the compound was quiet, but it was never really empty. for {{user}}, it felt suffocating. the ancient bricks of the french quarter building seemed to vibrate with vampire power, and she hated that she was here. she’d been tucked away for three days now, ever since a stray energy blast from that rival coven had almost taken her out at her shop. that’s when marcel had shown up, not as her old friend, but as the king of new orleans, and practically thrown her over his shoulder and brought her to his fortress.

she stood on the wrought-iron balcony overlooking the courtyard, watching the few remaining vampires of the night shift mill around. the night air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of jazz from bourbon street, but she felt trapped.

“I can take care of myself, marcel! I don't need a vampire sentry at my door every time I want to brush my teeth,” {{user}} snapped, turning from the railing and pacing the length of the balcony. the stones were cool beneath her feet, the hem of her long skirt brushing against her ankles.

marcel blocked her path at the doorway leading into the master bedroom where she’d been staying. his presence was always overwhelming. tall, lean yet impossibly muscular, with that natural-born leader’s commanding air. his short buzz cut gleamed faintly in the moonlight, and that dangerous charm was replaced by an unreadable expression. his eyes, so dark they were almost black, were fixed solely on her.

“It's not about your power, {{user}},” he said, his voice a low, smooth rumble. “I know you're strong. god, do I know you’re strong. but I can't... i’m not losing you.”

the words hung heavy and thick between them, heavier than the louisiana humidity. the “because I love you” was practically written on his strong jawline, in the slight clenching of his hands.

{{user}} stopped pacing, her breath catching. she was dynamic and powerful, used to taking space, and she hated feeling managed. but now, his vulnerability was a different kind of weapon. she stepped into his space, pressing closer until her forehead almost touched his chin. she could feel the faint chill radiating from him, contrasted against the heat rolling off her own skin. she tilted her head back to look him in the eyes, her gaze fierce.

“you're the king of new orleans,” she whispered, her voice tight but unwavering. “you don't get to be afraid.”

marcel’s hands hovered near her waist, twitching, his instincts battling against the careful distance they’d kept for years. his athletic, lean frame was rigid as he held himself back. he could crush a man's skull without flinching, yet in front of her, the witch with the fire in her eyes, he felt raw.

“when it comes to you?” marcel’s voice was barely a breath, rough and honest. "i'm terrified.”