Charming Compulsion

Too Close

Running seemed like a good escape when I was sitting in Elijah’s cool study. After turning three or four laps around the city, I wonder if I ever completed a form of education that centered on common sense.

Sweat literally leaks from every pore of my body when I return. Not even mildly kidding. I look like I just ran through a fountain and floundered around in it for five hours. Party preparations are already in full swing when I return. I easily evade the main courtyard. I can hear Rebekah’s dulcet yet demanding voice ordering some Night Walker to string the lights higher or tighter, I’m not sure.

I am stripping myself of my soaked shirt before I even enter my bedroom. Stretching an arm above my head, I contemplate if I have enough time to shower and nap before I am expected at this apparent celebration of nothing in particular. I pass through the sitting area, tossing the shirt into a growing pile beside an ancient looking armchair that looks like it’d snap if I sat in it. The door stands open into my bedroom. I walk through it, haphazardly yanking the braid from my hair while skimming the bed for the towel I laid out before I left on my impromptu run.

I am in the process of yanking out my earbuds when someone materializes in front of me. I don’t even try to hide my fright. My scream is as sudden as my reflexes, which cause my arm to jut out and smack the chest of my supposed attacker. Although my supposed attacker is smiling with dark blue eyes that turn my insides to hot water. He merely looks amused at my attempt to hit him.

“Klaus,” I breathe roughly, situating the towel over my shoulders so I’m not standing in just my sports bra and running shorts before the stupid grinning Original.

“I need to teach you some defensive moves,” he says conversationally, eyes somehow remaining pointedly on my face. With no other warning, he stiff arms me, which more or less briefly knocks the air from my lungs. “You’ll never last if someone were actually attacking you.”

My arms move reflexively, which surprises me more than him. I am not nearly as strong as an Original, but my hybrid/half breed nature makes me stronger than the average human being. With a soft smirk, I match his previous attack and easily slip around his arm.

“I’m not helpless,” I say, satisfied.

“No,” he murmurs, blue eyes like two dancing flames. “No, you’re certainly not. Regardless.” He catches me off guard during my moment of glory and quite simply maneuvers himself into my path—a solid mass of Original scheming. “Not everyone is as languid as I.”

I bite back my laugh, smoothing my face into indifference.

“It would ease much worry to know that you are somewhat versed in defensive skills. Just in case,” he smiles. “Honestly, love. A real attacker won’t be as cordial. You must be ready for anything. You were hardly prepared for me.”

I choke on nothing. My entire body feels like someone threw me into the middle of the Quarter on the hottest day of the year with a fire blazing around me. I can’t even bring myself to look at him. Forget acting indifferent and compelled and just basically stupid. His words catch me so off guard that it’s a miracle I actually don’t fall over.

Because he is so right.

I was hardly prepared for him.

I wave away his concerned hand. “Just thirsty,” I manage. “Hot.”

“Yes,” is all he says.

His eyes speak volumes. They flicker over my face, narrowed and concerned until a different emotion altogether overtakes them. The lines around his eyes and mouth soften as his face relaxes. Every place his eyes touch creates an ache rivaling nothing I’ve ever felt. It begs for more than just his eyes to touch me. His gaze, so bold, so insistent, paralyzes me.