White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter Eighteen

1942 — Kraków, Poland

   By Monday morning, five children had joined the Cumming's household. It was two boys and three girls, all of them small and less than ten years-old. Nikolas, a boy of fourteen who had lost his father two days before he was taken by Gianni. He was small and blonde, with bright blue eyes and always followed Eleanor around the house. That small boy reminded the young vampire of Klaus. The gentle innocence, the fright, the eyes hardened by what had happened to him. It was as if she was seeing Klaus as a child.

   Tibor was a boy of nine who held a hard face full of hate. It was as if anger and war ran through his veins and hardened every orifice. His eyes were always glaring, his mouth was always set in a straight line, and his hands were closed into fists. Eleanor had never seen him smile ever since he arrived at the house. 

    Veronika was the youngest girl. She was five five, with scratches all around her face and appearing like a skeleton. She was too skinny, unhealthy, and Eleanor was afraid that she would die at any moment. Whenever she gave her something, she would put a bit of her blood so the young girl could survive and get stronger, cure whatever disease was eating her alive.

   Svatava, who was seven, was smaller than the other two girls. She always had her arms crossed, as if she were holding herself together. Afraid that she would fall apart at any moment. Her eyes were a soft brown that reminded Eleanor so much of the sand by the beach in Hastings. They were soft and gentle, at any moment lost by the stormy sea she had seen. 

   Mahulena, the oldest of the children, was eleven. As the youngest, and who was overworked at the labour camp and had seen her mother and younger sister be killed in front of her, she still held a grin. It surprised Eleanor whenever the girl would grin, so brightly as if she had not been in the front lines of war. Out of all the children she had saved, Mahulena was the one that smiled the strongest.

   Eleanor stood in front of the oven, preparing a meal for the children. Each time a child would come into her home, she would fill their bellies with everything she had learned over the years. Food after food, delicacies that were strange and missed by little mouths. Each day, she would make something different, or make what the children wanted a repeat of. She didn't mind cooking or baking all day, because she loved seeing the smiles on the children's face. Eleanor Fraser couldn't have children, but she could vicariously live her dream by saving those that needed to be save.

    "They're late," Thomas said as he walked into the kitchen. "Two hours late, Eleanor."

   "They must have gotten stuck," she said as she quickly glanced over at him. "The Germans must have stopped them at the train station and want to see their papers. They're curious of every foreigner that comes through where they overtook."

   "They have fake papers," Thomas muttered, frowning.

   "From the US," she reminded him. She laid the wooden spoon on the counter, cleaned her hands on her apron, and moved over to him. With a gentle smile, she laid a hand on his arm. "They're also vampires. If anything happens, they will compel them. They are older than us, Thomas, they know what to do if they get caught. They have, after all, been doing this for a long time."

   Benedikt and Irene Nakov were a couple that were both born before 1230. Irene was the daughter of Maria Petraliphaina and Theodore of Epirus, the rulers of Epirus, Thessaly, and Thessalonica, and most of Macedonia and western Thrace. In 1230, Irene and her family were captured by troops of Tsar Ivan Asen II of Bulgaria and were taken to Tarnovo, where Irene grew up. She became known for her beauty, for the difference between the Greek beauty and the many women the tsar had been with. 

   Benedikt Nakov was a soldier for Tsar Ivan's army, first in command of the man's army—the right hand man. He met Irene when he was returning from war, helmet under his arm and sword in his hand, blood covering every inch of him. When they told her their story, Benedikt said it was love at first sight; when he laid eyes on the beauty that watched him from the side of the tsar, and all-knowing smirk, and dark eyes that seemed to know every little secret he had hidden since he was born.