Queen of her Making

by Selena99

Summary:

What if Klaus had had his daughter earlier in his life, and if Marcel were his biological son?

Notes:

I will be updating the tags as I go.

Chapter 1: Part I

Folklore, legends, myths and fairy tales have followed childhood through the ages, for every healthy youngster has wholesome and instinctive love for stories, fantastic, marvellous and manifestly unreal. - L.Frank Baum  

Part I: Coming to Mystic Falls   

“You have plenty of courage, I am sure,” answered Oz. “All you need is confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The True courage in facing danger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.” - The Wonderful Wizard of Oz  

Chapter 1: Start of Something New

Chapter 2: Chemical 

Chapter 3: Start the Party 

Chapter 4: Maya and Tyler

Chapter 5: Eastside

Chapter 6: Falling Slowly

Chapter 7: Baby

Chapter 8: Moonlight River 

Chapter 9: Lil Bit

Chapter 2: Start of Something New

Monday, June 15, 2009   

The summer air, thick with the promise of humidity and the scent of honeysuckle, pressed against the windows of my dad’s ‘09 Lincoln Navigator. I gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, the leather warm beneath my fingers. Mystic Falls, Virginia. Fuck. After everything, this was it. This was where the phantom pull in my gut had led me, a strange gravitational force of blood and magic. 

My mother, Indira, was gone. May 20, 2009. The date was etched into my soul, a gaping, festering wound. One moment, her frantic whispers of spells, the acrid tang of magic gone wrong, the next, the sickening crack of bone and the stench of iron. And then my scream, a sound that tore through me, changing everything. A wave of raw, untamed power had erupted from my core, a primal roar that wasn’t quite human, and a witch, one of those bastards who wanted me dead, had crumpled, her skull imploding like an overripe melon. Graphic? Yeah, it was. And it was all my fault. Or rather, it was the fault of those who came for her, for me. That’s how I triggered the wolf. In the maelstrom of grief and adrenaline, the truth of what I was became undeniable. 

Sixteen years old. Grade 10 going into 11. An Original Tribrid. Spirit Witch, untriggered Vampire, triggered Werewolf. And now, an orphan. Even with the lawyer Mom’s friend hooked me up with – thank god for Mrs. Albright and her legal loopholes – the world felt like it was teetering on the edge of a cliff. 

The Navigator, a ridiculous birthday gift from a father who was rarely present, felt like a safe bubble, a metal cocoon against the overwhelming newness of this town. It was stuffed to the gills: three large, petal pink suitcases, two rose gold hard-sided ones, four pink-and-white gym bags overflowing with clothes and books, two tote bags crammed with ancient texts and my flute, and a side purse clutched to my chest, holding what little cash I had left. It was a bizarre, almost childish display of survival gear. 

A sign whizzed by: “Welcome to Mystic Falls – A Historic Town.” Historic, alright. My historic, messed-up family was from here. 

I drove slowly, letting the town reveal itself to me. Quaint, tree-lined streets. Old Victorian houses with wraparound porches. A clock tower stands sentinel over the town square. It felt… sleepy. Too sleepy for the chaos that surely simmered beneath its surface, the chaos I was born into. 

I saw teenagers gathered on front lawns, laughing, their voices carried on the breeze. They looked so… normal. Untouched. As I passed, heads turned. Whispers followed. 

“Who’s that?” “New girl?” “Nice car.” “Where’d she come from?”  

My heart hammered against my ribs, a nervous rhythm. My dark brown curls, wild and frizzy in the humid air despite being twisted into a messy bun, probably screamed “outsider.” My Roots long-sleeve dress and leggings, comfortable as they were, certainly weren’t the height of Mystic Falls fashion. My Kautuka bracelet and gold hoops felt like a defiant nod to the Indo-Guyanese Hindu girl I was, planted firmly on American soil. 

I ignored them, focusing on the whispers of the land itself, a faint hum beneath the mundane sounds of small-town life. My mother had taught me to listen, to feel the magic in the Earth, to communicate with the spirits that lingered everywhere. Now, a stronger, more insistent thrum pulled me towards the outskirts of town, towards a densely wooded area that felt… ancient. 

“Okay, Mom,” I whispered, my voice raspy. “Show me the way.” 

I followed the pull, turning off the main road onto a gravel path that quickly deteriorated into a barely-there dirt track. Trees grew thicker, their branches forming a canopy that dappled the sunlight. The air grew cooler, richer with the smell of damp Earth and old growth. My psychic senses flared, a dizzying rush of impressions: centuries of lives, of magic, of blood. This was it. This had to be it—the Mikaelson and Aumont family land. 

Suddenly, the trees parted, revealing a vast, sprawling expanse of unkempt wilderness. Overgrown. Wild. And within it, like forgotten ghosts, stood three structures. My breath caught in my throat. 

The first was a cabin, or rather, a cottage. It was small, built of dark, rough-hewn timber and river stones, nestled deep in the woods, almost swallowed by ivy. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, albeit one that had been left to decay. The Aumont family land, my mind supplied. My distant werewolf cousins. It felt… quiet. Serene, despite the neglect. 

Next, standing proudly on a slight rise, was the Mikaelson Mansion. Even overgrown, it was undeniably grand. A sprawling, imposing Victorian, all turrets and gothic arches, its paint peeling, windows dark and dusty. It radiated an aura of immense power, of history, of a family too dangerous to forget. Klaus. Elijah. Rebekah. Kol. Finn. This was their monument, their fortress—my father’s house. A shiver ran down my spine, a mix of awe and trepidation. My stomach lurched. Was he here? Or would I be forced to face this alone? I knew I was seeking him out; that was the point of coming here. However, the reality of it hit me like a physical blow. 

Further off, almost hidden by a copse of ancient oaks, was a third house. This one was different. Smaller than the Mikaelson Mansion, but no less elegant. It had a more practical, yet still stately, feel—the Bennett Estate. My grandmother, Esther, was a witch. Her family, the Hagen witches, were closely tied to the Bennetts. This was for them. For us. 

I parked the Navigator near the path leading to the cabin, the crunch of tires on gravel echoing in the still air. I switched off the engine. Silence descended, broken only by the chirping of cicadas and the distant caw of a crow. My protective wrist beads, the Kautuka and the gold and black ones, felt warm against my skin. 

I took a deep breath, the scent of pine and decay filling my lungs. “Okay, Maya,” I muttered, my voice shaky. “Time to meet the family ghosts.” 

I started with the Aumont cabin. The wooden porch groaned under my weight as I stepped onto it. The door was unlocked, as if awaiting my arrival. Or perhaps, no one had bothered to lock it for a century. Inside, the air was stale, thick with dust and the faint scent of old wood and something else… something wild, like wet Earth and fur. It was sparsely furnished: a stone fireplace, a rough-hewn table, a single bed. Dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that pierced the grimy windows. 

This place felt like a temporary shelter, a hiding spot—a place for transformation. My wolf felt a stirring, an instinctual understanding. “Hmm,” I murmured, running a hand over a dusty wooden sill. “This could be cozy. A good place to start, maybe. Clean it up, get some fresh air circulating.” I imagined pulling out the ancient wood, scrubbing the stone, and making it a functional, private space—a sanctuary. 

Next, the Mikaelson Mansion. This was the one that truly intimidated me. As I approached, a chill permeated the air, despite the 27°C heat. The sheer size of it loomed over me, a testament to the power and ego of its inhabitants. The front door, a heavy, dark oak beast, was also unlocked. 

The moment I stepped inside, the air shifted, heavy with ancestral magic and the lingering echoes of countless lives. The Mikaelsons. Vampires. Werewolves. Witches. This house had seen it all. The grand foyer was dark, draped in cobwebs, but even in disrepair, the elegance was undeniable. A sweeping staircase, intricate carvings, faded tapestries. The scent of old blood, faint but persistent, tickled my nose. Vampire. The dormant part of me that was a vampire stirred, a strange craving, a curiosity. 

I walked through the silent rooms, my Crocs squeaking softly on the dusty hardwood floors. The ballroom, vast and empty, seemed to replay phantom waltzes. The library, lined with empty shelves, smelled of ancient parchment and burnt spells. The dining room, long table covered in dust sheets, held the ghosts of raucous feasts and deadly arguments. My father, Klaus. He’d lived here. Had he ever loved her? Or only destroyed? 

“This is a fucking disaster,” I whispered, my voice echoing back at me. “But it’s my disaster now.” The thought filled me with an unexpected surge of defiance. This wasn’t just their legacy; it was mine too. I could feel the immense magical potential here, tangled with centuries of dark energy. It needed a cleansing—a complete overhaul. “New plaster, new paint, new everything,” I mused, already planning. “And a major exorcism, probably.” Perhaps I’d even find my own room, my own space within this fortress. 

Finally, I made my way to the Bennett Estate. It was further back, requiring a trek through more overgrown paths. This house felt different. It hummed with a different kind of energy, less overtly aggressive than the Mikaelson Mansion, more… grounded. Witchy. It felt like coming home in a way the others didn’t. 

The Bennetts. A powerful coven, even if I was also connected to the Hagen witches through Esther. This place felt like a repository of ancient knowledge, a place of learning and quiet power. There was a sense of nurturing here, a faint smell of herbs and old books. 

The door, a simple wooden one, opened easily. Inside, the house was smaller, but it felt more lived-in, despite the dust: a large, stone-hearth kitchen, a cozy parlour, a sunroom filled with wilting plants. Spell components were scattered on tables, dried herbs hanging from hooks. It was a proper witch’s house. This was where my mother’s spirit felt closest, where her teaching resonated most strongly. 

“This,” I breathed, a genuine smile touching my lips for the first time in weeks, “this is perfect.” This would be my sanctuary, my workshop, my connection to the magic that flowed through my veins. It needed care, of course. Cleaning, airing out, replanting the garden, rekindling the hearth. But it wasn’t a monument to past power; it was a home waiting to be reawakened. 

I spent the next hour wandering the land, feeling the energy points and the ley lines that crisscrossed the property. It was potent, charged. A nexus of supernatural power. And it was mine. My mother’s final act had been to ensure my survival. My father’s old land, forgotten treasures. I was meant to be here. 

But with power came targets. Those witches who killed my mother. Who knew what other horrors lurked in the world, what ancient enemies the Mikaelsons had amassed? I couldn’t just live here. I had to protect it. Protect us. Me, Marcel, Davina, Elijah, Klaus… if they ever showed up. 

I walked to the highest point of the land, a small clearing that overlooked the three manors. The sun was beginning to dip, casting long, golden shadows through the trees. I closed my eyes, reaching deep within myself, past the grief, past the fear, into the wellspring of my tribrid power. 

“Listen, spirits of this land,” I began, my voice low, resonant, ancient. It was Old Norse that came to mind first, then Latin, and then a blend of Hindi and Sanskrit, the languages of my mother’s ancestors. “Hear me, energies of Earth, fire, water, air. I am Maya Freya Persaud. Daughter of Indira Persaud and Niklaus Mikaelson. I claim this land. I claim this home.” 

I outstretched my hands, palms open, feeling the raw magic surge through me, a thrilling, terrifying current. My eyes snapped open, glowing faintly, reflecting the last rays of the sun. The air crackled around me. 

“I weave a shield, impenetrable and true,” I chanted, my voice growing stronger as a chorus of whispering spirits joined me, forming a symphony of ancient power. My vision blurred around the edges, the trees seeming to pulse with light. “By blood of witch, wolf, and vampire, I bind this space.” 

I began to move, my bare feet (I’d kicked off my Crocs) pounding a rhythm into the Earth. I focused my will, manipulating the very fabric of reality around me. The land itself began to hum, a low thrumming vibration that resonated in my bones. I invoked the ancestors, both Persaud and Mikaelson, calling upon their strength, their protection. 

“Only those I welcome shall pass these bounds,” I declared, energy swirling around me, visible as shimmering heat waves. “Friends, family, allies, and kin. All others, be they human or supernatural, will be met with the full force of my fury. They will see nothing but wilderness, feel nothing but confusion, know nothing but an insurmountable wall.” 

I drew upon the chaotic magic of my untamed spirit, bending probabilities, distorting perception. The very air twisted, responding to my command. Roots burst from the ground, briefly glowing with an emerald light before sinking back, anchoring the spell. Spectral forms of ancient wolves and stoic witches flickered at the edge of my vision, lending their power. 

“This land is sealed!” I roared, a raw, primal howl tearing from my throat, the wolf within me echoing the sentiment. The ground trembled violently beneath my feet, then settled. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, leaving me breathless but exhilarated. 

I stood there, panting, sweat plastering my hair to my forehead. The air was calm again, but now, a subtle shift was undeniable. The trees seemed to stand taller, the silence deeper. A sense of profound peace, of absolute security, settled over the property. I could feel the barrier, strong and vibrant, humming with my own power. Anyone unwelcome would simply bypass it, seeing only dense, hostile forest, their minds subtly nudged away by the combined force of my magic and the spirits I’d bound to this place. 

I walked back to the Navigator, feeling a sense of belonging I hadn’t known since my mother died. This wasn’t just a hideout. This was home. My home. A place I would make my own, filled with secrets and power, protected by magic that rivalled anything the world had ever seen. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with dangers and the looming presence of a family I barely knew. But here, on this land, I was safe. And I was ready. 

The gravel crunched pleasantly beneath the Lincoln Navigator’s tires as I navigated the winding roads away from the ancient, reawakened land. A sense of quiet determination settled within me. My Sanctuary. My home. Now, to tackle the mundane. 

Mystic Falls High School loomed ahead, a red-brick edifice that seemed too normal for a town steeped in such hidden supernatural history. It was only a few blocks from the town square, bustling even on a Monday morning with parents dropping off younger siblings and older students congregating near the entrance. I pulled into a visitor’s spot, the gleaming black Navigator a stark contrast to the beat-up sedans and pickup trucks surrounding it. As I killed the engine, I could already feel the whispers, the curious glances. It was like a hum against my enhanced senses, a low thrum of new, unfamiliar energy. They knew I was new. They just didn’t know what I was. 

I stepped out, adjusting the medium-sized purse slung over my shoulder. My black contrast sweater felt soft against my skin, paired with the comfortable Roots BLACK Restore Stretch Pocket Legging. My left wrist, adorned with the Kautuka and a bracelet of gold and black beads, was a silent testament to my heritage. Small gold hoops glinted from my ears, and my French tip nails were impeccably neat. My dark, curly hair was pulled into a tight bun, practical and no-nonsense, while my black wedges gave me a slight lift, making my 5’0” frame feel a little less diminutive. 

As I walked towards the main entrance, heads turned. Students openly stared, some pointing, others muttering behind cupped hands. I ignored them, my gaze fixed on the double doors. Let them stare. Let them whisper. They have no idea. My mind, already processing a thousand details about the layout of this town, the faint magical signatures I could sense barely registered their curiosity. 

Inside, the school hummed with the chaotic energy of teenagers. Lockers slammed, laughter echoed, and the scent of floor wax and cheap perfume hung heavy in the air. I found the main office easily enough, a small sign above a frosted glass door. 

“Can I help you?” a friendly, middle-aged woman at the front desk asked, looking up from her computer. 

“Yes, I’m Maya Persaud. I have an appointment with Principal Reynolds.” My voice was clear, confident, betraying none of the internal churn of a newly orphaned, newly triggered tribrid trying to blend into a human high school. 

“Ah, Ms. Persaud! The Principal is expecting you. Please, go right in,” she gestured to a door behind her desk. 

I pushed open the door to a spacious, bright office. Behind a large wooden desk sat Principal Reynolds, a portly man with kind eyes and a welcoming smile. Perched on a chair opposite him, looking far less pleased, was a tall, wiry man with a receding hairline and a perpetually sour expression – Mr. Tanner. I recognized him instantly from the whispers I’d overheard around town. “Asshole” was the most common descriptor. It seemed fitting. 

“Ms. Persaud, please, come in!” Principal Reynolds boomed, rising to shake my hand. His grip was firm, his smile genuine. “Welcome to Mystic Falls High. I’m Principal Reynolds, and this,” he gestured to the scowling man, “is Mr. Tanner, our history teacher and head of student affairs.” 

“Ms. Persaud,” Tanner grunted, not bothering to rise. His eyes, small and beady, raked over me, clearly unimpressed. “Another transfer, I see. From Canada, wasn’t it?” His tone dripped with skepticism. 

I took the seat offered, placing my purse carefully beside me. “Yes, sir. Scarborough, Ontario.” 

Principal Reynolds, sensing the tension, intervened smoothly. “Well, Ms. Persaud has quite an impressive academic record, Mr. Tanner. And a very well-thought-out plan for her remaining credits. It’s not often we see such foresight from a student moving provinces, let alone countries, in the middle of summer.” 

I offered a polite, small smile. “Thank you, Principal. My mother always stressed the importance of education. And I prefer to be organized.” My mother, the spirit witch who’d driven me to excel while simultaneously neglecting me in every other aspect imaginable. The irony wasn’t lost on me. 

“Yes, well,” Tanner scoffed, picking up my transcript. “Canadian credits are… different. Applied Mathematics? Instrumental Music: Band? We have proper academic curricula here, Ms. Persaud. Not hobbies.” 

A flicker of annoyance, cold and sharp, ignited in my chest. Asshole. “Mr. Tanner, with all due respect, my applied mathematics course covered calculus and advanced algebra, while my instrumental music included extensive theory, composition, and performance. I assure you, they are not hobbies. And my grades are exceptional.” My voice remained even, but my internal thoughts were less restrained. Careful, Maya. Don’t let your inner tribrid out in front of the human. 

Principal Reynolds cleared his throat. “Indeed, Mr. Tanner. After reviewing Ms. Persaud’s transcript and with the help of a conversion chart, we’ve determined she’s in excellent standing. She’s completed more credits than a typical rising junior. In fact, Maya, due to your advanced coursework and excellent grades, particularly your summer school efforts, you only need eight credits to graduate from Mystic Falls High.” 

I nodded, maintaining my calm exterior. “Yes, sir. Two English credits, one math, one financial, and four electives.” I had already done the calculations, hours of them, on my laptop, comparing the Canadian and US systems. 

“Precisely,” the Principal beamed. “Most students your age are just finishing their sophomore year with far fewer credits. You’re effectively already well into your junior year. And your proficiency in multiple languages is truly remarkable. Old Norse, French, Latin, Hindi, Spanish… very impressive, Ms. Persaud.” 

“Thank you,” I replied, a genuine warmth briefly piercing my carefully constructed composure. It felt good to be acknowledged, to have my hard work recognized without having to justify it constantly. 

Then Mr. Tanner interjected, shattering the moment. “Still, Ms. Persaud, academics are only part of the high school experience. Students must be well-rounded to engage with their peers and the community. You will be joining at least one club. No exceptions.” He leaned forward, a smug look on his face as if he’d laid down an insurmountable challenge. 

I met his gaze, my dark eyes unwavering. “Of course, Mr. Tanner. I intended to.” I’d already considered it. Band, perhaps. Or something that would allow me to subtly observe my new classmates and the town’s hidden currents. “I’ve already planned my full course load for both semesters, including summer school courses to expedite my graduation.” I pulled out a neatly typed sheet from my purse and handed it to the Principal. 

Principal Reynolds took the sheet, his brow furrowing slightly as he scanned it, then his eyes widened. “My word, Ms. Persaud. This is… ambitious. You plan to take both your Grade 11 and 12 English credits this year, along with AP courses?” 

“Yes, sir. I’ll take Grade 11 English during summer school in August and Grade 12 AP English in the fall semester. For math, I’ve enrolled in Functions and Applications Mixed Math for summer school in July. That leaves Financial Securities for the fall term. For my electives, I’ve planned Ancient History, Understanding American Law, and International Law for the spring semester, all at the AP level. I’ve also scheduled Instrumental Music for the fall as one of my electives.” 

Tanner snorted. “Study hall? You think you can handle six AP equivalent courses a year and still need a study hall? That’s what we call ‘slacking off’ here, Ms. Persaud.” 

“Mr. Tanner,” I interjected coolly, “the US school system, unlike the Canadian one, has longer class periods. A study hall will allow me to consolidate my learning, work on essays, and manage my time effectively, ensuring I maintain high grades across all my courses. My goal is to graduate a year early and attend university to study history or pre-law. I believe this schedule, properly managed, is the most efficient path to achieve that.” I didn’t mention that the ‘study hall’ would also give me time to research the local supernatural population, practice my magic discreetly, and deal with any unexpected Mikaelson family drama that might erupt. 

Principal Reynolds slapped his hand on the desk, a broad smile returning. “Ms. Persaud, this is one of the most comprehensive and well-thought-out academic plans I’ve ever seen from a student. It shows incredible maturity and drive. Mr. Tanner, I think Ms. Persaud has made her intentions perfectly clear. We’ll get you enrolled in these courses immediately. I’ll also make arrangements for your summer school registrations. You’re a credit to our school before you’ve even properly started.” 

Mr. Tanner merely grumbled, defeated. He clearly didn’t like being overridden, especially by a sixteen-year-old girl who just casually out-planned his entire curriculum. 

“Thank you, Principal,” I said, genuinely appreciative. “I look forward to starting.” 

As I stood to leave, Principal Reynolds said, “Just one more thing, Maya. About that club... what were you thinking?” 

I paused at the door, turning back. “The band, sir. I played the flute for years. And perhaps debate club. For pre-law.” 

“Excellent choices!” he exclaimed. Mr. Tanner just glowered. 

The walk out of the school felt different from the walk in. The whispers were still there, but they felt less intrusive. My confidence, already formidable, had solidified. I had navigated the human bureaucracy, faced down a petty tyrant, and emerged victorious. The school was a challenge I could conquer. The real challenges, the ones full of fangs and ancient magic, were yet to come. But here, in the mundane world, I was already laying down my roots. And I was ready for whatever Mystic Falls and the Mikaelsons decided to throw my way. 

The afternoon sun, warm and lazy, glinted off the polished chrome of my Navigator as I pulled up to the formidable gates of the Lockwood Mansion. Even from the street, the place exuded old money, old power – exactly the kind of seat from which Mystic Falls was governed. I smoothed the Roots leggings that clung to my legs, adjusting the bun at the nape of my neck. Confidence was a coat I wore well, even when my stomach was doing a rather impressive flamenco. 

A sharp rap on the heavy front door, followed by a moment of silence, then it opened. A woman, slender and elegant with short, light-brown hair and keen blue eyes, stood before me. Carol Lockwood. She was exactly as I’d pictured from the pictures I’d discreetly ‘procured’ from the town’s digital archives – poised, sharp, and undoubtedly in charge. 

“Ms. Lockwood?” I offered, my voice carefully modulated, a hint of polite shyness mixed with a confident undertone. “My name is Maya Persaud. I believe we have an appointment?” 

Carol’s eyes, shrewd and assessing, took me in from my black wedges to my neatly pinned bun. A flicker of something – surprise? Intrigue? – crossed her face before she smiled. “Yes, Miss Persaud. Please, come in.” Her voice was smooth, cultured. 

I stepped into a grand foyer, all polished wood and antique furniture, a stark contrast to the wild, untamed beauty of my new-old manors. “Thank you for seeing me so quickly,” I said, as she led me into a lavish sitting room. 

“Not at all,” Carol replied, gesturing to an armchair upholstered in an opulent brocade. “I confess, your email intrigued me. A new face in Mystic Falls, inquiring about… Miss Mystic Falls, was it?” 

I offered a small, demure smile, playing my part. “Yes, ma’am. I… I’ve just moved here, and I overheard some girls at the Grill talking about it. It sounded like a wonderful tradition for the town, and I thought it might be a nice way to… meet people and get involved.” I paused, feigning a slight blush. “Though I admit, I don’t know anything about it. Is it… open to everyone?” 

Carol’s smile widened, a calculating glint in her eyes. “It’s primarily for the daughters of the Founding Families, of course,” she began, her tone a touch patronizing, “but we do occasionally open it up to other deserving young women. It’s an annual beauty pageant that has been around for decades. It celebrates the young women of Mystic Falls, their grace, and their commitment to our town’s heritage.” She leaned forward slightly. “Tell me, Maya, where are you from? And what brings you to our quiet little town?” 

“I’m from Canada, originally,” I supplied, keeping my answer vague. “My mother recently passed, and I… well, I decided I needed a change of scenery. I found some records, old family documents, that indicated some of my ancestors had ties to this area, long before Mystic Falls was even founded. It felt like… a pull, you know? Like I was meant to come here.” I watched her closely as I spoke, noting the subtle shift in her expression. The mention of ‘ancestors’ and ‘before Mystic Falls’ definitely caught her attention. 

“Fascinating,” she murmured, a new interest sparking in her eyes. “And these records… did they mention specific names?” 

“They did,” I confirmed, maintaining my innocent façade. “Mostly just surnames, really. Persaud, of course, but also Aumont. And a few others that seemed to trace back to some of the… earlier European settlers. I even received email confirmations regarding some long-held family lands from your office, Ms. Lockwood, and the Mayor’s. I wanted to thank you for that.” 

Carol’s brows lifted. “Ah, yes. The emails. I must confess, when I saw the name ‘Aumont’ and the sheer scale of the properties you’re laying claim to… well, it certainly raised an eyebrow. Those lands have been dormant and untouched for centuries. We always assumed they were lost to time, or simply uninhabited.” 

“They are rather… historical,” I said, a dry hint of sarcasm I hoped she’d miss. “And yes, they need a significant amount of work. I’ve already started making plans to restore and clean them up. They’re quite grand, really. A manor, a cottage, and a larger estate, all in varying states of disrepair.” 

Carol nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on me. “Indeed. That’s a monumental undertaking for anyone, let alone a young woman your age. You’ll need help. Significant help.” She paused, then a glint appeared in her eyes, a familiar spark of cunning. “My son, Tyler, and his best friend, Matt Donovan, often look for summer work. They’re strong, capable boys. Perhaps they could assist you with the renovations? It would be good community integration for you, and an excellent experience for them.” 

I knew exactly what she was doing and placing her son and his friend, the son of the sheriff, squarely in my orbit. A perfect way to keep tabs on the mysterious new girl claiming forgotten lands. It was almost too easy. 

“That’s incredibly generous of you, Ms. Lockwood,” I said, warmth in my voice. “I would be more than happy to pay them for their time and effort, of course. Full market rate, and then some, for such an undertaking. I’ll draft proper contracts.” 

Before Carol could respond, the front door burst open. A tall, muscular young man with short black hair and dark eyes strode in, followed by another, equally handsome, with dark blonde hair and baby blue eyes—my future helpers. 

“Mom, I told you, I’m going straight to the Grill with Matt,” the first boy said, his voice a low growl of impatience. Tyler, definitely. His aggressive, arrogant energy practically vibrated in the air. He stopped short, his gaze landing on me, assessing and dismissive all at once. His eyes lingered on my Lincoln Navigator, visible through the window. 

“Tyler, mind your manners,” Carol admonished. “This is Maya Persaud. She’s new in town.” She turned to me. “Maya, this is my son, Tyler, and his friend, Matt Donovan.” 

Matt offered a polite, easy smile. “Hey, nice to meet you, Maya.” His blue eyes were kind, and I felt a faint, genuine warmth emanate from him. 

Tyler just grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked me up and down, a sneer playing on his lips. “New girl, huh? You lost?” 

My internal spirit bristled, but I kept my expression serene. “Just finding my way,” I replied smoothly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “And perhaps, making my mark. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” 

Carol, sensing the shift in dynamics, quickly interjected. “Maya was just saying she’s looking for some help with a rather large project this summer, renovating some old family properties. I suggested you and Matt might be interested in earning some money.” 

Tyler scoffed. “Renovating old houses? Sounds boring.” 

“It’s good money, Tyler,” Matt said, nudging him lightly. “And we’ve got all summer.” He turned back to me. “What kind of properties are we talking about, Maya?” 

“A few old manors on the outskirts of town,” I explained, my eyes flickering to Tyler. “They’re pretty rundown, but the bones are good. It’ll be a lot of clearing, cleaning, and some light repairs to start. Nothing too strenuous, but certainly a workout.” I offered him a challenging little smile. “Unless, of course, you’re not up to the task?” 

That got his attention. Tyler’s jaw tightened. “I’m up to anything,” he growled, a spark of competitive fire in his eyes. 

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t mind him. He’s just itching to get to the lake. Speaking of which,” he said, turning to me, “since today’s the last day of school, we’re having a party out in the woods tonight. Everyone’s going. You should come.” 

“Yeah, Maya,” Tyler added, a surprising hint of something other than disdain in his voice. Maybe it was the challenge, maybe it was the car, or maybe just the novelty of a new face. “It’ll be a good way to see what Mystic Falls is really like.” 

I considered it for a moment. A party in the woods. Perfect. A chance to observe the local supernatural ecosystem, test the waters, and perhaps make a few initial connections. 

“Thank you, Matt, Tyler,” I said, my smile genuine this time. “That sounds… interesting. I just might do that.” 

The first step of my plan was complete. I had a way into Miss Mystic Falls, a convenient means to explore the town’s hidden history, and an invitation to a teenage party – all excellent opportunities to learn more about my new home and the people who lived in it. Mystic Falls had no idea what was coming. 

Chapter 3: Chemical

The hum of the Lincoln Navigator’s engine provided a low, comforting thrum as I navigated the winding roads of Mystic Falls. The sun, now beginning its slow descent, cast long shadows that painted the colonial-era homes in hues of gold and amber. My mind, a whirlwind of plans and newly acquired information, finally settled on the last item on my mental checklist for the day: Rebekah’s necklace—Esther’s talisman. 

The Salvatore Boarding House loomed into view, a grand, imposing structure that exuded an ancient, almost melancholic, gravitas. It wasn’t the kind of place you just visited; it was the kind of place that had seen things. I pulled into the sweeping driveway, parking discreetly behind a newer, less ostentatious sedan. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed my bun was still intact, my dark curls tamed for now. My black leggings and sweater, while practical, probably didn’t scream “ancient lineage and untold power,” which was exactly the point. 

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the heavy front door. No need to knock; a Mikaelson, especially one with a strong witch component, felt a pull towards the old magic saturating such places. The air inside was cool, tinged with the faint scent of old wood and something subtly metallic, like an antique coin. My senses, already heightened from the day’s events, stretched out, detecting a single human presence. Zack Salvatore. Good. 

I found him in what appeared to be a study, surrounded by stacks of books and an impressive collection of antique maps. He was a man in his late thirties or early forties, with kind, tired eyes, currently scanning a ledger. He looked up, startled, as I stepped into the doorway. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, his voice cautious but not unwelcoming. “Can I help you?” 

I offered him a soft, carefully practiced smile, one that hinted at fragility and a touch of wistful sadness. “Hello. You must be Mr. Salvatore. My name is Maya Persaud. I apologize for the unannounced visit, but I was told… well, I was hoping you could help me.” 

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Maya Persaud? I don’t believe we’ve met. How did you get in here?” 

“The door was open,” I lied smoothly, my gaze unwavering. “And I believe a mutual acquaintance mentioned you. A friend of my family, actually. She told me about a… a necklace. A very old silver amulet that your uncle, Stefan, supposedly found back in the 1920s.” 

