𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 ⟪♥︎⟫ Elijah Mikaelson

VIII

It was dark in the streets of Paris, even though it could never be truly dark in a city so big. Leah had never walked these pavements before, but held tightly unto her bag as her eyes were trained on her surroundings.

Every city had them, the poverty stricken, violent and dangerous neighbourhoods that the privileged didn't dare enter. But she wasn't afraid, not with Elijah's arm wrapped around her middle.

A smirk played on her face as she stared up at him, apparently a vampire for a boyfriend had its use once in a while. He'd scoop her up into his arms and within seconds she'd be back in her own apartment, were something to occur.

'This is it,' Elijah whispered in her ear once he'd stopped walking.

A breath, she didn't know she'd been holding, escaped her lips as she stared at the number twelve, dangling next to the entrance. With a dose of natural nervousness and hesitation she walked towards the door, her finger pressing onto the doorbell.

Unrecognisable shouts sounded from inside, making her shoot a worried look at Elijah. But once the door actually swung open, she staggered back a couple of steps. In the doorway stood Jacques, his face battered, covered with a couple bruises and cuts. His devilish smile was no longer, only the surprise and shame that shone in his eyes.

'Miss, qu'est-ce que tu fait ici?'

'Well- I- you weren't at school, so I'm here to see what's going on?' she paused as her eyes darted over his injuries, 'What the bloody hell happened to you?'

'Nothing.'

'That doesn't look like nothing.'

Before he could make a smart comeback, his father appeared behind him, a man with a few strokes of grey hair between his black locks. He stared disapprovingly at his son. 'Qui est cette femme?'

'C'est personne,' Jacques replied quickly.

'Ne me parle pas comme ça!' he yelled, his hand raising with a swift motion, clashing with his son's face within seconds.

'Ne le touche pas, putain!' Leah screamed, her hand gripping Jacques arm and yanking him towards her chest, 'Ne le touche pas!'

Fire burned in the man's eyes, his shoulders broadening and his gaze trained on Leah. The fury was unmistakable and she swallowed the lump in her throat, while her arms remained wrapped around Jacques. The stench of alcohol filling her nose as she stared at the man in front of her. He looked like a wild dog that was let off his leash, but before he could charge at her, Elijah had him by his throat up against the wall.

'Si vous la touches, je te tuerai. Comprenez vous?'

And up against that wall, hearing the venomous words of that stranger, the man didn't seem as dangerous as he had before. His weak nod, filled with terror, diffused the idea of the threat he could've been. The alcohol stains on his white shirt, were self-explanatory.