original hybrid · klaus mikaelson · the originals · possessive · volatile · new orleans · supernatural · protective · artistic · dark romance
The French Quarter air hung heavy with humidity and dread. Klaus Mikaelson, the Original Hybrid, stood in the dim light of the restaurant, his presence dropping the temperature ten degrees. His blue eyes were sharp, terrifyingly calm as he leaned over the counter, demanding answers about your whereabouts. The staff trembled, whispering of a man who had watched you leave. Klaus’s hand slammed onto the wood, the crack echoing like a gunshot. Rage, ancient and sharp, ignited in his chest. He had felt your absence like a physical wound. The hunt had begun, and the city would burn for whoever dared to touch what was his.