Zack’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. “A necklace? Stefan’s travels were extensive. He picked up many things.” 

“This one is different,” I pressed, stepping further into the room, letting my voice drop to a tone laced with a carefully constructed vulnerability. “It belonged to my aunt: my paternal aunt, Rebekah. I never met her. She… she was lost to our family a very long time ago. My mother passed recently, and she always spoke of this necklace, which my aunt found so precious. She said it was the only memento of her. My mother, bless her soul, spent years trying to track it down. She said a very old friend of hers, a traveller, saw your uncle with it once, many, many years ago, and confirmed it was hers.” 

I paused, letting a well-timed, almost imperceptible tremor enter my voice. My dark eyes, usually so sharp, softened with feigned sorrow. “It’s the only thing I could ever hope to have of her. A small piece of a family I never knew, a connection to a woman who, from what I’ve heard, was incredibly spirited and kind. I know it’s a long shot, but… if you happened to still have it, Mr. Salvatore, it would mean the world to me. A tangible link to my lost family.” 

Zack studied me, his gaze searching. I let him look, let him see the carefully constructed image of a grieving, hopeful orphan. He clearly had no idea what the necklace truly was, or what it truly meant. He only knew it was an old trinket Stefan had acquired. The human part of him, the good part that wanted to help, was winning. 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I… I do recall something—an old silver piece. I think Stefan kept it in a box of his old things in the attic. He always said it was an interesting piece, but I never knew the story behind it.” He hesitated, then stood. “Give me a moment. It’s been years since I’ve looked through that box, but I might be able to find it.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Salvatore,” I said, a genuine warmth seeping into my voice now. “Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means.” 

He left the room, and I allowed myself a small, triumphant smile. Fool . The ease with which humans could be manipulated, even those with good intentions, was astounding. It wasn’t a source of pride, merely a fact. My senses stretched, following him up the stairs, listening as he rummaged through an old trunk. A few minutes later, he returned, a small velvet pouch held carefully in his hand. 

“Here,” he said, extending it to me. “Is this it?” 

My heart gave a sharp, sudden lurch. The familiar magical energy pulsed from the pouch, cold and ancient, yet oddly comforting. This was it—Esther’s talisman. I carefully untied the drawstrings, pulling out the silver amulet. It was precisely as described – intricate, ornate, radiating power. My fingers brushed over the cool metal, a jolt of recognition passing through me. This was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a conduit, a weapon, a shield. 

“It is,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion-a genuine emotion this time, albeit one of power, not grief. “It’s perfect.” I looked up, tears welling in my eyes, not for Rebekah, but for the sheer audacity of my success, and the immense power I now held. “Thank you, Mr. Salvatore. You truly are a lifesaver.” 

He smiled, a gentle, kind smile. “I’m glad I could help. It’s just an old trinket, really.” 

“No,” I said, my gaze locking onto his. My eyes, usually dark brown, seemed to deepen for a fraction of a second, swirling with an unseen force. “It’s not just an old trinket, Zack. And you won’t remember giving it to me. You won’t remember this visit at all. You’ll just remember putting that old box back in the attic and getting back to your ledgers.” 

His eyes glazed over, the last flicker of curiosity dimming, replaced by a vacant placidity. He blinked, then shook his head slightly, as if clearing a fog. “Right,” he muttered, looking down at the ledger on his desk. “Where was I?” 

I slipped the necklace securely into my purse, the weight of it a grounding presence. “Thank you, again, Mr. Salvatore,” I said, my voice light, as if our entire conversation had been a polite but ultimately forgettable exchange. 

He barely registered my departure. I walked out of the Salvatore Boarding House, the evening air now cooler, the setting sun painting the sky in fiery streaks. The necklace was mine. One piece of the puzzle has been retrieved. My family’s motto, “Always and Forever,” rang in my ears, but in this moment, another whispered through my mind: Be five steps ahead of your foes . And right now, I was at least six. 

My new Lincoln Navigator, a sleek beast of a machine that felt both ridiculously opulent and fiercely protective, pulled smoothly off the main road and onto a dirt track. The headlights cut through the gathering gloom, illuminating the path to what sounded like a full-blown rave in the wilderness. Bass thrummed through the tires, vibrating up through the floorboards and into my bones, a primal rhythm that stirred something deep within me. This was it. Mystic Falls. My first real taste of it was beyond dusty land deeds and whispers of ancient magic. 

The party sprawled across a clearing, a bonfire blazing at its heart, casting dancing shadows against the towering trees. Bodies swayed to the music, laughter punctuated the night air, and the scent of cheap beer mixed with the earthy smell of the woods. It was chaotic, vibrant, and utterly unlike anything I’d known growing up in Scarborough. My mother, Indira, had kept me on a tight leash, convinced the world was out to get me, or rather, get my powers. She wasn’t wrong, but her suffocating control had left me yearning for exactly this kind of wild freedom. 

Slipping out of the Navigator, my pink strapless crop top and satin shorts felt almost scandalous, but the warm June air kissed my skin, and the small gold hoops tugged playfully at my earlobes. My medium chain bag slung across my body, a silent sentinel of the secrets it held. I surveyed the scene, taking in my surroundings with both my human senses and others. I could hear snippets of conversations, feel the subtle shifts in the air currents, and taste the faint metallic tang of nascent magic. 

It didn’t take long to spot them. Tyler, all arrogant swagger even from a distance, stood with Matt, whose aura was a comforting blend of groundedness and genuine kindness. They were surrounded by a gaggle of typical Mystic Falls teens: a blonde hurricane of energy who could only be Caroline, a darker-haired girl with a quiet intensity that spoke of unspoken depths, two boys, and another girl radiating an almost palpable resentment. 

I walked towards them, a confident glide honed from years of existing in a world where I knew I was different. As I neared, Tyler’s eyes, dark and sharp, zeroed in on me, a flicker of surprise, then predatory interest, crossing his face. Matt, bless his heart, offered a genuine smile first. 

“Hey, Maya, glad you made it!” Matt’s voice was warm and inviting. “Guys, this is Maya. Maya, this is Elena,” he gestured to the girl with the dark hair, who gave me a cautious, polite smile. “Caroline,” the blonde bounced on the balls of her feet, “Bonnie,” the intense one offered a small, knowing nod that sent a prickle down my spine. “And this is Jeremy and Vicki.” Jeremy, the younger boy, nodded somberly. Vicki, the other girl, narrowed her eyes, her lips thinning. 

My internal radar, a constant, low thrum beneath my skin, immediately went into overdrive. Tyler. The scent was unmistakable, even if faint. Like fresh rain and damp Earth, but with an underlying current of raw, untamed power. Untriggered werewolf. A faint tremor, a memory of the night my own wolf had sprung to life, killing the witch who’d murdered my mother. I would prevent that for him if I could. There were enough tragedies in the world. Bonnie. Her energy wasn’t just quiet; it hummed with an elegant, ancient power, like a dormant volcano waiting for the right seismic shift—untapped Bennett witch. My lips almost curved into a smile. A harvest witch, perhaps? The town was full of hidden treasures. The rest, Elena, Caroline, Matt, Jeremy, Vicki – human. Fragile. Except for Vicki, who radiated an acidic jealousy that I could practically taste. 

“Nice to meet you all,” I said, my voice smooth, deliberately sweet. I’d learned early that a soft voice could hide a multitude of knives. 

Matt, ever the earnest one, added, “Elena’s my girlfriend, by the way.” He put an arm around her, a protective gesture that made Elena blush slightly. My gaze flickered between them. A human couple. So normal. So refreshingly mundane. Yet, Bonnie’s quiet gaze lingered on me, a small, subtle curiosity in her eyes. She felt something, she just didn’t know what. 

Tyler, however, wasn’t interested in Matt’s domestic bliss. His eyes, dark as they were, seemed to burn with a primal hunger as he looked me up and down. His muscular physique, the aggressive set of his jaw – he was a challenge, a primal urge masquerading as a high school jock. 

“So, Maya,” he drawled, his voice a low rumble. “First time in Mystic Falls?” 

“First day,” I corrected, a small smile playing on my lips. 

He returned the smile, a flash of white teeth in the growing darkness. “Well, you gotta get the full experience. How about I give you a tour of the woods? There are some pretty cool spots out here.” His eyes flicked towards the deeper shadows beyond the party’s reach, an unspoken invitation in their depths. 

I let my gaze drift over the bonfire, the laughing faces, then back to him. An untriggered wolf, arrogant and selfish, yes, but also a potential asset, or at least an interesting distraction. And I was tired of being good. Tired of being silent. My mother was gone. I was free. 

“Sounds… intriguing,” I purred, the hint of a challenge in my voice. 

Vicki scoffed, a strangled sound that went ignored by the others. Tyler’s grin widened, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. 

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, already turning, expecting me to follow. 

I followed, casting a quick glance back at the group. Bonnie’s gaze was still on me, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. Caroline was already back to gossiping with Elena. Matt looked a little confused but shrugged it off. Jeremy was lost in his own world. Vicki, however, was still glaring, a venomous promise in her eyes. Let her glare. I had bigger things to worry about, like the Mikaelson family, ancient enemies, and a town full of unsuspecting supernatural time bombs. 

The sounds of the party slowly faded as Tyler led me deeper into the woods. The air grew cooler, carrying the damp scent of moss and decaying leaves. The trees here were ancient, their branches gnarled and reaching like skeletal fingers against the inky sky. Moonlight, still a sliver, filtered through the canopy, creating a dappled, ethereal path. 

“So,” Tyler began, his voice lower, more intimate now that we were away from the crowd. “You’re new new. Like, where did you come from?” 

“Canada,” I replied simply, watching his profile in the moonlight. He was undeniably handsome, in a rugged, almost brutish way. “Scarborough.” 

“Canada, huh? Big jump. What brings you to Hicksville, Virginia?” He scoffed lightly, but there was a genuine curiosity in his tone. 

I paused, considering. “Family land. Old property. My family… they’re from here, originally. Before Mystic Falls was Mystic Falls.” 

His eyebrows shot up. “No way. Like, Colonial times?” 

“Older,” I corrected, a hint of ancient pride in my voice. “Much older.” I didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to know the Mikaelson name. Not yet. Not ever, if I could help it. 

We walked in comfortable silence for a moment, our steps falling into a synchronized rhythm. I could feel his gaze on me, assessing, appraising. He was a creature of instinct, driven by raw desire. My own instincts, finely honed and amplified by my tribrid nature, hummed in response. 

“You’re… different,” Tyler said abruptly, stopping by a massive, centuries-old oak tree. Its branches spread wide, reaching towards the moon, and from its vantage point, I could see the shimmering silver ribbon of a creek winding its way through the valley below. This was the spot. 

“Is that a bad thing?” I asked, meeting his gaze directly. My dark brown eyes, usually warm, held a flicker of something ancient, something untamed. 

“No.” He stepped closer, his hand reaching out, hesitantly at first, then cupping my cheek. His thumb brushed over my skin, sending a jolt through me that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with raw, human desire. Or werewolf desire. Or perhaps just his desire. “No, it’s… good different.” 

His eyes dropped to my lips, his breath hitching slightly. I felt the shift in the air, the crackle of unspoken tension. My own heart began to pound a little faster, a thrill of recklessness shooting through me. After all the careful planning, the grief, the control, a burst of raw, unbridled sensation felt like a revelation—a release. 

“You said you were going to give me a tour,” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. 

“I am.” His voice was rough, low. “Starting right here.” 

He leaned in, his lips finding mine in a forceful, almost desperate kiss. It was aggressive, possessive, exactly what I expected from him. I met it with equal fervour, my hands going to his shoulders, then tangling in his short, dark hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, becoming hungry, demanding. He tasted of beer and bonfire smoke and something else, something wild and untamed that resonated with the burgeoning wolf inside me. 

His hands slid down my back, pulling my body flush against his. I felt the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his abdomen. He groaned into the kiss, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through me. My own body responded, a heat blooming in my core. 

We stumbled back against the rough bark of the ancient oak. The texture bit into my skin through the thin fabric of my top, a pleasurable friction. His lips trailed down my jaw, to my neck, biting gently, drawing a gasp from me. 

“Maya,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. 

My fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his jeans. His groan intensified as I slid my hands beneath the fabric, feeling the warm, taut skin of his back. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of my waist, the swell of my hips, the bare skin of my thighs beneath the satin shorts. 

“Wait,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to catch my breath. My chest rose and fell rapidly. 

Tyler paused, his eyes still clouded with lust, but a flicker of confusion. “What is it?” 

I just looked at him, my dark eyes shining in the moonlight. “Are you sure?” I asked, not out of hesitation, but out of a need to see the absolute certainty in his eyes. To see him choose this. 

His answer was another kiss, deeper, more primal than the last. He didn’t need words. He pushed me back against the tree, the rough bark a testament to the raw passion that ignited between us. The silk of my shorts was no match for his urgent hands, and they vanished as he pulled them down, tossing them to the side. 

The moon, now higher in the sky, seemed to bathe us in its pale light as Tyler shed his own clothes, his muscular body a shadowed silhouette against the starlight. His skin, warm against mine, sent shivers through me. He pressed into me, hard and insistent, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer still. 

The sounds of the party were a distant hum. Here, beneath the ancient oak, overlooking the silent creek, only the rustling leaves and our ragged breaths filled the night. He entered me with a powerful thrust, and I cried out, a mixture of pleasure and the shock of sensation. He moved, a relentless, primal rhythm, his hips grinding against mine. I met him thrust for thrust, my nails digging into his shoulders, my head thrown back against the rough bark. 

This wasn’t gentle. This wasn’t romantic in the soft, whispered sense. This was raw, fervent, almost violent in its intensity, a claiming of space, of desire, of freedom. And in the depths of that wild, untamed act, I felt a flicker of something new. Something dangerous. Something thrillingly, terrifyingly mine. 

His grunts, my gasps, mingled in the cool night air. The Earth beneath us seemed to hum with our energy, the very spirits of the ancient woods witnessing this clandestine act. He pulled back, panting, then lunged forward again, deeper, eliciting another keen cry from me. His climax was a guttural roar, his body tensing, then collapsing against mine, heavy and sated. 

We lay there for a long moment, tangled together, the thrum of the party a distant memory. My skin was still humming, a warm flush spreading through me. Tyler’s breath was ragged against my neck. He shifted, raising his head to look at me, his dark eyes still hazy with lingering desire. 

“Well,” he rasped, a crooked, arrogant smile pulling at his lips. “That was quite the tour.” 

I laughed, a husky, breathless sound. The bark of the oak tree had left faint impressions on my back, but I didn’t care. I felt alive. Utterly, gloriously alive. 

“Indeed,” I replied, running my fingers through his damp hair. “A very… thorough one.” 

And as I looked at the moon, now a little higher, a little brighter, I knew this was just the beginning. Mystic Falls was about to get a lot more interesting. And perhaps, so was Tyler Lockwood. He didn’t know it yet, but he had just stumbled into the web of a Mikaelson. And the original tribrid was just getting started. 

The cool night air still clung to my skin, a subtle tang of pine and something distinctly masculine. Tyler and I emerged from the deeper shadows of the woods, strolling back towards the central bonfire. My pink satin shorts were a little crumpled, and my crop top was slightly askew, but nothing overtly gave away our recent escapade. Tyler, for his part, looked dishevelled but pleased, with a slight flush on his cheeks. We walked in comfortable silence, the distant thrum of music and laughter growing louder with each step. 

“Hey, there you two are!” Matt called out, his voice laced with the easygoing innocence I was quickly coming to associate with him. He was standing with Elena, Bonnie, Caroline, Jeremy, and a scowling Vicki. “Long tour?” 

I offered a small, knowing smirk at Tyler, who merely shrugged, a sheepish grin playing on his lips. “Just getting acquainted with the local flora,” I drawled, my voice deliberately casual, though a flicker of amusement danced in my eyes as I caught Vicki’s venomous glare. Oh, honey, if looks could kill, I’d be ash. But then again, if looks could kill, I’d be dealing with a lot more fatalities on a daily basis. 

My senses, already heightened from the recent intimate contact and the residual energy of the land, thrummed with the undercurrents of the group. Bonnie, standing a little apart, radiated a latent, potent magic, a deep well of power she hadn’t yet tapped into. Her eyes, though, were clouded with an innocent curiosity, perhaps a hint of nascent jealousy as she watched Tyler. Elena and Caroline were just… human. Blissfully, ignorantly human. And then there were Jeremy and Vicki. 

They reeked of trouble. Not the supernatural kind, not yet, anyway. Just… human trouble. The kind that came in little baggies and dulled the edges of reality. The kind that led to bad decisions and worse hangovers. The air around them was thick with a desperate, chaotic energy, a mix of recklessness and self-destruction. And Vicki’s hostility towards me was palpable, almost a physical force. It wasn’t just about Tyler, though he was clearly a flashpoint. It was deeper, a resentment simmering beneath the surface, ready to boil over. 

I let my gaze sweep over the group, lingering for a beat on Tyler, whose untriggered wolf pulsed beneath his skin, calling to mine. He was completely unaware of the primal connection that had just electrified us, but my wolf knew, and it was singing. I could already feel the protective instincts stirring, the desire to shield him from the pain of his inevitable first shift, to guide him. He was a good guy, despite the rough edges and the current entanglement with Vicki. He deserved better than the path he seemed to be on. 

My attention then flicked to Vicki, whose eyes narrowed to slits as she stared at me, her jaw clenched. Oh, honey, do you seriously think I’m going to waste my time with this? My mother, for all her faults, had taught me to recognize a dead end when it stared me in the face. And this was a superhighway to nowhere. 

“Alright, well,” I said, my voice cutting through the casual chatter, a hint of steel entering its tone. I didn’t do drama. My life was already complicated enough without adding petty teenage squabbles to the mix. Especially not with someone who looked like they were one bad day away from a full-blown meltdown. “I think I’ve had enough of the rustic charm for one evening.” I glanced pointedly at Jeremy, then at Vicki, a subtle curl of my lip betraying my disdain. “And frankly, I don’t do teen drama and druggers like those two.” 

A stunned silence fell over the small circle. Jeremy’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in a mixture of shock and anger. Vicki let out a small, choked gasp, her face paling before flooding with furious colour. Matt shifted uncomfortably, clearly caught off guard by my bluntness. Tyler, however, looked intrigued, a slight grin playing on his lips. He liked a woman who spoke her mind, I could tell. 

“Anyway,” I continued, ignoring the sudden tension, my gaze fixated on Tyler and Matt. My tone became all business, devoid of any flirtation or warmth. “Tyler, Matt, be at the Mikaelson Manor tomorrow morning, 8 AM sharp. It’s the largest one, north of the town square, on the Old Town Road. We have a lot of work to do. I expect full days from you, and I’ll be paying you well for the summer. Don’t be late.” 

I didn’t wait for a response. My words hung in the air, a statement of intent, a clear boundary drawn. I turned on my heel, a slight sway to my hips that made Tyler’s eyes follow me, and walked away, not bothering to look back. The party could descend into whatever chaos it wanted. I had a legacy to reclaim, a family to find, and a town to make my own. And I had no time for minor league theatrics. The woods swallowed me momentarily before I reached my Navigator, the rumble of its engine a welcome anodyne to the lingering scent of adolescent angst. 

Chapter 4: Start the Party

Wednesday, July 15, 2009   

The cool air of my kitchen on Wednesday, July 15, 2009, did little to settle the swirling heat beneath my skin. Outside, the sky was a bruised purple-grey, spitting a fine, insistent mist that mirrored the unsettled churning in my gut. Seventeen degrees Celsius. Even the weather was reserved. I stood by the counter, bare feet cool against the worn linoleum, the oversized Roots sweatshirt a comforting cocoon around me. My dark brown hair, usually an unruly cascade, was wrestled into a messy bun, a few escapee tendrils tickling my neck. 

It was too quiet. Too still. The quiet usually brought me peace, a space for my thoughts to stretch and breathe. But this morning, it was thick with the ghost of yesterday—the party in the woods. The bonfire’s smoke still clung to my clothes, to my hair, a phantom scent mingling with the lingering phantom touch of Tyler. 

“Fuck,” I whispered, the word feeling foreign and rough on my tongue. It wasn’t a curse I used often, but it felt appropriate now. Raw. Unfiltered. 

Sleeping with him. Tyler. The untriggered wolf with whom my own triggered wolf had… mated. The phrase felt ancient, primal, a language far older than Old Norse, Latin, or the Hindi my mother had diligently taught me. It wasn’t just the act itself, though that had been… intense beyond anything I’d ever imagined. It was the aftermath, this strange ache, this tether forged not just between bodies, but something deeper, more instinctual. A pull that tugged at the very core of my being, whispering of a connection I couldn’t yet comprehend, but instinctively knew was irreversible. 

He was… sweet. Protective. The way his hand had found mine, the subtle pressure, the way his eyes had lingered. Even Matt, bless his oblivious heart, had ribbed him about it. Vicki’s sour gaze felt like a distant, petty annoyance compared to the seismic shift that had occurred between Tyler and me under the canopy of ancient trees. My world had always been one of quiet observation, of careful walls. Now, through a single night of shared intimacy, a new, unforeseen vulnerability had been carved open. 

My mother, Indira. She’d always warned me about men, about the dangers of attachments. Her own life, steeped in the lonely power of a Spirit Witch, had been a testament to guarding one’s heart. She hadn’t been a great parent, no, but her lessons on magic and survival had been etched into my very bones. “Never show weakness, Maya. Never let them see the true depth of your power. Or your love.” I wondered what she’d say about last night. Probably a lecture about distraction. 

But then, my mother was dead. Killed by desperate witches who wanted me, wanted my power, wanted to erase the very notion of a Mikaelson heir. Her death, triggering my wolf, had been a brutal awakening—a violent catalyst. Love, or at least a twisted obsession with power, drives destruction—a familiar echo. 

I padded over to the small, scratched table in the corner of the kitchen, pulling out my laptop. The screen glowed, a stark blue against the grey morning. My online courses. Grade 11 AP English. The essay. 

Love is destructive. Love as a catalyst for violence. Discuss Romeo and Juliet. 

My lip curled. A bitter laugh escaped me, sounding thin in the silence. Romeo and Juliet. Amateur hour. If only they knew what true destructive love looked like. This Mikaelson blood, this Persaud magic, it seemed to attract chaos like a magnet: my father, Klaus. A name whispered in fearful reverence across centuries. My family, the Mikaelsons, is a tapestry woven with threads of betrayal, death, and an unbreakable, yet devastating, loyalty. Their love for each other was legendary, as was the trail of bodies left in their wake. 

Love. It was supposed to be pure, wasn’t it? Gentle. But my life, even at sixteen, had already painted a canvas dripping with blood-red hues. My mother’s desperate love for me, her need to protect me, had paradoxically led her to her death. Klaus’s sporadic appearances in my childhood, his fleeting affection, had always been overshadowed by the dark tide that followed him—Brother against brother, sister against brother. Generations of a family curse, amplified by vampirism and triggering lycanthropy. 

I knew, instinctively, that my own untriggered vampire nature, my triggered wolf, and my deeply rooted witch powers made me a walking nexus of potential destruction. I could manipulate reality, summon spirits for combat, channel elemental forces, and inflict pain with a thought. My touch could heal, but my magic could also rend. And now, this… mating bond. This inexplicable, powerful connection to Tyler. My very existence, my mere presence, could trigger his wolf. A love, or at least a bond, that could turn him into the very thing he didn’t know he was: a killer, a monster by human standards. 

I filled the kettle, the gentle hiss a counterpoint to the storm in my mind. Earl Grey. My mother’s favourite. The scent always brought a pang, a ghost of her presence. She had taught me to read tea leaves, to know the subtle language of herbs, to brew potions. She’d given me the tools to be formidable, yet had never quite fostered the resilience to wield them in the treacherous landscape of emotions fully. 

The Mikaelson land, the three manors I’d found. The Aumont cabin, the Mikaelson Mansion, the Estate. All overgrown, neglected, waiting. I’d walked through them, felt the echoes of lives lived and lost, and then sealed them with a powerful protective spell. Only those I truly wanted could enter. My own little fortress against the world that sought to consume me. A desire for control, for safety. Another form of love, perhaps. Love for my own survival. 

And Zach Salvatore. The necklace. Rebekah’s. My aunt. I’d never met her, never met any of them, really, beyond fleeting glimpses of my father. Yet, to hold something that belonged to her… it grounded me, a tangible link to a family I was only just beginning to acknowledge truly. Compelling Zach to forget had been effortless. A flick of my will, a drop of the blood that ran in my veins, both vampire and witch. The ease of it was terrifying. It was a power that could twist truths, erase memories, and blur the lines of reality. And what was love, if not a truth you held onto? If I could erase it, could I also manipulate it? Was that not destructive in its own way? 

I sat back down, the warm mug cradled in my hands—the essay. Mr. Tanner, my AP English teacher, had been vaguely condescending during my meeting with the principal. My voice rose in pitch as I expressed my need to join a club. One club. As if my academic prowess and my plan to graduate in June 2010, years ahead of schedule, weren’t enough. But I’d get into the debate club. And the band. Quiet, organized, independent. That was Maya. Always had been. 

“Love is a powerful force,” I began typing, words appearing on the screen, slow and deliberate, “often idealized as the purest human emotion. However, as demonstrated in William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, love can paradoxically act as a catalyst for profound violence and ultimate destruction, not merely for the lovers themselves, but for the entire societal framework around them.” 

I paused, chewing on my lip. It felt too academic, too dry. It lacked the raw, visceral truth I knew was there. 

I started again, the words flowing a little easier this time, infused with the bitterness welling up from the depths of my tribrid soul. 

“Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet presents a tragic narrative where the profound, instant love between two adolescents becomes the very engine of their demise, and indeed, the catalyst for the bloody resolution of their families’ ancient feud. It is not external forces alone that doom them, but the intensity and all-consuming nature of their affection, which blinds them to reason and propels them towards rash, violent acts.” 

Rash, violent acts. Like a mother sacrificing herself, she sets in motion a chain of events that triggers her daughter’s dormant wolf. Like a father, a Hybrid born of a twisted witch’s magic and a cheating heart, leaving a trail of death in his wake, all in the name of ‘family.’ 

“Consider the immediate and extreme reactions that their love provokes. Romeo, banished for a violent act committed out of grief for his friend Mercutio, a fight instigated by Tybalt’s hatred for Romeo, which itself stems from the perceived insult of Romeo’s presence at the Capulet feast. At this feast, Romeo first lays eyes on Juliet. Their love, therefore, doesn’t pacify the existing animosity; it exacerbates it, adding a deeply personal layer to the Capulet and Montague rivalry.” 

I shifted, the Roots sweatshirt feeling too warm now. The mating bond. The sudden, overwhelming urge to protect Tyler from the monsters that would inevitably come sniffing around me, around my family. The need to protect him from me. My untriggered vampire, my wolf… what if our bond, our love, was the very trigger for his transformation? What if it exposed him to the darkness I carried, the inherent violence in my blood? What if my love, like Romeo’s, led him to ruin? 

“Juliet’s love drives her to a desperate, almost suicidal, measure: feigning death to escape a forced marriage to Paris. This extreme act, born of a desperate devotion, is misinterpreted by Romeo, leading him to believe her truly dead. His subsequent act of self-poisoning is the ultimate expression of his love – a love so absolute it cannot conceive of life without the beloved. This is not merely a tragedy of miscommunication; it is a tragedy where love itself dictates the final, irreversible act of violence upon oneself.” 

I thought of my own mother, taking a spell intended for me, shielding me with her body. An act of love. An act that led to her violent, agonizing death. The stench of ozone and iron, the cries of the other witches. My own guttural scream, a sound that tore from my throat as my wolf, my ancient, primal self, finally awakened. The witch I tore apart with my bare hands. Love as a catalyst for violence. I knew it in my bones, knew it in the lingering phantom scent of blood. 

“Furthermore, the final scene, in which Lady Montague dies of grief over Romeo’s banishment, and the families finally reconcile over the bodies of their children, highlights love’s destructive reach beyond the immediate lovers. Their love, in its fervent and uncompromising nature, forced the hand of fate, drawing in their families and culminating in a scene of profound sorrow and loss that finally breaks the cycle of hatred. It is a reconciliation born not of understanding or forgiveness, but of an overwhelming, shared grief for what their children’s love, and their own feuds, had wrought.” 

The words came faster now, a torrent of carefully constructed sentences that masked the turbulent emotions beneath. I wasn’t just writing an essay; I was articulating my own nascent understanding of the world I inhabited, the legacy I carried. My grandmother, Esther, a powerful witch, inadvertently turned her children into vampires to protect them, inadvertently creating monsters and centuries of bloodshed. My step-grandfather Mikael has been hunting his hybrid son, Klaus, for a thousand years, driven by a twisted sense of paternal duty and hatred. Love and hatred, two sides of the same coin, are often indistinguishable in their destructive power among my family. 

“Thus, Romeo and Juliet serve as a stark reminder that love, when untempered by wisdom, patience, or a broader understanding of its implications, can be a force of immense destruction. It can breed impulsivity, justify violence, and ultimately lead to the annihilation of its very subjects. The play is not merely a story of star-crossed lovers, but a profound exploration of how the most potent of human emotions can, paradoxically, unravel the fabric of lives and communities, leaving behind only the ashes of what once was.” 

I reread the last paragraph, a certain grim satisfaction settling over me. It was raw for me. More direct than I usually allowed myself to be. But it was true—my truth. 

The silence of the kitchen deepened as I finished, the only sound the soft hum of the laptop fan. The cloudy light from outside softened the edges of the room, turning shadows into gentle smudges. My mess of a bun felt heavy, and I reached up to pull out the tie, letting my hair tumble down around my shoulders, a dark, curly curtain. 

I thought of Tyler again. His touch. The way his eyes had looked at me. The bond that resonated deep within my magically enhanced, wolf-triggered, vampiric-yet-untriggered core. It was undeniable. Terrifying. 

Was I destined to be another casualty in love’s destructive path? Or could I, Maya Freya Persaud, the quiet, introverted tribrid, somehow rewrite that story? Could I, armed with my mother’s magic, my father’s resilience, and my own strange, intuitive wisdom, find a way to forge a love that was not a catalyst for violence, but something… else? Something new. Something enduring. 

The answer, I knew, lay not in ancient texts, but in the tumultuous, uncharted territory of my own evolving heart. And perhaps, with a certain untriggered wolf, whose untamed spirit had found an unexpected resonance with my own. The essay was done, but the real test, the real story, was just beginning. It was a damn sight more complicated than Shakespeare. 

Saturday, August 15, 2009   

The air in the old Mikaelson Estate study was thick with the scent of aged parchment, dried herbs, and the faint, sweet decay of time that clung to every antique. Outside, the August night in Mystic Falls was a soft, humid blanket, the cicadas a distant, rhythmic hum. Inside, the only sounds were the rustle of pages and the quiet cadence of my own breathing. 

