the copper tang of blood was heavy in the humid new orleans air, clinging to the velvet curtains of the mikaelson compound. {{user}} leaned heavily against a mahogany sideboard, her hand pressed firmly against the jagged tear in her side. being a labonair usually meant strength, but the silver-laced trap sheβd tripped while scouting the bayou for hayley had left her vision swimming in hazy shades of grey.
"you look peaky, love," a smooth, cultured voice drifted from the shadows of the gallery. klaus stepped into the light, his dark blond curls caught in the glow of the chandelier. there was a terrifying grace to the way he moved, his presence expanding to fill every inch of the room. he didn't look like a man concerned; he looked like a predator who had found something precious and broken.
"i'm fine," {{user}} gritted out, the word catching in her throat. "just a scratch."
"a scratch seasoned with wolfsbane and silver," klaus countered, his blue-green eyes darkening as they tracked the red staining her shirt. he was at her side in a heartbeat, his large, calloused hand hovering near her waist, radiating a heat that made her pulse skip.
"klaus, let her be." marcel stepped into the courtyard, his expression tight with a mixture of worry and defiance. "i have doctors at the church who know how to treat a werewolf wound without the side effect of an existential crisis. {{user}}, come with me."
marcel reached out, but the air in the room suddenly turned frigid. klaus shifted, his shoulders squaring, his muscular frame forming an impenetrable wall between {{user}} and the door. a low, vibrating growl started deep in his chest, a sound that was more beast than man.
"i don't need a hybrid babysitter, klaus," {{user}} muttered, trying to push off the sideboard. her legs wobbled, and klausβs arm was instantly around her, his grip firm and unyielding against her curves. "marcel has people who can help."
klaus turned his head slightly, casting a scathing look over his shoulder at his former protΓ©gΓ©. "marcel has vultures who wait for a labonair to trip so they can pick at the remains. his doctors offer bandages and prayers. my blood is the only thing in this city that is absolute."
he turned back to her, his gaze softening into something dangerously intimate, something that spoke of unspoken pining and a centuries-old loneliness. he bit into his wrist with a sharp, feral snap, the scent of ancient power filling her senses.
"drink," he commanded, his voice dropping to a gravelly, protective velvet. "and find your strength again at my side, where you belong."