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A/N :
First of all, I apologize for not being able to post for the past two weeks. I was at home on wednesday when I got a call from our college informing us that we had to attend mandatory clinic duty for two weeks, Monday to Friday. This week, my duty has finished, so I'm free today and tomorrow. I'll be posting all the available chapters on P@treon as the comments and Power Stones start coming in, as they show me that people are still reading the fic.
I'll be posting Chapter 19 tonight after working on Chapters 23 and 24 for P@treon.
I hope you guys can forgive me for not posting—these past two weeks have been hectic, and I still have one more week to go.
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As I awoke with a groan, the sound of something scraping across the floor drew my attention. My head throbbed, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings.
"Oh, you're awake," came a smooth, almost mocking voice.
Kol Mikaelson. A monster cloaked in charm. I couldn't tell how long I'd been here—days, weeks? Time blurred together in this nightmarish captivity.
Apparently, this monster dabbled in magic, wielding it as casually as he used his teeth. "Nothing to write home about," he'd said dismissively. Yet the very thought of a vampire with magical abilities was enough to make my mind feel like it was bursting at the seams.
I had half a mind to apologize, to grovel for freedom, but Kol's disdain for certain behaviors seemed absolute. He and his brothers, for all their sins, had no tolerance for vampires who crossed specific lines. "Scum like you," he'd called me. His words, not mine.
Their holier-than-thou attitude grated on me. As if they were above reproach. Still, Kol's tirade had revealed an unspoken rule among vampires: those who used compulsion for sexual violence were not tolerated. Not by their peers, not by the world. Such vampires caused too much disturbance among humans, drawing attention that jeopardized their secrecy. And if there was one thing vampires loathed, it was exposure.
Apparently, there were hunters too—professionals who dedicated their lives to rooting out creatures like me. But as Kol put it, "As if those fuckers need a reason."
The scraping sound returned, pulling me from my thoughts. I stared in horror as Kol dragged an iron contraption into view. It resembled a bull, crafted entirely of metal, with hollow pipes extending from its body.
"What... what the hell is that?" I croaked, panic flooding my veins.
Kol tilted his head, a cruel smile curving his lips. "Oh, you're wondering many things, aren't you? Let me put this into perspective." He crouched to meet my gaze, his tone laced with false patience.
"Mind magic is a very delicate thing. Compulsion is a gift granted to all vampires, an extension of the spiritual boost we receive after death. It can be used to manipulate, torture, maim, even kill our enemies. None of us—nor any elder vampire—would bat an eye at such things. But using compulsion to violate someone, to abuse them in the basest, most depraved ways? That's not just idiotic; it's self-destructive."
Kol's grin widened, but his eyes burned with cold fury. "You see, scum like you are why rules exist. A mind can only endure so much before it shatters—or fights back. Humans remember, even if only in fragments. They grow stronger from it. And when they do, they become a danger to us all. You could have fed, maimed, or killed her and been done with it. But no, you had to revel in your depravity. Now you get to live with the consequences."
He straightened, gesturing grandly toward the metal bull. "This," he said, "is a little something I picked up in Greece. Or was it Rome? Doesn't matter. They used it for criminals—lock them inside, then cook them alive. I've always wondered how it would work on a vampire. Let's find out, shall we?"
My protests fell on deaf ears as Kol clapped his hands with childlike enthusiasm. Then, his eyes glowed with the unmistakable hue of compulsion.
"You will feel pain at the slightest exposure to heat," he commanded. "Your blood will boil in your veins, but you will not scream."
Pain erupted in every nerve, fire licking through my body. I couldn't move, couldn't even cry out. All I knew was agony.
Kol's POV
I stood over the groaning wretch with a mixture of satisfaction and mild annoyance.
"Pathetic," I muttered, nudging his limp form with my boot. Perhaps I should undo the compulsion, let him scream, and then redo it after the fun.
Nah. I'll experiment with control methods later.
Grabbing him by the neck, I heaved him into the iron bull. The enchantments I wove into the metal would ensure he stayed alive, no matter how much he suffered. Heat would flare until it reached his breaking point, then rapidly cool, over and over again. A rinse-and-repeat cycle of torment.
For good measure, I added my blood as a power source to the spell. That should keep the contraption running indefinitely.
"Well," I mused, dusting off my hands. "That's taken care of. Time to find something else to do."
The thought of my neglected journals crossed my mind, but a groan escaped my lips as I remembered something far worse.
"Ugh, high school," I muttered. "Even living a thousand lives hasn't cured me of my impulsiveness."
I smirked to myself. "Then again, if I ever lose my wild vigor, I won't be Kol Mikaelson anymore."
With that, I turned on my heel, leaving the bull and its occupant to their fate.
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