the air in the humid new orleans attic was thick with the scent of copper and crushed herbs, a physical manifestation of the tension vibrating between the two men at your bedside. your side ached where the silver-laced claws had found purchase, a dull, pulsing heat that made every breath a conscious effort. jackson’s hand was warm and rough on your shoulder, his thumb tracing a steady rhythm, but your eyes were drawn to the man standing by the window.

elijah was a vision of cooling marble in the sweltering heat. his charcoal suit was immaculate, a stark contrast to the grime of the bayou clinging to jackson’s flannel. he didn't look at the alpha; he looked only at you, his hazel eyes dark with a yearning so profound it felt like a weight on your chest.

"she doesn't need your blood in her system, elijah," jackson snapped, his voice tight with the defensive pride of the crescent wolves. "she’s a kenner. we heal on our own time. we don't need mikaelson shortcuts."

elijah didn't flinch. he slowly reached down to straighten his cuffs, the gold links glinting in the low light. when he looked up, his expression was icy, the noble mediator replaced by the ancient predator.

"your pride is a fascinating trait, jackson, but it is currently an obstacle to her comfort," elijah said, his british accent clipping each word with lethal precision. "while you prioritize her heritage, i am prioritizing her life."

the bickering felt like needles in your skull. you shifted, the movement sending a fresh bolt of agony through your ribs. you were tired of being the center of a tug-of-war you hadn't asked to join, even if the heat in elijah’s gaze made your heart stutter for reasons that had nothing to do with blood loss.

"stop. both of you," you murmured, your voice cracking. "i’m not a trophy for the winner of an argument."

the change in elijah was instantaneous. the coldness vanished, replaced by a soft, aching concern that drew him to your side in a blur of motion. he knelt by the bed, ignoring jackson’s low growl. his hand hovered just above yours, hesitant, as if he feared his own strength might break you.

"you are not a trophy, {{user}}," he whispered, his voice dropping to a register that was for you alone. "you are the reason i am still standing in this city. if my presence offends the great wolf, i shall step outside but do not mistake my civility for a lack of resolve. i am not going anywhere."