncovered a few miles outside Kattegat, hidden deep in the forest. He had killed the guards without a second thought, freeing the prisoners who had been held for no crime other than disobeying the Jarl's whims, he smiled as he remembered Orm getting his daughter back, that is how the people you rule over should be. As he passed the edge of the village, Thorfinn's eyes locked onto the line of stakes being erected. It was an added defense, something the village had lacked. The Jarl might return, but he would find Kattegat much harder to take.
Thorfinn had no delusions about the upcoming conflict. Mikael was dangerous, and Darkmoon Forest was filled with worse things than outlaws and bandits. The Ulfhednar, wolf-men, were the true threat, a clan of savages who could tear a man apart in seconds. He had fought one before in Northumbria, barely surviving. That fight was etched into his memory, a battle he was lucky to have walked away from. It was their weakness to silver that had saved him then, so he'd ordered the blacksmith to coat a dozen daggers in silver. The man thought him mad for using such wealth on blades, but Thorfinn had paid him from Magnus' stolen silver, so it didn't matter.
With the weapons prepared, Thorfinn now headed toward the Mikaelson home, his guards following closely behind. He had stationed more men around the house to ensure no one left. Thorfinn didn't trust the family, especially Kol and Esther. It was an open secret that Esther practiced magic, and Kol, from what Elijah had told him, shared his mother's gift. No one spoke of it openly, but everyone in Kattegat knew better than to cross them. But right now Thorfinn needed to look for more ways to deal with the Ulfhednar, the silver daggers may not be enough, Esther might have dealt with a few of them in her life and had ways to deal with them.
As Thorfinn approached the door, he signaled to his guards to follow him inside. The path was quiet, the guards who usually patrolled the area disarmed and locked away. They reached the door, and Thorfinn knocked hard with his fist. No answer. He knocked again, harder this time, but still nothing. With a muttered "Aliese," his eyes flashed gold, and the bolt opened. They stepped inside cautiously.
"Search the house, bring the family to the main hall," Thorfinn ordered, his voice low.
He made his way down the hallway, heading toward Esther's personal room. Elijah had warned him never to go in there, but Thorfinn wasn't about to heed that advice now. "Sorry, Elijah," he muttered as he reached for the door handle. He tried the spell, but this time it didn't work. The door wouldn't budge. He pulled harder, only to be thrown back as runes lit up across the surface, crackling with energy.
A mocking laugh filled the air behind him. Thorfinn turned to see Kol standing in the corridor, his lips curled into a sneer.
"You're a fool if you think your weak magic could break my mother's enchantments," Kol said, his voice dripping with contempt.
Thorfinn stood, rolling his shoulder to ease the dull pain from the fall. "Good thing you're here then," he replied, stepping toward Kol.
Kol raised his hand, and before Thorfinn could react, a wave of pain shot through his body, bringing him to his knees. The agony was unlike anything he'd ever felt. It was as if his very bones were on fire.
"You think I'm defenseless just because I don't carry a sword like my brothers?" Kol laughed. "I could snap Elijah's neck if I wanted. Just like I'll do to you." He lifted his hand, ready to finish the spell.
Thorfinn's anger surged. Something deep inside him stirred, a raw, primal power. His palms began to shake, glowing with a pale blue light. With a roar, he slammed his fist into the ground, and the entire house trembled. Kol was thrown off balance, his spell disrupted. Thorfinn shouted, "Abanne átí," and a force dragged Kol across the floor until Thorfinn's hand was around his throat.
Kol's eyes widened in shock as Thorfinn lifted him and slammed him against the wall. "Try that again, and I won't care that you're Rebekah's brother," Thorfinn growled, pressing a dagger to Kol's face.
Kol struggled, but Thorfinn's grip was ironclad. Keeping the blade pressed to Kol's skin, Thorfinn marched him down the hallway toward the door. Thorfinn shoved Kol toward the door, his grip firm around the dagger pressed to Kol's neck. "Undo the enchantment," Thorfinn ordered, his voice low and dangerous. Kol hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting to the glowing runes on the door, but when Thorfinn twisted the dagger slightly, drawing a thin line of blood from his neck, Kol's resolve crumbled.
With a deep breath, Kol began to chant in a language Thorfinn recognised though it was slightly different like it was another dialect. "Sephaera lethara exlumni nocturne daeg," Kol whispered, the magic in his voice thick as the runes began to flicker. The light from them pulsed before slowly dimming, and then, with a soft creak, the door swung open.
