Mateo’s Chapter 5

Most days, I kept my jealousy under control.

Lilith said I was doing better — and I believed her. The bond between us made everything sharper, but I was learning how to breathe through it, how to trust what we had.

But some days…

Some days were harder.

Like the night she went out to feed.

She’d been gone longer than usual, and when I finally spotted her across the park, she wasn’t alone. Salim Benali stood beside her, hands tucked into his pockets, nodding along as she spoke. She wasn’t feeding on him — she was talking to him. Calm, composed, probably warning him not to linger in Forgotten Hollow after dark.

But from a distance, all I saw was someone else standing too close.

Before I even realized I was moving, I was already crossing the park.

Lilith saw me first.
Her eyes widened — not in fear, but in that “oh no, here we go” way she’d perfected since my turning.

Salim turned just as I reached them.

“Hey, man,” he said, friendly, oblivious.

I stepped between them without thinking.

Lilith sighed. “Mateo.”

I didn’t say anything.
I didn’t trust myself to.

Salim blinked, confused. “Uh… I was just heading out anyway.”

He left quickly — not scared, just uncomfortable — and Lilith waited until he was out of earshot before touching my arm.

“Mateo,” she said softly, “I was telling him not to hang around the park after dark. That’s all.”

I exhaled slowly, the tension draining out of me in pieces.

“I know,” I said. “I just… reacted.”

She nodded. “I know you did.”

She wasn’t angry.
She should have been — anyone else would have been — but she understood the bond better than I did. She’d lived with it longer. She knew how it tugged, how it flared, how it twisted things that weren’t threats into something that felt like danger.

“Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s go home.”

We walked back in silence, the fog curling around our feet. I expected a lecture. A fight. Something.

Instead, when we reached the sanctuary, she stopped in front of the coffins and gave me a look that was half challenge, half mischief.

“Let’s see if we can both fit in one,” she said.

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“It’ll distract you,” she said. “And it might be funny.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I climbed in first, lying on my back, then she eased herself in on top of me. The coffin creaked in protest.

For a moment, it actually worked — cramped, warm, our noses almost touching, both of us trying not to laugh at how absurd the whole thing was.

Then the coffin tipped sideways.

There was a loud thud, a muffled yelp, and the next thing I knew, we were both on the floor in a heap of limbs and velvet lining

Lilith burst out laughing — real, unrestrained laughter that echoed off the stone walls.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed too.

The tension snapped clean in half.

She leaned against me, still catching her breath. “See? Worked.”

---

The weeks that followed slipped into a quieter rhythm — the kind of calm that settles in after a storm, even if you know another one will come eventually.

While Lilith rested and the baby grew, I spent hours in the office with the Encyclopedia Vampirica spread open across the desk. Volume after volume, page after page, I absorbed everything I could. History, physiology, instinct, power, weakness — every line felt like another piece of the world clicking into place.

Lilith studied with me sometimes, leaning over my shoulder to point out details I might have missed. Other times she sat nearby with her own books, refreshing knowledge she hadn’t revisited in years. She moved through the material with the ease of someone who had lived it, breathed it, survived it.

And then one night, something shifted.

Lilith closed her book, a faint glow settling around her like moonlight caught in her skin. Her eyes sharpened, bright and ancient in a way I’d never seen before.

“Grand Master,” she murmured, almost surprised.

She was now Vlad’s equal in rank — not in age, not in history, but in raw power.
And she’d done it quietly, steadily, without fanfare.

I felt a surge of pride so strong it almost knocked the breath out of me.

My own progress came slower, but it came. Every night I trained, meditated, practiced the early powers she’d taught me. Every day I pushed deeper into the lore, letting the knowledge settle into my bones.

And then, finally, it happened.

A pulse of energy rippled through me — sharp, electric, undeniable. My senses sharpened. My instincts steadied. The world around me snapped into clearer focus.

Prime Vampire.
Master was within reach now — and with it, the strength to control the parts of myself that still threatened to break loose.

---

Caleb and Trent had been talking about wanting a baby for months, and when they finally told us it was happening, I don’t think either of them stopped smiling for a week. They’d built a home that felt warm in a way I didn’t know vampires could manage, and a baby fit right into that picture.