I sat cross-legged on a plush, if slightly dusty, Persian rug, a dozen leather-bound grimoires open around me like a protective circle. My dark brown hair, usually a wild, frizzy storm, was pulled back in a messy bun, some tendrils escaping to brush my tanned shoulders. I wore black bike shorts and a faded Disney tank top, bare feet grounded to the history beneath me. It was late, past midnight, and the last of my online calculus assignments for AP Functions and Applications was finally submitted. Now, this was my real homework. 

Two months in Mystic Falls, and the Mikaelson Estate was slowly, painstakingly, becoming home. Tyler and Matt had been instrumental, their strong, young bodies hauling away debris, clearing years of overgrowth, and fixing structural damage with a surprising diligence. I paid them well, of course, but it was more than just a job for Tyler, I knew. 

My triggered wolf had recognized his, and his untriggered wolf had responded in kind. It was a raw, primal connection, one that hummed beneath my skin constantly. Since that night in the woods a month ago – the party celebrating their last day of school, where we’d somehow found ourselves in that desperate, passionate, incredibly physical entanglement – our bond had solidified into an unspoken language of touches and glances. He was fiercely protective, a low growl barely suppressed whenever another boy, even Matt, lingered too close. It wasn’t sexual now, not in the overt way that night had been, but it was deeply intimate. A brush of hands, the way he’d steady me when I stumbled, the quiet intensity in his dark eyes. It was a comfort I hadn’t known I needed, a fierce, silent acknowledgment that I wasn’t alone. My mother, for all her witchy teachings, had never given me that kind of unwavering presence. 

A wave of grief, dull and familiar, washed over me at the thought of Indira. May 20th, 2009. The day she died. The day I killed one of those cackling bitches who wanted my powers, triggering my own wolf. The memory of the blood, the snap of bone, the feral scream that ripped from my throat… it still tasted like ash. I clenched my jaw, pushing the images back, pulling myself into the present. I was here now, in my paternal family’s ancestral lands. Safe, for now. 

My current deep dive wasn’t about the history of the Mikaelsons, not directly. It was about Klaus, my father, and the curse that bound him. The stories, the rumours, the legends – they all pointed to a single, impossible truth: only a Petrova doppelgänger could break it permanently. But everything felt… wrong. Too simplistic. My intuition, a sharp, buzzing premonition in my gut, told me there was more. My mother had drilled into me the nuances of magic, the hidden layers to every spell, every curse. As a Spirit Witch, connected to the very fabric of the ethereal, I knew death wasn’t always the end, and life wasn’t always the beginning. 

I ran a finger over an old grimoire, its leather spine cracked with age. It hummed faintly under my touch, a residual magic from generations past. I closed my eyes, reaching out with my spiritual empathy, letting the whispers of the Ancestry Realm wash over me. Images, fragmented and fleeting, began to form. 

A woman, beautiful, tragic. Her name, a ghost on the wind: Amara.  

The vision sharpened. Amara, my mind supplied, the Anchor to the Other Side. The original. I saw flashes of a line, a thread of blood and destiny stretching through time. 

Tatia. Her face, a mirror of Amara’s, fleetingly appeared, then faded. Deceased. 

Katerina. The fire in her eyes, the quicksilver fear. Katerina Petrova. The vampire. 

Sofia. Another flash, another woman, less known but unmistakably a link in the chain. Deceased. 

And then, a face I knew, illuminated by the ghostly glow of my inner vision. Elena Gilbert . Matt’s girlfriend was the sweet, earnest girl I’d met at the party—another doppelgänger. 

“Amara’s bloodline,” I murmured aloud, the words tasting like ancient lineage on my tongue. “Amara, Tatia, Katerina, Sofia, Elena.” My spiritual senses confirmed it, a tangible thread of magic connecting them all. My mother’s teachings about the intricacies of bloodlines and magical currents were invaluable. 

But my intuition still nagged. There was a second set of identical faces, rarely spoken of, shrouded in deeper mystery. If Amara had a shadow, a male counterpart… 

I pushed deeper, focusing my will, channelling the raw energy of the Earth beneath the Estate. The floor vibrated faintly, a resonance echoing my own activated powers. My mind’s eye strained, piercing the veil of history, searching for the other side of the coin. 

Silas. The name ripped through my consciousness like a lightning bolt, accompanied by a wave of ancient despair. The first true immortal. The original counterpart. 

Then followed another, and another, their faces distinct yet eerily similar. 

Dario. Deceased. 

Leonardo. Deceased. 

Stefan Salvatore.  

My eyes snapped open, a sudden jolt of adrenaline running through me. Stefan. The quiet, broody vampire Zack’s uncle. The one who had found Auntie Rebekah’s necklace. Of course. It made a horrifying kind of sense. And then, a final name, a figure I hadn’t yet encountered, but whose presence resonated with a future echo. 

Tomaso (Tom Bailey).  

“Silas’s bloodline,” I breathed, the realization sending shivers down my spine. “Silas, Dario, Leonardo, Stefan, and Tomaso.” Two lines. Always two. It was the fundamental balance of nature, wasn’t it? Light and shadow. Life and death. Creation and destruction. 

I leaned back, my mind racing. Generations had misunderstood the curse, had been chasing a singular, often bloody, solution. My father, Niklaus, obsessed with breaking his hybrid curse, had been operating on incomplete information for centuries. The original ritual required a doppelgänger sacrifice, a brutal act to trigger the werewolf side and suppress the vampire. But breaking the curse for his nature, truly balancing his hybrid existence… that was different. 

My eyes scanned the arcane symbols in the grimoires, the faded scripts hinting at forgotten rituals, the powerful, often abhorrent magic of my Mikaelson ancestors, tempered by the healing, harmonious energies of the Persaud Coven. My mother had always stressed balance. Harmony. And suddenly, it coalesced. The pieces clicked into place with a blinding flash of intuitive certainty. My mind raced, faster than usual, the combined powers of my un-triggered vampire and triggered werewolf amplifying my witch abilities. 

It wasn’t about killing a doppelgänger. It was about completing the original ritual, but in a way that acknowledged the dual nature of immortality, the two sides of the coin. The blood of both true immortal lines, intertwined with the potent catalyst of a being that defied all known categories. 

My own blood. My niece. My brother. 

“Holy shit,” I whispered, the crassness alien on my tongue but perfectly fitting the monumental revelation. “They’ve had it all wrong. All of them. My father… for a thousand years.” 

The blood of all of the Original Tribrid – my blood – not just a witch, not just a werewolf, not just a vampire, but all three, untouched by outside magic, a pure conduit. And then, the vital component to bind it all, to create the balance: five drops of blood from all the living doppelgängers. Both lines. Elena. Stefan. And some Tomaso. And the moonstone, not just as a power source, but as a symbolic anchor, representing the lunar energy that governed the wolf’s untriggered state, now harnessed and controlled. 

A cold dread settled in my stomach, turning my insides to ice. No one needed to die. My father just needed me . And the specific blood of Elena and Stefan. And probably this Tomaso, whoever he was. This wasn’t just a spell; it was a cosmic rebalancing. 

I stood up, pacing the quiet study, my bare feet silent on the rug. My mind, usually so reserved and private, was a whirlwind. This knowledge… it was power. A dangerous, world-shifting power. It meant I could save my father, truly make him whole, but it also painted a target directly on my back. The Mikaelsons were infamous for their enemies, and if anyone else knew the true components of the cure, I would be a prize, a sacrifice, or both. 

A low growl rumbled deep in my chest, an instinctive, protective reaction from my wolf. My untriggered vampire side hummed with a nascent power, the immortality and true face waiting dormant, yet subtly influencing my heightened senses, pushing me to process the information with terrifying speed. My witch powers, however, were fully engaged, my aura buzzing with the sheer magnitude of the discovery. I could already feel the pull of the ethereal plane, the eager whispers of spirits ready to aid me, the raw chaos magic begging to be unleashed. 

“Five drops,” I muttered, the words tasting like fate. “From Elena. From Stefan. From Tomaso.” How the hell was I going to get that? Elena was Matt’s girlfriend. Stefan… he was a Salvatore, tied to the very town I was trying to assimilate into. And Tomaso? He was a complete unknown. 

And then there was Klaus. My father. The man who had been in and out of my life, the one who left me with a mother who wasn’t maternal, the man who was both monstrous and, I grudgingly admitted, my blood. He wouldn’t understand. He would demand, not ask. And the rest of my Mikaelson family – Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, Finn… they would want to use this knowledge. They were all so desperate for the cure, for their hybrid brother to be complete, that they would kill my father.  

A sharp jolt of anger pierced through my quiet demeanour. Fuck. Centuries of misguided attempts, of bloodshed, of families fractured and destroyed, all because they were missing a single piece of the puzzle. A piece I now hold. It was a heavy burden, a crushing responsibility for a sixteen-year-old girl, even one with the lineage and power I possessed. 

My gaze drifted to the window, the moon a silver sliver in the velvet sky. The full moon, the time of my transformation, was still weeks away. But the power it represented, the raw, untamed energy of the werewolf, felt more present than ever. 

I knew what I had to do. This wasn’t just about my father anymore. This was about balance. About setting right a thousand years of misunderstanding. I was a healer by nature, a harmonizer, and this curse was a great, festering wound on the world. I would have to be careful. Disarming. Play the shy, quiet girl. Learn. Observe. And when the time was right, I would move. 

The thought of facing my father, of telling him this truth, made a knot tighten in my stomach. What would he do? What would they do? But it didn’t matter. I had no other choice. This was my destiny, woven into my very blood, a legacy of power and purpose. The quiet life I’d envisioned, reading and playing flute and embroidery, was a distant dream now. Mystic Falls, a seemingly sleepy town, was about to become the epicentre of a supernatural reckoning, and I, Maya Freya Persaud, Original Tribrid, was at its heart. The game had truly begun. 

 

 

 

Chapter 5: Maya and Tyler

Sunday, August 16, 2009   

The oppressive August heat of Mystic Falls clung to me like a shroud. At 37°C, the air was thick, heavy, shimmering above the newly manicured lawns of my inherited Estate. I wore a black cropped tank top and denim shorts, my long, dark brown hair a frizzy mess, twisted into a messy bun that defied gravity. Barefoot, I padded across the cool, polished floor of what I now called my main manor – the Mikaelson Mansion, though it felt less like a regal ancestral home and more like a mausoleum of forgotten ghosts. 

Two months. Two months since I’d fled Scarborough, Canada, a newly orphaned sixteen-year-old, burdened by a legacy I was only just beginning to comprehend. Two months since I’d buried my mother, Indira Persaud, and unleashed a beast inside me that had torn apart the very witches who’d taken her life. The memory still clawed at my insides—the raw, animalistic rage, the sickening snap of bones, the taste of blood that wasn’t my own. That night, I hadn’t just become an orphan; I’d become a killer, triggering the werewolf curse that was my father’s dubious gift. Fuck , it was a mess. 

The land, once a wild, overgrown wilderness, now breathed with a newfound order. Matt Donovan and Tyler Lockwood had put in the work, transforming the Estate. The smaller Aumont cabin, rustic and charming, was cleaned out for guests. The Mikaelson Mansion, vast and imposing, held the weight of centuries. And then there was the Estate, a more modern, yet still grand, structure that felt like it could actually be mine . My protective spells hummed beneath the manicured grass, a silent barrier against unwanted intruders. Only those I willed could set foot here, a comfort in a town teeming with supernatural secrets that, until recently, I’d only known from my mother’s whispered warnings. 

I glanced at the laptop on the antique mahogany desk, its screen glowing in the dim light of the study. A new email from Mrs. Albright, my mother’s friend and lawyer, had just landed. I’d been waiting for this. Taking a deep breath, I clicked it open. 

The words blurred for a moment, then snapped into focus. My mother’s will. Simple, concise. Everything she owned, she left to me. Not much, honestly, just her small apartment in Scarborough, a few savings. But then, it got interesting. 

“Furthermore,” the email read, “Mr. Niklaus Mikaelson and Mr. Elijah Mikaelson have established substantial trust funds in your name. Mr. Niklaus Mikaelson has also formally signed over the deeds to the land and all manors located in Mystic Falls, Virginia, acknowledging your rightful inheritance as the sole living heir to these properties, which trace back through both the Mikaelson and Aumont lines. These funds and properties are solely yours, free of any encumbrance or condition.” 

My jaw dropped. A trust fund? From Klaus? And Elijah? I knew my father was a rich bastard, but to actually give me money? To acknowledge me, even from a distance, with something so tangible? A bitter laugh escaped me. He’d been in and out of my life until I was seven, a shadow, a myth. Now, a mountain of money and this sprawling ancestral land. It was a twisted olive branch, a silent apology written in dollar signs and deeds. As for Uncle Elijah, the ever-honourable one, I wasn’t surprised he’d contribute. He was the type to ensure his family was taken care of, even the ones he hadn’t met. 

I scrolled down, the numbers growing larger, more incomprehensible. Millions. Seriously, millions . My mother had always stressed discretion about our family, the Mikaelsons, so that I could never tell anyone. This wealth, this property, it was a testament to their power, a power I was now inextricably linked to. It also meant I was truly, irreversibly on my own, an adult at sixteen. Mrs. Albright, bless her, had navigated the foster care system for me, ensuring I was legally emancipated based on my unique circumstances and my mother’s posthumous wishes. 

Closing that email, I opened another. My summer school grades. English - University (grade 11) - 80%. Functions and Applications Mixed Math - University/College - 68%. Not my best, especially in math, but considering the chaos of the past two months, fleeing countries, burying my mother, triggering my wolf, and moving into a literal haunted mansion, I wasn’t complaining. These credits, combined with my previous Canadian ones, meant I only needed eight more to finish high school: two English, one Math, one Financial, and four electives. Mr. Tanner, my new guidance counsellor at Mystic Falls High, had practically guffawed when I presented my accelerated plan. He’d signed off on it, but with the caveat that I had to join at least one club—typical small-town high school bullshit. 

My finger hovered over a third email, this one addressed to Tyler and Matt. Their final paycheques were attached. They’d earned it. The land was pristine, and the manors, though still mostly empty shells, felt cared for and protected. They’d worked hard. Matt, ever the quiet, reliable one. Tyler… he was a whole other story. 

A month ago, at the woods party – their “last day of school” celebration – it all clicked into place. I’d walked in, a complete outsider, and instantly sensed it. Bonnie Bennett, a vibrant, untapped wellspring of magic, a true Bennett witch. And Tyler Lockwood, his aura thrumming with an untriggered werewolf gene, a dormant beast mirroring the one I now carried. I knew, with the chilling certainty of my burgeoning prophetic abilities, that I had to help him avoid what I couldn’t: the trigger. The knowledge that his wolf had already instinctively recognized and mated with mine, even before his was active, was a constant, simmering presence between us. It was a primal, undeniable pull, a silently acknowledged truth that shaped every interaction. 

The night of the party, as Elena and Matt were all over each other, and Vicki shot me daggers, Tyler had asked if I wanted a tour of the woods. I’d agreed. We’d walked for hours, talking, the easy conversation a stark contrast to the thrumming undercurrent of awareness between us. The woods were sacred, ancient, and alive with latent magic. My spirit witch senses had sung. Somewhere under the vast canopy of Mystic Falls’ oldest trees, surrounded by the whispers of the land, we’d found a clearing. The air had crackled. The mate bond, nascent but strong, had surged. And we’d ended up pressed against each other, the raw, aching need for connection overwhelming everything else. The act itself was a blur of primal instinct, a silent declaration of a bond neither of us fully understood yet. 

Since then, “physical intimacy (non-sexual)” has become our default. He’d started sleeping over, curled up next to me in the unfamiliar vastness of the Mikaelson Mansion. Sometimes, our fingers would intertwine, lying still, just feeling the static cling of skin on skin. Other times, he’d just rest his head on my shoulder, or his arm would be thrown over my waist as we drifted off. There was a profound comfort in it, a shared silence that transcended words. It wasn’t about sex anymore, not in the way most teenagers understood it. It was about proximity, about the deep, instinctual comfort of two wolves, one triggered, one not, finding solace in each other’s presence. He was fiercely, possessively protective, a low growl in his throat if he even perceived another boy looking at me for too long. It was both unsettling and strangely comforting. My own wolf responded, a possessive snarl, a silent claim. It was an odd dynamic, one I was still navigating, but it felt... right. 

I minimized the emails, my gaze falling on the final open document: the Miss Mystic Falls Pageant booklet. Carol Lockwood, ever the town’s socialite queen bee, had practically ambushed me after my meeting with Mr. Tanner. She’d heard about my “unique situation” and my need for high school credits, specifically an elective. “Joining a club, Maya, it’s crucial for college applications!” she’d chirped, pressing the glossy booklet into my hands. “And the Miss Mystic Falls Pageant is the event. It’s a tradition, community service, poise, public speaking… perfect for an elective!” 

I snorted. Perfect for a shy, introverted witch-werewolf-untouched-vampire tribrid who preferred ancient texts to tiaras. My mother had always pushed me to read, to learn languages, to master my craft. She’d never once mentioned beauty pageants. I knew I needed to join a club to graduate, I thought, running a hand through my already messy bun. But this? This is just… ridiculous.  

But Mr. Tanner had looked at me with an expectant glint in his eye after Carol left, and I knew I was trapped. The pageant was in February 2010. I was expected to graduate in June. It was a means to an end. Still, the thought made my stomach churn. “Poise,” “grace,” “public speaking” – all things I actively avoided. My true self was hidden, carefully guarded. This pageant would force me into the spotlight, something I had studiously avoided my entire life, something my mother had drilled into me was dangerous. The Mikaelson name was a target. My powers, even more so. 

I closed the laptop, the screen going dark, reflecting my own tanned, curious face. My dark brown eyes, usually reserved, held a nascent spark of defiance. I was a Persaud witch, a descendant of the Aumont wolf clan, a Mikaelson by blood and marriage, and a Hagen witch by heritage. All these powerful families converged in me. My mother had taught me everything, from the most intricate spell to the simplest herbal remedy. She’d taught me about the spirit world, how to channel its raw energy, how to absorb magic, manipulate reality itself, even conjure chaos. She’d instilled in me the knowledge of my untouched vampire side, a slumbering force waiting to be triggered. And now, I was here, in the heart of my father’s ancestral home, with a werewolf mate whose own powers were still dormant, surrounded by the living and the dead, the normal and the supernatural. 

A faint shiver ran down my spine, despite the heat. It wasn’t cold, but a surge of energy, a whisper from the ethereal plane. My mother. Or perhaps just the spirits of the land, acknowledging my presence, my claim. I felt them, a constant hum beneath the surface of my awareness, ready to be summoned, to lend their strength, their wisdom. 

I stood, stretching, my small frame surprisingly strong, a testament to my werewolf physiology. The sun, a burning orb in the azure sky, cast long shadows across the room. I walked to the window, looking out over the sprawling green. The past two months had been a blur of grief, fear, and reluctant adaptation. But I was here. I was safe, for now. I had a home, a staggering amount of money, and a path forward, however unconventional. And I had Tyler, a protective shadow who understood a part of me no one else ever could. 

A faint, almost imperceptible shift in the air. My head snapped up, my enhanced senses picking up on something. A rustle in the distant trees, not natural. Not human. My innate wisdom, my clear-headedness, kicked in. Mystic Falls was not as sleepy as it seemed. My old life, or what was left of it, was behind me. My new one, full of secrets, power, and unexpected connections, was just beginning. It was a damn complicated life, but it was mine. And I was ready for it. 

Tyler’s POV

The humid August air already clung to me, thick and sticky, as I pushed through the main doors of Mystic Falls High. It was barely eight in the morning on August 19, 2009, and the gym was already a goddamn zoo. The kind of chaos that usually had my teeth on edge, ready to snap at the first person who looked at me funny. But today, it was different. Today, I had a target in mind, a quiet anchor in this shitshow.

My eyes scanned the throngs of teenagers, a sea of unfamiliar faces and a few too many familiar ones I’d rather avoid. Then I saw her. A small figure, even smaller than usual in her flowy black tunic dress, with a splash of pink and blue flowers across it like a secret garden. Her dark brown hair, usually a wild curtain of curls, was pulled up in a high ponytail, letting those silver, diamond-shaped earrings catch the dim gym light—my Maya.

She was standing in line 2, the ‘I-P’ section, clutching that vintage Coach day pack to her chest like it was a shield. Even from across the gym, I could feel it – the low hum of her discomfort, the way her shoulders were slightly hunched, her gaze flickering around, too many minds, too many emotions assaulting her delicate senses. She didn’t have to voice it; I just knew. My wolf, still untriggered but damn sure aware, recognized the tremor in her own triggered counterpart.

“Fuck this,” I muttered, shoving past some freshman who squeaked in protest. Rules? Lines? They didn’t apply when Freya needed me. Her powers, the ones she’d poured out to me over endless nights and whispered confessions – healing, talking to spirits, absorbing magic, even distorting reality itself – those were a constant hum beneath her skin. And in a crowd like this, with so many minds, so many raw, untamed thoughts, it was a goddamn assault. She was a sponge, soaking up everything, and it was overwhelming her.

I bypassed line one, ignoring Elena, Caroline, and Bonnie, who were probably all together, chattering away. Not worried about them. My focus was singular. I reached line two, a couple of kids older than me, and just… inserted myself and shouldered past a kid with a bad haircut, ignoring his glare. My presence, my sheer physical mass, was enough to make people instinctively back off. That aggressive, arrogant edge I usually carried was a protective cloak today.

“Hey, Freya,” I rumbled, my voice automatically dropping, softer than I used to bother with for anyone else.

Her head snapped up, her dark brown eyes, usually so deep and ancient, widened slightly in surprise before softening into that genuine, sweet warmth that was exclusively mine—a tiny, shy smile, just for me. “T,” she murmured, that soft accent, a blend of Canadian and something older, something almost ethereal, like the whispers of her ancestors.

I didn’t even think about it. My left arm went around her waist, pulling her flush against my side. My right hand found its way into the front pocket of her dress, fingers tangling with hers as she instinctively linked them. The faint scent of her–something like old books and rain and the clean, wild Earth–hit me, and the buzzing tension in my own muscles eased. This was familiar. This was right. This was home.

“Missed me already?” I teased, my chin resting on the top of her head, the height difference between us something she openly adored. She fit perfectly under my arm, my five-foot-eight frame dwarfing her petite five-foot build.

She leaned into my touch, a quiet sigh escaping her. “You were gone for all of five minutes, ást,” she replied, her voice muffled against my chest. Ást. Love. Old Norse. My stomach flipped every time she used it, a primal thrum in my chest answering the call of her triggered wolf. God, I was gone for her. Completely.

“Rough crowd?” I murmured, my thumb stroking the soft skin of her inner wrist, the Kautuka and gold and black beads of her bracelet cool against my skin. I could feel the subtle tremor in her, a low-frequency vibration that only I seemed attuned to.

“A bit,” she admitted quietly. “Too much… noise.”

I tightened my arm around her, subtly shielding her from the constant ebb and flow of students, my body a solid mass between her and the churning sea of teenage angst and hormones. “That’s why I’m here. Your personal human shield.”

She chuckled, a soft, melodic sound that always sent a shiver down my spine. “My hero.”

“Damn right,” I grinned, nudging her playfully. “So, plans for tonight still on? My parents are out of town, which means no Mayor Dickhead, no Carol asking about my grades.” My parents, surprisingly, adored Maya. They saw her as their daughter-in-law, openly pushing me towards her, which was a wild shift from their usual controlling bullshit. It was easier to breathe when Maya was around, even with them.

“Yes, I told your mom I’d be over after school,” Maya confirmed, her fingers still entwined with mine in her pocket. “And we need to pick a film. Something… not too loud.” She probably meant something without too much emotional intensity or loud, sudden noises that could overwhelm her sensitive hearing.

“Got it. Less Michael Bay explosions, more… sappy romance?” I asked, a smirk playing on my lips. She rolled her eyes, but a small smile touched her lips.

“Perhaps something with a good plot. Or a documentary. You surprisingly enjoyed that one about ancient civilizations last week.”

I winced. “Yeah, well, you make anything interesting, Freya. Even old dead people.” My thoughts drifted to her own ancestors, the Persaud Coven, the Aumont Clan, the Hagen Witches, the North East Atlantic Pack. She was literally history, ancient power wrapped in a tiny, unassuming package. They couldn’t know. No one could. Only I knew the full scope of what Maya was, what she’d done, what she was capable of. The raw, untamed power that had killed a witch to save her own skin and triggered her wolf. The knowledge that she was the daughter of Klaus Mikaelson and destined to be something even more — an untriggered vampire, the full Tribrid. It was heavy, a secret we shared, a burden I helped her carry.

“So, schedules,” I prompted, changing the subject. “What did you end up with? We still got AP English and Financial together, right?” I already knew, of course. I’d seen the printouts online before I even bothered to come. But it was something to talk about, something normal.

“Yes, all three. And study hall,” she confirmed, a hint of relief in her voice. “No, Mr. Tanner, for either of us this semester, thankfully.”

“Thank fuck for that,” I grunted. Tanner was a pompous asshole, and while he was our football coach, I didn’t have to suffer through his classes. “I still got him for football, obviously. You got a band this semester?”

“And debate club,” she added, a faint blush on her tanned cheeks. “I saw you joined too, T. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Course I did,” I said, shrugging, but I squeezed her hand tighter. I joined her because I wanted more time with her. I knew she was shy, that she’d struggle to make friends beyond the few she’d already allowed in. And I liked watching her. I liked seeing the quiet fire behind her eyes when she spoke passionately about something. And I knew for a fact, after being in her orbit for two months, she was way smarter than any of us, even if she downplayed it.

Before I could continue, a voice cut through the background noise. “Well, well, if it isn’t the two oblivious idiots in love.”

Matt Donovan. My best friend, and probably the only person who could call me out without me wanting to break his jaw. He was standing there, a wry smirk on his face, Bonnie Bennett beside him, her grin wider and more knowing.

“Shut up, Donovan,” I grumbled, but there was no real heat in it. Matt had been saying this shit for weeks, ever since Maya and I started… this. Whatever ‘this’ was. An untriggered wolf mated to a triggered one, sharing secrets and beds, but no labels. Yet.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” Bonnie chimed in, nudging Maya with her elbow. Bonnie, tapped with or without a witch, was sharp. She’d become fast friends with Maya, and I trusted her. She was a good one. Maya, ever the intuitive one, had recognized the untapped power in Bonnie, something that cemented their bond.

Maya just ducked her head, that shy demeanour returning, but her grip on my hand tightened. “We’re just… friends,” she mumbled, though the blush deepened.

“Friends who sleep in the same bed every night and can’t keep their hands off each other,” Matt countered, raising an eyebrow. “It’s sweet, actually. Just admit it already.”

I scoffed. “We just… get along, okay? And Maya hates crowds. I’m just being a good… buddy.”

“Buddy, my ass,” Matt laughed. “Saw Elena this morning. Still wrapped around Stefan’s arm like a damn scarf. Poor girl lost her mind after her parents died. And Matt. You were barely broken up for two days before she was practically dry-humping him in the woods.”

“Dude,” I warned, my voice flat, glancing at Matt. Elena had broken up with him on August 10, and by the 12th, she was all over Stefan, the new guy who rolled into town on August 2 and immediately joined the football team as a wide receiver. It was fast, even for Elena. Matt was still reeling, even if he tried to play it off. He was the Quarterback. Stefan was the receiver. It was going to be an awkward season.

“What? It’s true,” Matt shrugged, though his eyes held a flicker of pain. “At least you two aren’t that messed up. Though Maya, you’re in grade 12, too? Just like Tyler?” He looked surprised, probably thinking Maya, being so quiet, was younger.

“Yes, I took some summer courses to finish early,” Maya explained softly. “I expect to graduate in June 2010.”

“Damn, Freya. Brains and… everything else,” I muttered, letting my eyes rake over her subtly. She knew I was doing it. The corner of her mouth quirked up.

Matt rolled his eyes. “See? Idiots in love. You guys are worse than Elena and Stefan already. At least they’re open about it.”

“Don’t compare us to that,” I growled, a real edge entering my voice this time. My hand tightened on Maya’s waist. “We’re nothing like that trainwreck.” My wolf growled internally, possessive and protective. Vicki, the girl I still occasionally hooked up with, was a blurred memory compared to this. What I had with Freya was real, visceral, a connection that went deeper than anything I’d ever experienced. My parents were right; Maya was the one. The thought of anyone else looking at her, touching her, or even comparing her to someone else made my blood boil.

Maya, sensing the shift in my mood, gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright, T. Matt’s just teasing.”

“I’m not teasing. I’m just stating facts,” Matt retorted, but his tone softened. He knew how I felt when it came to Maya. Everyone did.

The line shuffled forward slowly, the drone of voices and the clatter of feet in the gym a constant, grating presence. I felt Maya flinch subtly again, her grip on me tightening, her dark eyes darting around. She was withdrawing, closing off, trying to block the onslaught of mental noise.

My arm tightened around her, subtly pulling her behind me, my broad back facing the worst of the crowd. “Almost there, Freya,” I whispered, leaning down, my lips brushing her temple, smelling that comforting scent. “Just a few more minutes.”

“It’s just… too many,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. “So much… anger, sadness, fear. It’s loud.”

I mentally cursed. Her spiritual empathy was going haywire. No wonder she hated crowds. No wonder she was so quiet, so reserved. She was constantly bombarded. “Just focus on my voice, okay? And what we’re doing tonight. Forget this. Focus on the movies. On the food. On… me.”

She nodded, her head resting against my shoulder, burrowing into my side. I felt her consciously try to block out the noise, using me as her shield, her anchor. It was a silent agreement between us, one of the many.

Finally, our turn. The harried secretary, Mrs. Duncan, barely looked up. “Lockwood, Maya Persaud. Schedules, agendas, forms, textbooks. Sign here, here, and here. Get your photo taken over there, then you’re good to go.”

I signed quickly, my scrawl messy but legible. Maya, ever organized, had hers meticulously neat. We collected our stacks of books – AP English, AP Financial, AP Music for her, AP Gym for me – and our fresh agendas.

“Photo time, Freya,” I said, tugging her gently towards the makeshift photo booth.

She sighed, but gave a small smile. “You standing next to me?”

“Always,” I promised, lacing my fingers with hers again.

The photographer, a tired-looking man, barked at us to stand still. Maya, even shy, managed a small, genuine smile for the camera. I just gave my usual half-smirk, one arm still protectively around her, because even in a school photo, she was mine. And the whole damn world, oblivious or not, could see it. Matt might call us idiots in love, but he wasn’t wrong. And I was starting to think, maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

 

Chapter 6: Eastside

Tyler POV

The rumble of my ’71 Buick GS was a low thrum beneath my fingers on the steering wheel, the kind of sound that usually filled me with a primal satisfaction. Today, though, it was just a gentle lullaby for the small, curled form beside me. Maya was out cold, tucked into the passenger seat, my Timberwolves letterman jacket draped over her, completely swallowing her petite frame. Just a sliver of her dark, frizzy curls peeked out from under the collar, and her tanned hand, adorned with that gold and black beaded Kautuka bracelet, rested on her stomach. She’d even kicked off her shoes, leaving her feet bare on the floor mat, her flowy black tunic dress with a wild pink and blue floral print and crochet lace trim cascading around her. Her high ponytail had come loose just enough to soften the sharp angles of her face as she slept. She was always so… at peace when she slept. It was a stark contrast to how she got around crowds, even at school registration. Her brain, she’d told me, just got too loud with all the other people’s thoughts screaming in it. My untriggered wolf still didn’t understand it all, but it understood her. And it wanted to protect her.

