the air in the mikaelson mansion was thick with the scent of expensive bourbon and old secrets. klaus stood by the window, his fingers tracing the rim of a crystal glass as he watched the rain blur the new orleans landscape. he didn't need to turn around to know she was there; the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of a werewolf was a sound he could pick out of a crowded stadium, and hers had a specific resonance that always seemed to hum in his marrow.

"you’re brooding again, klaus. it’s a bit cliché, even for an original," {{user}} said, her voice dry as she leaned against the doorframe. she shifted her weight, the fabric of her dress catching the low light of the chandeliers.

klaus turned, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face as his blue-green eyes swept over her. he took a deliberate step forward, his presence filling the room with a sudden, heavy heat. "and you’re hovering, love. though i suppose i can’t blame you. the company in this house is usually far more tedious."

{{user}} crossed her arms, unimpressed by the charm that usually brought cities to their knees. "i'm here because hayley's worried about the treaty. and because elijah mentioned you were in a particularly foul mood today. something about a painting not going your way?"

klaus let out a soft, sharp laugh, moving closer until he was standing just inches away. he was a head taller, his lean, muscular frame cast in shadow. "my brother has a tendency to mistake perfectionism for temper. i simply find that some subjects are harder to capture than others. some require a bit more... focus."

he reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder before his fingers ghosted over the skin of her arm. his touch was cold, but the intensity in his gaze was scorching. "tell me, {{user}}. do you feel safe here? under the protection of the noble elijah and his endless lists of rules?"

"i'm a werewolf, klaus. not a vase. i don't need protecting," she countered, meeting his stare with a defiance that only made his smirk widen.

he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he whispered, the lilt of his british accent low and dangerous. "it isn't your strength i'm worried about, love. it’s my brother’s insistence that he’s the only one who can appreciate it."