White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter Twenty-nine

1952 — Barcelona, Spain

   La Rambla was a tree-lined street in central Barcelona. It stretched 1.2 kilometres, connecting Plaça de Catalunya in the centre and the Christopher Columbus Monument at Port Vell. It was sometimes considered a series of shorter streets, each differently named. For Eleanor Fraser, she had come to love Rambla de les Flors, an open-air flower market. The flowers danced gaily in the breeze, a myriad of vibrant colours. It was more flowers than she had seen in all of her life, more colours than the little amount of paintings she had seen by Klaus. The scent was overwhelming, fragrant and exquisite. It reminded her of the single flower shop in Hastings, the one in the centre of the town that always had a creaky wooden sign that read Eileen's Flowers. 

   Eleanor let her fingers brush against the petals of the flowers, a small smile forming around her lips. It was like touching silk. A quick image of Klaus's hands brushing against her skin flashed through her mind, making her pull her hand back to her side. She felt flushed, as if everyone around her had also seen that image. Quickly, she turned to the three mean behind her and forced a smile. "Why are we here? I thought we were going to Plaza Real."

   "We are," Elijah said, nodding. He had his hands in his back, standing tall and regal. There had been several times where the locals had mistaken him for a foreign movie star. "We're just taking a little detour. After all, it's early in the night and the party has yet to start."

   The young vampire let out a huff and shook her head. "You should at least buy me flowers," she mumbled to herself, slightly pouting. She let her fingers brush against the flowers as she walked by. For a moment, she remembered Annecy in 1872. The overflowing flowers by the canals, the fields right beneath the mountains that were full of wildflowers.

   "I didn't take you for someone who liked to receive flowers," Elijah chuckled.

   "She loves flowers," Gianni answered, a small laugh following. "Except roses. She doesn't really like roses."

   From behind the, Klaus let out a soft laugh. "Please, she loves roses," he said, a small smirk on his lips as he looked down at the flowers. "Eleanor loves every flower, especially roses." His eyes moved towards her, the smirk still there. "Don't you, Eleanor?"

   The young vampire swallowed hard as she remembered a certain night in New Orleans. Soon after she turned, the Original had brought her a dozen red and pink roses. It was the first time someone had ever given her flowers, and they made her happy. Ever since then, one random day a month, Klaus would give her roses. When she left, she began to dislike roses. 

   Eleanor swallowed hard and looked back down at the flowers. "No," she said. "I don't like roses." She let out a breath and began to walk, leaving the flowers behind her. Even as she moved away, she could still smell them. Combined with the scent of flowers was Klaus, that specific scent that was always associated with him. It was like a mixture of some cologne and blood, woodsy and wild. For a moment, she could vividly imagine kissing him like they did in Somerlayton Hall.

   From Ramble de les Flors, they headed east. The Barri Gòtic, or Gothic Quarter, the centre of the old city of Barcelona. It was a labyrinthine street plan with small squares and streets. The largest plaza was Plaza Real, with tall palm trees and street lamps that were designed by an architect. For early in the night, there were already many people. Children ran around with small handheld fireworks, laughter coming from their mouths. Adults sat on tables and drank either alcohol or coffee, conversation loud and merry. There were couples walking around with their hands clasped together, admiration in their eyes. 

    "Even a live band," Gianni chuckled from besides her.

   "It's New Years," Eleanor said as she glanced around in wonder. "The end of one miserable year, the start of another miserable one."