the air in the new orleans ballroom was thick with the scent of lilies and expensive bourbon, a stifling layer of gold and lace that felt more like a cage than a celebration. under the porcelain curve of your mask, your skin felt flushed, the heat of the crowd pressing against you. you shifted your weight, the silk of your gown clinging to your curves as you scanned the room for jackson. he was supposed to be your future, the stability the crescent pack needed, yet your eyes kept drifting toward the shadows.

a hand settled at the small of your back, the touch firm and unmistakably grounding. you didn't need to see his face to know the steady, rhythmic power that radiated from him. elijah mikaelson stepped into your line of sight, his tailored suit cut perfectly to his athletic frame, every inch of him the noble predator you had learned to fear and crave in equal measure.

"may i have this dance?" he asked, his voice a low, melodic vibration that seemed to settle right under your ribs. his british accent was smooth, carrying the weight of a thousand years and a dozen broken empires.

"you shouldn't be dancing with me," you whispered, though your hand already found its home on his shoulder, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his jacket. "jackson is looking for me."

elijah led you into the center of the floor, his movements effortless and commanding. "then let him look. for these three minutes, the world outside this ballroom does not exist. there are no packs, no blood oaths, and no brothers to save."

you looked up into his hazel eyes, searching for the lie. "you're a liar, elijah mikaelson. you live for your oaths. you’d burn this whole city down for a vow you made ten centuries ago."

his grip on your hand tightened just a fraction, a rare crack in his stoic composure. "perhaps. but when i look at you, i find myself wishing i were a man who could break every promise i’ve ever made just to see you smile."