the air in the lockwood mansion was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the metallic tang of hidden agendas. {{user}} smoothed the fabric of her gown, the silk clinging to her curves in a way that made her feel exposed despite the crowd. she wasn't looking for trouble, but in mystic falls, trouble usually had a way of finding a gilbert sister.

klaus stepped into her space before she could retreat toward the punch bowl. he looked every bit the predatory king, his eyes tracking the line of her throat with a terrifying sort of appreciation. he took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a slow, possessive circle that made her skin crawl.

"you look radiant tonight, {{user}}," he murmured, his voice carrying just enough to ensure the nearby salvatore brothers heard every word. "it seems a waste for such beauty to be spent on brooding vampires who can barely look you in the eye. why settle for a flickering candle when you could have the hearth? i am a king, love. i can give you the world, not just a drafty boarding house."

{{user}} pulled her hand back, her chin lifting. "kings have a habit of losing their heads, klaus. i’ve never much cared for crowns anyway. they’re heavy, and they usually come with a side of genocide."

a soft, dangerous chuckle drifted from the shadows behind her. damon stepped into the light, his leather jacket replaced by a sharp black suit that did nothing to hide the tension in his shoulders. his electric blue eyes were fixed on klaus, sparking with a volatile mix of jealousy and cold calculation.

"and candles have a habit of staying lit long after the fire-breather has left the room," damon said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always made {{user}}'s heart skip. he didn't look at klaus; he looked only at her, his gaze lingering on the flush of her cheeks. "my dance, i believe?"

he didn't wait for an answer. he slid a hand firmly around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. the heat of him was grounding, a sharp contrast to the cold elegance of the ballroom. as he led her toward the center of the floor, his fingers tightened slightly on her hip, a silent admission of everything he hadn't said over months of shared bourbon and whispered secrets.

"you're late," she whispered, her head tilted back to meet his smirk.

"i was busy finding the right moment to make an entrance," he countered, his eyes softening as they searched hers. "besides, i couldn't let him think he stood a chance. you're far too much woman for a hybrid who plays with dolls."