"You're gonna wish you died at sea when my mother finds out you've come inside here," Kol spat, venom in his voice.
Thorfinn answered with a swift punch to Kol's side, causing the younger man to double over in pain. Kol almost collapsed, but Thorfinn grabbed him by the collar, keeping him upright. Kol's body was soft, weak—he had hardly any muscle on him. It was clear he spent more time dabbling in magic than training his body.
"You love to run your mouth, Kol," Thorfinn growled, pushing him forward into the room. "How about you start talking about how to kill an Ulfhednar."
Kol chuckled weakly, wincing from the pain in his side. "Why would I care about killing those savages? They haven't bothered us in years."
The room was filled with shelves upon shelves of ingredients and herbs, strange vials, and odd tools. But what caught Thorfinn's eye most were the books. Dozens of them, stacked high. Books were uncommon in his land—his people relied on stories, runes, and oral tradition. Esther must have traveled far to collect these, or perhaps they were relics passed down through her family.
"That doesn't mean they won't come back," Thorfinn countered, scanning the shelves.
"They can't," Kol said confidently. "My mother made sure of it."
Thorfinn turned on him, pressing the dagger to Kol's throat again. "What do you mean by that?"
Kol coughed, wincing again. "Before Niklaus was born, my mother made a deal with one of the Ulfhednar. He gave her what she needed to cast a warding spell around Darkmoon Forest. Their whole tribe can't leave the forest without dying."
Thorfinn frowned. "That doesn't make sense. Why would one of them willingly do that?"
Kol shrugged as if the matter were of no importance. "I don't know, and I don't care."
Thorfinn sighed, frustrated by Kol's flippant attitude. "Show me where your mother keeps information about the beasts," he demanded, tightening his grip just enough to make Kol feel the seriousness of the request.
Kol's sneer faded when he felt his bones begin to rattle. A soft blue glow emanated from Thorfinn's hands, the power building without him even trying. Kol's fear crept into his voice. "Okay, okay! I'll show you," he stammered, his body trembling.
He stumbled toward a bookshelf, wiping his mouth as he looked through the spines before pulling out a large, leather-bound book. With a grunt, Kol shoved it into Thorfinn's chest. "Good luck reading it, you savage," Kol sneered.
Thorfinn looked at the cover "Belmont Clan Bestiary." It was written in a language he recognized instantly. He raised an eyebrow, noting Kol's shock at how easily he'd read the title. "Who are the Belmonts?" Thorfinn asked, eyeing Kol.
Kol shrugged, his bravado returning slightly. "I don't know. My mother got that book from a wandering trader."
Thorfinn nodded. "Thanks for your help, Kol," he said before drawing back his fist and punching Kol squarely in the face. Kol crumpled to the floor, knocked out cold. Thorfinn couldn't risk the fool trying any more magic.
With Kol unconscious, Thorfinn made his way back to the main hall, where his men were already waiting. He glanced at Henrik, the youngest Mikaelson, and rubbed the boys head with a chuckle. "Good to see you again," Thorfinn said, his tone lighter now. "We're leaving," he said gesturing to his men.
His men nodded, falling in line as they exited the Mikaelson house. The guards returned around the property and bowed slightly as he left, but he waved them off. "Stay alert. Keep them inside," he ordered before making his way back toward his new home—the Jarl's old longhouse. Once inside, Thorfinn settled into the massive wooden chair at the head of the hall, the Jarl's throne. It still felt strange to him, sitting there. A Eir approached, offering him ale, but he waved her off. "Not now," he muttered, focused on the book in his hands.
He cracked open the Bestiary, the musty smell of old parchment filling his nose. He flipped through the pages, quickly skimming through drawings and descriptions of beasts he'd never seen before. It was a treasure trove of knowledge, one that might just hold the answers he needed. As he flipped through the pages, images of creatures he'd never seen filled his vision. Some were grotesque, others strangely beautiful in their twisted ways.
The first creature he stumbled upon was called a *Strzyga*. The drawing depicted a gaunt, pale figure with sharp claws and fanged teeth. The notes beside it described it as a vampiric creature from the lands east of the Carpathian mountains, one that preyed upon the living and fed on their flesh and blood. The author noted how they were created from the spirits of people who died violent deaths or were cursed by the gods. Fire was its only true weakness, as nothing else seemed to faze it.
