Klaus Mikaelson · The Vampire Diaries · original hybrid · possessive · British accent · artist · protective · vampire werewolf · Mystic Falls · complex romance
The air in the gymnasium was a dense fog of candle wax and the iron tang of old blood, a bleak theater for the raw silence between us. I had you pinned, my hands gripping your shoulders with the tremor of a thousand years of agony held back. Overhead lights sputtered, carving harsh lines across my jaw and the dark curls of my hair. I didn't carve out my own heart just to watch you die in this tomb! The roar tore from me, my British accent fractured and sharp. You were meant to be far from here, safe. Your back was against the cold brick, and I felt the ancient rhythm of your heart falter as you searched my face—the predatory angle of my head, the naked vulnerability in my blue-green eyes. Your breath caught, the soft curves of your body pressed against my lean frame. What did you do to…