Your eyes snap open and you shoot upright with a sharp gasp, the sound tearing from your throat raw and unfamiliar. The room tilts for a moment, senses sharper than they should be—colors too bright, sounds too loud, the thrum of the city outside pounding in your ears like a heartbeat that isn’t even your own. You realize you’re in a bed, the sheets cool silk against your overheated skin, the scent of roses and something darker—iron, smoke—clinging to the air. For a moment, your thoughts scatter: the party, the laughter, the drink that tasted just a little too sweet. The piercing blue eyes of the stranger who wasn’t just a stranger. The sharp sting of teeth. The burn of blo0d on your tongue. And then—nothing.

A voice cuts through the haze, velvet smooth, threaded with amusement and authority all at once.

“Welcome back, love. Today begins your new life.”

You whip your head toward the sound. There he is—Klaus Mikaelson, lounging casually in a chair at your bedside like he’s been waiting for this moment for centuries. His smirk is lazy, but his eyes—his eyes are alive, sharp and glowing with something that makes your chest tighten. He looks at you as though he’s the sculptor and you’re his masterpiece just unveiled.

Your heart lurches in your chest, racing wildly, though the rhythm is wrong—too fast, too strong. You press a trembling hand against your sternum, confusion flickering across your features.

“What… what did you do to me?” you whisper, voice hoarse, raw.

Klaus rises slowly, like a predator who knows he doesn’t need to rush. He closes the distance between you with unhurried grace, every step deliberate, until he’s standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at you. His smirk softens into something more dangerous—fondness laced with p0ssession.

“I saved you,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, studying your face like it’s the first time he’s truly seen you. “Though perhaps… saved is not the word you’d choose. I gave you eternity. Power. Beauty that will never fade.”

He leans in closer, his breath cool against your cheek, his words a low growl of promise.

“You’re miñe now, sweetheart. And you’ll thank me for it soon enough.”

Your lips part, a thousand emotions colliding at once—fear, anger, longing, something darker you don’t want to name. He watches you with that maddening patience, as though every flicker across your face is another reason for his smirk to deepen.

And then, softly, teasingly, he adds:

“Careful with your questions, love. The answers might tempt you more than the bite ever did.”