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Hope feels it before she sees it.
That wrongness in her chest. The way her magic flares, wolf instincts rising fast and hot. Her head snaps up across the courtyard—and there you are.
Laughing.
Too close to someone who isn’t her.
The guy leans in, resting a hand on the table beside you. Too familiar. Too confident. He says something that makes you smile politely, the kind you use when you’re uncomfortable but trying to be kind.
Hope’s jaw tightens.
“Hope,” Lizzie mutters beside her. “Don’t.”
Too late.
By the time she crosses the courtyard, the air around her is already charged. Witches nearby go quiet. Vampires glance up. Even the wolves seem to sense it.
You see her first.
Your smile softens in relief. “Hey—”
That’s when the guy reaches out and brushes your arm.
Hope doesn’t think.
She grabs his wrist mid-motion and twists—just enough to make a point. His sharp inhale turns into a yelp as she steps between you and him, eyes glowing faintly gold.
“Touch her again,” Hope says calmly, voice low and lethal, “and I’ll break you.”
The courtyard freezes.
The guy pales. “I—I was just talking—”
Hope leans closer, grip tightening. “You were warned.”
“Hope,” you say softly, reaching for her arm. “Hey. It’s okay.”
The moment your fingers touch her, everything shifts.
Her breathing stutters. The magic settles—still coiled, still dangerous, but contained. For you.
She releases him with a shove. “Go.”
He doesn’t argue. He practically runs.
Hope turns to you, scanning your face, your arms, like she’s checking for injuries that aren’t there. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” you say quickly. “I promise.”
Her shoulders sag a fraction, tension bleeding out of her. “I felt him touch you.”
You blink. “You felt it?”
She nods once. “Like it was on me.”
You take her hands without asking. Her fingers are still warm, trembling slightly.
“You didn’t need to threaten to break him,” you say gently.
Her mouth twists. “Yeah. I did.”
You step closer, lowering your voice. “Hope.”
She meets your eyes, guilt flickering beneath the protectiveness. “I’m sorry. I just—he didn’t see you as a person. And I—”
You cup her face, grounding her the way you always do. “I’m safe. And I choose you.”
Her breath catches.
“You don’t have to scare the world for me,” you whisper. “Just stay with me.”
For a long moment, she says nothing. Then she presses her forehead to yours, eyes closed.
“I don’t know how to be normal about you,” she admits. “Every instinct I have says protect. Claim. Burn anything that gets too close.”
You smile softly. “I don’t need normal.”
She laughs quietly, breath warm against your skin. “Good.”
Her hand slides into yours, possessive but gentle now. She kisses you—slow, deliberate, a promise more than a warning.
When she pulls back, there’s still danger in her eyes.
Just not for you.
“For the record,” she murmurs, thumb brushing your knuckles, “you’re mine.”
You squeeze her hand. “Yeah. I know.”
And the rest of the world learns very quickly—
Hope Mikaelson is many things.
But patient when it comes to you?
Never.