In New Orleans, the city of the damned, Davira’s life changed forever. A weekend getaway became something more—a calling, a rebirth, a throne waiting to be claimed.
A daywalker, a predator, a weapon in Marcel Gerard’s kingdom, she has carved her place among the undead elite. No longer just another soldier, she is being shaped for something greater—a role not yet defined, but undeniably hers.
Marcel gave her this life. Elijah Mikaelson and Hayley Marshall might change it forever.
Torn between duty and desire, Davira walks a dangerous path.
In a city of kings and monsters, loyalty is dangerous, love is treacherous, and betrayal is inevitable.
TW: slow Burn, Eventual Poly and Poly Themes, Violence, Blood, Evetual smut, Political Intrigue
Also Available on AO3
Chapter List
Chapter 1: And So it Begins
It’s hard to describe life in New Orleans. Sure, anyone would tell you that the food is rich with life and flavor in equal measure, that the jazz the city is so famous for could move even the heaviest, least inclined feet to tap along to its beat, or that the infamous supernatural reputation is a fun gimmick that makes finding something to do impossible—with all the shops and tours available. Or they may even swear that it’s all true, every word. But that’s not what makes New Orleans, well, New Orleans . It’s the unmistakable thrum of life that permeates every nook and cranny, that beats in the hearts of everyone who calls it home, no matter how dead they may be.
It’s been years since I came—half-cocked, thinking I’d spend a weekend in a city I’d only heard secondhand tales of. Spend a few days, maybe stay longer, before retreating back to my miserable nine-to-five, always lamenting that I ever left, mumbling to myself that I’d return when I had the chance. What was meant to be a weekend of sightseeing and delving into the supernatural roots and history of The Crescent City became so much more.
How did I go from a faceless cog in the machine to one of Marcel’s daywalkers? Okay, maybe ‘top dog’ is a stretch, but it’s certainly a far cry from my old life. Now I matter, my loyalty is everything. This is Rome, an empire where a blade lurks behind every corner and everyone is willing to claw their way to the top—even me.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter under my breath. “Why must we do this?”
“Because Marcel said so. Now shut it.”
“Look, Diego, I get it. Make an entrance, scare the witches. But parkour? Just because we can…” My voice trails off. Unfortunately, this was the wrong thing to say.
“Hey! I told you to shut it!” Diego snaps, rounding on me, his face scrunched in irritation. “The only reason Marcel gave you a daylight ring is because you can sing halfway decent, which for some reason, he finds useful. You've barely been here five years, and we’ve got guys old enough to be your granddaddy. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve got a lot to prove before I even bother to listen to a word you say.”
His words cut through the air, sharp as the ring that echoes through the room. The compound is far from empty, many still lingering after hearing Marcel’s orders. Shadows stretch long across the stone floor, the air heavy with the musk of old wood and leather. The place is a fortress—both home and war room—a sprawling estate adorned with iron chandeliers, stained glass windows, and intricate carvings on every column. The deep red and gold hues of the decor speak to the city’s regal past, while the flickering candlelight casts a ghostly glow, adding to the atmosphere of both grandeur and decay. The space feels like it holds centuries of secrets, and Diego’s harsh words reverberate through it, bouncing off the old stone walls like echoes from another time.
It’s clear that Diego doesn’t care who hears him berate me. It pisses me off.
“You know what, Diego?” My voice is unwavering now, no longer the lighthearted tone from earlier. I will not be made to look weak—not now, not ever.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve! It was a joke, but I can understand why it didn’t land—you lack a sense of humor. And regardless of why Marcel made me a daywalker, I am one. So while we may not be equals, you better treat me with some goddamn respect. We’re meant to be a team, right? A family?”
Diego scoffs, shaking his head, causing his coils to bounce slightly. The flickering light dances in his eyes, but the look in them is hard—cold. It’s clear that while he believes in his community, somehow it doesn’t include me.
“You think—”
“She’s right. She is right, Diego.”
There by the open doorway Marcel stands and steps inside, his presence as commanding as ever. His signature charismatic grin stretches across perfect pearly whites, as if this is all just a game to him.
“We are family,” Marcel says, his voice smooth and steady, like the sound of a jazz melody filling the space. “I thought you knew that. Hey, don’t get me wrong, family fights. Hell, families can even fight worse than our enemies sometimes. But what we don’t do is tear each other down.” His tone is even, charming, but there’s a coldness in the way he watches Diego—like a wolf staring down an unruly pack member.
Diego tenses, but Marcel’s eyes are unwavering, filled with the power of someone who’s seen the rise and fall of dynasties. It’s clear he won’t tolerate disobedience.
“Diego, I want you coordinating the nightwalkers,” Marcel continues, raising a hand to silence any protest before it can form. “No buts. And by the way, I gave Davira a ring because she’s good for business and loyal as hell. Not to mention, she’s smarter than you give her credit for.”
Diego rolls his eyes before storming out, his footsteps fading as his pride shrinks with each step. He knows better than to argue.
“I had it handled,” I state, still bristling, the tension not quite fading from my shoulders.
Marcel chuckles, the sound low and knowing, and leans casually against a nearby table. The heavy wood groans slightly beneath his weight, adding a sense of ancient authority to the moment. He looks me up and down, eyes gleaming with something like approval, though it’s hard to tell if it’s genuine.
“I know. Look, you’re still new, but you’ve shown promise—more than most. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love all my guys, but you keep doing your thing, showing me that you’re capable and can be trusted, and who knows? You may even find yourself in the inner circle in the next sixty years or so.”
“So fucking weird when y’all throw around time like that,” I scoff, still uneasy when people remind me just how long life is for us.
“You get used to it,” Marcel replies with a grin, his voice rich with amusement as he moves to pour himself a drink from the nearby bar cart. The gleaming crystal decanter catches the light as he pours, its contents dark and inviting. “Tell you what: you want a chance to prove yourself?”
“Yes, sir.” Immediately, I straighten, a new surge of purpose filling me. Always ready to prove myself—in life and unlife.
Marcel swirled the glass of whiskey in his hand. The candlelight danced in his eyes, amplifying the charm in his ever-present grin. He looked like a man born to rule, or die trying.
He smiles, clearly pleased with my enthusiasm. “Now, I told you guys we wanted to make an appearance in the Cauldron, but I didn’t say why. You see, an old friend of mine came to town, asking about a witch. I need her dealt with, and I need everyone to see what happens to those who would cross us.”
“All I need is a name, Marcel.”
A wicked grin spreads across the face of the King of New Orleans.
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Heyyy, so I've been thinking about writing fanfic for the first time since middle school… how do we feel about a poly Elijah/Reader(or Oc)/Hayley love triangle???? Potentially just Elijah but I can't shake the want for a poly triad self-fulfillment fic. I'm thinking a series that follows the timeline of The Originals….
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