White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter Twenty-six

1952 — Suffolk, England

   Moment by moment, little by little, a part of her kept disappearing. The first part of her that disappeared was her innocence, followed by her mortality. It happened in a matter of hours, in a blink of an eye. The second thing that disappeared was humanity, that part of her that cared for the lives of others. The third and last thing that had disappeared from her was her morality, the principles that concerned the distinction between right and wrong. If Eleanor Fraser had learned something, it was that Klaus Mikaelson always kept taking a part of her.

   She hurried out of her room and down the hall, hearing his footsteps get further and further away from her. "Klaus!" she yelled. "Klaus, stop!" The footsteps stopped. She finally saw him at the end of the hall, a few feet away from the door that directed him to his bedroom. He stood straight, shoulders back and head held high as if nothing bothered him.

   "What?" His voice was low, threatening. He turned and glared at her, lips slightly pursed. "What is it, Eleanor?"

   She stared at him, her words forgotten. Klaus Mikaelson was a force to be reckoned with, a man that seemed both attractive and frightening at the same time. The sight of him, even the thought of him, made her forget what she was planning to say. But, her chest ached, her knees weakened, and she felt herself beginning to fall deeper into the pit of her confusing mind.

   Klaus raised a brow. "Cat got your tongue?" He waited several seconds for an answer. When it didn't come, he nodded and walked away.

   "No!" Eleanor yelled, stumping her foot on the ground. "Don't you walk away from me, Klaus!"

   He stopped, turned and glared at her. "Don't walk away from you?" A mocking laugh escaped his lips. "Just like you haven't done to me, right?" He shook his head, lips pursed slightly with the anger in him. "You're allowed to walk out of my life, but I'm not allowed to walk out of yours?" He waited, then let out a scoff and shook his head when she didn't answer. "If you have nothing to say to me, then goodbye."

   As he began to walk away, she took several steps closer to him. "Why that painting?" she asked, her hand almost reaching out to him. She pulled her hand back to her side. "Why did you give me that painting, Klaus?"

   The Original let out a sigh and turned back to her. "It was a Christmas gift—"

   "No!" she cut him off, taking another step closer to him. "You and I both know the meaning behind that painting. It's the apple orchard at the Governor's house in New Orleans, the one we spent so much time in. We spent every day of that summer under that tree."

   "Like I said, Eleanor, it was a gift," he gave her another tight-lipped smile. "It meant nothing more."

   The young vampire let out a laugh filled with no emotion, her chest aching. "Why do you keep pushing me away, Klaus?" she questioned, her voice soft and breaking. "I've fully given myself to you, but you keep pushing me away every single moment. Is it because of that stone you need to find so you can break your curse?"

   Elijah had told her the story of the gemstone, the one that was stolen from him sometime in the 1500's. Klaus needed that ring to break the curse that his mother put on him, the one that hid the werewolf side of him. For some reason that Eleanor did not understand, he wanted to break that curse. She couldn't imagine being two creatures at once, both blood-thirsty and animalistic. Ever since Elijah told her the story, she imagined two demons fighting inside of Klaus for power, both equally dangerous.

   The young vampire let out a shaky breath and shook her head. "You are too committed into finding this stone that you haven't noticed that I've been gone for almost a century!" With each word that left her mouth, her tone rose. By the last word, she was yelling. Her nose itched and her throat ached, a familiar feeling that told her she was going to cry. She wanted to hold back those tears, because Klaus Mikaelson did not deserve to see her cry, but they fell either way. Slowly, lonesome, two on her left cheek following each other like lovers.