White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter Ten

1872 — Paris, France

   There was one thing that was euphoric for a vampire, whether young or old, and that was blood. Blood, a binding ingredient to life and death, had a wonderful taste on the tongue of Eleanor Fraser. It was a metallic taste, a bit salty, but sweet. Oh, it was the sweetest thing in the world to a vampire. It was like eating a block of chocolate, or a piece of a freshly made loaf of bread, or a piece of sweet cake one has been starring at for so long. Blood, for Eleanor Fraser was like the delicious fruit tarts she had eaten on the ship on her way to Paris.

   The young vampire pulled away from her latest victim, a young man that had stumbled into her when she was feeding on another woman. The man fell to the ground, dead, and Eleanor let out a soft moan as she wiped the blood from her mouth with her arm. She liked her lips and leaned her head back, enjoying the blood that was still on her tongue.

   "Are you still hungry?" a soft voice asked from behind her. She turned her head, seeing Klaus standing against the wall with her arms crossed. 

   "Yes," she answered, almost panting. "I want more, Klaus. I want more blood."

   The Original chuckled and walked up to her. He swiped his thumb across her bottom lip, then sucked on the red liquid, all while staring down at her with a small smirk. "Now, love, you know we can't have all the attention on us."

   At his words, Eleanor's face changed. She no longer appeared human, but the vampire in her pushed its way through and hissed at Klaus. Her eyes were red, her fangs protruded from her gums, and the veins under her eyes bulged out. Without realizing what she was doing, she pushed Klaus against the wall by his throat. The Original laughed, throwing his head back in amusement. "Good," he told her, smirking. "Let your anger control you, Eleanor. Tell me, love, what is is that you desire most now?"

   "Blood," she hissed, her hand tightening its hold on his throat. It only made the vampire laugh harder. With ease, he pulled her hand away, then pushed her against the other wall. They were in an alley, a small confined alley that stunk of garbage, now blood and dead bodies. It was small, but it was the only dark enough place where Eleanor could feed without having someone appear. 

   "Blood," Klaus repeated, his fingers slightly tightening around her neck. His fingers lifted one by one, and fell down when the other rose. It was as if he decided to tap his fingers against the skin of her neck, tease her with the cold. "You want blood."

  She nodded, licking her lips. At that moment, she felt like a possessed being. She couldn't think of nothing else but blood, want nothing else but blood. It didn't bother her that Klaus was close enough for her to smell him, because the thought and taste of blood was everything she could think of. It was on her mind, in her clothes, in the bodies of those she was anxiously waiting to drain.

   "God," Klaus laughed, making her finally focus on him. "I created a perfect, little monster." He leaned close to her, smirking, enjoying the sight of Eleanor Fraser covered in blood. "Perfect," he breathed against her lips.

   "No," Eleanor said, trying to look away. No matter how much she tried, her eyes were glued to his, sometimes they glanced down to his lips. "You made me into a demon, Klaus, not a monster."

   He chuckled. "A perfect, little demon," he mused, brushing her blonde hair out of her face. "What a wonderful creation I have made."

   "Why?" She almost choked, his touch on her confusing every single cell in her body.

   "Well, I wanted something to do, to create, to achieve, to whatever," he answered, smirking, tilting his head to the side as his hand played with the long strands of her hair. "Something I can't get enough of. Then you waltz into my home, in tow of your mother's hand, a frightened look in those pretty, little blue eyes. It was then when I realised you were the perfect specimen, Eleanor, the perfect human that could be turned into a vampire. The perfect human whose humanity could be thrown away at the thought of blood, at the thought of power and lust. What other perfect candidate than the girl who was raised in a Catholic orphanage?"