White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter Two

1821 — Hastings, Sussex, England

   When Eleanor Fraser woke up, she had to adjust to the bright lights the candles emitted. She blinked several times to adjust, and then she felt pain. It was a horrible pain that ate its way from her stomach, to her throat, and her gums. She sat up and whimpered, massaging her chin with her fingers. The pain continued, strengthening with each movement of her jaw.

   "You're awake," a soft voice broke the silence. She turned her head to see the blonde man sitting by the shadows, staring at her with an amused smirk. "It's already the afternoon, took you at least eight hours."

   "You..." Eleanor took a careful step back, scared. "You killed me!"

   "I gave you a new life," Klaus told her, standing from his seat. He slowly moved to her, leaning down in front. With nimble fingers, he touched her cheek. "I am practically your god, Eleanor."

   "You're a monster!" she defended, slapping his fingers away.

   Klaus chuckled and stood. "If I'm a monster, that makes you one as well," he said. "You're just like me now, Eleanor."

   "I am nothing like you!" she yelled.

   "Well," he chuckled, "of course not. I'm one of a kind."

   "Niklaus," a stern voice warned. "You're frightening the girl." Elijah stood by the doorway, watching the young girl with worried eyes. It was a young girl of only seventeen, and he couldn't believe that his brother would turn her without thinking deeply about it. 

   "I'm helping her," Klaus laughed, shaking his head.

   "Helping and frightening are two different things, brother," Elijah sighed, turning to look at the girl with a saddened look. "Tell me, Eleanor, how do you feel at the moment?"

   "I'm frightened," she responded, shakily standing. "I'm so very frightened, sir."

   "Call me Elijah," he said, smiling fondly at her. He laid his hands on her cheeks and made her look at him. "Tell me, Dear, what do you feel? Tell me exactly what you're feeling. Yes, fright is one of them, but what else?"

   "I..." She couldn't place a name on the other feeling. It began at the back of her throat, burning and itching like a scrape. Her mouth tasted and felt like the flavourless and paste-like soup Sister Maria would make in the mornings at the orphanage. She felt as if her throat had been extracted and laid out in the sun to dry. It gnawed at her, tormented her, and she could think of nothing but that feeling. Within seconds of continuing to think of the feeling, she became desperate.

   Eleanor finally knew what the other feeling was. "Thirst," she told Elijah, quickly glancing at the blonde. "I'm thirsty."

   "You're thirsty," Elijah agreed, nodding.

   "She needs to feed," Klaus said from behind his brother, "or she will die."

   "It is her decision!" Elijah snapped. "You took away her decision to turn, at least give her this one."

   "Stop being so noble, Elijah," Klaus rolled his eyes. "I will force blood down her throat if I have to."

   "Do not listen to him, Eleanor," Elijah said, stepping in front of her eyes. "Listen to me, okay? If you wish to feed, we will help you. If you do not, we will find you a comfortable place where you can spend your last moments."

   "Feed?" Eleanor didn't know what was happening, and the words coming from the brunette sounded as if he were crazy. Feed? She wasn't hungry, she was thirsty! She didn't desire food, she desired something to soothe the cruel thirst.