Thorfinn turned the page to find a *Baba Yaga*, an old witch with a birdlike face and legs made of bone. The image of her house on chicken legs seemed almost comical, but the description painted a far darker picture. She was known to devour children, luring them into her home with promises of food and safety. There was no mention of any weaknesses, only a warning to avoid her lands.
He continued, passing through illustrations of various beasts, some half-human, some monstrous in nature. The *Leshy*, a guardian of the forest, could command animals and control the trees. The *Alkonost*, a bird with the face of a woman, was said to sing so beautifully that men would throw themselves into the sea just to hear more.
Thorfinn's brow furrowed as he finally came across something more familiar. A large wolf-like creature, towering and muscular, was drawn in detail. Beneath it, the word *Werewolf* was scrawled. Intrigued, Thorfinn leaned in, his eyes scanning the text beneath it. This entry was written by someone named Jehan Belmont, a name that meant nothing to Thorfinn, but the man clearly had experience with the beasts.
"Werewolves are a dangerous and numerous species," it began. "They can hide in plain sight when taking the form of a man, but make no mistake, these people are not men. They can transform into large, savage bastardizations of men and wolves."
Thorfinn's eyes followed the words, his interest piqued. Belmont continued, describing how werewolves typically lived in segregated tribes, often warring with other supernatural creatures. They were long-lived, twice the lifespan of normal humans, and grew stronger with age. Young werewolves, he wrote, could only partially shift—retaining a more human appearance, with claws, fangs, and heightened senses. But as they aged, they could fully transform into the terrifying beasts depicted in the drawings, even taking the form of a regular wolf when it suited them.
Thorfinn's fingers drummed against the page as he read on, looking for anything that could help him. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, weaknesses.
"A werewolf has hardly any weaknesses," Belmont wrote. "They are apex predators of nearly every environment they inhabit. The only vulnerabilities I have discovered are fire and silver. While fire can harm them, it is silver that truly kills. They fear fire instinctively and their thick fur is as flammable as dry grass; their fear… perhaps a relic from their wolf ancestry."
A slow smile spread across Thorfinn's face. This was good. He had been hoping for more, but at least it gave him another weapon. Fire. His mind drifted back to Arwyn, to the night he'd faced her and the blood that had weakened her. Something about his blood had turned her back into herself, had stopped her from fully shifting. There was nothing in the book that explained this.
As he skimmed further, something else caught his eye. Another entry, more recent, detailing a different type of werewolf.
"I thought I had seen it all," the entry read. "But six moons ago, I encountered a new type of werewolf. This one was different—vicious, animalistic, without the intelligence or restraint of the others. It attacked a village before I had a chance to hunt it, killing several and injuring a few more. The next day, those injured convulsed and spat blood. Three died, but one survived. He transformed into a werewolf right before my eyes."
Thorfinn leaned forward, his interest growing. This was sounding like the werewolf he encountered.
"I captured the creature," Belmont continued, "and kept it for study. For two moons, I observed it, but it never reverted back to human form. This was no ordinary werewolf. It was something else—something more like a disease than a curse, while it was capable of coming out during the day it preferred to hunt at night. From what I've been able to discover newborns seem to be locked to the lunar cycle, and only through age do they start to venture out on nights other than a full moon.
Thorfinn closed the book, staring off thoughtfully. Arwyn had told him she spent four years as a werewolf, cursed to live as one of the beasts. And it was his blood that had brought her back. Could it be that his blood had cured her of this sickness? It was possible, but there were no answers in the book to confirm his thoughts. She was also not like the Werewolves described, she had transformed during the day and was in control of when she shifted. 'Could it be my blood had changed the type of werewolf she was?' He thought. It was possible but it opened up a line of questioning that he had no answers for.
He stood up, his mind still buzzing with what he had read. He had found the information he needed about the Ulfhednar. Now he had to focus on Darkmoon Forest. With the book tucked under his arm, he made his way to the door. There was much to do before he set out, and little time to waste.
————————————————————
(Three days later)
The clearing outside Darkmoon Forest was tense. On one side, the Jarl and Mikael had their men set up—close to a hundred strong, on the other side, Ragnar's camp was smaller with around sixty men, many of them seasoned warriors loyal to him. Fires crackled in the night, casting long shadows on the forest's edge.
Ragnar stood at the edge of his camp, eyes narrowed as he gazed across the clearing toward the Jarl's tent. The rain had dampened the ground but did little to cool the fire of anger that burned within him. He spat onto the ground. "All of this... just to try and kill us."
