"Run." he smiles with a smirk so angular it could cut through the curtain of the night's sky. His eyes are ablaze with crimson and gold and his skin is as pale as the stars as he stares at the woman, her pretty pink dress and pearly white gloves. "One," he counts and she's gasping, her fear strangling her voice. She wouldn't scream, she couldn't. She's one of those, he decides and immediately is disappointed but continues none the less. A pretty woman is a terrible waste. "Two," he barks like the wild dog that he is and he howls to the moon with his head back and eyes closed as he listens to the clatter of tiny feet on cobbles. London air is like no other, especially in the 19th century.

"Run." he smiles with the same old smirk, his stance a little more relaxed, even a little lazy. The heat of a Spanish sun has had its effect upon him. His mouth is dryer than the Nevada desert and she is a soft water spring. Her dark curls and olive skin would look even more satisfying when he had mixed her blood with her sweat, her fear. She screams. It's a challenge. She screams all the way and he's only gotten to three.

What perplexes Klaus most is that this one walks away. She won't run because she is not afraid. He can see it in her eyes, in the raise of her eyebrows, the structure of her stance. There is no fear here to be found. He's struck by her defiance. Her strength. Her beauty.

"Talk to me," he asks but inside it feels like begging. "Come on, get to know me." He counts to ten in his own head, to settle the quivers within his stomach. "I dare you." he's changing tactics with this one. Playing a different game. She smirks briefly before rolling her eyes. This game has higher stakes and for once Klaus ponders whether the odds are stacked against him.

"Fine." she tells him simply and they sit side by side outside the Grill in Mystic falls. Its then that Klaus realises that she, Caroline Forbes will be the death of him.