Klaus was bored and that was dangerous. Not for him of course but the people around him, as it then became their duty to entertain him, at which point their lives stopped being their own and became his to control to his satisfaction. Then again, playing with humans wasn’t as fun as it had been in the past, everything felt old now, unexciting.
The way his sister spoke of this speakeasy, Gloria’s, he’d expected a modicum of amusement. She’d told him it was the best place in Chicago to be and to her credit, she was right. Once he set foot in the bar, he was treated like the king he was; without speaking, the bartender had poured him a whiskey — not that revolting bathtub gin — free of charge and kept the shots coming all night. The music was grand and the women beautiful, but Klaus remained unimpressed. Perhaps having to be on constant alert for Mikael ensured he would never find pleasure in the world around him again. Perhaps the twenties simply wasn’t his era and he had to wait a decade to find one that suited him. Either way, he wanted to leave. It was time. And that meant finding Rebekah. He’d avoided intensifying his hearing all night as the mingling sounds of the speakeasy only served to irritate him, but now he honed in on the noise to find his sister. At last he heard her.
Moaning. Sighing. A man’s voice, husky and aroused.
It’s beautiful…
A witch gave it to me. Supposedly it’s magical.
An anger possessed Klaus, one that was familiar but one that frustrated him. Simply put, whenever Rebekah had a suitor, it aggravated him. Although it was not that simple. He’d told his brothers and Rebekah and even himself that he’d interfered with his sister’s love life, killed the men arrogant enough to think themselves worthy of her, to keep her from a broken heart. But it was more than that. It … it burned him whenever he saw her with another man, it enraged him to think of her keeping someone in her heart who wasn’t him. The thought of her happy without him filled him with bitterness and the thought of her loving another man inspired in him a confused rage powerful enough to drive him to homicide. And he hated it. He hated needing her this much … … wanting her by his side and only by his side as much as he did, but she was his. There was no other way of putting it, she was his and no one else’s and any threat to that fact would promptly be eliminated.
His fury propelling him, Klaus followed Rebekah’s voice until he found her at a booth, all over a man he couldn’t quite see.
“It brought me love didn’t it?” she said, her voice breathy.
“It’s late, Rebekah, we’re leaving,” said Klaus, grabbing her. She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and remained sitting.
“Get off me!”
Brat.
The man stood up quickly. “Who is this guy?”
Fool.
Rebekah rushed over to the man, standing up to calm him down. “Stefan, don’t. He’ll kill you.” He put his hand on Rebekah’s shoulder. “He’s a lot stronger than he looks.”
Stefan? As in Salvatore?
Finally, Klaus regarded the man she’d been carrying on with, and the instant he took him in, he knew that if he still possessed a functioning heart, it would seize to beat at seeing this man’s face.
It was a peculiar reaction, an immediate one but curious; the possessiveness toward Rebekah lingered but there now existed a resentment that she had met Stefan Salvatore first, that Klaus did not have the pleasure of discovering him himself.
“So this is this is the famous Stefan Salvatore I’ve been hearing so much about,” said Klaus.
Their eyes met and Klaus’ intrigue transformed into a feeling he couldn’t name; one that took a hold of him without hesitation. He turned to Rebekah in an attempt to temper the mysterious emotion.
“You’re right, he does have funny hair,” he said.
Stefan smirked, his gaze intent on Klaus. There was a strange pull, maybe even … … an attraction? He didn’t want Rebekah to leave but he also felt the urge to make this man stay, an urge he felt with passion equal to his protectiveness of his date.
“I’m bored,” said Klaus. “I want to go.”
Rebekah walked over to Klaus, closing the gap between them. “Then go without me,” she said.
She resented it with her entire being, the way Klaus thought he could run her life, dictate who she saw, who she loved, she wished to be free of him, with everything she had, she wished to break away from his oppressive rule, and yet could not understand her choice to leave Stefan’s side to communicate her independence.
It wasn’t resentment that compelled her to confront Klaus, it was the way Stefan made her feel, yes, that sheer ardour, but it was also a strange taunt to her brother — she wanted him to see her with another man, she wanted him angry.
Rebekah leaned into his face. “I’m not your girlfriend.”
“No, you’re my sister.” Klaus’ voice got soft, the way it did when he was brimming with rage. “And that means,” he continued. “You have to do what I say.”
Klaus pulled Rebekah to him and turned her so that they were both facing Stefan.
He wasn’t quite sure why he did it, if it was because he wanted to keep Stefan from touching her again or if it was because he didn’t want Rebekah touching Stefan at all. Both. It was both.
At that moment, Klaus realized that he did not feel any urge to murder Stefan or to punish Rebekah but that he could only stomach their desire for each other if it was filtered through him. He would have to be what bound all three of them together, otherwise he would have to lock Rebekah away again and kill Stefan for denying him.