Floki, standing beside him, giggled. "Are you not excited for the grand hunt, Ragnar?"
Ragnar chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "The only thing I will hunt in that forest is the Jarl."
He wasn't a fool. He knew this hunt was nothing more than a trap, a ploy to lure him and his men into an ambush. The Jarl intended to slaughter them, but Ragnar had his own plan. As the Jarl's men tried to track him through the forest, he would double back. Torsten, one of his most trusted men, would wear his clothes and lead the others. Meanwhile, Ragnar would gather more of his warriors and converge on the Jarl from behind when they least expected it.
Floki listened, nodding along, though unease twisted in his gut. "I believe there is more to this than even you are seeing, Ragnar," he said, his expression unusually serious.
Ragnar tutted, looking away from him. "The Ulfhednar are gone from these lands, Floki. No one has seen them in nearly twenty years. And even if they were here, why would the Jarl have the power to command them?"
Floki shrugged, his eyes glinting with unease. "I do not know any answers, but I know this forest is a cursed place. Only outlaws and the banished venture here, and that's only because they have no choice. The men can feel it too."
"I am not afraid of half-starved men and wolves," Ragnar said, gripping Floki's shoulder. "Stop spreading your stories among the men. They need to stay focused. The Jarl will play his hand once we're in the forest, and we must not fall into his trap."
Floki hesitated, then nodded. "Very well, Ragnar."
Ragnar smiled, gave Floki a firm pat on the back, and began to walk away, his mind focused on the battle ahead. As he left, Floki's gaze lingered, his unease only growing.
"You are right, Floki," a voice said from behind him.
He turned to see Arwyn approaching. Her blonde hair was braided tightly at the sides, leading into a ponytail. She wore a byrnie that Thorfinn had commissioned for her, with a padded tunic over it. A sword and shield rested on her back, and beneath her eyes, blue war paint streaked across her cheeks, a line of the same paint running from her bottom lip down to her chin. She looked fierce, a shield maiden in every sense of the word.
Floki giggled, raising an eyebrow. "Right about what?"
"There are Ulfhednar... the wolf men. I can smell them," she said coldly, her icy blue eyes fixed on the forest.
Floki tilted his head slightly, studying her with interest. "I find it strange that you can smell something from so far away... You don't look like a dog, but looks can be deceiving." He stepped closer, his face mischievous.
Arwyn said nothing, simply holding his gaze, her expression cold. Floki burst out laughing.
"Perhaps it is a woman's thing! Helga always tells me not to ask about such mysteries," he said with a grin.
"They know we are here," Arwyn continued, her voice flat. "They've been coming to the edge of the forest, watching. They never leave, though. They never cross the tree line."
Floki's expression darkened. "Ragnar will not listen."
"Let us hope they eat the Jarl's men first and give us time to run," Floki added with a laugh before walking away, leaving Arwyn alone with her thoughts.
She turned back to the forest, her sharp eyes scanning the treeline. Just beyond the shadows, she spotted it—a wolf, larger than any normal beast, nearly as tall as her even in its natural state. It watched her, its yellow eyes gleaming in the dark. The beast growled, a low, menacing sound, before darting back into the woods.
Arwyn's heart pounded in her chest as she made her way back to her tent. She slipped inside, feeling the familiar ache in her muscles. The full moon was coming, and her body screamed for release, for the transformation she always fought against. Her skin felt like it was burning, her muscles tearing themselves apart from the inside. It was the price she paid for denying the beast within her on a full moon, the price of control. She lay down, closing her eyes, the pain becoming almost unbearable. Her thoughts drifted to Thorfinn... and to her sister, Eowyn. She missed them both terribly. Thorfinn was all she had left now, but it was Eowyn she often dreamed of. In her mind, she saw the Druids, the bloodshed, the massacre she had caused.
She remembered the way her claws had torn through flesh, the screams of the Druids as she ripped them apart, their bodies shattered and broken beneath her rage. Eowyn had been there, and now she was gone. Now it was her and Thorfinn, she loved him so much and was glad she had him at least.
"You never had him," a voice whispered in her mind.
Arwyn clenched her fists, her body trembling.
"He used you."
"Stop," she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut.
"He killed your family."
"Stop!" she cried out, holding her head, trying to drown out the voice.
"You betrayed them."
"NO!" she shouted, tears streaming down her face.