A few weeks later, they brought her home — their daughter, Gaiah — and invited us over almost immediately.

Caleb opened the door before we even knocked. His hair was sticking up in every direction, his shirt was buttoned wrong, but he was glowing. Absolutely glowing. And in his arms, perched on his hip like she’d been there her whole life, was Gaiah.

She wasn’t a newborn anymore — she was very much an infant, alert and curious, taking everything in with wide, bright blue eyes. And she had long, thick dark hair, somehow already pulled into two ponytails that made her look both adorable and slightly mischievous.

“She’s awake,” Caleb whispered, like the whole house had become holy ground.

Trent hovered behind him, proud and nervous in equal measure. “She’s been wiggly,” he said. “Very wiggly.”

Lilith moved toward them immediately, drawn in by something soft and instinctive. Caleb shifted Gaiah into her arms, and Lilith held her like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.

Gaiah kicked her little legs and reached up, grabbing at Lilith’s necklace with surprising coordination. Lilith laughed — a real, warm sound — and Gaiah blinked up at her like she’d just discovered her favorite person.

“She likes you,” Caleb said, voice thick.

“She’d better,” Lilith murmured, but she was smiling.

She eventually handed Gaiah back to Caleb.

“Your turn,” Caleb said.

I froze for a second — not because I was afraid, but because she was so small. So alive. So… here. But Caleb eased her into my arms, and Gaiah settled against my chest without hesitation, grabbing a fistful of my shirt like she’d decided I was acceptable.

Her blue eyes studied me with unnerving focus, the way infants do — like they’re trying to memorize your soul.

Lilith reached for her gently. “She needs a nap.”

We followed her down the hall to the nursery — a soft, warm room decorated in pink and purple, with a crib that looked enormous compared to the tiny person in Lilith’s arms. She laid Gaiah down carefully, smoothing her dark ponytails with a tenderness that made something in my chest go warm and tight.

Gaiah wiggled once, twice, then curled onto her side, her bright blue eyes drifting closed.

Lilith stood there for a long moment, watching her niece sleep.

“She’s perfect,” she whispered.

---

Gaiah’s visit left both of us in a strangely soft mood — the kind that settles into your bones and lingers. Maybe it was seeing Lilith hold a baby. Maybe it was the way she looked at her niece like she was already imagining our own child in her arms. Maybe it was just the quiet warmth of family.

Whatever it was, when we got home, Lilith nudged me toward the sanctuary with that familiar spark in her eyes.

“Two to a coffin?” she asked.

It had become our thing — a ridiculous, cramped, borderline‑impossible tradition that started as a distraction and somehow turned into a comfort. A way to laugh at ourselves. A way to be close without thinking too hard about anything else.

“Always,” I said.

I climbed in first, lying on my back, shifting until I found the least uncomfortable angle. The coffin creaked like it was already judging us.

Lilith followed, easing herself in on top of me, facing me, her arms braced on either side of my shoulders. It was still doable… barely.

“You’re getting bigger,” I said before my brain could stop me.

Her eyes narrowed. “Try that sentence again.”

“I meant the baby,” I corrected quickly. “The baby is getting bigger.”

She smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

She settled against me, but it wasn’t the effortless fit it used to be. Her belly pressed between us, warm and solid, and she shifted once, twice, trying to find a position that didn’t involve elbowing me in the ribs.

“This is getting harder,” she admitted.

“Still worth it,” I said.

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t disagree.

For a moment, it worked — the two of us tucked into a space meant for one, breathing the same air, sharing the same ridiculous tradition. Her hair brushed my cheek. Her hand rested over my heart. The baby kicked once, a tiny thump between us.

Then the coffin groaned.

“Uh oh,” I said.

“Don’t you dare—”

It tipped.

Again.

We landed in a heap on the floor, limbs tangled, velvet lining bunched under us. Lilith let out a startled yelp that dissolved into laughter, bright and unrestrained.

I laughed too — because how could I not?

She pushed her hair out of her face, still laughing. “We’re going to have to retire this soon.”

“Not yet,” I said. “I’m not giving up our tradition.”

She leaned in, forehead touching mine. “We’ll make a new one.”

And somehow, that felt even better.

---

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