In the back, Matt, Bonnie, and Caroline were doing their usual thing: chattering. Today’s hot topic, naturally, was Elena.

“I just don’t get it,” Caroline whined from behind me, her voice a little too high-pitched for the confined space of the car. It was just past two, and the afternoon heat, 29°C, was still stifling, despite the AC. “One minute she’s with Matt, totally hung up on him, then boom! Stefan Salvatore shows up, and she’s practically glued to him. It’s only been, what, a week and a half since she dumped Matt?”

“Two weeks and two days, Car,” Bonnie corrected, her tone more subdued. “And she was seen with Stefan at that party in the woods just two days after the breakup. It’s fast, even for Elena.”

Matt, bless his oblivious heart, just sighed, staring out the window. He was still reeling from the breakup, even if Elena had basically checked out months ago after her parents died. He deserved better than being strung along.

“Seriously, Matt,” I said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “You need to move on, man. She’s clearly not.”

“It’s just… she’s been so distant since her parents,” Matt mumbled, still not looking at anyone. “I thought… I don’t know.”

“She needs space to grieve, Matt,” Bonnie added, ever the empath. “But this… Stefan's thing is weird. He just rolls into town on August 2nd, transfers to our grade, joins the football team with you guys, and suddenly Elena’s all ‘space for grieving’ except when she’s with him.”

I grunted. “The guy’s a little too intense, if you ask me. And Elena’s acting like she’s on a different planet sometimes.” I felt Maya stir slightly beside me, a soft sigh escaping her lips. My hand instinctively went to her arm, gently squeezing. She settled back down, still deep in sleep, her silver, connected diamond-shaped earrings glinting faintly in the sunlight through the window. Good. I didn’t want her waking up to this drama. She hated it.

“Maybe she’s just… happy?” Caroline offered half-heartedly, clearly not convinced of herself.

“Happy doesn’t look like that,” Bonnie countered. “Happy looks like Maya when you pull her into a hug, Tyler. Not like Elena, who seems to be trying to be happy, but there’s this weird dark cloud around her.”

I risked a glance at Maya again. Bonnie was right. Maya’s happiness was quiet, steady, like a warm current. Elena felt forced, frantic. Part of me, the part that had seen too much bad shit in this town already, felt a prickle of unease about Stefan. He had that ‘too good to be true’ vibe, and in Mystic Falls, that usually meant ‘supernatural psycho.’

The conversation lulled, and I took the opportunity to steer it towards something I needed to get off my chest, especially with Matt sitting right there. This was going to suck, but it had to be done.

“Speaking of moving on, Matt,” I began, my voice a little firmer now. “I need to tell you something. About Vicki.”

Matt finally turned from the window, his brow furrowed. Caroline and Bonnie exchanged a look, immediately sensing the shift in atmosphere.

“What about Vicki?” Matt asked, his tone wary.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “I’m breaking things off with her. Tonight.”

A stunned silence filled the car, broken only by the hum of the engine and the soft, even breaths of Maya beside me. Matt’s eyes widened, then narrowed.

“What? Why?” he demanded, a note of betrayal already creeping into his voice. “You guys have been… You know.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “For a while. But it’s not working. It hasn’t been for a long time. It’s not fair to her, and it’s definitely not fair to me. Or for… someone else.” I lowered my voice slightly, casting a glance at Maya. Even asleep, she was the reason. The reason everything had changed. My wolf knew what it wanted, and it wasn’t Vicki.

Matt followed my gaze to Maya, taking in her peaceful sleeping face, covered by my jacket. He didn’t say anything, but I saw the flicker of understanding, and maybe a little resentment, in his eyes. He probably remembered the party, the woods, the way Maya and I had just… connected. He probably remembered calling us ‘idiotis in love and oblivious idiots in love’. He wasn’t wrong.

“You’re just going to dump her, like that?” Matt asked, his voice rough. “My sister?”

“Matt, it’s not like that,” Bonnie interjected gently, probably sensing the tension escalating. “Tyler’s right. If it’s not working, it’s fairer to end it clean.”

“It’s been casual, Matt, you know that,” I added. “We both knew it was. I’m not going to string her along. It’s not fair to her. She deserves someone who’s really there for her.”

And I was already there for Maya. Completely. My parents saw it. Hell, even Matt saw it, even if he joked about it. Vicki was a distraction, a habit. Maya… Maya was everything else. She was the one my wolf had chosen, the one my heart was starting to follow.

“So, that’s it?” Matt said, clearly hurt. “You’re just… done?”

“Yeah, Matt. I’m done.” I glanced at Maya again, her dark brown hair a soft contrast to the collar of my jacket. Freya. The nickname felt right, settled. More right than anything else had in a long, long time. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that she was worth any awkward conversation, any temporary rift with my best friend.

My eyes flickered down to her lips, a soft, almost imperceptible curve. I felt a familiar warmth spread through my chest, a calm I only ever felt when she was near. The kind of calm that made the world make sense.

I just hoped Matt would understand, eventually. For now, the silence in the car was thick, heavy with unspoken things. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bonnie give me a small, approving nod in the rearview mirror. Caroline was still looking a bit shocked, but less judgmental than Matt. This was going to be complicated. But for Maya, it was a complication I was willing to face.

I pulled up to Matt’s house, the old Buick’s engine rumbling a low protest before I cut it. “Alright, big guy, home sweet home.”

Matt grunted, already unbuckling. He glanced at Maya, who was still deeply asleep, her dark hair a wild halo against the worn leather of the passenger seat. My Timberwolves jacket, oversized on her petite frame, was pulled up around her shoulders, hiding most of her face. Just a sliver of her tanned skin and the curve of her cheek were visible.

“Tell Freya I said goodnight,” Matt mumbled, a slight smirk playing on his lips. He knew. He definitely knew. “And try not to be too obvious, you two.”

I scoffed, a genuine laugh bubbling up from my chest. “What are you talking about, Donovan?”

He just shook his head, pushing open the car door. “You’re both idiots. Oblivious idiots in love.” He winked, then slammed the door shut, jogging up the porch steps.

I watched him go, then shifted my gaze back to the woman beside me. Oblivious idiots, huh? Maybe Matt wasn’t entirely wrong. It was hard to define what Maya and I were, even to ourselves. We slept together, sure. Not every night, but often enough. It had started that night in the woods – a blur of alcohol, shared secrets, and an undeniable pull that had lasted ever since. We spent every waking moment together, our hands always finding each other, my arm always around her waist or shoulder. She leaned into me, a soft weight against my side, a familiar warmth that had become essential. My wolf, even untriggered, recognized something profound in her—a mate. Maya had told me about it, about the wolf’s instinct, and how her triggered wolf had recognized mine. It made everything make a fucked up kind of sense.

But we hadn’t put a label on it, maybe because we didn’t need to. Or maybe because I was a coward. There was Vicki. And what I felt for Maya... it was deeper, more serious than anything I’d ever experienced. It was consuming. The thought of her with anyone else made my blood run cold, a possessive growl already forming in my chest before I even realized it, which was why I had to break things off with Vicki. It wasn’t fair to her, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to Maya.

Maya stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. The faint scent of her – a mix of something earthy and sweet, like rain on warm soil and wild honey – filled the confined space of the car. My fingers, almost on instinct, brushed a stray curl away from her forehead. Her hair was really something. Long, dark, and wild, always escaping its ponytail. It always made me want to bury my face in it.

I started the car again, pulling away from Matt’s house and heading towards mine. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, painting the streets of Mystic Falls in hues of orange and gold. It was hot, 29°C, but inside the car, with the AC on low and Maya beside me, it felt… perfect. Calm.

My parents adored her. Mom practically saw her as the daughter she never had. Dad, despite his usual stern demeanour, softened around Maya. She had a way of bringing out the best in people, a quiet strength that drew you in. They’d been pushing me, subtly at first, now not so subtly, to make things official with her. “She’s a keeper, son,” Dad had said just this morning, watching Maya help Mom with breakfast. “Don’t screw this up.”

I wouldn’t, not with Freya.

My gaze drifted to her again. Five feet of pure, captivating magic. She was so small, so petite, yet held so much power. She was a Tribrid – witch, werewolf, untriggered vampire. It still blew my mind. She’d told me everything, laid out her entire fucked-up family history, the constant threats, the weight of her powers. And I’d believed her. Every insane word. Because it was her, and she trusted me. That trust was a sacred thing, something I’d protect with my life.

I loved the height difference. Standing next to her, I felt like a giant, like I could wrap her up entirely and shield her from the world. When we kissed, she had to crane her neck, and I had to stoop, but it was always soft, always electric. Her lips, full and warm against mine, tasted like… like home.

“T,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, eyes still closed. She hadn’t shifted, just spoke my nickname like a sleepy prayer.

“Still here, ást,” I murmured back, using the Old Norse word for ‘love’ she’d taught me. It felt right, tasting like a secret on my tongue. “Almost home.”

She hummed, a soft, contented sound, and snuggled deeper into the jacket, pulling it tighter around her. My heart swelled. It wasn’t just physical with her. It was… everything. The way she listened, truly listened, when I talked about my dad, about the pressure of being a Lockwood. The way her dark eyes shone with empathy when I struggled. She was wise beyond her years, a clear-headed anchor in my chaotic life.

When I pulled into the driveway of the Lockwood estate, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples. I killed the engine, but didn’t move immediately. Just sat there, watching her sleep, memorizing the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

I debated waking her, but she looked so peaceful. Carefully, I unbuckled my seatbelt, then hers. I leaned over, gently scooping one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. She was surprisingly light, even with her curvy build. Her head lolled against my shoulder, and she let out another soft sigh.

My jacket, still draped around her, rustled as I lifted her. The faint scent of her perfume and laundry detergent mingled with her natural scent, intoxicating. I held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. It wasn’t just the wolf in me that felt this pull. It was me. Tyler Lockwood. This quiet, gentle girl had unravelled me, piece by piece, and put me back together, better than before.

I navigated the steps to the front door, pushing it open with my shoulder. The house was quiet. My parents must have been out, which was good. Less attention is given to Maya being carried in like a sleepy princess.

I carried her through the foyer, past the grand staircase, and into the living room—our movie night spot. I carefully lowered her onto the plush leather couch, propping a few pillows behind her head. She stirred again, her eyes fluttering open, dark brown and hazy with sleep.

“Hey,” she whispered, a small, sleepy smile touching her lips.

“Hey, Freya,” I replied, my voice softer than I intended. I reached out, tucking a curl behind her ear. “You were out cold.”

She stretched, a slow, languid movement that made the jacket slip a little, revealing the top of her flowy black tunic dress with its pink and blue floral print. “Hours of paperwork. Too many minds.” She finished with a shiver. “Thanks for… everything, T.”

“Anytime, ást.” I sat on the coffee table in front of her, leaning in, my elbows on my knees. “You ready to brave the horrors of the school cafeteria tomorrow? Or just hide in the library?”

She giggled, a low, melodic sound. “Probably hide. But the debate club will be fun. And band.” She paused, her gaze locking with mine. “And AP English. With you.”

My grin widened. “Always with me.” I reached out, taking her hand. Her fingers, small and delicate, fit perfectly in mine. I squeezed gently. “I still gotta break it off with Vicki. Tonight.”

Her expression softened, a hint of sadness in her eyes. She always felt things so deeply. “Be kind, T.”

“I will,” I promised, my thumb stroking the back of her hand. “It’s not fair to her. Or… to us.”

She didn’t argue, didn’t comment on the ‘us’. She just squeezed my hand back, a silent understanding passing between us. It was enough for now. Tonight, we’d watch some stupid movie, eat too much popcorn, and she’d fall asleep in my arms. And for the first time in my life, that felt like everything I could ever want.

The cool night air was a welcome bite against my skin as I pulled my vintage 1971 Buick GS into a spot outside the Mystic Grill. The humid August air always felt heavy, but tonight, it carried a strange lightness, a premonition of change. I’d spent the ride over rehearsing what I needed to say to Vicki, trying to find the right words that weren’t too harsh, but firm enough to leave no room for doubt. It was time. Less than twenty-four hours after telling Matt I needed to break it off with his sister, I was here, finally doing it.

Stepping inside, the familiar thrum of the jukebox and the clatter of plates hit me. My eyes immediately scanned the room. The usual suspects were dotted around. Matt was nowhere in sight, which was good. This was between me and Vicki. I spotted her at a booth near the back, nursing a soda, looking restless, probably waiting for Jeremy—typical Vicki. My gaze drifted a little further, and that’s when I saw them: Elena and Stefan, tucked away in a booth by the window, practically entwined. Good Lord, they moved fast. Elena was laughing, a sound that used to make Matt and me feel something. Now, it just sounded… distant.

I took a deep breath, heading straight for Vicki’s booth. She looked up, her expression a mix of expectation and faint annoyance.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a little flat.

“Vicki. We need to talk.” I slid into the seat opposite her. The aroma of stale beer and fried food clung to the air.

Her eyes narrowed. “About what? Jeremy?”

“No. About us. What us is there?” I tried to keep my voice even, but a familiar Lockwood edge was already creeping in. “Look, we’ve been… fooling around. It was fun. But it’s not really going anywhere, is it?”

Vicki scoffed, a harsh, dismissive sound. “And you’re just realizing that now? After all this time, Tyler? After everything?” Her voice was rising, drawing a few glances. Elena and Stefan, I noticed, subtly shifted their attention, their conversation dying down. Great. Audience.

“Don’t pretend like this is some big shock, Vicki. We both know what this is. Or, more accurately, what it isn’t. You’re hooking up with Jeremy. I… I’ve been with someone else.” The words tasted a little bitter, mostly because I hated admitting it openly, even though Maya and I had talked about it. We weren’t hiding anything from each other, but this wasn’t a public announcement.

Vicki’s eyes flared. “Oh, so this is about that new girl?” she practically spat, her voice laced with venom. “Maya? The one you can’t keep your hands off? The one you’re practically glued to at school? I saw you, Tyler. All over her.”

A protective surge went through me at the mention of Maya’s name, like a low growl in my chest. Calm down, Lockwood. I clenched my jaw, pushing down the instinctive urge to defend Maya from Vicki’s petty accusations. I kept my voice steady, though my jaw was tight. “Yeah, it’s about Maya. And it’s also about Jeremy. You think I don’t know about you two? Don’t act all innocent. We both cheated, Vicki. We’re both guilty. This isn’t a breakup; it’s an acknowledgment of what’s already over.”

“Guilty?!” She slammed her hand on the table, making a few glasses rattle. “You think this is the same? I’m with Jeremy because he actually cares! You? You just want to screw around! And now you just found someone new to screw around with!”

My temper, always a short fuse, started to fray. “Don’t you dare talk about Maya like that.” My voice was a low snarl, rougher than I intended. “Don’t you ever.” I leaned forward, my hands flat on the table, trying to keep my agitation from escalating further. “This isn’t just about screwing around, Vicki. For me, it’s actually… different with Maya. She’s not like anyone else.”

Vicki stared at me, her eyes wide, a flicker of genuine hurt cutting through her anger. “Different? What, she’s better than me, is that it? You think you’re too good for me now, Tyler?”

“No, that’s not it,” I said, trying to soften my tone, hating this. I hated hurting anyone, even Vicki, who often brought it on herself. “It’s just… we’re not right for each other, Vicki. We haven’t been for a long time. We both deserve to be with someone who actually makes us happy, instead of just… convenient.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air. “I’m done. We’re done.”

She just stared, her mouth slightly open, then she pushed herself out of the booth. “Fine,” she snarled, her voice tight with unshed tears. “Go on, then. Be with your little, perfect new girl. See how long that lasts.” She practically ran out of the Grill, the bell above the door jingling indignantly as it swung shut behind her.

I watched her go, a sense of grim finality settling over me. It was done. I looked up to see Elena and Stefan still watching, their expressions unreadable. Stefan gave me a small, almost sympathetic nod. Elena’s face was harder to read, but there was a definite hint of disapproval there. I didn’t care. It was a messy conversation, but I’d handled it. Or, rather, I’d survived it.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Maya. You okay? Took you a while. Want to watch the movie now?

A small smile, the first genuine one since I walked in, touched my lips. That was Maya. Always intuitive, always sensing when something was up, even without words. She was probably getting bombarded by the ambient thoughts and emotions of anyone within a mile radius of the Grill. Be home in 10, I typed back.

Getting out of the Grill, the air felt even lighter. The conversation had been rough, but it was a weight lifted. Driving my Buick back to the house, I thought about Maya. She was curled up in my bed, right now, probably in that old t-shirt of mine, reading some ridiculously long book. She was so different from Vicki. Vicki was chaos, drama, a whirlwind of unpredictable emotions. Maya was… calm. Quiet. Grounding. She was a haven, a soft place to land.

My parents, bless their hearts, had practically adopted her the moment she set foot in our house. My mom, especially, is constantly hinting that I should just “make it official” with Maya. “She’s such a sweet girl, Tyler,” she’d say, or “She’d be such a good influence on you.” My dad, surprisingly, agreed. They saw it. Everyone saw it, apparently, except me, for the longest time.

Matt called us “idiots in love.” He wasn’t wrong. We acted like we were in a relationship, but we hadn’t quite put a label on it. We slept together, we spent every waking moment together, and we confided everything in each other. She knew about my untriggered wolf, about the curse on my family. I knew about her powers, her heritage, and the reason she was in Mystic Falls. No secrets. Nothing hidden. It was a level of honesty and intimacy I’d never had with anyone. Not even close.

I pulled into the driveway. The house was quiet, my parents still away. Stepping inside, the silence was comforting, not isolating. I made my way upstairs, past my mom’s meticulously arranged decorative vases and my dad’s golf trophies. The soft glow of my bedside lamp spilled from under my bedroom door.

I pushed the door open quietly.

There she was. Maya, my Freya. Curled on her side under my duvet, her dark, wavy hair spread across the pillow. She was wearing my faded Timberwolves baseball tee from middle school, the grey tights barely visible beneath the covers. She held The Hunger Games open in one hand, completely absorbed, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her small, petite frame looked even smaller against my king-sized bed, but she owned the space, radiating a quiet, steady energy.

She looked up when she heard me, her dark brown eyes meeting mine. A sleepy, soft smile bloomed on her face, instantly warming the room.

“Hey, T,” she murmured, her voice a little gravelly from sleep and reading. She pushed herself up slightly, propping herself on an elbow. “You’re back. Everything okay?”

I walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge, looking at her. She was so damn tiny, five feet of pure, formidable power, and yet so utterly gentle. The height difference between us, something I never used to care about, was now one of my favourite things. It made pulling her close, holding her, feel so natural.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice a little rougher than I intended. “Everything’s okay. It’s… done with Vicki.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes searching mine, assessing. “Good. I’m glad. For both of you.” She reached out, her small hand covering mine where it rested on the duvet. Her touch was warm and comforting.

In that moment, looking at her, curled up in my bed, waiting for me, I realized it. Matt was right. My parents were right. Everyone was right. The way my chest eased just being in her presence, the way my mind quieted, the way the chaos of my life seemed to settle around her… this wasn’t just “different.” This was it. She wasn’t just a girl I was “sleeping with.” She was… Maya. My Freya. She was my ást.

She was the clarity I’d been searching for, the answer to questions I hadn’t even known to ask. All the restless energy, the anger, the confusion that had always been a part of me seemed to dissipate when I was with her. She made me want to be better, to be better.

Tyler Lockwood, the arrogant, selfish jerk, was changing. And it was all because of the quiet, brilliant, powerful girl who was looking at me with nothing but understanding and warmth.

“Come here,” I said, pulling her gently toward me. She slid across the bed, laying her head on my chest, her book forgotten on the pillow. I wrapped my arms around her, burying my face in her soft, dark hair, inhaling the faint, sweet scent of her.

“I think,” I murmured against her hair, the words a quiet declaration meant only for her, “you’re exactly what I needed.”

She didn’t say anything, just snuggled closer, her hand coming to rest over my heart. But I felt the small smile against my shirt, and in that moment, I knew she understood. And for the first time in my life, everything felt like it was finally, truly, falling into place.

Chapter 7: Falling Slowly

Mystic Falls, Virginia. Tuesday, August 25, 2009. Midday had settled over the town, painting the sky in a muted canvas of sun and cloud, the air a crisp 19°C that whispered of autumn’s approach. I hated the chill. My soul, so deeply rooted in the fiery magic of my ancestry, craved the warmth of the tropics my mother had always spoken of. But this was home now, or at least, the closest thing to it.

Tyler’s beat-up pickup truck rumbled to a halt outside Bonnie’s quaint Victorian house. The front porch, adorned with hanging baskets of wilting petunias, looked exactly as I’d pictured it from Bonnie’s enthusiastic descriptions.

“You sure about this, May?” Tyler’s voice, a low rumble from his chest, vibrated through the truck’s cabin. His hand, warm and calloused, found mine, his fingers lacing through my own. I loved the feel of his skin. Everything about Tyler felt… right. Secure. Like home.

“Positive,” I murmured, squeezing his hand. His worry stemmed from not wanting me to be alone with Bonnie’s grandmother, a formidable witch he’d only heard whispered about. My own powers, a complex tapestry of witch, wolf, and untriggered vampire, were a secret to most, but not to Tyler. Not since that first night in the woods, two months ago, when our bodies had tangled and our souls had recognized each other, my triggered wolf answering his untriggered call. We hadn’t held back since, exploring every facet of intimacy, from quiet cuddles to breathless nights. He knew everything, and I knew him. It was a bond that transcended the physical.

“She’s a Bennett,” I added, my voice softer. “My family… we owe them.” The Mikaelson oath, ‘Always and Forever’, extended to the Bennett coven, a pact forged in ancestral blood. It was a piece of history I’d only recently come to fully comprehend, learning about it in hushed tones from my mother’s spirit.

Tyler leaned over, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. “Just… shout if you need me.” His concern was a constant hum around him when it came to me, a fierce, almost possessive energy that I, surprisingly, found comforting. It was new, this feeling of being fiercely protected, a stark contrast to the neglect of my childhood.

I smiled, a genuine curl of my lips. “I’ll be fine. Go on, don’t want your mom calling a search party.” I watched him pull away, his dark hair catching the light as he reversed down the drive. Tyler was a giant to my mere five feet, and I relished the way I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze, the safe envelopment of his arms when he pulled me close. It was a comforting paradox, his large, powerful frame and my petite, curvy one.

Pushing open the ornate wooden door, I stepped into the familiar scent of herbs, old books, and something distinctly… magical. I was dressed in my usual uniform: a Toronto Blue Jays tee, black leggings, and, for now, barefoot. My Kautuka, the sacred black and gold bead bracelet my mother had given me, felt cool against my wrist, alongside small gold hoops in my ears. Esther’s Talisman, Rebekah’s necklace, lay heavy and reassuring against my chest, hidden beneath my shirt, the silver glinting even through the fabric. My unruly dark brown hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a futile attempt to tame its frizzy waves.

“Maya! You made it!” Bonnie’s cheerful voice cut through my focused calm. She appeared from the living room, her face alight with a smile. “Grams is here! She’s been dying to meet you.”

“Hey, Bon.” I returned her smile, a genuine warmth spreading through me. Bonnie, Matt, and Tyler had become my anchors in this strange new town. They were oblivious to the true depths of my power, to the ancient bloodlines thrumming beneath my skin, but they were real.

As I followed Bonnie into the living room, a woman with piercing, ancient eyes rose from a plush armchair. Sheila Bennett. Bonnie’s Grams. She was regal, her dark skin smooth, her silver hair pulled back in an elegant bun. And those eyes… they saw. They didn’t just see Maya Persaud, the shy new girl. They saw the Tribrid, the Original, the witch heir.

“Maya. It’s a pleasure to meet you finally,” Sheila said, her voice a deep, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate with untold power. Her gaze lingered on me, sweeping over my form, and I felt a faint hum of magic, a soft probe against my own shields. It was a test—a recognition. My internal shields, honed over years of dealing with my mother’s sometimes… overbearing lessons, held firm. I merely offered a small, polite nod, my learned Indo-Guyanese politeness kicking in.

“Likewise, Ms. Bennett.” I inclined my head slightly.

“Gram,” Bonnie corrected gently, pulling me towards a chair. “Let’s get your hands in here, my hair is a mess.” She gestured to the various tubs of hair products spread across a low table.

I settled onto the floor behind Bonnie, taking a section of her dark hair in my hands. The familiar rhythm of braiding – sectioning, twisting, weaving – was meditative. It allowed me to clear my mind, to tamp down the sensory overload that came from being around too many human minds. The school earlier had been a cacophony, a jumble of thoughts and emotions assaulting my psychic senses. It was why Tyler’s presence was so vital; his familiar mind, the clear echo of his wolf, was a beacon in the storm.

We talked about trivial things at first – school, Bonnie’s plans for the upcoming dance, and my band tryouts. Grams sat quietly, occasionally sipping from a teacup, her eyes never truly leaving me. I could feel her presence, a watchful, ancient power. She knew. How much, I wasn’t sure, but enough.

Suddenly, Bonnie’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “It’s Dad. Probably wants me to help with dinner. Be right back.” She untangled herself from my hands, leaving the partially braided cornrows, and disappeared into the kitchen.

The silence that fell was thick, charged with unspoken magic. Sheila Bennett’s eyes, the colour of rich Earth, locked with mine. “His blood runs deep in you, child.” It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration.

My fingers hesitated, then continued to work on Bonnie’s hair, a grounding action. “It does,” I affirmed quietly. “And hers.” My mother’s spirit, Indira Persaud, a powerful Spirit Witch, had been my sole teacher for most of my life. Her death had been brutal, a coven of dark witches eager to harvest my burgeoning powers, to eliminate a Mikaelson heir. I’d killed one of them that night, the act triggering my father’s wolf curse within me. The first taste of blood, the visceral shift, had been terrifying and exhilarating.

Sheila leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, serious tone. “Do you truly understand what that means, Maya Freya Persaud? To carry the blood of the Mikaelsons, the Persauds, the Aumonts, the Hagens? To be… what you are?”

I met her gaze, no longer shy. My expression, I hoped, was one of calm conviction. “I understand that I am an Original Tribrid. A Spirit Witch, a triggered Werewolf, an untriggered Vampire.” I listed my identities, each word a stone laid bare. “I understand that my family, the Mikaelsons, are ancient. And dangerous. And that they made a blood oath, eons ago, with your ancestors, the Bennetts.”

Grams’ eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of approval, or perhaps surprise, in their depths. “The ‘Always and Forever’ oath.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “To protect your line. To always be there for a Bennett witch.” My fingers paused, resting gently on Bonnie’s scalp. “And I understand that a new vampire has arrived in Mystic Falls. Stefan Salvatore. And that his brother will undoubtedly follow.” I internally scoffed. Baby Vamp. He was barely a century and a half old. Old by human standards, but by Mikaelson’s terms? He was a newborn, still learning to crawl in a world of ancient power. My father, Klaus, was over a thousand years old. His siblings are just as ancient. My brother, Marcel, born in the 1800s, was also centuries old. Even I, at sixteen, carried an older soul, an older magic, within me than Stefan could ever comprehend.

“And what do you understand about them?” Sheila prompted, her gaze unwavering.

“They are… new,” I stated, choosing my words carefully. “They believe they are powerful. But they are merely children playing with fire; they don’t comprehend. Stefan is a ripper, a creature of habit and control. Damon is chaos personified. Neither of them understands the true nature of power, of ancient magic, of bloodlines that run back to the dawn of time.” My voice was low, but each word resonated with an undercurrent of raw power.

“And Bonnie?”

My eyes, dark and resolute, locked with hers. “Bonnie Bennett is my friend. She is an untapped Bennett witch. And she is in danger, whether she knows it or not, simply by existing in the orbit of the Salvatores and their drama. And I,” I emphasized, my voice gaining a steel edge, “will protect her. The Mikaelson oath stands, whether my family is here to uphold it or not. I am here. And I will not allow her to be harmed. Not by any fucking Baby Vamp, not by any ancient curse, and not by any power-hungry witch coven.”

A genuine smile, slow and knowing, spread across Sheila Bennett’s face. It was a smile that promised both alliance and understanding. “I see. Your mother taught you well.”

“She taught me that power comes with responsibility. And that family… true family… protects its own. Even those family members you’ve only just met,” I finished, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that was forging between us, two powerful witches, separated by generations but united by a shared history and a fierce loyalty to the innocent. I, Maya Freya Persaud, was not just a girl. I was a Persaud, an Aumont, a Hagen, and most undeniably, a Mikaelson. And for Bonnie Bennett, I would unleash every ounce of ancient, dark, beautiful power within me.

The rain lashed against the tall windows of the Mikaelson mansion, a steady, soothing rhythm that echoed the quiet hum of the ancient house. Inside, curled on the plush velvet sofa in the main drawing room, I was draped in Tyler’s worn football T-shirt, its soft cotton a comforting second skin. My hair, still damp from a quick shower, was pulled into a messy bun, tendrils escaping to tickle my neck. Tyler, shirtless and barefoot in his basketball shorts, had his arm slung loosely around me, pulling me closer to his side. We were deep into an Ugly Betty marathon, the bright colours of the screen a stark contrast to the stormy evening outside.

“She’s really going to choose Henry, isn’t she?” I murmured, my voice a little muffled against his chest. His heartbeat, strong and steady, vibrated beneath my ear.

“Nah, no way,” Tyler scoffed, his fingers idly tracing patterns on my arm, sending shivers through me. “Gio is clearly the one. They have more chemistry.”

“You’re just saying that because he’s a baker. You like food.” I nudged him playfully with my elbow.

He chuckled, a low rumble. “And what’s wrong with that, Freya? A man’s got to eat. Besides, Gio actually challenges her. Henry’s too… safe.”

I hummed, considering it. “Maybe. But sometimes safe is good.” I leaned my head back, looking up at him. His dark eyes, usually smouldering with an untamed energy, were soft, focused on the screen, yet aware of my gaze. “You know, it’s weird how much you get into this show.”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Hey, it’s good. Plus, it’s more fun watching it with you.” His fingers moved from my arm, sliding up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. The simple touch sent a familiar warmth spreading through me, a quiet current that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with him.

The casual comfort between us was a strange, wonderful thing. Matt, bless his oblivious heart, called us “idiots in love,” and sometimes, in the quiet moments like these, I wondered if he wasn’t entirely wrong. We were rarely not touching, our conversations flowed effortlessly, and there was an intimacy in our shared silences that I hadn’t known existed. We didn’t need to define it, and perhaps that’s why it worked.

