Klaus Baudelaire Novels & Stories

His aura was wrong, calculated, cold. Izora instinctively stepped back, her hand brushing the wall behind her for something solid. She’d seen him before. Not often. Always with Kaiser. Always silent. “Who are you?” she asked. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “If you must know,” he said, voice calm but condescending, “which is none of your concern… I’m Claude. Though some prefer to call me the Black Hole.” Izora’s chest tightened. She’d heard of that name. A whisper in the criminal underworld. An assassin known for one thing: leaving his victims with a hollowed chest where their heart used to be. She had thought it was a myth. But standing in front of her was the myth

He had always been the kindest, the most bearable. Then Klaus, to Zilo's right, classically handsome, chiseled, but with a look that made my stomach twist with familiar anxiety. His dark eyes swept over me like a detached general inspecting a new armament. He was the most difficult to read, the most formidable—the one I feared disappointing the most.

Forehead creased into a frown, Klauss looked down at the kid with contempt. "No, if it's for humanity." Klaus remarked. His pair of eyes gradually turned red as he tried to stop his hand that was about to touch Narco's neck. He wanted to slit Narco's throat so badly even though he was aware of what Mort would do if he did. Nails elongated sharply, its edge almost reaching the boy's neck. Narco remained unbothered as his gaze was on the far distance and just let Klauss do what he intended to do. When Klauss nail sunk a little into Narco's skin causing it to bleed, the butler calmed down. And he has vanished into the thin air.

As long as they understood their place and didn’t cause too much trouble, I had no real feelings one way or another. I’m also a King on a thirteen-hour train ride barely halfway through my midnight trek. I’d love to pretend it’s me being noble or something like it that has me beating the others to the punch. Really it’s my own boredom, or maybe curiosity given her perplexing behavior. Nothing more than a snack sitting there utterly defenseless in a car of no less than a dozen vamps with hours to go before we reached Claymore. “Do you have a death wish Cupcake?” I was unable to keep the hint of laughter out of my voice. If the trip had been any shorter than it was, she would already be a sipp

The Price of a Soul The bus ride back to Ballard was long and quiet. I sat by the window, watching the rain start to smear the glass. My head felt light, like it was filled with static. I had walked out on a billionaire. I had thrown a contract at a superstar. My pride was still buzzing in my chest, but it was a cold, hollow feeling. I kept thinking about Klaus’s eyes. They were so hard. So empty.

Zale doesn't miss the blush circling your face even after you've turned your head to the side. You gulp thickly, murmuring after a moment of silence. "Can I have my phone?" A mischievous smile brushes against his lips as he stares at you through hooded eyes. What he does next surprises you. Zale reaches a hand over the table and gently bobs your nose with his fingertip. He slides your phone on the table, gazes fixated on nothing but you. You refuse to believe that this man had just changed his whole demeanor from a smirking hot god to an innocent like kid in just a snap of a finger.

But to experience it firsthand, his stamina, his length and girth, his touch served with tenderness on the side… my God. A girlish laugh tumbled from my lips. Klaus’ thick brows crinkled knowingly. Heat of mortification crawled on my skin, but I couldn’t look away. His dark curls tousled from my tugging and pulling; swollen red lips stretched to a pompous smirk. He knows what’s running inside my head. I kept my eyes on his face even if all I wanted to do was to map the spread of tanned inked skin he unabashedly flaunts. His nakedness didn’t bother him; his confidence was one of the things that made him Klaus Martinelli.

He didn't make a sound, not even a grunt of pain. For a moment, I considered punching him, maybe clawing his face if I could find it in the dark. But my hands fell limp at my sides. I hated myself for hesitating. "Well," Klaus said after a long silence, "Jodeicasca is the tale that makes quiet nights restless. Wicked men who die unrepentant are swallowed by her, devoured into this endless belly to suffer regret. But I don't want to regret anymore, Jade . . . I just want to be free."

Why him? I stared at the growing web of connections, the patterns that didn’t make sense. My hand trembled as I pinned up one last word: WHO IS DIEGO? The lantern flickered, shadows crawling across the walls, as though the universe itself didn’t want me to know the answer. And deep inside, I felt my wolf stir—calm, but whispering something I couldn’t quite catch. Then—knock. I froze. Someone was at my bedroom door.

“Ryuu, Wayland, Arius, Red, Anthony, Lelouch-Dyland-Arthur, and Raiden.” Taking a quick and deep breath in, he stops as he looks at the bright full moon that’s peaking unto the arks of the column walls and pedestal of the hallway. Wherein it is somewhat mocking him of the truth and spin of this world, and his very significance and existence to this play. Where he is nothing more, but a bishop of the dark corner and a half-white pun to the other. Clenching his teeth as he stops and immediately composes himself from burning and exploding with anger. He blinks as he started walking again, with each of his steps that echo along with the eerie humming tone of the wind and complemented by the thir