Klaus had lived a thousand years with hunger as his constant companion.
Blood. Power. Control.
This—this is different.
The pull settles beneath his ribs like a second heartbeat, steady and insistent, growing stronger with every passing moon. Stronger in the last two years.
He does not name it. Naming things gives them power, and Klaus Mikaelson does not give power away lightly.
But the wolf knows.
The wolf, even buried deep within his blood inactive, had known since the night in the forest—since the girl stepped out of nowhere and said, "I will take him somewhere safe."
She had not been afraid.
That alone should have terrified him.
He remembers her voice more than her face. Calm. Certain.
Klaus has torn kingdoms apart for less.
And yet.
Every full moon, the pull tightens.
Not toward blood.
Not toward violence.
Toward Mystic Falls.
He had avoided the town for years after Henrik's assumed death. Too many ghosts. Too much failure. Too many reminders that even immortals can lose what matters most.
Now, he finds himself circling it.
Watching.
Waiting.
The wolf is restless, claws scraping against bone. Even as it is restrained, unable to shift, bound by the curse.
'Mine', it whispers.
Klaus snarls under his breath and downs another glass of bourbon that does nothing for his thirst.
---
The rumors reach him through whispers first.
Through witches who won't meet his eyes.
Through vampires who laugh too loudly and refuse to elaborate.
Through one particularly brave—or stupid—stray who offers information in exchange for his continued existence.
"Auctions," the vampire says quickly, hands raised. "That's all I know. Slater handles it."
Klaus arches a brow. "Auctions for what?"
The vampire swallows. "Humanity."
Silence falls heavy.
Klaus's fingers tighten imperceptibly around his glass.
"That's not possible," he says calmly.
"It is," the vampire insists. "They say there's a woman. Human. Not a witch. Not a vampire. She can… change things."
Klaus feels it then.
A sharp, electric tug in his chest.
His wolf becomes alert, focused.
'Her.'
The vampire continues, words spilling faster now. "It's controlled. One slot every six months. Bidding goes through Slater. Price is obscene. No one's even sure what she asks in return besides—"
"Enough," Klaus snaps.
The vampire flees.
Klaus stands very still.
A woman who can make vampires human.
A woman connected to Mystic Falls.
A woman who vanished his brother from the jaws of death.
His pulse thunders.
He laughs softly, incredulous and dangerous.
"So," he murmurs to the empty room, "you live."
The bond coils tighter, no longer content with being ignored.
Klaus presses a hand to his chest, jaw clenched.
"I don't know what you are," he says quietly, to the air, to the memory, to the pull. "But you have my attention now."
The wolf howls in approval.
And for the first time, Klaus Mikaelson stops running from Mystic Falls—and starts planning how to claim what the bond insists is his.