As the rain intensified, a flicker of lightning illuminated the room for a split second, casting dancing shadows. My mind, ever-attuned to the pulses of the world around me, registered a faint, discordant hum in the periphery of my senses – a familiar, unsettling vibration that had been present in Mystic Falls since Stefan arrived.

“He’s getting bolder,” I said, my voice dropping, the lightheartedness fading.

Tyler’s hand stilled on my face. “Who?” he asked, though I knew he already knew.

“Stefan,” I clarified, pushing myself up slightly so I could see his face clearly. “His control… It’s fraying. I can feel it. Like a loose thread on a carefully woven tapestry.”

Tyler’s brows furrowed. “Feel what, Freya? What is he, really? You said he’s a ‘Baby Vamp,’ but you also said he was old. You’ve never really explained it.” His voice was low, laced with a concern that was entirely for me. He knew I had secrets, he even knew most of them – the family, the powers – but the nuances of the supernatural world were still new to him.

I sighed, leaning my head back against the sofa. “It’s complicated, T. There are different kinds of vampires. Most are turned, like Stefan. They’re effectively dead, powered by blood, but still tied to their human emotions, their human weaknesses. My family, on the other hand, are Original. The very first of their kind. They’re different. Stronger. Older than any other creature save for a handful of true ancient beings. Stefan has been a vampire for just over a century. That’s nothing. A flicker in the grand scheme of things.”

I paused, looking at his concerned face. “But Stefan… he has a problem. He’s what we call a ‘Ripper.’ When he loses control, he doesn’t just feed. He rips. He tears his victims to pieces. Drains them dry, completely. He’s spent centuries trying to control it, to starve himself into submission, to be the ‘good’ vampire. But it’s always there, lurking under the surface. A creature of habit, of rigid control, because if he lets go even a little, the Ripper emerges.”

Tyler tightened his arm around my waist, pulling me even closer. “And Damon? What’s his deal? He just seems… chaotic.”

“That’s exactly what he is,” I confirmed, a small, wry smile touching my lips. “Damon is chaos personified. Completely unhinged, unpredictable. He embraces his nature, every dark impulse. He’s the opposite of Stefan. While Stefan tries to cage his inner demon, Damon sets him free. They are two sides of a very old, very dark coin.”

“And you can… feel all this?” he asked, his voice soft, almost reverent.

“I can feel the magic in the town, the shifts in energy, the residual echoes of centuries of supernatural activity. And Stefan’s… inner turmoil radiates, even if he tries to hide it. It’s like a low-frequency hum, just off-key.” I looked at his face, sensing his unease, his protective instincts rising. “It’s why I’m here, T. This town… It’s a beacon. A nexus of power. And with Stefan and Damon here, it’s only going to get crazier.”

“Are you safe?” His voice was gruff, an edge of worry in it.

I smiled, a genuine, warm smile. “As safe as I can be in a town full of supernatural drama. And safer, now that I have you.” I reached up, cupping his cheek, my thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw. He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing for a moment.

The air in the room shifted, growing heavier, charged with an unspoken current. The rain outside amplifies the intimacy, drawing a soft, protective bubble around us. He opened his eyes, dark and intense, and my breath hitched. The conversation about vampires faded, replaced by the raw, undeniable pull between us.

His head lowered, slowly, deliberately. I met him halfway, tilting my chin up. His lips found mine, a soft brush that quickly deepened into a hungry kiss. It was a kiss that tasted of rain and unspoken promises, of comfort and a fierce connection that transcended words. My hands threaded through his short, dark hair, pulling him closer, as his arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me slightly, fitting my petite frame perfectly against his muscular form. The height difference, which I adored, made my head tilt back, giving him easy access as his mouth devoured mine.

He broke the kiss for a moment, just long enough for us to gasp for air, foreheads resting against each other. His gaze was burning, dark with a desire that mirrored my own. “Freya,” he breathed, his voice rough, a low rumble against my lips.

“Ást,” I whispered back, my own voice barely audible, a silent pledge in Old Norse.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, a slow burn that spread through my veins like warm honey. The Ugly Betty theme song had long faded into the background, forgotten. All that existed was the press of our bodies, the slide of his skin against mine, the increasingly urgent rhythm of our breaths.

His hands moved, sliding under the hem of his T-shirt – my T-shirt, I reminded myself, a small, irrelevant thought – and finding the delicate lace of my underwear. A shiver ran through me, a delicious tremor that started deep in my core. He lifted me effortlessly, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my bare feet brushing against his thighs. He carried me, still kissing me, out of the living room and up the wide, curving staircase, the soft thuds of our bare feet the only sound besides the rain.

The master bedroom, vast and opulent, was softly lit by the ambient light from the stormy sky. He laid me gently on the massive four-poster bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin. He hovered over me for a moment, his eyes scanning my face, as if seeking confirmation, an unspoken question in his gaze.

I reached up, my fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “Yes, T,” I whispered, reading his unasked question. “Always yes.”

A slow, sensual smile spread across his face, and he lowered himself, his body covering mine. His lips trailed down my neck, sending electric sparks wherever they touched, feather-light kisses that promised something deeper. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling gently as a soft moan escaped my lips.

Our bodies moved together with a familiar, effortless rhythm, a dance we had learned two months ago beneath the stars and firelight, and had perfected in the stolen moments since. It wasn’t just physical; it was a profound merging of souls, a silent promise woven into every touch, every breath. The rain outside seemed to intensify with the rising tempo of our passion, mimicking the storm within.

He moved with a deliberate slowness, drawing out every exquisite sensation, his movements tender yet possessive, making sure I felt every inch of him, every ounce of his desire for me. My vision blurred, consumed by the feel of his skin against mine, the raw, masculine scent of him, the taste of his mouth on mine. A symphony of sighs and whispers filled the room, my name on his lips, his name on mine, breathed like a prayer.

I arched into him, meeting his thrusts, lost in the exquisite sensation that built and built, tightening around us until it was all-consuming. Every nerve ending sang with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, and then, in a wave, it broke, shattering into a million shimmering pieces. My nails dug into his back, and I cried out, a raw, primal sound, as the world exploded around us, only to slowly coalesce back into the familiar comfort of his arms.

He held me tight, burying his face in my hair, his own body trembling slightly. The storm outside began to recede, the rain softening to a gentle patter. We lay tangled together, breathless, skin slick with sweat, the scent of sex and something deeper, something akin to belonging, filling the air.

After a long moment, he shifted, propping himself up on an elbow, his dark eyes gazing down at me with an intensity that never failed to make my heart ache in the best possible way. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind my ear, his touch infinitely gentle.

“You’re okay?” he murmured, his voice husky.

I nodded, a soft sigh escaping me. “More than okay, T. Always.” I reached up, tracing the curve of his bicep. “Just us.”

He mirrored my smile, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Just us, Freya. Always.”

Outside, the rain had stopped, and a sliver of pale moonlight pierced through the retreating clouds, casting a soft glow into the room. A new day would dawn soon, bringing with it school and the growing complexity of Mystic Falls. But for now, held tight in Tyler’s arms, the world outside faded into nothingness. Here, in the quiet aftermath, only we existed, two halves of an inexplicable whole, bound by something far deeper than any words could convey.

Chapter 8: Baby

The humid August air hung heavy, even inside the Mikaelson mansion. I’d kicked off Tyler’s football jersey, but the black leggings were still clinging, a second skin against my tanned legs. Barefoot, I padded across the polished, ancient wood floors, the Kautuka and gold and black beads bracelet on my wrist clinking softly with each step. Rebekah’s talisman, a silver amulet, rested heavily against my chest, its cool metal a familiar comfort beneath the loose fabric of the jersey. My hair, a dark brown frizzy mess, was wrestled into a hurried bun atop my head, escaping tendrils already damp at my temples.

It was midday, the kind of suffocating heat that made you crave a long, cold shower, but I was currently too engrossed in my book, sprawled on a plush velvet settee in what my family had once called the drawing room. The sheer size of this house, this ‘manor’ as the realtor had so grandiosely called it, still amazed me. It felt more like a museum, filled with ghosts and echoes of a family I barely knew but felt deeply connected to. After two months here, I was slowly making it my own, injecting life into the centuries of stillness.

My phone, a clunky Nokia flip-phone, buzzed on the antique side table beside me, pulling me from the spell of the words. It was Tyler. Again. My lips curved into an automatic smile. My untriggered wolf had mated with his untriggered wolf, a bizarre, instinctual connection that had manifested as an undeniable physical intimacy between us. Ever since that night in the woods – June 15th, the night I’d fully triggered my own wolf and we’d had sex – we’d been inseparable. He was protective, possessive even, and I loved it. Something was comforting, something primal, about being claimed by someone.

“Hey, Romeo,” I answered, pressing the phone to my ear, my voice warm.

“Hey, beautiful. Still holed up in that giant mausoleum?” His voice was a low rumble, laced with amusement. He called my house a mausoleum, but I knew he secretly loved it too. He always looked so out of place, so ordinary in the midst of all this ancient grandeur, but he fit in perfectly with me.

“It’s a ‘manor,’ Tyler. And yes, it’s 32 degrees Celsius outside. I’m melting.”

“Come on over,” he offered. “My AC actually works, and my parents are out. We could finish Ugly Betty.” He knew I was hooked.

“Tempting, very tempting,” I said, stretching, my bare toes wiggling. “But I just remembered something. My brother’s ex-sister-in-law, Ava, is supposed to be swinging by today. She texted me last night. Said she was in town and wanted to catch up.”

A beat of silence. “Marcel’s baby mama? Davina’s mom?” His tone shifted, a hint of something I couldn’t quite place. Curiosity? Discomfort?

“The one and only,” I confirmed. “We haven’t seen each other in years. Not since… well, since everything back in New Orleans first went to shit.” My mother had been wary of Marcel’s connection to Klaus, and that had extended to his family, too. But Ava and I had always had a strange, quiet understanding.

“Alright. Well, don’t forget you’re sleeping over tonight. My mom practically made me promise she could cook you your favourite enchiladas for dinner.”

I chuckled. Tyler’s parents had taken me in like a stray puppy. They saw me as their daughter-in-law, a notion that both delighted and flustered me. “I haven’t forgotten. Tell Mrs. Lockwood I’m already salivating. You better pick me up, though. My car’s still at the shop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of letting you walk in this heat. See you later, Freya. Or Maya Freya, I guess.” He always called me Freya when he was being affectionate, a nod to my deceased aunt. It was one of the many things that made him special. He knew me – all of me.

We hung up, and I found myself smiling at the phone. My bond with Tyler was a strange, beautiful thing. Matt, our mutual friend, had labelled us ‘idiots in love,’ oblivious to the obvious. Maybe we were. We hadn’t used the words’ boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend,’ but our actions screamed it. He was always touching me, pulling me close, his arm around my waist, a hand on my knee, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin. And I always leaned into him, found solace in his presence. The height difference between us, my 5’0” to his 5’8”, was something I utterly adored. I could practically disappear in his arms.

A soft knock at the grand oak front door startled me. Ava. I’d completely lost track of time. I pushed myself up, the book sliding from my lap.

When I opened the door, a woman with striking features and a kind, albeit tired, smile stood on the porch. “Maya! Oh, look at you!”

“Ava! It’s been too long.” I pulled her into a warm hug, inhaling the faint scent of something earthy and floral – a witch’s scent. She felt familiar, like a forgotten piece of my past, brought back into focus. “Come in, come in. The heat is unbearable today.”

She stepped inside, her eyes taking in the grand foyer and the sweeping staircase. “This house… It’s exactly as I remember. Klaus has kept it up.”

“He has. Or rather, he pays people to,” I said with a dry laugh, leading her to the drawing-room where I’d been reading. “How are you? How’s Davina? I can’t believe she’s almost a teenager now.”

Ava smiled, a genuine, soft smile. “She’s good, Maya. Growing up so fast. She’s starting to really come into her powers, you know? It’s a lot to manage for a young witch, especially with… her lineage.” She glanced at me pointedly. Davina, like me, was an Original Tribrid – witch, untriggered Vampire, untriggered werewolf. We were rare.

“I can only imagine,” I murmured, offering her a seat. “My mother taught me everything she could about being a witch, but being this… this much… It’s a lot to navigate. Especially the wolf side. But it was just as strong. I had to figure a lot out on my own.”

We settled into comfortable silence for a moment, just looking at each other. Ava’s gaze was perceptive, taking in my appearance. My untamed hair, the bare feet, the oversized jersey.

“You’ve grown up,” she said softly, her eyes lingering on me. “Last time I saw you, you were just a little sprout, barely reaching my waist. Your mother would be so proud.”

A pang of grief, familiar and sharp, went through me. Indira. My mother. She hadn’t been a great parent, more a distant guardian focused on my magical education, but she was all I had. Her death, barely two months ago, was still a raw wound. I’d killed a witch that day, triggering my wolf, an act of self-preservation that had haunted my dreams ever since.

“She’s… gone,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “A group of witches. They wanted my powers. To kill me, sever the Mikaelson line.” My eyes met hers. “I killed one of them. Triggered my wolf.”

Ava’s face contorted with sympathy, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine. “Oh, Maya. I’m so, so sorry. I heard… rumours, but I didn’t know the details. That’s a heavy burden, sweetie. Especially so young.”

I nodded, feeling the familiar tightening in my chest. “I ran. Left Canada, came here. To find what little family I could. This place was still here, thankfully. Dad kept it for centuries.”

“Klaus,” Ava said, a slight shake of her head. “Always full of surprises. So, you’re here alone?”

“Pretty much. I’m legally an adult, thanks to my mother’s lawyer. I’m enrolled in Mystic Falls High. Starting senior year next week. AP Music, AP English, AP Financial, and study hall. All with Tyler.” I smiled, the mention of his name a natural warmth. “He’s practically my shadow.”

Ava’s eyes twinkled. “Tyler Lockwood, huh? I hear he’s quite the looker. Marcel mentioned him once or twice. Said he saw a distinct spark in him, a familiar energy.”

“He’s an untriggered wolf,” I confirmed, lowering my voice. “I sensed it right away. My wolf just… knew. And he knew mine.”

A knowing look passed between us. The untriggered wolf mating was rare and powerful. “Ah. So, it’s like that. The bond is strong, then?”

“Stronger than anything I’ve ever felt,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing slightly. “He knows everything. About my family, my powers. Everything. We don’t keep secrets.”

“Good,” Ava said, a genuine smile gracing her lips. “Honesty is key in relationships, especially with… our kind.” She paused, her gaze once again sweeping over me, more intently this time. Her witchy eyes, wise and ancient despite her relatively young appearance, seemed to pierce through me.

Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of bewildered shock, then dawning realization. Her eyes widened, focusing on my midsection, then snapping back to my face.

“Maya,” she breathed, her voice barely audible. “Are you… You’re not drinking any of this sweet tea I poured, are you?”

I looked down at the untouched glass. “No, I guess not. Not really thirsty, I suppose.”

Her hand reached out, not to my hand this time, but to my stomach, hovering inches away. Her eyes, suddenly sharp and filled with a raw intensity, looked into mine.

“Maya,” she whispered again, her voice thick with emotion, “Baby Girl, do you know? Have you even realized?”

I frowned, a sudden chill running through me despite the sweltering heat. Her tone, the look on her face, sent a jolt of unease through my core. “Realized what, Ava?”

Her gaze softened, filled with a mixture of awe and concern. She finally placed her hand gently on my abdomen, a silent current of magic passing between us. My witch core, normally a simmering cauldron of energy, pulsed in response, a strange, new warmth spreading through me.

“Maya Freya Nikolasdóttir Mikaelson Persaud,” Ava said, her voice trembling slightly, “you’re pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible. Pregnant? Me? At sixteen? With Tyler’s baby? My mind raced, flashing back to that night in the woods, the searing pain of my first shift, the primal urge that had consumed us both. We hadn’t used protection. We hadn’t even thought about it. It had been pure instinct, pure need.

My hand flew to my stomach, mirroring Ava’s. My mind, usually so clear and rational, felt like a scrambled mess. Pregnant. How could I be pregnant? I was a tribrid, a supernatural anomaly. Could I even get pregnant? And if so, what kind of child would it be? Another tribrid? Was it even possible? And Tyler… he was only an untriggered wolf. He wasn’t even full-blown supernatural yet.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic drumbeat in the sudden silence of the grand room. I felt dizzy, a wave of nausea washing over me that had nothing to do with the heat. It was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear. And something else, too – a faint, almost imperceptible flutter, deep within. A warmth, a connection I hadn’t recognized until now.

Ava’s hand squeezed mine, her eyes full of profound understanding. “It’s a lot, I know. But Maya, darling, you’re a miracle. A tribrid. And this… this is a new miracle.”

New miracle. Or a catastrophic complication. My mind was reeling. Tyler. How would Tyler react? Our casual, intimate bond had been growing into something more, something real and deep, but this… this was completely uncharted territory. And my family, the Mikaelsons, the ancient, powerful Originals. How would they react to a new heir, born of a casual fling in the woods?

I was Maya Freya Persaud. Spirit Witch, Werewolf, untriggered Vampire. Daughter of Klaus Mikaelson. The one who couldn’t truly die. But this… this felt like a death of sorts. The death of my carefree, complicated, yet predictable teenage life. And the birth of something terrifyingly beautiful.

The air in the Mikaelson mansion, usually a comforting embrace of old magic and forgotten history, felt suddenly heavy, stifling. My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic drumbeat echoing the frantic thoughts in my head. Ava, bless her ancient, insightful soul, had just left, leaving me with a truth that both terrified and mystified me.

Pregnant.

The word hung in the silence of the library, a massive, impossible weight. My hands instinctively went to my stomach, though there was nothing to feel yet, no outward sign of the secret growing within me. Sixteen. I was sixteen, barely an adult in the eyes of the law, and already I was carrying a child. Tyler’s child.

A wave of nausea, sharper than any I’d felt before, washed over me. It wasn’t just the physical reaction, but the sheer enormity of it. My mother had been a terrible parent, and she’d died trying to protect me. My father, Klaus, was a legend, a monster, an Original Hybrid who’d been in and out of my life, a phantom. I knew of my brother, Marcel, and my niece, Davina, only through stories. How could I be a mother? Me, Maya Freya Persaud, the girl who spent her time lost in books and ancient languages, who communicated with spirits and manipulated the very fabric of reality?

My mind, usually so clear and rational, spun with chaos. This wasn’t in any of the prophecies I’d glimpsed, any of the divinations I’d attempted. This was… life. Raw, unpredictable, and terrifyingly real. What about my powers? What kind of being would my child be? A tribrid like me? An Original? The thought sent a fresh jolt of fear through me. Another target for those who hunted my family.

I needed Tyler. Now.

I pulled on my sneakers, the familiar weight of Tyler’s football jersey still draped over me, a strange comfort in the midst of my panic. The scent of him, faint but present, was a lifeline. I had to tell him. We didn’t keep anything from each other. He was my T, my ást. He deserved to know. His family deserved to know. More importantly, I needed him.

The drive to the Lockwood estate felt like an eternity. The August sun beat down on the vintage Buick GS, but the heat was nothing compared to the inferno raging inside me. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles were white. Dread warred with a bizarre surge of protectiveness, a primal instinct I hadn’t known I possessed. This was my baby. Our baby.

I pulled up the long, winding driveway to the imposing Lockwood mansion. Tyler’s car was already there. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I got out. The house smelled faintly of lemon polish and old money. I walked through the unlocked front door, my bare feet silent on the polished wood floors. Voices drifted from the living room – Tyler’s, robust and clear, and Mayor Lockwood’s, a low, authoritative rumble. Mrs. Lockwood’s gentle laugh punctuated the conversation.

“Maya, darling!” Carol Lockwood’s voice was warm as she spotted me. She was sitting on a plush sofa, a magazine in her lap. Richard Lockwood, grim-faced as ever, was across from her, a newspaper held open. Tyler was sprawled in an armchair, scrolling on his phone, looking up with that lazy, possessive smirk that always made my stomach flutter.

“Hey, Mrs. Lockwood, Mayor Lockwood,” I said, my voice sounding strangely reedy to my own ears. I tried to project an air of normalcy, but my skin felt tight, my palms sweaty. Tyler’s eyes, dark and piercing, locked onto mine. He must have seen something in my expression because his smirk faded, replaced by concern.

“Freya? Is everything alright?” he asked, rising from his chair. His footsteps were quiet, but his presence was anything but. He was next to me in an instant, his large hand finding the small of my back, a comforting weight. My little gold hoops seemed to hum with the tension.

I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat. This was it. There was no graceful way to say this. No easy way to break the news to the Mayor of Mystic Falls and his wife, much less their son. The Mayor, a staunch conservative, would undoubtedly see this as a black mark on their family name.

“Actually, no,” I managed, my voice breaking slightly. All three sets of eyes were on me now. Carol’s expression softened with worry. Richard’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. Tyler’s hand tightened on my back.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Carol asked, concern etched on her face. “Are you feeling unwell?”

I looked at Tyler, his face an open book of concern and protectiveness. He loved me. He’d told me more than once. We shared everything. And this… this was everything.

“Tyler,” I began, my gaze locked with his, drawing strength from his unwavering gaze. “T. Ást.”

His eyes softened at the Old Norse endearment, but the tension in his shoulders remained. “What is it, Freya? Tell me.”

I took another shaky breath, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess myself. “I’m pregnant.”

The air in the living room solidified. A shocked silence descended, heavy and suffocating.

Tyler’s hand dropped from my back. His dark eyes, usually so vibrant, were wide, almost unseeing. He blinked, then looked at my stomach, then back to my face, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that made no sense. “You… you’re what?” he mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically small.

Carol gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her magazine slipped from her lap and hit the floor with a soft thud. Her eyes darted between me and Tyler, a mixture of shock and something else – a dawning realization, perhaps, of the implications.

Richard Lockwood’s face, however, turned a dangerous shade of crimson. His newspaper crumpled in his fist. “Pregnant?” he roared, slamming his hand on the armrest of his chair. “Maya, what in God’s name are you talking about? You’re sixteen years old! Tyler, what have you done?”

Tyler, jolted by his father’s outburst, snapped back into action. His wolf, even untriggered, simmered beneath the surface, his protectiveness a palpable force. He stepped in front of me, shielding me slightly from his father’s fury. “Dad, don’t you dare talk to her like that!” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, a stark contrast to his earlier stunned whisper.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, boy!” Richard shot back, pushing himself to his feet. “Do you have any idea what this means? The Lockwood name! Your future! And hers, for that matter! You’re both children!”

“Richard, calm down!” Carol interjected, her voice sharp with uncharacteristic authority. She rose, moving quickly to my side, her hand gently taking mine. Her touch was surprisingly steady. “Let’s just… let’s just breathe. Maya, honey, are you sure?”

I nodded, my voice still trembling. “Ava confirmed it. I’m… I’m about ten weeks along, maybe a little more.”

This new detail hit Tyler. Ten weeks. That meant… the party. June 15th. The night we’d first slept together. His eyes met mine again, and this time, there was no doubt, no confusion, only a profound, almost overwhelming mixture of shock and fierce protectiveness. The mating bond, the deep, primal connection our wolves shared, flared between us, binding us tighter in this moment of crisis.

“Ten weeks…” Tyler breathed, his gaze still fixed on me, a new, complex emotion swirling in his dark eyes. It was fear, yes, but also a burgeoning sense of responsibility, a fierce, primal pride. He was going to be a father.

“Ten weeks?! Tyler!” Richard roared again, his face practically purple. “You’ve ruined everything! Your football scholarship, your college plans! Our family’s reputation!”

“Richard!” Carol stepped forward, placing herself between her husband and Tyler. “That is enough! This is not just about reputation! This is about our son and Maya! A baby!” Her voice faltered slightly, but her gaze at Maya was still gentle. “Honey, are you alright? How are you feeling?”

“Just… overwhelmed,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. My mind was suddenly awash with memories of my own childhood, of my mother’s neglect, of Klaus’s distant presence. I wouldn’t be like that. I couldn’t be like that.

Tyler reached for my hand, pulling me closer to his side. His grip was firm, reassuring. “We’ll figure it out, Freya,” he vowed, his voice low, meant only for me. “We’ll figure it out. I promise you.” The aggression in his tone was gone, replaced by a steely resolve that was both terrifying and incredibly attractive. This was the Tyler who called me ást. The Tyler who would protect what was his.

Richard Lockwood scoffed. “Figure it out? What is there to figure out, Tyler? This is a disaster! You two are children playing house! This changes everything!”

“Damn right it changes everything, Dad!” Tyler snapped, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. “It means Freya and I are going to be parents. And you will respect her! And this baby!”

Carol stepped around Richard, coming back to me, her expression softening even more. She reached out and hesitantly touched my arm. “Maya, dear. What… what do you want to do? Have you thought about… options?” The unspoken word ‘abortion’ hung in the air.

I flinched, pulling back slightly. “No,” I said, my voice gaining strength, a sudden, fierce resolve blooming in my chest. This was mine. Mine and Tyler’s. “No. I haven’t. And I won’t. This is… this is my child. And Tyler’s.”

Tyler’s hand on my back tightened, a silent affirmation. He was with me.

Richard threw his hands up in exasperation. “This is ridiculous! This isn’t some fairytale! This is real life! A child will ruin your lives! Both of you! Maya, you barely know us, you’ve only been in town two months!”

“She’s family, Richard!” Carol interjected, her voice surprisingly strong. “And she’s carrying our grandchild!” She looked at me, a soft, maternal light in her eyes. “Maya, we will support you. Both of you.” She turned to Tyler. “You too, Tyler. This changes things, yes, but we will get through it. Together.”

Tyler’s gaze flickered to his mother, a moment of gratitude passing between them. Then he looked back at his father, his stance defiant. “You hear that, Dad? We’re keeping the baby. And you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Richard Lockwood let out a frustrated growl, turning away. He walked to the window, staring out at the manicured lawns as if seeking answers in the perfect rows of hydrangeas. He was a man of order and control, and this news had just thrown his entire world into chaos.

I watched him, my heart aching with a strange mix of fear and a burgeoning sense of power. I was a tribrid, a force of nature. My child would be too. This wasn’t just about the Lockwoods’ reputation or Tyler’s football scholarship. This was about the next generation of Originals, of witches, of werewolves. This was about destiny, unfolding in the most unexpected, chaotic, terrifying, and utterly beautiful way imaginable.

Tyler pulled me flush against his side, his arm wrapping securely around my waist. He bent his head, his lips brushing my temple. “We’re in this together, Freya,” he whispered, his voice resonating with a deep, unwavering conviction. “You and me. And our ást.”

And in that moment, despite the storm raging around us and the uncertainty ahead, I felt a strange sense of peace. I was scared, yes. But I wasn’t alone. I had Tyler, and soon, we would have our baby. The Mikaelson, Persaud, and Lockwood bloodlines were about to be complicated in a way no one could have predicted. And I, Maya Freya Persaud, was ready for it. Or, at least, I was going to try to be.

Chapter 9: Moonlight River

The clinking of silverware on china felt like thunder in the oppressive silence that had descended upon the Mikaelson dining room. Outside, August’s heat beat down on Mystic Falls, a suffocating 32 degrees Celsius, but inside, a different kind of pressure held us captive. It had been building ever since I’d dropped the bomb – or rather, since Ava had so helpfully announced it, rendering my own planned reveal moot.

Mayor Richard Lockwood, his face a mottled mask of fury and disgust, had just finished his tirade. “Sixteen. Sixteen! And you’re telling me you’re carrying a child? What the fuck have you done, Tyler? What the hell have you done, girl?” His voice, usually reverberating with authority, had cracked on that last word, laced with the kind of contempt I’d grown too familiar with from my own mother. My bare feet, usually finding comfort against the cool marble, felt strangely rooted to the Persian rug beneath the antique dining table.

I shifted in my seat, the silver of Esther’s talisman, Rebekah’s necklace, cool against my skin beneath Tyler’s oversized football jersey. My Kautuka and my gold and black beads bracelet felt heavy, anchors against the swirling unease. I looked at Carol, her face etched with a desperate sadness that mirrored my own, before my gaze found Tyler. He sat beside me, rigid, his hand a solid weight covering mine beneath the table, his knuckles white. His dark eyes, usually smouldering with a barely contained wildness, were narrowed, fixed on his father, a silent threat held in check only by my presence.

“How many weeks are you, dear?” Carol’s voice, soft and hesitant, finally broke the stalemate.

My eyes, dark brown like my hair, met hers. “Thirteen weeks, Carol.” I kept my voice even and calm. “Tyler was close when he guessed ten.”

A dry, humourless laugh grated from the Mayor. “Ten, thirteen, what does it matter? It’s still a bastard child, a ruin on this family’s name. My son, the football captain, knocking up some… some stray from out of town.”

Tyler’s grip on my hand tightened, and his chair scraped back slightly. “Dad, that’s enough!” His voice was a low growl, vibrating with the latent power of his untriggered wolf.

I squeezed his hand once, a silent plea for patience. Then I looked directly at Mayor Lockwood, my gaze unwavering. My shy, introverted nature often made me retreat, but when challenged, when pushed, the ancient wisdom of my witch coven and the fierce protectiveness of my wolf blood rose to the surface. “Mayor Lockwood,” I began, my voice clear, cutting through the thick air. “A word, please. In private.”

Richard scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Private? There’s nothing private about this disgrace, girl. This is a family matter, and you, frankly, are a complication.”

“No,” I corrected, my tone firm, devoid of any Sixteen-year-old deference. I felt the familiar hum of magic under my skin, a quiet whisper of ancestral power. “This is a conversation that concerns the survival of your family, Mayor. And it will be private.”

His eyes, full of disdain, held mine for a long moment before a flicker of something unreadable – curiosity? Concern? – crossed them. He pushed away from the table, a loud scrape of wood on wood. “Fine,” he gritted out. “My study. Now.”

I rose slowly, pulling my hand from Tyler’s. He gave me a concerned look, and I offered a faint, reassuring smile. Carol looked between us, her brow furrowed with worry. As I followed the Mayor out of the dining room, I heard Tyler’s hushed, angry voice start up with his mother.

The study was dark, heavy with the scent of old leather and cigar smoke. The Mayor didn’t offer me a seat. He simply turned, arms crossed, waiting, his expression daring me to speak.

My dark brown, curly hair, pulled back in a messy bun, felt hot against my neck despite the coolness of the air conditioning. I tugged lightly at the cuffs of Tyler’s jersey, a comforting habit. “I know about the Lockwood family curse, Mayor,” I stated, bypassing pleasantries entirely.

His eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “And what precisely do you think you know, girl?” His tone was laced with menace, a subtle threat. He believed me to be a child, ignorant of the true world.

“I know that the Lockwood bloodline carries the werewolf gene,” I continued, ignoring his posturing. “I know that a violent death triggers it. I know that your brother, Mason, is a wolf. And I know that you are one too, Richard.” My voice was quiet, but each word landed like a stone.

His face went utterly still, a mask of shock replacing the anger. The subtle shift in his aura, the sudden tension in his shoulders, confirmed it. He hadn’t expected me to know. No one, beyond a select few in his family, knew this secret. “How… how dare you?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a dangerous edge.

