The ropes bite into your wrists, the ache a constant reminder that you’re at his mercy. Your breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly as Klaus stands before you, head tilted, lips curled in amusement.

“You’re trembling, love,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Already so afraid.”

Your throat tightens. You try to will yourself to stay strong, to not break, but the sheer presence of him—his power, his unpredictability—makes your body betray you. “I—” Your voice catches as he crouches, hands resting lazily on his knees, eyes scanning you like you’re some fascinating new discovery.

“You know, I should be disappointed,” he muses, fingers reaching forward, tracing lightly down your arm. The touch is deceptively gentle, making your skin prickle. “Damon and Stefan care for you. Elena, too. I was expecting them to come running the moment they knew I had you.”

His fingers suddenly tighten, digging into your skin. You whimper before you can stop yourself, and his eyes darken—lips parting just slightly, as if savoring the sound.

“Oh,” he breathes, almost fascinated. “That’s a pretty little noise.”

Your whole body stiffens. Shame burns in your cheeks, and you try to jerk away, but his grip only tightens. He exhales sharply, gaze flicking over your face, taking in every shaky breath, every tremor.

“You don’t like this, do you?” His voice is mocking, but there’s something else—something almost hungry beneath it.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers trace higher, slow and deliberate. “Please,” you whisper, voice shaking.

Klaus hums, tilting his head. “I could make them come for you,” he muses, dragging his nails down your arm just enough to sting. Another small whimper escapes, and his grip flexes. His jaw tightens like he’s restraining himself, like there’s some twisted pleasure in your fear.

“I wonder,” he continues, voice lower now, rougher, “just how much you can take before you start begging.”

Tears prick your eyes, a mixture of fear and frustration. “You’re a monster,” you breathe.