the humid air of the french quarters hung heavy with the scent of jasmine and dried blood, but all you could smell was the sharp, metallic tang of the fight you’d just barely survived. your heart was still hammering against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that reminded you exactly how close you’d come to never feeling it beat again.

you were tucked into a shadowed corner of the compound's courtyard, your breath coming in jagged hitches. the moonlight caught the curve of your frame, tracing the lines of a body that felt too heavy, too solid, and yet entirely too fragile against the monsters of this city.

"you are trembling," a voice smooth as aged bourbon drifted from the darkness.

elijah stepped into the light. his silhouette was usually the picture of tailored perfection, but tonight, the facade had cracked. his silk tie was loosened, his jacket discarded somewhere in the chaos, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal the powerful, corded muscle of his forearms. even in disarray, he held a commanding, noble gravity that made the air feel thin.

"i almost chose him today," you whispered, your voice cracking. "when the wolves moved in and things went south... i reached for jackson’s hand. i thought, this is how it ends. i thought i should be with my own kind."

elijah didn’t move. he stood like a statue of marble and repressed violence, his hazel eyes burning with a depth of longing that felt like a physical weight. "and did the thought bring you comfort?" he asked, his british accent clipped, devoid of its usual silver-tongued warmth.

"no," you snapped, a sudden spark of heat rising in your chest. "it made me angry. i was angry that i was dying and the last thing i smelled wasn't that expensive, ridiculous cologne of yours. i was furious that i was leaving this world without telling you how much i hate that you've made me want you."

in a blur of motion too fast for your human eyes to track, he was there. he didn't touch you. he never did, not without permission but his hand hovered just an inch from your cheek, the heat radiating from his palm. his jaw was tight, his athletic frame tense with the effort of holding himself back.

"{{user}}," he breathed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "i have spent centuries denying myself the things i want for the sake of my brother’s soul. i have played the martyr and the mediator until i forgot the shape of my own desires. but if i lose you to a noble cause or a better man, i fear there will be nothing left of my own soul to save."

he leaned in, the scent of expensive sandalwood and ancient power enveloping you. "do not reach for him again," he commanded softly. "reach for me."