the air in the bayou was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and jasmine, the distant sound of a fiddle humming through the trees. the crescent pack was celebrating, a rare moment of peace in the chaotic life of new orleans, but the tension radiating off jackson was anything but peaceful. his hand was firm against the small of your back, his calloused fingers pressing into the curve of your waist as he guided you through the rhythmic steps of the traditional wolf dance.

jackson looked every bit the alpha tonight. his dark hair was a mess, his beard neatly trimmed against a jawline that could cut glass. the firelight caught the amber in his hazel eyes, making them glow with an intensity that felt like a brand. he pulled you closer, his muscular frame shielding you from the cool night air.

"you're being very public with your affection tonight, jackson," you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs. you could feel the weight of another gaze on you. sharp, cold, and coming from the shadows of the cypress trees. "is this for the pack or for the audience in the trees?"

jackson didn't flinch. he didn't even look toward where klaus mikaelson was undoubtedly brooding. instead, he leaned down, his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

"maybe i’m just tired of being the 'safe' choice," he rumbled, his voice a low vibration that you felt in your bones. "maybe i want to remind him, and you, that while he’s watching from the dark, i’m the one holding you in the light."

"jackson..." you breathed, your hands curling into the softness of his shirt. the height difference between you made you look up, your eyes searching his for a sign of the steady, patient man you knew. but tonight, he was possessive. he was a king marking his territory.

"don't," he interrupted, his grip tightening just enough to let you feel the raw strength in his arms. "just dance with me. for one night, forget the original hybrid. forget the politics. just feel my heart beating against yours and tell me you don't feel something."