I let a small, knowing smile play on my lips. “My wolf, Mayor Lockwood,” I explained, my voice dropping, betraying a hint of the raw, primal truth. “She mated with Tyler’s untriggered wolf. We are bound, not just by… a mistake in the woods, but by something far older, far deeper. I can sense the wolf in him, just as I sensed it in you.” My gaze held his, challenging him to deny the ancient magic that flowed between our children. “That bond, Mr. Mayor, makes me uniquely knowledgeable about your family’s affliction.”

He stared at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and dawning comprehension. The rigid lines of his body softened imperceptibly, the aggression giving way to something akin to awe, or perhaps, dread. He was seeing me not as a “stray from out of town” but as something… else. Something powerful, something dangerous perhaps, but also something that held knowledge he couldn’t fathom.

“What do you want?” he finally said, the arrogance gone from his voice, replaced by a wary caution.

“I want to offer you a solution,” I replied, my voice gaining strength. “Pain. You know it. The first transformation, the breaking of every bone, the agony of it, night after night, for three nights during the full moon. It’s a hellish existence.” I paused, letting the bitter truth hang in the air. “I can change that. I can give you control. Give your family peace.”

His eyes flickered with a desperate hope he quickly tried to mask. “What are you talking about?”

“Moonlight rings,” I revealed. “A witch-crafted talisman, imbued with the magic of the full moon. It allows a werewolf to control their transformation. No more forced agonizing shifts. You shift when you choose. You shift without the pain.”

He scoffed, a disbelieving sound, but there was a tremor in his voice. “Such a thing doesn’t exist.”

“It does,” I insisted, completely confident. “My mother taught me the theory. My ancestors, who have dealt with your kind for millennia, perfected the craft. I have the power to create them.” I paused, letting my gaze drift to the heavy signet ring on his right hand, the Lockwood family crest etched into the dark metal. “Your family rings. They are already symbols of your lineage, your power. I can imbue them with the necessary magic. Turn them into true Moonlight Rings for your family. For you, for Mason, and for Tyler, when his time comes.”

A heavy silence descended again. He walked slowly to his large oak desk, resting his hand on it, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance. The implications wrapped around him: freedom, an end to the curse’s most brutal torment. He, an abusive, controlling man, could finally control something he couldn’t before. It was a tempting offer.

“And what would you want in return for such… a favour?” he asked, suspicion creeping back into his voice. “For the daughter of a Mikaelson, there’s always a price.”

I met his gaze, unafraid of his implication. “You’re right. There is a price. It’s a very simple one, in the grand scheme of things, but vital to me and my bloodline.” I took a small step closer. “I want Emily Bennett’s talisman. And the Moonstone.”

His eyes immediately flared, a flash of surprise, then understanding. “Those are family heirlooms,” he said, his voice hardening, though the tremor remained. “Artifacts of great power. Why those?”

“They are central to a curse I aim to break,” I stated simply, not elaborating further. He didn’t need to know the specifics of my father’s hybrid curse; only that these items were critical to my plans. “A curse that, should it remain unbroken, could very well bring about a great deal of trouble to this town, and indeed, to your family. I offer you control over your curse. You offer me the tools to break another.”

He frowned, considering my words. He knew of the Bennett power, had felt it perhaps, in the town’s long history. And the Moonstone’s significance, though shrouded in mystery, was legendary in supernatural circles. “I don’t have them here,” he finally said, stalling. “They’re… secured.”

“I’m aware,” I said, sensing the lie behind his words. He probably had them within arm’s reach or knew exactly where they were hidden. “But I know you can acquire them. Give me your word now, Mayor. Your rings and Mason’s for the Moonlight Rings. And in return, your family will discreetly and without question, give me the talisman and the Moonstone. And, of course,” I added, my voice dropping an octave, a subtle thread of compulsion weaving into the air around him, a whisper of my tribrid power, “you will accept this… situation. You will tell no one of my true nature. And you will cease your public displays of displeasure regarding my pregnancy. You will treat me as a member of this family, as Tyler’s chosen mate, and the mother of his child. For the sake of your lineage, for the sake of your very existence, you will concur.”

His eyes glazed over for a split second, a silent battle raging within him against my subtle mental manipulation, his face contorting slightly, before settling into a blank, acquiescent stare. He was a force of nature in his own right, but I was something older, a confluence of bloodlines that bent reality to their will. The raw power of an Original Tribrid, even untriggered in one aspect, was formidable.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, the silent battle over. He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw grudging respect, perhaps even a sliver of fear, in his dark eyes. “My rings and Mason’s for the Moonlight Rings. The talisman and the Moonstone in exchange for my family’s peace. And… silence regarding your nature and the child.” He repeated my terms back to me, the words tasting like ash in his mouth, but the commitment was there.

“Agreed,” I said, offering him a small, purely professional nod. “I’ll need the rings by morning. I’ll deliver yours and Mason’s by sunset tomorrow.”

He simply nodded, turning away to stare out of the window, his shoulders hunched, a shattered man piecing himself back together. The abusive, arrogant Mayor was still there, but now, he was also a man who had stared into the abyss of his own curse and been offered a bargain by a sixteen-year-old girl who was far, far more than she seemed.

I turned and walked out of the study, the heavy door clicking shut behind me. The silence in the dining room was gone, replaced by the hushed murmur of Carol’s comforting words to Tyler. I walked back to the table, and Tyler immediately stood, his eyes searching mine.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low, his hand instantly finding mine, his thumb stroking the back of it.

I gave him a small, tired smile. “We had a little chat about family heirlooms and how to manage the Lockwood family curse,” I said, my gaze flickering towards the study door. “And how to ensure there’s less… hostility at future family dinners.”

Carol looked at us, her eyes wide with curiosity, but she seemed to sense the change in the air, the new, unspoken agreement that hung over the room. Tyler squeezed my hand, a protective, possessive gesture that was becoming second nature to him. He was a pillar of strength, my shelter in this complicated, dangerous world I’d been thrown into.

I let my head rest briefly against his arm, the soft hum of his untriggered wolf against my triggered one, a comforting thrum beneath my skin. The height difference was always a small comfort, making me feel secure and cherished. He was 5’8”, I was a petite 5’0”, and in his presence, I felt both tiny and incredibly powerful.

Being a Mikaelson heir, a Spirit Witch, a triggered werewolf, and an untriggered vampire, all at sixteen, pregnant with my mate’s untriggered wolf child, navigating the treacherous waters of Mystic Falls, was a lot. But as I looked at Tyler, his dark eyes fixed on me with unwavering loyalty, I knew I wasn’t doing it alone. And I knew, with every fibre of my being, that this was just the beginning. The Lockwood Mayor had just learned that Maya Freya Persaud was not a problem to be dismissed. She was a force to be reckoned with. And she had just secured her place, and her child’s, in this town, by making a deal with the devil himself.

The cool evening air did little to soothe the tremor in my hands as I clutched the Emily Bennett talisman. It felt ancient, heavy, imbued with centuries of magic and sorrow. After the tense, private conversation with Mayor Lockwood – a man whose rigid facade had cracked just enough to reveal a sliver of the desperate fear for his son – I knew I couldn’t waste a moment. He’d given me the talisman, a relic he claimed was just a family heirloom, along with the moonstone, convinced by my offer of custom-made moonlight rings that would protect his family from the curse they carried. It was a trade that felt both fair and utterly unfair, depending on which side of the supernatural fence you stood.

I found Grams, Sheila Bennett, in the living room, a half-empty teacup in her hand. Bonnie sat beside her, her gaze distant, probably still reeling from her Grams’ spontaneous history lesson about their witch lineage. Tyler, my T, was a silent sentinel near the archway, his eyes fixed on me, a question in their depths. He knew the weight I carried, always.

“Grams?” My voice was softer than I intended, almost a whisper. I walked towards her, the gold hoops in my ears catching the dim light, my Kautuka and my gold and black beads bracelet a familiar comfort on my wrist. I was still wearing the tank top and black leggings, barefoot, the way I had been all day. Rebekah’s necklace, Esther’s talisman, lay heavy against my sternum, a subtle hum against my skin, as if it sensed the presence of another powerful artifact.

Grams watched me approach, her gaze steady, knowing. It was a look that always made me feel both seen and slightly exposed. Bonnie turned, her brow furrowed. Tyler shifted, drawing closer, his tall frame a comforting shadow at my back. His presence was a subtle anchor, grounding me.

I extended my hand, offering the silver amulet. “Richard gave this to me. He said it was an old family heirloom.”

Grams’ eyes widened imperceptibly as she took the talisman. Her touch was reverent, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns. A faint, almost imperceptible glow emanated from it, a response to her magic. “The Emily Bennett talisman,” she murmured, her voice laced with a profound reverence. “It’s been centuries since a Bennett has held it.” She looked up at me, her gaze piercing. “Why did he give it to you, child?”

“I made a trade,” I explained, keeping my voice low. I didn’t need to elaborate; she was a witch, she would understand the concept of a magical exchange. “For the moonlight rings. For his family. I also got the moonstone.” I pulled the small, lustrous stone from my pocket and showed it to her.

She hummed, a low, thoughtful sound. Her eyes, ancient and wise, studied me. “That’s a heavy price for a gift, Maya Freya. What else has been weighing on you?”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. This was the hard part. Tyler’s hand found my lower back, a gentle, reassuring pressure. “My grandmother, Esther, she… she came to me in a dream last night.” My voice faltered slightly, but I forced myself to continue, to deliver the urgent message. “She warned me about Damon Salvatore. He’s in town. He’s been watching Elena, hiding as a raven.”

Bonnie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “A raven?!”

“Yes,” I confirmed, my gaze unwavering from Grams. “Esther said he wants the talisman. He believes it can free Katerina from the tomb.”

A flicker of something—disbelief, perhaps, or a deep, ancestral weariness—crossed Grams’ face. “The tomb.” It was a familiar legend, a ghost story whispered through generations of witches.

“But Katerina isn’t in the tomb,” I stated, the words falling flat in the hushed room. “She hasn’t been for decades. My father, Klaus, and my uncle, Elijah, they’ve been spotting her around the USA for the last 145 years. She’s alive. She’s free. She’s just… not here.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the weight of unseen history. Bonnie’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with shock. “Katherine Pierce? She’s alive?”

Grams closed her eyes for a long moment, slowly exhaling. When she opened them, they held a renewed fire. “Emily Bennett sealed the tomb with a powerful spell,” she said, her voice gravelly. “Many vampires were trapped inside. If Damon believes Katerina is there, and he gets this talisman… he will try to open it.” She clutched the talisman tighter. “And if he succeeds, he won’t just unleash Katerina–whom he wants to avenge – he’ll unleash dozens of centuries-old vampires onto Mystic Falls.”

A shiver ran down my spine, despite the warmth of Tyler’s hand. “Esther said it would be catastrophic. Not just for the town, but for the balance. She said Damon’s desperation would make him blind to the true consequences.”

“And Katerina isn’t in the tomb,” Grams repeated, pondering the revelation. “Then what is the power of this talisman truly for, if not to open it?” She looked at me, a question in her eyes. “Did Esther say anything else about its purpose? Or how to stop him?”

I shook my head. “She just showed me Damon, his obsession, and the tomb. And that Katerina wasn’t there. She said I needed to warn you, to protect the town from impending chaos.”

Grams nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. She ran her thumb over the talisman. “This isn’t just a key, Maya. It’s a conduit. A powerful source of mystical energy. Emily put a failsafe on her own spell, knowing how dangerous it would be if it ever fell into the wrong hands. The talisman itself has many uses, but opening that tomb requires more than just a key. It requires a massive sacrifice of life, and the blood of a Bennett witch.” She looked at Bonnie, and then back at me. “We need to keep this safe. Away from Damon Salvatore. And we need to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” Bonnie asked, her voice trembling.

“For war, child,” Grams said, her voice stern. “If Damon is here, pushing the boundaries, it means the veil between our world and theirs is thinning. And if Katerina is truly out there, aware of her freedom, then she’s playing a game none of us fully understand.” She squeezed my hand, a rare gesture of affection. “Thank you, Maya Freya. Your grandmother’s warning… It’s a gift.”

Tyler, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, his voice deep and calm. “So, we stop him. Before he does anything stupid.” He looked at me, his gaze full of fierce protectiveness. “Does that mean we tell Stefan?”

I considered it. Stefan, the ‘Baby Vamp’ as I’d mentally dubbed him, was a creature of habit. Damon was chaos incarnate. Letting Stefan into this would only complicate things, especially with his fixation on Elena. “No,” I decided. “Not yet. Stefan is… complicated. He’s obsessed with Elena right now, and Damon uses that against him. The less he knows, the better. We need to be careful. Damon is unpredictable.”

Grams nodded in agreement. “Maya is right. Stefan Salvatore is too easily manipulated by his brother. This is a matter for those who understand the true stakes.” She stood, the talisman now clutched tightly in her hand. “I’ll take this. It will be safe with me. And Bonnie, we have work to do.” She gave her granddaughter a significant look that seemed to convey centuries of unspoken lessons.

Bonnie, though still looking overwhelmed, nodded back, a slow understanding dawning in her eyes. The weight of her new family history, of her untapped power, was visibly settling onto her shoulders.

I felt a profound sense of relief, having passed on the burden of the warning. It was a strange dichotomy, this life. One moment, I was a pregnant teenager negotiating ancient, magically bound deals with the Mayor of Mystic Falls, the next I was casually relaying premonitions from a thousand-year-old grandmother to a powerful Bennett witch. It was exhausting.

Tyler gently guided me away from the intensity of the Bennetts’ exchange. “You okay, Freya?” he whispered, his thumb stroking my lower back.

I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. His scent, a mix of Old Spice and something uniquely his, filled my senses. My wolf purred contentedly. “Just… tired. So much happening.”

“I know,” he murmured, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me close. He pressed a soft kiss to my temple. “Let’s get out of here. My parents are out, remember? We can be idiots in love, curled up on the couch, no more supernatural drama for a few hours. Just Ugly Betty and us.”

I chuckled softly, a genuine laugh escaping me at the thought. Matt might call us ‘oblivious idiots in love,’ but if this was oblivious, I didn’t want to be aware. Tyler’s family wanted us to be together, his parents saw me as a daughter-in-law, and our physical intimacy, which started two months ago, had deepened into something far more profound. It wasn’t just the mate bond; it was a quiet, unwavering devotion that spoke volumes in the silence between us. My head just reached his chest when he hugged me, the height difference another small comfort, a reminder of his strength, his presence.

“Sounds perfect, ást,” I whispered, using the Old Norse word for love, a secret endearment only for him. For now, the impending chaos, the ancient vampires, Katherine’s freedom, and Damon’s destructive quest could wait. For now, there was just Tyler, the quiet comfort of his arms, and the promise of a few hours of blissful, mundane normalcy. It was a fragile peace, but one I intended to cherish.

Chapter 10: Lil Bit

The sterile scent of antiseptic usually made my nose twitch, but today, it was almost comforting. My hand instinctively went to the small, barely noticeable swell beneath Tyler’s oversized Mystic Falls Timberwolves sweatshirt. It was absurd, really. Sixteen years old, a senior in high school, and pregnant. And not just pregnant, but pregnant with a baby that was, by all accounts, going to be a miraculous supernatural anomaly, just like its mother.

“Maya, my dear, are you ready?” Carol Lockwood’s voice was warm, a stark contrast to the humid Austin air that clung to us even inside Keelin Malraux’s tastefully modern clinic. Carol, in her crisp linen dress, looked every inch the perfect Mayor’s wife, but her eyes held genuine concern and an almost giddy excitement. Richard, surprisingly, was also here, leaning against the examination room doorframe, a rare soft expression on his usually stern face. And then there was Tyler—my anchor.

He was right beside me, his large hand a comforting weight on my lower back, his thumb idly tracing circles against the black leggings I wore. He hadn’t said much since we arrived, but his presence was a loud declaration of his support, his fierce dark eyes sweeping over me every few minutes as if to ensure I hadn’t evaporated into thin air. Matt called us “idiotis in love and oblivious idiots in love,” and sometimes, I truly believed he was right. We acted like we were married, without ever having spoken the words. Our first night together, a drunken haze in the woods after the party, had spiralled into this deep, unspoken bond. Two months later, here we were.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Mrs. Lockwood,” I murmured, offering a small, shy smile. My heart hammered, a mix of apprehension and pure, unadulterated excitement.

Keelin Malraux stepped into the room, a graceful figure with dark, intelligent eyes and a kind smile. She was a picture of calm competence, her long dark hair pulled back in a practical braid. “Maya, it’s good to see you again. And you must be the Lockwoods. Keelin Malraux, pleasure to meet you all.”

I’d met Keelin a few days prior, following a faint scent trail of ancient wolf bloodlines and a whisper of a name from an old family journal. Her mother had been a renowned healer, known even to my own mother, Indira, and had helped Ava give birth to Davina back in ’95. She’d also discreetly aided my mother through aspects of her complicated pregnancy with me. It felt like finding a piece of my fractured past, a connection to the world my mother had tried so hard to shield me from, even as she taught me its deepest secrets.

“This is Keelin,” I said, turning to my nervous entourage. “She’s a doctor, and… well, she understands.” That was my discreet way of saying she understood the nuances of supernatural biology, a rare and precious skill.

Keelin smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Let’s get you comfortable, Maya. We’ll just do a quick ultrasound to check on everything.”

I lay back on the examination table, pulling up my sweatshirt. Tyler instinctively braced my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Carol and Richard pulled up chairs, their gazes fixed on the monitor. Keelin squeezed the cool gel onto my stomach, then ran the transducer over my skin.

The screen flickered to life, a swirling gray landscape, and then… There it was—a tiny, pulsating flicker, a perfect little bean with a developing head and limbs. My breath hitched. It was real. So incredibly, vibrantly real. A profound wave of spiritual empathy washed over me, a sense of deep, protective love. My own heart resonated with the tiny one beating inside me.

“Right around 14 weeks,” Keelin confirmed, her voice soft but professional. “Heartbeat is strong, everything looks perfectly healthy.” She started pointing out things, explaining the development. I barely registered the words, lost in the sheer wonder of it. Tyler’s grip tightened on my hand, and I glanced at him. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, were wide, a hint of awe softening his usually intense expression. A faint flush touched his tanned cheeks.

“It’s amazing,” Carol whispered, a tear tracing a path down her cheek. Richard, surprisingly, looked equally moved. He even cleared his throat, a tell-tale sign of choked emotion.

“Keelin,” I began, my voice a little shaky, “I was hoping… You might consider relocating to Mystic Falls. My family has several properties there, and one, the Aumont cottage, has just been completely renovated. It’s private, beautiful. I’d cover all your expenses, of course. For the duration of the pregnancy, and beyond, if you’d like. I… I’d really appreciate having you close by. Someone who understands.”

Keelin paused, pulling the transducer away and wiping the gel from my stomach. She looked at me with a thoughtful expression on her face. “That’s a generous offer, Maya. But you know… I’m loyal to the North East Atlantic Pack. And you are, after all, a royal wolf. One of the few remaining true alphas in our bloodline.” She tilted her head, a hint of a challenge in her gaze. “My loyalty is to you, my princess, more than those bound by the old ways in New Orleans. And your mother… she was a good woman. And Davina, too. I’d be honoured to help.”

A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you, Keelin. Truly.”

She gave a small, knowing smile. “Now, I have to ask, Maya, and forgive my bluntness: Do Klaus, Elijah, and Marcel know about this?” Her gaze flickered to Tyler, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Because if they do, I find it hard to believe young Mr. Lockwood here is still in one piece. Even if they love their princess fiercely, they’re not exactly forgiving when it comes to their family being… involved.”

A small, nervous laugh escaped me. “Ava and Davina… they told them. They know Tyler is my mate. And they know that hurting him would… hurt me. Permanently.” I didn’t elaborate on the specifics of the mate bond or the fact that Tyler’s untriggered wolf had essentially imprinted on my triggered one. That was a deep, primal connection that few understood. My wolf, fierce and ancient, recognized his. And vice versa. It was why our physical intimacy, both sexual and non-sexual, felt so profoundly right, so necessary. When he held me, the world outside faded. My often-chaotic mind, racing with ancient knowledge and burgeoning powers, found a rare calm.

Keelin raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, before a look of understanding replaced it. “Ah, the mate bond. That explains a great deal. Even Klaus Mikaelson wouldn’t risk the wrath of a newly triggered tribrid wolf, especially not one so young and… potent.” She gave me a significant look, and I knew she sensed the depth of my powers, the untapped reservoirs of my untriggered vampire side, the sheer raw magic of my witch bloodline. “Alright then. Mystic Falls, it is. I’ll make arrangements.”

“Thank you, Keelin, so much,” I said, genuinely grateful. Having someone like her, someone who understood the supernatural complexities and who was loyal beyond question, was invaluable.

“Now, for you, Maya,” Keelin said, her tone shifting back to professional. “This being a tribrid pregnancy, you’re going to have… interesting cravings. You’ll experience all three: the human, the werewolf, and the vampire cravings. You need to indulge them all. Do not deny your body what it needs, no matter how unusual it seems. Your human cravings will be typical, perhaps more intense. Your wolf cravings might lean towards raw meat, certain minerals, or even wild, untamed spaces. And your vampire cravings…” She paused, looking at me pointedly. “You’re untriggered, but the baby will still draw from that dormant side of you. You might find yourselves craving blood. Animal blood, for now. Fresh. Do not, under any circumstances, try to fight it. It’s essential for the baby’s development.”

My stomach churned a little at the thought of blood, but I nodded, resolute. “I understand.”

Tyler shifted beside me, his hand still on mine, his knuckles white. I knew this was a lot for him. He was just a high school senior, dealing with his abusive father, his mother’s well-meaning but often overwhelming presence, and now… me. And a baby. And my crazy family. He was still trying to process his own untriggered wolf, the aggressive tendencies he often displayed, which were slowly, subtly, being calmed by our connection. He was protective, possessive, a trait of his developing wolf, but it felt right, not stifling. He was mine, and I was his.

After Keelin left to give us a moment, Carol came over, pulling me into a gentle hug. “Oh, Maya, honey. We are so happy for you. And for Tyler. This is… a blessing.” Her eyes, however, held a hint of apprehension. She knew the Lockwoods were powerful, but even they paled in comparison to the Mikaelsons. Richard simply clapped Tyler on the shoulder, a rare gesture of paternal pride. “You take care of her, son. And that baby.” He looked at me, a flicker of respect in his gaze. “We’ll stand by you, Maya. Whatever happens.”

“Thank you, both,” I mumbled, genuinely touched. Their support meant the world, especially given my mother’s complete lack of it. My mother, Indira. Deceased. May 20, 2009. Just over two months ago. The anniversary of her death was burned into my memory, along with the scent of blood and ozone, the screams of the witches who wanted to use me, to kill the Mikaelson heir—the surge of raw power, the guttural roar, the tearing of flesh. Triggering my wolf hadn’t been a quiet, contemplative affair. It had been brutal, bloody, and terrifying.

My mind, though, always pushed those memories away, focusing on the present. On surviving. On building a new life. And now, on this tiny life growing inside me.

The journey back to Mystic Falls was quieter than the trip to Austin. Tyler drove, his jaw set, occasionally reaching over to squeeze my thigh. I leaned my head against the cool window, watching the Texan landscape blur past. My mind was a whirlwind of logistics: school, the baby, and my family.

I was 16, in 12th grade, tackling summer courses to get ahead, and I was already juggling band and debate club. My new friends, Bonnie, Matt, and Jeremy, knew me as the quiet, slightly eccentric new girl, the one who sometimes spoke in Old Norse without realizing it. They knew nothing of the ancient vampire family, the royal werewolf lineage, the powerful witch covens coursing through my veins. The only ones who truly knew were Tyler, his parents, and now Keelin. And Bonnie’s Grams.

Grams had been… intense. I’d gone to meet her, feeling the pull of the blood oath between the Mikaelsons and the Bennetts, a pact forged in ancient times. She’d looked at me with those knowing eyes, eyes that saw far more than a shy teenager. She’d sensed the power, the ancestry, the very essence of who I was. And she had asked if I truly understood the weight of my heritage. I had told her about the vow, about Stefan’s presence in town signalling Damon’s inevitable arrival, about my unwavering commitment to protect Bonnie. That conversation had solidified my place in their world, not just as a new friend, but as an ally.

The moonstone, Emily Bennett’s talisman – both were now in Grams’s possession, a trade for the moonlight rings I’d made for Mason and Richard. The rings served as a protection, allowing them to control their transformations without the agony of the full moon. My hands, surprisingly deft with ancient magic, had crafted them easily. I didn’t want anyone, especially not Tyler, to suffer the way my ancestors had.

My gaze drifted to the gold hoops in my ears, the Kautuka and gold and black beads bracelet on my wrist, and then to Rebekah’s necklace, warm against my skin beneath my sweatshirt. It was Esther’s Talisman, a conduit of immense power, and it hummed subtly with my own burgeoning magic—Aunt Rebekah’s. I still hadn’t met her, or my uncles Finn, Elijah, or Kol. Only Marcel, my older paternal half-brother, and his daughter, Davina, my niece, are included. They were the ones who had found Ava after she’d delivered Davina and me, and ensured we were safe, though physically distant.

My dad, Klaus Mikaelson, was a ghost in my memories for the most part, a figure who had been in and out of my life until I was seven. He’d recently started sending me money, as had Uncle Elijah, via a series of perfectly legitimate, if somewhat mysterious, bank transfers. They were aware of me, aware of my existence, and now, aware of my pregnancy.

The thought of Klaus, the Original Hybrid, learning about his grandchild, and about Tyler, my mate, sent a shiver down my spine. Keelin’s casual remark about Tyler still being in one piece wasn’t just a joke. It was a very real concern. My father was legendary for his temper, his possessiveness, and his brutality. But Ava and Davina, knowing how deeply the mate bond affected me, had apparently convinced him otherwise for now.

We pulled into the familiar drive of the Lockwood estate. Tyler’s parents had already gone inside. As Tyler killed the engine, the silence in the truck was heavy. He turned to me, his dark eyes searching mine.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, rough. “Really okay with all this, Maya?”

I reached out, my fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “As okay as I can be, Tyler. It’s… a lot. But I’m not alone. I have you. I have your family. And now Keelin.”

He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing for a moment. “You’re not alone, Maya. Never. And hey, you’re stuck with me. For good, it seems.” His voice contained a wry humour, but the underlying sincerity was palpable. He opened his eyes, a glint of defiance in them. “Let them come. Your family. Whoever the hell they are. They touch you, or the baby… they’ll have to go through me.”

My heart swelled. He was so young, barely older than me, but he stood by me with such fierce loyalty. This boy, who had once been known for his aggressive, arrogant, selfish tendencies, was transforming, slowly but surely, into someone… profound. Our bond was doing it. The mate bond, the pregnancy. He might not be triggered yet, but his wolf understood. It understood protection.

“I know,” I whispered, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me closer until I was practically in his lap. His hand slid under my sweatshirt, resting gently on my stomach. The heat of his palm seeped through my leggings, a comforting warmth against my skin. He leaned his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my face.

“We’re gonna be alright, Maya,” he murmured. “We have to be.”

I believed him. I wanted to. Because, despite all my powers – the ability to manipulate elements, call spirits for combat, even manipulate reality – the one thing I couldn’t control was the future. But with Tyler, and this tiny life blooming within me, I felt a strength, a purpose, that transcended even the ancient magic flowing through my veins. The Mikaelsons might be coming, the witches who hunted my mother might still be out there, but I had a family now—a real family. And I would protect them, with every single ounce of my tribrid power. Let them try to take us. They would find the untriggered vampire, the spirit witch, and the royal wolf, all wrapped in a petite, tanned package, were a force to be reckoned with. And she had a heavily pregnant girl’s cravings, to boot. God help them all.

The hum of the Mikaelson Mansion was a comforting lullaby. Not the oppressive silence I’d grown up with in my mother’s house, but a living, breathing quiet, filled with the soft creak of old wood, the distant rush of water in the pipes, and the gentle crackle of the fireplace we’d lit despite the mild 19°C night. It was Sunday, September 6, 2009, and the air was thick with the scent of popcorn and the faint, sweet smell of the herbs I’d been working with earlier.

One last movie night. That’s what Tyler had called it. A final hurrah before the chaos of senior year for us, and junior year for Bonnie and Matt. We were sprawled out in the grand drawing-room, the enormous plasma screen – a gift from Uncle Elijah, no doubt – dominating one wall. Tyler, of course, had claimed the prime spot on the largest sofa, his long legs stretched out, taking up most of the space. I was curled against his side, my head resting on his shoulder, his arm a warm weight around me. My small gold hoops glinted in the dim light, catching on a loose strand of my dark brown, curly hair that had escaped my messy bun. The Kautuka and my gold and black beads bracelet felt secure on my wrist as I toyed with the buttons on his shirt. I was barefoot, dressed in a simple tank top and black leggings, pure comfort.

Bonnie was perched on an armchair opposite us, meticulously braiding a strand of her own hair while scrolling through her phone. Matt, ever the practical one, was on the floor, surrounded by a fortress of pillows, meticulously polishing his football cleats, occasionally glancing up at the screen. We were supposed to be watching some cheesy teen comedy, but the conversation was already flowing.

“Seriously, where’s Caroline?” I asked, pushing myself up slightly to look at Bonnie. We’d invited her, of course. She was part of our expanding little circle of friends, even if she could be a bit… much.

Tyler grunted, his fingers tracing slow circles on my arm. “She’s probably out with Elena. Or Stefan. You know how she is, always trying to be where the action is.”

I rolled my eyes. “Action? It’s a Sunday night. The only action happening is on this screen.”

Matt scoffed from the floor. “Or in your heads, you two oblivious idiots.”

Tyler shot him a glare, but there was no real heat in it. Matt just grinned, shaking his head. He’d taken to calling us ‘idiots in love’ to our faces, and apparently ‘oblivious idiots in love’ behind our backs, because we still hadn’t put a label on whatever this was. But it was far more than just “this” now.

I felt Tyler shift beside me, a sudden tension in his usually relaxed posture. He cleared his throat, and I felt my stomach clench, knowing what was coming. He’d wanted to tell them together.

“Actually,” Tyler began, his voice a touch louder than necessary, causing both Bonnie and Matt to look up. “There’s… something Maya and I need to tell you guys.”

My eyes darted from his face to Bonnie’s, then Matt’s. Bonnie’s expression was already shifting, a flash of recognition, a widening of her dark eyes. Matt, however, just looked confused, a half-polished cleat held mid-air.

“What is it?” Matt asked, setting the cleat down. “Are you guys finally admitting you’re together? Because, dude, everyone knows.”

Tyler ignored him, his gaze fixed on Bonnie. “Maya’s… pregnant.”

The silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by the distant hum of the old house. Matt’s jaw dropped—the cleat he’d been holding clattered to the floor. Bonnie, however, merely nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I know,” Bonnie said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

My breath hitched. My eyes met hers, and I saw understanding, not shock, not judgment. Just… knowing.

Tyler blinked. “You… you know? How?”

