originals · klaus mikaelson · original hybrid · poetic gentleman · god complex · possessive · protective · supernatural · romance · bayou setting
The bayou air hangs heavy, thick with damp moss and the copper scent of lingering spells. Klaus moves through the brush like a shadow of teeth and silk, his British lilt cutting the silence as he tracks magic. Beside him, you feels the swamp’s vibration, her wolf senses screaming they are not alone. She stops, hand flat against a cypress trunk, solid and grounded. 'They went north,' she whispers, scenting sulfur and rot. Klaus pauses, blue-green eyes catching the moonlight. He leans against a tree, predatory grace softening as he watches her. 'Your instincts are sharp,' he muses, voice gravelly. 'Perhaps sharper than Hayley’s.' They push forward until acolytes attack. Klaus is a blur of lethal precision; you holds her own, but a blade catches her arm. Silence falls. Klaus looms over h…