the firelight flickered across the clearing, casting long, dancing shadows against the cypress trees that hemmed in the bayou. the air was thick with the scent of pine needle smoke, roasted meat, and the heavy, damp heat of the swamp. music drifted from a battery-powered radio near the coolers, but it was mostly drowned out by the low hum of conversation and the occasional bark of laughter from the crescent pack.

jackson stood by the edge of the light, a beer bottle dangling loosely from his calloused fingers. he looked every bit the alpha. rugged, steady, and entirely in his element. his dark hair was messy from a day of work, and his beard was trimmed neat against the sharp line of his jaw. even through his flannel shirt, the breadth of his shoulders and the strength in his arms were obvious, a physical reminder of the power he carried for his people.

he wasn't watching the party, though. his hazel eyes were fixed on you.

you were standing near the drinks, laughing at something your sister, hayley, had said. the glow of the bonfire caught the curve of your face and the soft, beautiful lines of your frame. to jackson, you looked like home. you looked like the only thing in this world worth protecting, especially with the way klaus mikaelson was currently prowling the perimeter of the camp like a shark in shallow water.

jackson didn't wait. he set his drink down on a stump and started toward you, his gait purposeful and grounded. when he reached you, he didn't ask; he simply held out a hand, his expression softening into that quiet, yearning look he only ever saved for you.

"dance with me," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in your chest.

you took his hand, your fingers disappearing into his larger, warmer palm. as he led you toward the space near the fire where a few other couples were swaying, you felt the weight of a thousand-year-old gaze on your back.

"klaus is watching us," you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs as jackson pulled you flush against him. he was solid as a mountain, one hand sliding firm and possessive against the small of your back, the other holding yours tight against his chest.

"let him watch," jackson murmured, his breath warm against your temple. he didn't even glance toward the shadows where the hybrid lurked. "he owns the city, {{user}}. he might even own your heart right now. but he doesn't understand the crescent blood in your veins. he’ll never understand the way the moon calls to you... or the way i do."