A/N: I haven't really gotten any reviews. Let me know what you think whether you like it or not.
Chapter 3: This Must Be Hell
"Grand-mére!" Sophie struggled against the old woman who was surprisingly strong. Sophie looked over at Klaus who seemed genuinely stunned by her grandmother's outburst. She spoke to her in soothing creole trying to calm the woman's panic but her grandmother would not calm down until they were both inside the shack.
"Grand-mére, please stop," Sophie said once they were inside the cool, shade of her grandmother's home. Sophie poured her some water and waited for her to catch her breath. She started towards the door but her grandmother grabbed her arm.
"Do not invite him in chér. You must never invite them in."
"You're being foolish," Sophie said trying to soothe her. "I wanted to introduce you to Monsieur DeMichelier. We rode all the way out here."
Sophie could see the fear etched on her grandmother's face. "Do not invite him in, Sophia Benoix. He is evil."
"You're being ridiculous," Sophie began but the look on her grandmother's face stopped her and she sighed. "But I won't if you don't want me to," she said sincerely. She stepped across the threshold to find Klaus waiting on the steps with the basket she'd left behind.
"Apologies, monsieur," Sophie said contritely. "I don't think ma grand-mére is up for a visit today."
Klaus tried to look as if he hadn't heard the conversation inside the shack as clear as day. "It's no problem," he said without skipping a beat. "I hope we don't have to cut our time short."
"Of course not," Sophie said. There was no way she could let him ride all the way back to the city after the way her grandmother had acted. "I'll have Henri saddle the horses and we can take a ride."
An hour later, they had ridden to a small field and were having a picnic lunch. Sophie grabbed a strawberry from the picnic basket and popped it into her mouth laughingly. Klaus watched her with something akin to awe. More like curiosity.
"Yes, monsieur?" she asked, mischievously. "You're staring."
"You're beautiful," Klaus replied.
"You, Monsieur DeMichelier, c'est un conter fleurette*," Sophie said with a smile.
Klaus leaned closer to her. "I have no idea what you just said," he lied. "But I'll take it as a compliment, love." He could hear her heart thudding inside her chest and it made him hunger to taste her lips again. So he did.
He captured her full lips with his own, smiling as she gasped against his mouth. Seizing the opportunity presented, Klaus teased her mouth with his tongue; after all he'd been doing this for centuries, he knew exactly how to give pleasure even if he didn't always care about doing so. He could feel her opening up for him, inviting him in. It'd been decades since he'd had a woman he hadn't compelled or hunted down and he was startled by how much more he could feel. As he kissed Sophie, he could feel every part of her responding, from her soft sighs, to the way her fingers weaved through his hair, her fingers clenching as he sucked her bottom lip.
Klaus pushed her back on to the grass, her curls splaying out behind her head, all the while kissing her. She pushed against his chest causing him to pull back for a second.
"Arrête!" Sophie said. "I can't breathe. I can't think!"
"You think too much, darling." He hovered above her, his voice low filling her ears with his lilting English. Klaus ran his finger along her jaw. "You are exquisite, witty and entirely too smart for your own good." This time when he kissed her, she put up no resistance. Klaus kissed down Sophie's jaw to her neck. He could feel her pulse pounding and his own hunger began to overwhelm him. His fangs started to lengthen and he briefly grazed her neck but he calmed himself down instead busying his hands with untying her chemise. He wanted to rip the ties and stays but he slowed down, teasing her with his mouth, kissing the tops of the breasts as her bosom rose and fell with shallow breaths.
"If you're the devil, then this must be hell," Sophie breathed. She gasped as Klaus claimed his prize, sucking softly on her nipple. She moaned, arching her back and pulling him closer. "This must be hell, cause I feel like I'm on fire." Klaus' fingers reached beneath the folds of her dress, caressing her thighs. He crept closer to her center eager to feel her wetness. He had barely grazed her folds when he heard the sound of hooves heading towards then.
A young man came cantering across the field, pulling on his reins as he neared them. Sophie scrambled to fix her dress but Klaus took his time, lazily rebuttoning his jacket, his hardness chafing against the rough material of his pants.
"What are you doing here?" the young man said. He looked down at Sophie, clearly taking in the scene in front of him. For the first time since Klaus had met her, Sophie seemed truly unsure. Her head was bowed towards her chest.
"Visiting ma grand-mere."
"Does Monsieur Benoix know you're here?"
"Oui," Sophie said, still looking down.
"We were just leaving, mate," Klaus said as he stood. He extended his hand to Sophie. "Mademoiselle." He pulled her up beside him while the young man scoffed.
"She's no lady," he said, turning her horse around. "Just a whore. Like her mother." With that, the man kicked his horse and rode away. Klaus was tempted to hunt him down and rip his throat out but instead he turned to Sophie and asked who the young man was.
"That's my brother," she replied.
The two of them were mostly silent on the ride back to New Orleans. When they arrived at her flat, Sophie turned to him apologetically. "I'm sor –," before she could finish, he kissed her, his hands cupping her face.
"Stop telling me you're sorry," Klaus replied. "I'll call on you tomorrow. Around noon if your mother won't mind."
"No," Sophie said with a smile. "She won't mind at all."
"Then I'll see you tomorrow," Klaus said. "Sweet dreams, love." He gave her one last kiss and Sophie felt those tiny lines of fire trailing all over her body. She turned and headed into the house afraid that if she didn't, she'd never be able to leave.
The next day, Sophie was waiting by the window, when she saw a familiar carriage pull up to the gate.
"Maman!" she called up the stairs. "It's Papa!" Sophie ran outside to greet her father but she stopped short when she saw his face. She was always amazed at how much she looked like her father. Despite his pale skin and hazel eyes, their features were nearly identical but today his face was marred with grief. He seemed to walk as if there were weights around his neck. "Papa, what's wrong?" she asked.
"It's Jean," he said, his voice catching on the name. "My son is dead."
*Note: un conter fleurette is old French. It's modern day translation would be "a flirt" but it literally means "to seduce by the dropping of flower petals" or as we commonly know it, speaking "sweet nothings".