"You killed your sister..." the voice said, softer now, but no less painful.
Arwyn sobbed, curling into herself, her body shaking. The guilt was too much to bear. She had failed her family, failed her sister. If she had left with Eowyn, perhaps she would still be alive. Whimpering softly, Arwyn cried until sleep finally took her, the pain in her body fading as darkness consumed her.
...
The Jarl sat in his tent, the dim light of the fire casting long shadows as he stared at Mikael. They had been talking for some time, their conversation focused on the Ulfhednar and Mikael's recent meeting with their leader. The tension in the air was thick, but neither man was afraid. Soon they would see their enemies fall. Mikael leaned forward, his expression hard. "The meeting went as well as expected. They threatened me, told me that any man who entered their forest would be nothing more than food for them."
The Jarl scowled, his fingers tapping lightly on the arm of his chair. "I sent messengers before, and they told me much of the same. Some didn't even return." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Mikael. "Did you bring it?"
Mikael nodded. He gestured to one of his men standing just outside the tent. The man entered, carrying a wooden chest. He set it down in front of them and opened it, revealing dozens of amulets, at least forty in total. Each one glimmered faintly in the firelight, their power humming softly.
"This is all my wife could make on such short notice," Mikael said, his voice low. "She tells me these will work to keep the beasts at bay."
The Jarl's eyes flicked over the amulets, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "Forty men... fewer than I'd like, but it will be enough. Ragnar will outnumber us, but it won't matter. They'll be torn apart before the end."
Mikael nodded, his expression firm. "Ragnar and all those who follow him won't live past tomorrow."
The Jarl leaned back, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight. "Good. Soon, the nuisance will be dealt with."
He reached out and clasped Mikael's arm. "I will not forget the hand you had in making this possible, Mikael, my friend. Ragnar and Thorfinn's lands will be yours to do with as you see fit."
Mikael's lips curled into a smile. "Thorfinn being dead is all the reward I need. Though... the land will be a nice bonus."
The Jarl laughed, a harsh, guttural sound that echoed in the tent. Mikael joined him, the two of them reveling in the thought of their enemies crushed beneath their feet. Tomorrow, their power and wealth would soar, and those who opposed them would be nothing but corpses left in the dirt. After the laughter died down, Mikael stood. He nodded to the Jarl before stepping out of the tent and heading toward his own. The night air was cool and Mikael welcomed it. As he approached his tent, he could hear the sounds of his sons inside. When he pulled back the flap, he saw Finn sitting by the fire, sharpening his sword, while Niklaus sat nearby, whittling a small figurine out of a piece of wood.
Mikael sneered at the sight. "Niklaus," he barked, his voice sharp.
Niklaus flinched and looked up, his eyes wide with fear as he dropped the piece of wood and scrambled to his feet.
"Tomorrow, you will join us on the hunt," Mikael said, his tone cold. "This is your chance to prove yourself. Do not waste it."
Niklaus kept his head down, nodding meekly. "Yes, Father," he mumbled, not daring to meet Mikael's gaze.
Mikael turned to Finn, who hadn't looked up from his task. "Finn, you will stay behind. Make sure nothing happens to the camp while we're gone."
Finn simply nodded, not bothering to reply. He had no desire to join the hunt, and Mikael had no expectations for him. He was reliable, and that was all Mikael cared about. Mikael glanced back at Niklaus, the sour look on his face deepening. The boy disgusted him with his weak demeanor. Whittling wood, while his brother prepared for battle like a true son of his blood. Niklaus had always been a disappointment.
"Don't fail me, boy," Mikael growled before walking away, his mood soured. Yet, despite his disappointment in Niklaus, the thought of tomorrow's bloodshed brought a smile to his face.
"Tomorrow will be a great day," Mikael said, his voice carrying a hint of madness as he left his sons in the tent.
(AN: So Thorfinn has the Belmont Bestiary, tbf I know the first Belmont was 200 years after Thorfinn but I like to think their family stretched back far which is exactly what I'm doing. While I'm incorporating vampires from World of Darkness they won't be the same and things are going to be different. Dracula for one will be different. Anyway I'm getting way ahead of myself, next Chapter our boys enter the forest and Thorfinn has a confrontation with Finn someone who has said nothing the entire story and has very little background. Though I have been alluding to him having lost his wife because of a certain witch. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
If you like my stuff consider supporting me.
Patreon.com/captainalfie78works