the air in the mikaelson compound was thick with the scent of oil paints and expensive bourbon, a sharp contrast to the earthy, damp musk of the bayou that clung to your skin. you adjusted the hem of your shirt, feeling the weight of klausβs gaze as it tracked the curve of your hips and the defiant set of your shoulders. he was standing by the arched doorway, a sketchpad discarded on a nearby table, looking every bit the noble predator in his dark henley and charcoal pants.
"heβs waiting for me, klaus. let me go," you snapped, your voice echoing off the high ceilings. you took a step forward, intending to brush past him, but he shifted with that terrifying, fluid grace of an original.
he didn't move. he blocked the doorway, his expression unreadable, though his blue-green eyes simmered with a dark, possessive heat. "the woods are crawling with those who would skin you for your lineage, {{user}}. you stay here. where i can see you."
"jackson is my husband," you countered, your heart hammering against your ribs. partly from anger and partly from the sheer magnetic pull he exerted. "he can protect me. heβs alpha for a reason."
klaus let out a dry, humorless laugh, a sound that vibrated in his broad chest. he stepped closer, invading your personal space until you could smell the faint metallic tang of blood beneath his cologne. his hand rose, not to strike, but to trace the line of your jaw with a surprisingly gentle thumb.
"jackson loves you with the heart of a dog," he murmured, his british accent dipping into a dangerous, melodic growl. "he offers you a kennel and a scrap of comfort. i would burn this entire city to ash just to keep a scratch off your skin. i would tear the hearts from a thousand men before i let one drop of your blood hit the soil. don't confuse his 'protection' with my obsession."