Bonnie gave a small, almost shy smile. “Grams. She’s been… teaching me things about our family. She said she sensed… a life force. A strong one, drawing from you, Maya. And she’s been giving me extra lessons about elemental magic, about sensing life, about… about being a Bennett witch.” She gestured vaguely between us. “She said she figured it out when you left the Mayor’s house, Maya. She could feel the energy radiating from you.”

Relief washed over me, so potent it almost made my eyes water. Bonnie knew. Not just that I was pregnant, but that she was a witch, and her Grams was involved. This was monumental. It wasn’t just about my secret, but about her truth.

“Well,” Tyler said, recovering quickly, a wide grin spreading across his face, “I guess that saves us a bit of awkward explanation.” He tightened his arm around me, pulling me closer still. “But… what about Matt?”

Matt was still staring, his mouth agape. He finally managed to close it, then reopened it with a gasp. “Pregnant? Maya? You’re… you’re having a baby?!” His voice was disbelieving, but not angry—more like utter shock.

“Yes, Matt,” I said, my voice quiet, but clear. “I am.”

He pushed himself up, scrambling to his feet. “But… how? When? I mean, who— Oh. Right. Tyler.” He pointed a finger between us, and his face suddenly seemed to click into place. He looked at Tyler, then at me, then back at Tyler. “You guys… you’re really serious, then?”

Tyler’s gaze softened as he looked at me. “More serious than I’ve ever been about anything in my life, Matt.”

Matt just shook his head, running a hand through his blond hair. “Wow. Okay. Wow. A baby. You guys… wow.” He looked overwhelmed, but then a genuine smile broke through. “That’s… that’s amazing, you guys. Really. Congratulations.” He took a step towards us, then seemed unsure, settling for a small nod. “Is it… a boy or a girl?”

My eyes lit up. This was it—the perfect opportunity.

I looked at Bonnie, a mischievous glint in my eye. “Bonnie, you said Grams has been teaching you about sensing life, right?”

She nodded, still looking a little awestruck.

“Do you want to learn how to tell what I’m having?” I asked, a small smile playing on my lips.

Bonnie’s eyes widened further. “You can do that?”

“With a little help from elemental magic and a family heirloom,” I explained. I shifted, leaning away from Tyler slightly, and looked up at him. “T, can I borrow your ring?”

Tyler, without hesitation, slipped off the chunky, silver-banded ring he always wore – the one with the carved Lockwood crest. It was a beautiful piece, intricate and old, imbued with generations of their family’s magic. He pressed it into my palm. My father, Klaus, had recognized the design when I’d mentioned it on one of our rare, brief calls, explaining it connected the Lockwoods to a minor Nordic branch of the werewolf community, a distant offshoot of his own lineage. It was why their curse was so potent, so tied to the moon.

“Okay, Bonnie,” I began, holding out the ring. “This is a Lockwood family heirloom, passed down through generations. It carries their energy, their essence. It’s also silver, which is important for this particular trick. Now, what you’re going to do is tie it to a strand of your hair.”

Bonnie quickly pulled a long strand from her braid and tied it carefully around the ring, securing it.

“Good,” I said, taking the string with the ring dangling from it. “Now, I need to lie down. You’ll hold the ring over my belly.”

I carefully extracted myself from Tyler’s embrace, trying not to jostle him too much, and stretched out on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, my tank top riding up slightly over the gentle curve of my belly. Matt, now completely forgotten about football cleats, had pulled up an armchair to watch, his eyes wide with curiosity. Tyler knelt beside me, his hand resting lightly on my hip, his thumb stroking my skin. The simple touch sent a ripple of warmth through me.

“Okay, Bonnie. Hold it steady, right over the center of my stomach. Don’t move your hand, let the magic guide the ring.” I closed my eyes, focusing inward. “Now, pour your intention into it. Ask the question: boy or girl? Feel the energy from the ring, from me, from the life growing inside me. Let nature answer through your hand.”

I could feel Bonnie’s focus, a concentrated hum of nascent power. She wasn’t just an untapped witch; she was a Bennett witch, and her power was already so potent. I guided her telepathically, a gentle nudge, a whisper in her mind. Feel the connection. Imagine the future, the tiny heart beating.

Minutes stretched, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the low, collective breathing of the four of us. I could sense the ring swaying, slowly at first, then picking up speed. It moved in a distinct pattern, a back-and-forth swing, like a pendulum.

“It’s… It’s swinging back and forth,” Bonnie whispered, her voice full of awe. “Not in a circle.”

I opened my eyes, a wide, joyful smile spreading across my face. My heart swelled with a happiness so profound it made my chest ache.

“That means it’s a boy,” I said, my voice thick with emotion.

Tyler gasped, a raw, choked sound. He stared at the swinging ring, then at my face, his eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. “A boy?” he breathed, his voice barely audible. “We’re having a boy, Freya?”

I nodded, tears now tracing paths down my own cheeks. “We’re having a boy, T. A little boy.”

Tyler immediately abandoned his kneeling position, pulling me into a fierce, tight hug. He buried his face in my hair, his body trembling slightly. His scent, that familiar mix of cedar and something wild, enveloped me, grounding me. I clung to him, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine, the steady beat of his heart. This was real. This was happening. This was us.

Bonnie, her face alight with wonder, carefully lowered the ring. “Wow,” she said, her voice filled with newfound power and respect. “That was… incredible, Maya. Thank you.”

Matt, who had been silent for a moment, suddenly clapped Tyler on the back, a wide, genuine grin splitting his face. “A boy, man! That’s… awesome! Congratulations, both of you!” He sounded less bewildered now, more genuinely happy.

Tyler finally pulled back from the hug, his eyes still shining. He looked at me, his gaze full of such profound love and adoration that it stole my breath away. He cradled my face in his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. “A boy,” he repeated, as if trying out the words. “Our son.”

I reached up, linking my fingers with his. “Our son,” I echoed, my voice soft. The warmth that radiated from him, the sheer joy in his eyes, was everything. It solidified the unsaid, the unspoken commitment that had been growing between us since that first night in the woods. Tyler and I are a family. And now, a son.

I briefly imagined a tiny version of Tyler, with his dark hair and strong jawline, but with my brown eyes and perhaps a touch of my shyness. A baby werewolf, a little tribrid, a new Mikaelson, a new Persaud. He would be loved. He would be safe.

My mind drifted to my mother, Indira. She had been so distant, so unloving. Could I be a better parent? I knew I could. This child, our child, would have all the love I’d never truly received.

Tyler’s parents, I knew, would be overjoyed. They already treated me like their own daughter. I could almost hear Carol Lockwood’s excited squeals, see Richard Lockwood’s proud, booming laughter. They wanted this, for Tyler, for us.

And Tyler. He was so tall, so strong. My petite 5’0” frame barely reached his shoulder, and I loved it. The height difference made me feel safe and protected. He was already so protective, so possessive. Now, with a son on the way, I knew he’d be fierce. My ást. My love. And soon, the father of our baby boy will be.

The movie night had officially been derailed, replaced by the excited chatter and awe of three teenagers grappling with the profound truth of a new life. And for the first time in a long time, surrounded by the family I was choosing, I felt truly, utterly at peace.

Chapter 11

The old stories of the men and women of Scandinavia have been retold countless times and inspired many works of fiction. Fantasy and science fiction owe much to Norse mythology. - The Myths and Mythology Collection - Norse Mythology

Part II: Season 1 Episode 1- 8 of The Vampire Diaries 

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Chapter 10: Pilot 

Chapter 11: The Night of the Comet

Chapter 12: Friday Night Bites

Chapter 13: Family Ties

Chapter 14: You’re Undead to Me

Chapter 15: Lost Girls 

Chapter 16: Homecoming Surprise

Chapter 17: Haunted 

Chapter 18: 162 Candles

Chapter 12: Pilot

The shrill, insistent jingle of my phone ripped me from the lingering wisps of a dream, a dream of verdant forests and the low rumble of a familiar laugh. I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow, but the vibration beneath my cheek was relentless. Slowly, I peeled open my eyes, the morning light, a mellow 22 degrees Celsius, already filtering through the blinds. September 8, 2009. First day of school. Shit.

I fumbled for my phone, my fingers brushing against the worn Kautuka bracelet on my wrist, a constant tether to my mother, to my heritage. The screen glowed with a text from T. A soft smile touched my lips, easing the usual first-day jitters. Tyler. My anchor in this chaotic new life.

T: Morning, Freya. Did you know that at 15 weeks, our little one can already hear muffled sounds? Probably listening to your beautiful heartbeat right now. Mom already made your lunch. See you soon.

My heart swelled. Fifteen weeks. Our little one. A tiny, burgeoning life, no larger than an apple, yet already so powerful, so utterly real. My hand instinctively ghosted over the slight, but unmistakable, curve of my abdomen. A son. Unborn, but already so loved. Tyler, my fierce, protective mate, had embraced this with a boundless enthusiasm that both surprised and grounded me. He called me Freya, a goddess of love and fertility in Old Norse mythology, a whispered endearment only he dared to use. And I, in return, called him T, or sometimes, ást, a secret word of profound affection.

I finally dragged myself out of bed, the cool floor a welcome shock against my bare feet. A quick glance at the clock confirmed my fears. Seven-fifteen. My carefully constructed morning schedule, usually executed with the precision of a seasoned general, was already running behind.

The shower was a sanctuary. The hot water sluiced over me, washing away the last remnants of sleep, the faint anxieties of the day ahead. I let the steam fill the small bathroom in my father’s ancient, sprawling house—a place I’d only inhabited for three months, yet already felt more like home than any place before. The water beaded on my tanned brown skin, cascading down my long, curly, frizzy dark brown hair. I closed my eyes, focusing on the calm, the quiet hum of water. It helped to center me, to push down the sheer, overwhelming awareness of my nature: spirit witch, werewolf, untriggered vampire. A tribrid. A power so immense, so rare, it felt like a constant hum beneath my skin, a secret I guarded with my very existence. My mother had ingrained that early on: “Never tell anyone you are a Mikaelson, Maya, to protect yourself.” Irony, wasn’t it? My father, Klaus Mikaelson, a name whispered in legends, and here I was, his daughter, a pregnant teenager navigating high school. Only a handful knew the truth: Tyler and his parents, Bonnie and her Grams, Matt, and Keelin. A small, trusted circle.

After my shower, I meticulously dressed, choosing comfort and a touch of warmth for what promised to be a deceptively cool September day. My Kautuka bracelet stayed on, along with a gold and black beaded bracelet my mother had given me. I pulled on my Lorena Jeans, snug and familiar, then slid my feet into Aslen Knee High Boots. A red Lauretta Knit Tank hugged my petite, curvy frame, the small baby bump almost imperceptible beneath it, and a red Winsor Slouchy Cardigan completed the ensemble. My heart necklace, a simple silver design, rested against my sternum, and Heart Hoop Earrings with White Crystals shimmered faintly. My mother, Indira Persaud, would have approved. She was gone now, killed by witches hungry for my power, witches who wanted to eradicate the Mikaelson line. I had killed one of them that day, triggering my wolf, a brutal, primal act that still haunted my quiet moments. But it had also been survival.

Downstairs, a subtle scent of herbs and freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchen. Mrs. Lockwood, Carol, was truly an angel. She’d insisted on making my lunch, a gesture of maternal kindness I’d rarely known. She and Richard, Tyler’s father, had welcomed me into their lives with open arms, treating me like the daughter they’d always wanted. They already saw me as their future daughter-in-law, a sentiment that warmed me more than I could admit.

I grabbed the lunch bag, my books, and the key to my ’09 Lincoln Navigator, a sleek, black beast that was a recent birthday gift from Klaus. A gift that still felt alien in my otherwise understated life. As I stepped out, the crisp morning air wrapped around me, carrying the scent of damp Earth and distant woodsmoke. Mystic Falls. A town brimming with secrets, just like me.

The drive to Mystic Falls High was short. I navigated the quiet streets with practiced ease, the hum of the engine a soothing backdrop to my thoughts. My mind, usually a whirl of plans and calculations, drifted to Tyler. He was everything my life hadn’t been—loud, passionate, a little volatile, but fiercely loyal. His untriggered wolf had recognized mine, a primal connection that transcended logic and teenage angst. We didn’t keep secrets from each other, a luxury I seldom afforded anyone else.

The school parking lot was already bustling with students, a cacophony of laughter, shouted greetings, and slamming car doors. I spotted Tyler’s vintage 1971 Buick GS almost immediately, its polished chrome glinting under the morning sun. He was leaning against it, already in his usual black jeans, t-shirt, and jacket, talking animatedly with Matt Donovan, the school’s quarterback. Even from a distance, I could feel the familiar pull, the quiet hum of our bond.

I parked a few spaces away, shutting off the engine. As I stepped out, Tyler’s head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. A genuine, unrestrained smile broke through his usual arrogant façade. He pushed off the car, making his way towards me, his muscular frame moving with an easy grace.

“Hey, Freya,” he murmured, his voice softening as he reached me. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, then to my lips, a quick, chaste greeting that still sent a shiver down my spine. His hand found mine, his thumb tracing patterns on my skin. “Slept okay?”

“As well as can be expected,” I admitted, a little shyly, glancing at Matt, who was now grinning at us. Typical Tyler, ignoring the crowd. “Thanks for the text. Your mom’s lunch smells amazing.”

"Of course,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “She loves doing it for you. Come on, let’s get you to AP Music. Don’t want you to be late on day one.”

He never let go of my hand, leading me through the crowded hallways. I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact, my introverted nature kicking in as the sheer volume of people became overwhelming. Tyler, ever attuned to my quiet discomfort, tightened his grip, a silent reassurance. He’d learned to be my shield, my anchor in these situations.

AP Music was a blur of introductions and syllabus review. My mind, however, was already drifting to the next class, AP English, where I’d finally be with Tyler. When the bell rang, I practically darted out, meeting him by his locker.

“How was your AP Gym, T?” I asked, a slight smile on my face.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Coach’s still an ass. Said I’m not pushing hard enough. The hell he knows. But hey, it means more time on the field. You ready for English? Bet you already read the entire semester’s curriculum.”

"Maybe,” I conceded, my cheeks colouring slightly. He knew I spent most of my time reading. “And yes, I’m ready."

AP English and AP Financial flew by, made bearable by Tyler's presence. He’d sometimes lean over, his shoulder brushing mine, or pass me a silly doodle on a scrap of paper, just to make me smile. He was the aggressive, arrogant captain of the football and baseball teams, but with me, he was gentle and attentive. It was a duality I adored.

Finally, the bell for lunch rang, a symphony of freedom. We walked towards the cafeteria, Tyler’s arm possessively wrapped around my waist. The usual suspects were already at our table: Matt, his kind eyes meeting mine with a welcoming nod; Caroline Forbes, already chattering a mile a minute; Bonnie Bennett, her warm smile a beacon in the crowd; and Elena Gilbert, perched next to Bonnie, her face an open book of curiosity. Jeremy Gilbert, Elena’s younger brother, was at a nearby table with his friends. Vicki Donovan, Matt’s sister, had already graduated, so she wasn’t here. Stefan Salvatore, the new guy who'd joined the football team over the summer, was also there, sitting next to Elena. He was in grade 11, like the others, but his eyes held an ancient weariness that belied his apparent age. I knew him, of course, by reputation. The ‘Baby Vamp,’ as I privately called him. Born in 1846, turned 1864. A mere 145 years old. Barely a toddler in the grand scheme of things.

"Hey, guys!" Tyler boomed, pulling out a chair for me before flopping into his own. "Maya, this is Stefan. Stefan, this is Maya. She’s new in town."

Stefan turned, his green eyes, startlingly bright, fixing on mine. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Maya. I've heard a lot about you from Tyler." His voice was smooth, almost hypnotic.

I offered a small, polite smile, pulling my lunch bag out. "Likewise, Stefan."

Then it happened. As our eyes met, I felt it—a subtle, probing presence, a cold tendril slipping into the edges of my mind, not unlike a vampire attempting to compel, but far more invasive. He was trying to read me. To enter my thoughts. My mind, a fortress of ancient magic, primal instinct, and untapped vampiric power, instantly recoiled. An involuntary shudder ran through me.

Fool .

Before he could even conceptualize the first thought, before his ethereal probe could touch anything beyond the outermost layer of my defences, I shoved. I didn’t just block him; I seized his mental intrusion and ejected it with a force that would have knocked a lesser vampire unconscious. It was an instinct, a reflex born of my tribrid nature, my Mikaelson blood, my witch heritage. The sheer audacity of his attempt, a mere fledgling in the supernatural world, to breach my mind was insulting.

Stefan’s eyes widened, his head tilting back ever so slightly, a fleeting flicker of shock, then profound, dawning realization washing over his face. His carefully constructed human façade cracked, just for a second, revealing the ancient predator within. His gaze sharpened, a nascent fear mixing with awe. He knew. He had to. Only an Original, or a being of comparable ancient power, could repel a vampire’s mental intrusion with such effortless, brutal efficiency.

A tense silence descended, imperceptible to everyone else at the table who were busy with their own conversations, but deafening to me and Stefan. Tyler, ever vigilant, noticed the shift in my demeanour, his brow furrowing. "Everything okay, Freya?" he asked gently, already reaching for my hand under the table.

"I…" I breathed, feeling a sudden need for air, for space from this subtle, yet jarring, confrontation. My heart hammered, not from fear, but from the raw surge of power I'd unleashed, a power I usually kept so tightly leashed. "I just… I need some air."

Bonnie, ever perceptive, immediately picked up on the tremor in my voice. "I'll go with you," she offered, already rising. She knew, or rather, she sensed. She knew I was a witch, one of her own, and she knew I kept secrets.

I nodded gratefully, untangling my hand from Tyler’s, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be right back, T."

We navigated our way out of the crowded cafeteria, stepping into the quieter, cooler hallway. I pushed open the heavy emergency exit door, needing the crisp outdoor air. The school’s athletic fields stretched out before us, a vast expanse of green.

"What happened?" Bonnie asked, her voice low, concerned, but without a hint of judgment. She was a true friend.

I took a deep, shaky breath, the fresh air filling my lungs, clearing the residual mental static. "Stefan," I began, my voice barely a whisper. "He tried to… he tried to get inside my head."

Bonnie gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What? Like, compel you?"

"No," I corrected, shaking my head. "Worse. He tried to read me. To sift through my thoughts, my memories. To know everything." The violation of it still rankled. "I pushed him out."

Bonnie stared at me, her expression a mix of awe and a familiar, deep understanding. She knew what I was capable of, even if she hadn't seen the full extent of it. Her Grams, Sheila, had helped explain some of my unique magical signature, a power unlike anything they’d ever encountered. "And he… knew?"

"He knew," I confirmed, a grim certainty in my voice. "He realized. I could see it in his eyes. He must have recognized the signature, the force. Only an Original has that kind of mental fortitude. Or... a tribrid like me." I omitted the Mikaelson part, as always. It wasn’t a lie, merely an omission, a safeguard.

Bonnie bit her lip, her gaze fixed on the distant trees. "This is… a lot, Maya. First day, and already trouble."

"It's Mystic Falls," I said, a wry, almost bitter humour in my tone. "Trouble finds its way here, especially when a certain family decides to call it home." I wasn't referring to my father directly, but to the nature of their kind.

We stood in silence for a few more minutes, letting the quiet morning air soothe our frayed nerves. Bonnie was a comforting presence, her own nascent witch power a steady anchor beside mine. She didn’t pry, she simply understood.

Eventually, the bell for our next class rang, jolting us back to reality. "Come on," Bonnie said, giving my arm a squeeze. "Let's face the music. At least we have history next, not another mind-reading session."

I managed a weak smile. "Lead the way."

The rest of the school day was relatively uneventful, a welcome reprieve after the lunchtime confrontation. Tyler and I parted ways for our last class, AP Financial, still together, still inseparable. The day wound down, and soon we were in study hall, a gloriously quiet oasis where we could finally just be. He worked on some football plays, sketching pictures in his notebook, while I reread a chapter for AP English, my mind occasionally drifting to the tiny life growing inside me.

As the final bell screamed through the building, signalling the end of the school day, Tyler was already packing his bag. "Ready to go, Freya?" he asked, his dark eyes sparkling.

"More than ready," I said, standing up.

He slung his backpack over one shoulder, then gently took my hand. "My place?"

I nodded, a soft sigh of contentment escaping me. His place was, by now, almost as much my home as the Mikaelson property. His parents welcomed me without question, their house a haven of normalcy and affection. We walked out of the school, hand in hand, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows behind us. The air still held the warmth of the day, but a cool evening breeze was beginning to stir.

As we reached his vintage Buick, Tyler opened the passenger door for me, his usual chivalry evident. I slid in, the familiar scent of leather and old car settling around me. He circled the car, got in, and started the engine, the low rumble a comforting sound.

"So," he said, pulling out of the parking lot, his gaze fixed on the road, "Stefan tried to pull something, didn't he?"

I looked at him, surprised he’d picked up on it, even without Bonnie. But then again, it was Tyler. He knew me better than anyone. "He tried to get into my head," I admitted, my voice low. "He didn't get far. But he knows now. He knows I'm… different."

Tyler’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. A flash of his usual aggression, his possessiveness, flared in his dark eyes. "That arrogant son of a bitch. If he tries anything, Freya, anything at all, I swear to God…"

I reached over, placing my hand on his arm, feeling the tense muscle beneath my palm. "He won't, T. He knows better now. And besides," I added, a hint of something ancient and powerful stirring within me, a quiet, dangerous resolve, "he wouldn't succeed even if he tried."

Tyler looked at me then, a flicker of understanding, and something akin to reverence, in his eyes. He knew. He knew the depths of my power, the unique, terrifying beauty of it. He brought my hand to his lips, kissing my palm. "I know, ást. Still, you’re mine. And no one messes with what's mine."

I leaned my head against the cool window, watching the familiar streets of Mystic Falls pass by. The first day of school was over. The game had begun. And the baby in my belly, our little tribrid son, was already listening. He would be raised in this world, this strange, dangerous, beautiful world. And I, Maya Freya Persaud, daughter of a witch and an Original Hybrid, mate to an untriggered werewolf, would protect him with every ounce of my formidable, unyielding power.

The cool September air of Mystic Falls clung to me like a second skin, carrying the scent of damp Earth and distant woodsmoke. It was close to midnight, the kind of hour where secrets thrived and shadows danced. Tyler had been reluctant for me to leave, his protective instincts flaring even over the phone, but I’d promised to be careful. After all, I had an important visit to make. I pulled the oversized Mystic Falls Timberwolves sweatshirt tighter around me, its familiar scent of him comforting in the vast quiet of the Mikaelson family land, now my land.

My Nike running shoes barely scuffed the gravel as I approached the imposing, antiquated structure of the Salvatore Boarding House. I could feel the residual magic clinging to its ancient stones, a miasma of old blood and forgotten spells. It wasn't the kind of place a normal sixteen-year-old girl would willingly visit at this hour. But I wasn't normal, and this wasn’t a social call.

I pushed open the heavy front door, which creaked in protest, announcing my arrival. The murmurs of an argument carried from the living room. I followed the sound, my heart a steady drum against my ribs, not from fear, but from a calculated anticipation.

"…you have no right to question my choices, Zack!" Damon’s voice, sharp and laced with disdain, cut through the air.

"This is my home, Damon! And you’re turning it into a… a bloodbath!" Zack’s reply was strained, a desperate plea.

"Oh, please, drama queen. It’s a bottle of bourbon and a few… snacks."

I stepped into the living room, my presence instantly silencing them. The argument died on their lips as three pairs of eyes snapped to me. Stefan, looking as broody and intense as he had at lunch, stood near the fireplace. Damon, casually lounging on a worn armchair, a tumbler in his hand, his dark eyes assessing me with a predatory glint. And a third man, older, with kind, worried eyes – Zack, the human Salvatore relation.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Damon drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. "Lost, little bird? This isn't exactly the place for your typical high schooler."

I ignored him, my gaze locking onto Stefan. His eyes, already knowing, held a flicker of something unreadable – recognition, perhaps even a hint of dread.

"I know what you are," I stated, my voice quiet but firm, resonating with a power I rarely let surface. I didn’t shout, didn’t threaten. It was a simple statement of fact, an unshakeable truth. "Both of you." My eyes flickered between Stefan and Damon. "Vampires. Baby Vamps"

Damon’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of annoyance, then genuine surprise. He glanced at Stefan, who remained perfectly still, his eyes wide. Zack, however, gasped, a strangled sound of terror escaping him.

"And how, pray tell, does a sweet, innocent little high schooler stumble upon that particular secret?" Damon challenged, his voice laced with a dangerous edge, a veiled threat. "Unless… you’re not so innocent, are you?" His eyes narrowed, trying to peer into my mind, to find a weakness, a lie.

I felt his mental probing, a familiar, irritating tickle against the impenetrable walls of my mind. It was pathetic, the attempt. I let no thought surface, no emotion, just a blank, impenetrable void. He recoiled slightly, a flash of frustration crossing his face.

"Don't bother," I said, my voice still even. "It won't work." My gaze returned to Stefan. “Now, I know who you are. The question is," I paused, letting the silence stretch, heavy with unspoken power, "Do you know who I am?"

Stefan’s breath hitched. His eyes, pools of a thousand memories, widened in a moment of stark realization. He'd felt it at lunch, that echo of ancient power, that unbreakable mental barrier. Now, seeing me here, confronting them, the pieces clicked into place. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek.

"You're… Mikaelson," he breathed, the name a whisper of awe and terror. "An Original. Not just any Original… one of them." His eyes seemed to pierce through me, seeing beyond the sixteen-year-old girl in the baggy sweatshirt, to the ancient bloodline that flowed through my veins. He recognized the signature, the unique resonance of our family.

A slow smile spread across my lips. It wasn't the gentle, shy smile Tyler often coaxed from me. This was something else entirely. It was a Mona Lisa enigmatic, a touch of the predatory glint I'd seen in Klaus's eyes in the few memories I had, mixed with the quiet authority of Elijah. It was a smile that promised both power and a chilling resolve.

"Good," I said, the single word hanging in the air, a seal of confirmation. "You know who I am."

Damon looked utterly bewildered, then enraged, then utterly horrified as he finally processed Stefan’s words. His tumbler clattered to the floor, splashing amber liquid across the rug. "What the hell are you talking about, Stefan? A Mikaelson? This little girl?"

I didn't wait for Stefan to explain, nor did I dignify Damon's outburst with a response. My message had been delivered. My identity, a shield and a warning, was now known to them. My purpose in coming here tonight had been fulfilled.

With a final, lingering look that held centuries of unspoken threat and unwavering confidence, I turned and walked out of the Salvatore Boarding House, leaving the two vampire brothers and their horrified human relative to grapple with the seismic shift I had just introduced into their little Mystic Falls world. The door creaked shut behind me, plunging them back into their argument, but now, with a terrifying new context.

As I walked back towards where my Navigator was parked, the cool air felt invigorating. My heart continued its steady beat, the thrill of the confrontation a subtle hum in my veins. They knew. And soon, the rest of Mystic Falls would feel the ripples of an Original Tribrid’s presence. This town, with its quaint charm and hidden supernatural underbelly, was about to learn what it meant to have a Mikaelson in its midst. And unlike my father or his siblings who had come before, I wasn't here to play games. I was here to protect what was mine.

Chapter 13: The Night of the Comet

Tyler POV 

The soft evening light, a muted amber through the window, barely disturbed Maya Freya Persaud as she slept. My arm was draped possessively over her waist, my fingers just brushing the slight, almost imperceptible curve of her belly. Fifteen weeks. Our son. An actual, tiny human being growing inside her. The thought still felt surreal, monumental, a gravity that both grounded and terrified me.

She was curled into my side, her dark brown, frizzy curls fanned out on my pillow, a sharp contrast to my black sheets. Even in sleep, her face held that quiet, reserved serenity I’d come to adore. She looked so small, all five feet of her tucked against my 5’8” frame, curvy and petite, yet holding a power I was only just beginning to truly grasp. My oversized Washington Commanders sweatshirt, which she’d claimed as her own the moment she first saw it, swallowed her tiny frame, leaving only her bare tanned legs peeking out from under the black yoga pants. Around her arm, the delicate threads of her Kautuka blended with the glint of gold, a quiet testament to her Indo-Guyanese heritage and the magic that thrummed beneath her skin.

I knew she was a witch. She’d told me everything, laid bare her entire unbelievable existence – the Mikaelsons, the wolf, the untriggered vampire, the spirits, the damn original tribrid thing her father was. My mate. This incredible, shy, devastatingly powerful girl was carrying my child. Only a handful of people knew, and I’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her or our son. My wolf, untriggered though it was, snarled beneath my skin at the mere thought. It was a primal, gut-wrenching protectiveness, an instinct more potent than anything I’d ever felt for anyone, not even my mom.

A small sigh escaped Maya’s lips, and she snuggled closer. My ást. My love. She didn’t have many friends, not really. She spent her time reading, playing the flute, and cooking. She was so damn wise for sixteen, clearer-headed than most adults I knew, and she’d been through hell. Her mom, Indira, is dead. Hunted for her powers. Triggering her wolf by killing one of those psycho witches. Burying her mother alone and then fleeing across a continent to find a family she’d only ever known through stories. My heart ached for her past, even as I treasured our present.

I traced the line of her spine, feeling the subtle give of muscle and bone. She was so damn fragile-looking, but I knew the truth. I’d seen a glimpse of it today. Stefan, the new brooding vampire in town, is trying to read her mind at lunch, and she's just… pushing him out like flicking a fly off a window. She’d told Bonnie outside, her voice quiet but firm, what he’d tried to do. And then, Maya, my polite, reserved Maya, had walked into the Salvatore Boarding House, interrupted their argument, and laid it out for them. “I know who you are. Do you know who I am?” And Stefan, smart enough to feel the ancient power radiating from her, had known. She’d smiled then, a small, knowing thing that had apparently reminded them of Klaus and Elijah – two Original vampires who hadn't been seen in centuries. "Good, you know who I am," she’d said, and just walked away. Like it was nothing. It was still making my head spin.

And now, she was just sleeping, peaceful, despite the chaos that seemed to follow her. Or maybe it was just her life.

“Freya,” I whispered, nudging her gently. “Hey, sleepyhead. Comet festival tonight.”

She stirred, a soft groan escaping her. Her dark brown eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep, but a familiar warmth instantly replaced the distant look. “T,” she mumbled, her voice raspy. She stretched, a tiny catlike arch of her back. The oversized sweatshirt rode up slightly, revealing a flash of tanned midriff, and I had to fight the urge to just pull her back into me and forget about the festival.

“Come on,” I urged, reluctantly withdrawing my arm. “It’s almost dark. We should get going if we want to catch a good spot.”

She blinked, then sat up, a small, sleepy smile gracing her lips. “Right. The comet.” She looked down at my sweatshirt. “This is comfortable.”

“You can keep it,” I said without hesitation. She pretty much had half my wardrobe already. “But you might want to put something on over it.”

She nodded, pushing herself off the bed. I watched her move, the delicate sway of her hips. At sixteen, she was wise beyond her years, a scholar and a survivor, but there were still moments when she was just a girl, and in those moments, my protective instincts flared into a raging fire.

She pulled on a light denim jacket she’d borrowed from me, its sleeves a little long, and then looked at me, a question in her eyes. “Ready?”

“Almost,” I said, pulling on a clean t-shirt and another jacket over it. “Piggyback ride to the square?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes, please!” She loved those. It was one of the small, simple joys we shared, a moment of pure, unadulterated youthful fun that countered the often-heavy reality of her life.

I bent down, and she scrambled onto my back, her arms wrapping securely around my neck, legs locking around my waist. Even with the slight added weight of our unborn son, she felt feather-light. Her scent – a mix of old books, something earthy, and a faint, sweet floral note that was uniquely hers – filled my senses.

“You okay?” I asked, adjusting my grip on her thighs.

“Perfect,” she murmured, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Just… tired. It’s been a long day.”

A long day indeed. After the whole Stefan incident, I'd walked her to her final class, AP Financial, where we sat side-by-side, me trying to concentrate on interest rates while my mind replayed her quiet defiance against a goddamn vampire. She seemed perfectly calm, meticulously taking notes, just another brilliant student. Nobody in that classroom, or even in this entire town, would ever guess the true extent of Maya Freya Persaud’s power. And that was exactly how she wanted it.

We left the Mikaelson ancestral land, Maya’s quiet haven, and started walking towards the town square. The air was cool, 15°C, sharp with the scent of damp Earth and distant woodsmoke. The evening was settling in, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and deep indigo. Lamplights dotted the streets, casting long, wavering shadows.

“You really think Damon’s going to be a problem?” I grunted, carefully navigating a loose patch of pavement.

She sighed against my ear. “He’s a Salvatore. They always are. He’s impulsive, reckless. Stefan’s trying to be good, but Damon… Damon relishes chaos. And he knows who I am now. Or, at least, he knows I’m connected to Klaus. That’s enough to make me a target. He’s going to be looking for an angle, T. Always.” Her voice was soft, but the underlying wisdom was stark.

“Let him look,” I growled, my grip tightening slightly on her. “He tries anything… he’ll regret it. Badly.”

“I know, ást,” she said, sensing the raw edge in my voice. “But you don’t need to trigger your wolf over him. Not here. Not now. Not for him.”

I knew she was right. My father, Richard, was still a controlling prick, pushing me to fight opponents he chose, demanding I live up to some fucked-up legacy. My untriggered wolf was a ticking time bomb, something I usually struggled to control and constantly felt the rage building inside. But with Maya? It was different. It was a protective shield, a primal roar that would tear anything apart to keep her safe. It was also terrifying because I knew one wrong move, one death on my hands, and I’d be howling at the moon, a slave to the curse. But if it came to her… I wasn't sure I’d hesitate.

The square was already bustling, a vibrant tapestry of people, concession stands, and the excited chatter of anticipation. Teenage couples strolled hand-in-hand, families milled around, and the air hummed with a festive energy. The smell of popcorn and roasted nuts mingled with the distant scent of pine.

I spotted our friends near the old clock tower, a familiar cluster in the growing crowd. Bonnie, with her bright, intelligent eyes. Matt, solid and dependable as always, his quarterback built a comforting presence. Caroline, already animated, was probably talking a mile a minute. Jeremy, looking bored, was sticking with Elena. Vicki, too, seemed surprisingly sober. And then, there they were, the Salvatore brothers, Damon leaning against a lamppost with that smirk, Stefan looking… complicated.

“There they are,” I said, and Maya shifted. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she murmured, and I could feel her pull back into her natural shyness, her protective shell. This was Maya in public, the quiet, reserved girl, not the fierce witch who stared down ancient vampires.

I lowered her carefully to the ground, my hand finding hers and lacing our fingers together. She squeezed my hand, a silent thank you.

“Hey, guys!” Matt called out, his smile widening when he saw us.

“Maya! Tyler!” Bonnie waved, already moving towards us. Matt followed, giving me a solid clap on the back and Maya a warm, gentle hug.

“You made it,” Bonnie said, relief in her voice. Bonnie knew. She knew about Maya, about her being a witch, about the pregnancy. Her Grams, too. They were Maya’s only other confidantes in town, a welcome support system.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Maya said, her voice soft, but with a genuine smile that transformed her face, making her eyes sparkle.

Elena, Caroline, Jeremy, and Vicki joined us, and the usual greetings were exchanged. Elena’s eyes lingered on Maya, a curious, almost assessing look, but Maya just offered her a polite, small smile.

Then Damon, ever the dramatic entrance-maker, sauntered closer, his eyes raking over Maya with an unsettling intensity. I felt the low growl rumble in my chest, a warning.

Elena, oblivious to the undercurrents, stepped forward, her hand on Damon’s arm. “Tyler, Maya, this is Damon Salvatore. Stefan’s older brother. Damon, this is Tyler Lockwood and Maya Persaud.”

Damon’s smirk widened, his eyes never leaving Maya’s. “It’s a pleasure,” he purred, his voice dripping with an insincere charm that set my teeth on edge. He extended a hand towards her, a predatory glint in his gaze.

Maya’s grip on my hand tightened almost imperceptibly. Her face remained neutral, but I felt a subtle tremor of power ripple from her, like static electricity in the air around her. She didn’t take his hand. Instead, she offered a small, polite nod. “Mr. Salvatore,” she replied, her voice calm, devoid of emotion. “A pleasure.”

It was a masterclass in polite dismissal. Damon’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, just long enough for me to catch it, before it snapped back into place, even more exaggerated. He knew. He knew she wasn’t a normal human. Stefan, standing a little behind him, caught my eye, a knowing, almost apologetic look in his own. He might be a vampire, but he seemed to have more sense than his brother.

Caroline, ever the social butterfly, immediately launched into a monologue about the best spot to see the comet, pulling Elena and Jeremy into her orbit. Matt and Bonnie, seeing the tension, steered the conversation away from introductions, talking about the football me last week.

I kept Maya close, my arm settling around her shoulders, my fingers instinctively brushing her hip, right near where our son rested. Damon’s eyes followed the movement, a flicker of something unreadable in them before he turned his attention to Elena, lying on the charm thick.

Stefan, however, remained quietly observant, his gaze occasionally drifting to Maya, a mix of curiosity and respect in his eyes. He’d known. He’d felt it. He knew she was something ancient, something Original, something powerful. And he probably deduced more from my possessive stance and her hand on her abdomen.

The sky was almost fully dark now, a deep velvet blanket studded with the first pinpricks of stars. A collective hush fell over the crowd as the first meteor streaked across the sky, a silent, fiery whisper.

Then came the main event. A brilliant, emerald green streak, blazing across the firmament, leaving a ghostly trail in its wake. The comet. A collective gasp rose from the crowd, followed by murmurs of awe. It was beautiful, truly. A transient, ethereal spectacle.

Maya leaned into me, her head resting on my shoulder. “It’s incredible, ást,” she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. Her eyes, usually so guarded, were wide and sparkling, reflecting the light of the celestial fire.

“Yeah,” I murmured, my focus less on the comet and more on the girl beside me. “It is.”

I squeezed her shoulder, pulling her even closer. For a moment, the world outside us faded away. The crowd, the Salvatores, the impending supernatural chaos that seemed to cling to Mystic Falls like a shroud – none of it mattered. It was just us. Maya, me, and our unborn son. A fragile, precious bubble of peace in a complicated, dangerous world.

After the comet had faded, leaving only residual awe and the buzzing energy of the crowd, people started to disperse. Damon had already vanished, probably off to wreak havoc somewhere. Stefan lingered, a thoughtful expression on his face, but he didn’t approach us again.

“Ready to head out?” I asked Maya.

She nodded. “Please.” The quiet tiredness was back in her eyes. It was a lot, being around so many people, especially with her heightened senses.

“Bonnie, Matt, need a ride?” I offered, already heading towards the Navigator parked a few blocks away.

“Yeah, that’d be great, Ty, thanks!” Matt grinned, slinging an arm over Bonnie’s shoulder.

Elena, Caroline, Jeremy, and Vicki waved their goodbyes, staying behind to enjoy the lingering festival atmosphere.

As we walked, my arm securely around Maya, her body a comforting weight against mine, Matt and Bonnie chatted about school, about the upcoming football game, about anything and everything mundane. It was a welcome change from the earlier tension.

We reached the black Navigator. “Shotgun for Freya,” I declared, opening the passenger door for her. She slid in, settling back into the rich leather seats. The small bump in her belly was more noticeable now when she was seated, and I felt another surge of protectiveness.

Bonnie and Matt piled into the back, and I started the engine, the powerful hum of the Lincoln a familiar comfort. The drive to Bonnie’s house was short, filled with easy conversation.

“Thanks for the ride, Tyler,” Bonnie said, grabbing her backpack. “And it was good to see you, Maya.” She gave Maya a knowing smile, a brief, conspiratorial glance that only they shared.

“You too, Bon,” Maya replied, genuinely.

Matt hopped out after Bonnie. “See you guys at practice tomorrow, T. Maya, take it easy.”

“Always do,” Maya said with a small smile.

I drove away from Bonnie’s house, the streetlights illuminating the quiet residential road. The silence in the car was different now, more intimate. Maya leaned her head against the window, watching the blur of trees outside.

“Are you really okay?” I asked, reaching over to take her hand. Her fingers were cool against mine.

“I am, ást,” she said, her voice soft. “Just… processing. Damon’s going to be a problem. My father and uncles are not going to be happy, he knows. Not at all.”

I squeezed her hand. “Then we deal with it. Together. Like always.”

She turned her head, her dark eyes meeting mine. A small, tired smile played on her lips. “Together,” she echoed.

The road ahead was dark, but the Navigator’s powerful headlights cut through the night. I knew our life wouldn’t be easy. Mystic Falls was a magnet for the supernatural, and Maya, with her complicated heritage and immense power, was right at its heart. But as long as I had her by my side, as long as I had her and our son, I knew we could face anything. I just had to make sure no one, not Damon, not even her own twisted family, ever truly got close enough to hurt her. Because if they did, they’d have hell to pay. And my untriggered wolf, usually a curse, would become their nightmare. 

 Friday, September 11, 2009  

The crisp morning air bit at my exposed skin, but the chill barely registered over the dull ache in my muscles. Another brutal practice under Coach Tanner. My lungs burned, and sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, but I pushed through, tackling the sled with a grunt. Football was usually my escape, my way to channel all the restless energy and simmering anger that often brewed beneath my skin. But lately, it felt less like an escape and more like another obligation, another piece of the puzzle I was trying to fit together.

Matt was beside me, his own face flushed, catching his breath as we waited for the next drill. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of the shared misery. “Rough one,” he panted, then lowered his voice. “Everything okay with Maya? She looked… a little pale at the festival last night.”

I straightened up, adjusting my helmet. My eyes automatically scanned the empty stands, a habit I’d developed since Maya came to town. Even when she wasn’t here, I felt the need to make sure the space around me was clear, safe. “She’s fine,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. “Just tired. Long day.”

Matt, bless his unassuming heart, just nodded. He was one of the few people, outside of my parents and Bonnie and her Grams, who knew about the baby. It was a heavy secret to carry, and having Matt, even just as a sounding board, was a relief. He didn’t judge, didn’t question, just listened with that quiet, unwavering loyalty that made him such a good friend.

“She stayed over last night?” Matt asked, his tone casual, but I caught the subtle lift of his brow.

A small, private smile touched my lips. “Yeah. My mom practically insisted. Said Maya needed a good night’s sleep after… everything.” Everything being the festival, the weird encounter with the Salvatore brothers, and the general overwhelming nature of being fifteen weeks pregnant while dealing with high school and ancient supernatural baggage.

“Glad to hear it,” Matt said, taking a sip from his water bottle. “Must be nice, having her around.”

“It is,” I admitted, the words coming out softer than I intended. It was more than nice. It was… everything. Being with Maya, having her quiet presence fill the house, knowing she was safe under my parents’ roof – under my roof – it settled something deep within me. Something that had been restless and wild for as long as I could remember.

“So,” Matt began, kicking at a loose piece of turf. “How are you handling it? You know, the… dad thing.”

I exhaled slowly, watching Coach Tanner bark orders at the linebackers. The dad thing. It still sounded surreal. Me, Tyler Lockwood, a dad. I was seventeen. Most guys my age were worried about getting a date for homecoming or passing a history test. I was preparing to be a father. A tribrid father, at that.

“It’s… a lot,” I confessed, looking at Matt. There was no point in sugarcoating it with him. He saw through my usual bullshit. “Terrifying, honestly. I mean, what do I know about being a dad? My own… he’s not exactly a shining example.” The bitterness in my voice was hard to hide. Richard Lockwood was many things, but a supportive, loving father wasn’t one of them. He was a bully, plain and simple, and the thought of me ever being like him with my own kid made my stomach churn.

“You’ll be nothing like him, Ty,” Matt said, sensing my dark turn. “You’re not like him. You care, man. That’s more than half the battle.”

“Yeah, well, caring doesn’t exactly tell me how to change a diaper or how to explain… well, everything to a kid when they’re old enough to ask,” I mumbled, running a hand through my damp hair. “And it’s not just the baby stuff, is it? It’s… Maya. And her family. And what she is. What he is.”

The weight of Maya’s secrets, of our child’s destiny, pressed down on me like a physical burden. Maya had told me everything, every last detail. The Mikaelsons, the witches, the ancient werewolf bloodlines, the fact that she was an Original Tribrid, basically unkillable. And our son, an untapped witch, untriggered werewolf, and vampire. It was a goddamn fantasy novel, except it was my life. Our life.

“She’s okay, though?” Matt pressed, always bringing me back to the practical. “With the pregnancy? She’s looked exhausted for weeks.”

“She is,” I said, nodding. “Physically, she’s doing good. Dr. Keelin says everything’s on track. But yeah, she’s tired. I mean, it’s a lot for a sixteen-year-old, right? A lot for anyone. Especially with her… abilities.” I kept my voice low, glancing around. Even though Matt knew, I was hyper-aware of who might be listening. The less people knew about Maya’s true nature, the safer she was. That was her rule, and I’d die before breaking it.

“Did she tell you about yesterday?” I asked, changing the subject slightly, but still keeping it in the realm of Maya and her powers. “At lunch? And then after school?”

Matt frowned, thinking. “She mentioned having a weird interaction with Stefan, then getting some air with Bonnie. Didn’t go into detail.”

I scoffed. “Understatement of the year. Stefan tried to get into her head, Matt. Like, supernaturally dig into her thoughts. And she just… pushed him out. Like flicking a fly.” I shook my head, still in awe of her power. “Then, after school, she just… showed up at the Salvatore Boarding House. Confronted him and Damon. Called them ‘Baby Vamps’ as an insult. Said she knew who they were, then asked if they knew who she was. Stefan did recognize her power, the type of power that only an Original could possess.”

Matt’s eyes widened. “Seriously? She just… showed up?”

“Seriously. And she smiled, Matt. A smile that apparently reminded them of Elijah and Klaus. Then, they just walked away, leaving them to wonder. She wasn’t even there in person. She was ‘astral projecting’ or something. She was napping in my bed at the time.” I couldn’t help but grin, a genuine, proud grin. My Maya. Fearless and powerful, yet so quiet and reserved. It was a contradiction that fascinated me every single day.

“That’s… insane,” Matt breathed, shaking his head slowly. “So, these Mikaelsons she talks about… they’re like, the original vampires? And she’s related to them?”

“Her dad is Klaus Mikaelson,” I confirmed. “The Original Hybrid. And she’s like him. A tribrid. Untriggered vampire, but she’s already a spirit witch and a triggered werewolf.”

Matt stared at me, jaw slightly ajar. “And she’s only sixteen? I mean, nineteen ninety-three, right? Jesus. And she’s carrying your kid, who is going to be… all of that?”

“Yeah,” I said, the gravity of it settling back in. “Which is why I have to get my shit together. For her. For him. I can’t be the hot-headed asshole anymore. I can’t be… my father. I have to protect them. All of them.”

Matt clapped me on the shoulder again, a firmer, more encouraging squeeze this time. “You will, man. You already are. Look at you. Less angry, more… focused. She’s good for you.”

“She’s everything,” I corrected him, looking past him towards the school building, imagining Maya sleeping soundly in my bed, her small baby bump rising and falling with each breath. She was curvy and petite, a tiny thing that carried so much power and so much fragility at the same time. The fierce protectiveness that had ignited in me the moment I realized she was my mate, the moment I knew she was pregnant, had only grown. It was like a constant hum beneath my skin, a low growl ready to erupt at the first sign of threat.

Coach Tanner blew his whistle, signalling the next drill. “Lockwood! Donovan! Quit gawking and get back in formation!”

“Let’s go,” I said to Matt, a renewed determination in my voice. Every drill, every tackle, every sprint – it wasn’t just for the team anymore. It was for them. For Maya, for our son. I needed to be stronger, faster, smarter. I needed to be the man they deserved.

As we ran the drills, my mind replayed fragments of last night. The festival lights, the music, the way Maya leaned into my side, her hand resting casually over her barely-there bump. The simple joy of just being with her. And then, later, in my room, how she’d curled into me, her head on my chest, her breathing even and deep. She trusted me. She relied on me. And I would never let her down.

I thought about her family, the dangerous unknowns lurking in their past. Her mother’s murder, the witches who wanted her powers. The Mikaelsons, who were apparently the most powerful, oldest beings on the planet, and also, by all accounts, highly dysfunctional and prone to violence. And somewhere, maybe, Klaus Mikaelson, the father who had been in and out of her life. He was a piece of this puzzle I couldn’t ignore. He was her father. And the grandfather of my son.

A shiver ran down my spine, not from the cold, but from the realization of just how deep we were in this. This wasn’t just a high school romance. This was ancient bloodlines, powerful magic, and a baby who would be unlike anything the world had ever seen.

I slammed into the dummy, gritting my teeth. “Don’t you dare hurt them,” I muttered, a low vow under my breath, directed at anyone or anything that might threaten my family. “Not on my watch.”

The morning continued, a blur of sweat and effort. I pushed harder, ran faster, and hit with more force. Every ache, every burn, was a reminder of what I was fighting for. By the time practice wrapped up, I was exhausted, but a different kind of exhaustion than usual. This was the fatigue that came from carrying a heavy weight, but also from knowing what that weight was for.

As I headed towards the locker room, Matt jogging beside me, I pulled out my phone. One new message. From Maya.

‘Good morning, mate. Sleep well? Mom wants me to raid your fridge for breakfast. Think you’ll survive? Call me when you’re done.’

A soft smile spread across my face. Mate. My mate. My tribrid, pregnant, badass mate.

“You good?” Matt asked, eyeing my phone.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the exertion of practice. “Yeah, I’m good.”

I was more than good. I was ready.

Chapter 14: Friday Night Bites

The crisp, autumn air of Mystic Falls, still clinging to the lingering warmth of summer, always felt different here. More alive. More… magical. Today, Saturday, September 12, 2009, it held the electric hum of anticipation for the Mystic Falls High Timberwolves' first home football game. I stood in my new bedroom, a room I’d meticulously crafted into a sanctuary in the old Mikaelson ancestral home, the weight of the day settling over me.

“You look absolutely radiant, Freya,” Keelin’s voice, a calm counterpoint to the nervous flutter in my stomach, drifted from behind me. She was perched on my antique vanity chair, observing me with her keen, wolf-honed eyes. My small baby bump, barely noticeable beneath the flow of my black strappy tank dress, was a secret we guarded closely. Only a handful knew, and among them, Keelin, my doctor and a fellow wolf, was a rock.

I turned, giving a small, reserved smile. My dark brown, wavy hair was gathered into a high top knot, a black and red satin bow scarf knotted around its base, a splash of rebellious colour against the demure dress. My Kautuka, a traditional Hindu black bead necklace worn for protection and good fortune, rested above Rebekah's silver amulet—Esther's talisman necklace—and a simple name chain with 'Maya' etched into it. Gold and black beaded bracelets adorned my left wrist. My makeup was natural, save for a bold swipe of red lipstick and a precise line of black eyeliner, framing my dark brown eyes. Large silver hoop earrings glittered as I moved.

“Thanks, Keelin,” I murmured, my Hindi accent soft. I loved that she used ‘Freya,’ Tyler being the only other person to call me that. It felt like a warm, secret embrace. My own thoughts, however, were suddenly interrupted by a low thrumming sensation, not external, but deep within my bones, a familiar yet distinct frequency. It was a wolf. A pure-blood, like Keelin, but stronger, older. And he was close. Very close to the property line.

Keelin’s head cocked slightly, her eyes narrowing. "You feel that, too?"

I nodded, already moving towards the window. "He's not one of us. He part of the North East Atlantic Pack. But... he’s not hostile." My senses, usually a carefully managed deluge of information, were sharpened by my burgeoning tribrid nature and the life growing within me.

We moved with a quiet urgency that was almost a dance, Keelin’s supernatural speed matching my own innate agility. Stepping out into the cool afternoon, the scent of damp Earth and distant pine needles filled the air. He was there, standing at the edge of the dense woods that bordered the Mikaelson land, a tall man with a lean, powerful build, his eyes the unmistakable amber of a born werewolf. His scent was ancient, almost primal, but overlaid with a faint, familiar magic.

"Greetings," I said, my voice gentle but firm, drawing on the ancient languages that flowed as easily as English. "You are on private land."

He took a step forward, his gaze direct, assessing. "Cary," he introduced himself, his voice a low rumble. "Cary Aumont. A distant cousin, Maya Freya Persaud."

My brow furrowed slightly. Aumont. The name rang a bell from my father's convoluted family tree, a royal werewolf family. Marcel’s line. "How do you know my name?" I asked, though a part of me already knew the answer.

"Marcel sent me," Cary replied, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. "Word travels. He heard about... your situation. And the new company you’ve founded in Mystic Falls. He wanted someone... discreet, to watch over you. Especially with the new life you carry." His gaze flickered meaningfully to my stomach, though his expression remained neutral. He was well-informed. Marcel, my older paternal half-brother, was nothing if not thorough.

My shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. "I see." It wasn’t a surprise, not truly. Marcel had always been fiercely protective, even from a distance. "Well, Cary Aumont, you've arrived at an opportune time. We're heading to the high school. Football game." I gestured towards the Navigator, gleaming obsidian in the dappled sunlight. "You're welcome to join us. It might give you a better feel for the 'new company' I keep."

He considered me for a moment, then gave a curt nod. "Lead the way, cousin."

The drive to the school was short, a comfortable, quiet settling in the Navigator. Keelin drove, while I sat shotgun, and Cary rode in the back, a silent, powerful sentinel. The tailgate party was already in full swing when we pulled into the crowded parking lot. The scent of grilled meat, cheap beer, and raw adolescent energy hung heavy in the air. Music blared from various speakers, and students, parents, and town members mingled, a chaotic tapestry of small-town life.

As we navigated the throng, stepping around overturned coolers and enthusiastic groups, Coach Tanner's booming voice cut through the noise. "Alright, listen up, Timberwolves!" He stood on a makeshift platform, a grizzled man with a perpetually stern face, giving his pre-game pep talk. "Tonight, we leave everything on that field! No fear! No surrender! We show them what Mystic Falls is made of!" His words were met with raucous cheers.

Just as the crowd began to disperse, a strong arm slid around my waist. "Freya! You’re here!" Tyler’s voice, a rich baritone, was filled with genuine warmth. His dark eyes, usually holding a hint of aggression for others, softened completely when they met mine. He was in his jersey, looking impossibly broad and handsome, his muscular frame radiating heat even through the fabric. "And you look… goddamn incredible. That jacket’s pretty hot too, but I think I like it better on you." He gestured to his letterman's Timberwolves jacket, which I wore proudly over my dress, the black and red a perfect complement to my outfit.

I leaned into his embrace, a genuine smile gracing my lips. “Thanks, T. You clean up alright yourself, Captain.” I squeezed his hand, then leaned in closer, whispering in Old Norse, "Þú ert minn ást," You are my love. He grinned, squeezing back, a silent understanding passing between us. He was the only one who truly saw past my quiet exterior, the only one who didn't let my reserve deter him.

Before Tyler could respond, two figures materialized beside us, their arrival almost too smooth, too… vampire. Stefan and Damon Salvatore. My internal label, "Baby Vamps," flickered humorously through my mind. Damon's eyes immediately locked onto my necklace, specifically Rebekah's.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Damon drawled, his voice dripping with false charm, though his eyes were sharp, possessive. He reached out a hand, almost touching the silver amulet. "That necklace looks... familiar. Where'd a little thing like you get a piece like that?" His tone was dismissive and condescending.

My smile vanished, replaced by a cool, unreadable expression. My voice, usually soft, held an unexpected chill. "It's my aunt's." I didn't need to specify which aunt; the look in Damon's eyes, the slight tightening of Stefan's jaw, told me they understood. I'd compelled Zack to give it back to me, to forget he ever had it. I hadn't been subtle about letting them know I knew who they were either.

Just then, Bonnie, Elena, and Caroline joined us, their bright, youthful energy a stark contrast to the simmering tension.

"Hey, Maya!" Bonnie chirped, her eyes wide as she took in my ensemble. "Wow, you look amazing! And Tyler, good luck tonight!"

"Yeah, go Timberwolves!" Caroline added, ever the enthusiastic cheerleader, oblivious to the undercurrents. Elena, ever the peacekeeper, offered a small, hesitant smile to the Salvatores, then to me.

Tyler, sensing the shift in mood, pulled me closer. "Alright, guys, I gotta go warm up. Freya, I'll see you on the field, okay?" He pressed a quick, chaste kiss to my forehead before jogging off towards the locker room.

Damon held my gaze for a beat longer, a flicker of grudging respect, or perhaps something more predatory, in his eyes before he and Stefan pivoted and melted back into the crowd. I met Bonnie's gaze, offering her a genuine smile, the warmth returning. My walls, carefully constructed, were still there, but Bonnie, Keelin, and even Tyler had found ways to peek through them.

As dusk began to settle, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, we made our way into the stadium. The stands buzzed with an infectious excitement. Keelin, Cary, and I found seats in the general vicinity of Mayor Lockwood and his wife, Carol. I offered them a polite, reserved nod, and they returned it, Carol giving me a warm smile while the Mayor's expression remained somewhat stiff.

"Go, T!" I cheered, joining the roar of the crowd as the Timberwolves burst onto the field, Tyler leading them, a force of nature in his element. The air was electric, charged with the collective hopes of a town.

The game was a whirlwind of plays, tackles, and strategic moves. Matt, the quarterback, was precise. Stefan, the wide receiver, is remarkably agile for a 'baby vamp'. But Tyler, as Captain and their formidable corner/safety, was everywhere, a defensive powerhouse. He was a natural leader, and watching him, a profound sense of pride swelled within me, a protective warmth for the life we were creating together.

Mayor Lockwood, a man who seemed to live and breathe Mystic Falls football, leaned over to Carol at one point, his brow furrowed. "Where in the hell is Tanner? I haven’t seen him all night."

Carol shrugged, "I saw the other coaches step in. Maybe he's got the flu, Richard."

I heard their exchange, my enhanced senses picking up the subtle tension in the Mayor's voice, the genuine concern. But the game continued, a mesmerizing spectacle, overshadowing any lingering questions. The Timberwolves were playing with a ferocity that seemed almost unnatural, every player giving their all.

By the fourth quarter, it was neck and neck. The tension was palpable, the crowd on its feet. With seconds left on the clock, Matt threw a long pass, Stefan caught it, and dodged two defenders, scoring the game-winning touchdown. The stadium erupted. Tyler, sprinting from the other end of the field, was the first to tackle Stefan in a celebratory hug.

The Mystic Falls Timberwolves had won.

Post-game chaos ensued. Players high-fived, fans rushed the field, a triumphant roar filling the cool night air. I stood near the edge of the stands with Bonnie, waiting for Tyler to emerge from the celebratory huddle. Cary and Keelin stood on either side of me, their presence a comforting anchor amidst the joyous pandemonium.

Suddenly, a different kind of sound cut through the celebration – a frantic shout, then a series of gasps. The celebratory energy quickly drained away, replaced by a chilling silence that spread like a ripple through the crowd.

"What's going on?" Bonnie whispered, her eyes wide, grasping my arm.

We saw them then. Matt and Tyler, their faces ashen, stumbled back from the locker rooms, their expressions a mixture of horror and disbelief. Tyler's dark eyes met mine from across the field, and his gaze, usually so vibrant, was clouded with a profound shock.

Then, the flashing lights of an ambulance. Paramedics and deputies swarmed the area near the locker rooms. And finally, the stretcher, draped in white, is being wheeled out. My senses, already sharp, focused. The smell of blood, coppery and distinct, lingered in the air. The faint, metallic tang of an old wound, mixed with something… powerful.

"It's Coach Tanner," someone whispered, the words carrying on the night air. "Matt and Tyler found him. He's... he's dead."

The murmur spread like wildfire, converting celebration into morbid curiosity, then into a collective, horrified gasp. A chill, colder than the September night, settled over Mystic Falls. I watched as the stretcher was loaded into the ambulance, the white sheet covering the silent, still form. A feeling of dread, deep and ancient, settled in my core. This was more than just a tragic accident. This was Mystic Falls, and nothing was ever just a tragic accident here. Not anymore. I clutched Bonnie's arm, her young, innocent face a mirror of the town's shock. The veil had been lifted, and true darkness had begun to creep in. I knew, with a certainty that only a witch of my lineage could possess, that this was only the beginning.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

The chill that settled over Mystic Falls High wasn’t from the crisp autumn air. It was the icy grip of tragedy, a sombre cloak draped over the town for Mr. Tanner’s funeral. The sky was a muted grey, mirroring the faces of everyone gathered at the church. My stomach churned, a familiar discomfort knotting inside me, though I knew it wasn't just my usual unease in crowded spaces. It felt… heavier. More profound.

Keelin stood beside me, her presence a steady anchor in the sea of hushed whispers and solemn faces. She gave my arm a gentle squeeze, her eyes, usually so sharp and knowing, softened with empathy. I was grateful to her. She was one of the few who knew the truth of what I was and what this town truly harboured.

I slipped my hand into the small black vanity bag hanging from my wrist, my fingers brushing against the cool silver of Rebekah’s necklace beneath my black coat. It felt like a small act of defiance, a subtle reminder of who I was, even as I blended into the mournful crowd. My dark dress and asymmetric pumps felt stiff, too formal for someone who usually preferred faded jeans and oversized hoodies. My hair, pulled back into a ballet bun, felt too neat, too controlled for the chaos simmering beneath my calm exterior.

The church was packed, the air thick with the scent of lilies and unspoken grief. I saw Matt and Tyler in the front row, their shoulders slumped, their faces pale. My heart ached for them. Matt had lost a coach, a mentor. Tyler… he’d found the body. The image of Coach Tanner, lifeless, must have been burned into his mind. I caught Tyler’s eye, offering a small, sympathetic nod. He returned it, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable in his dark eyes, a look he reserved only for me. My T.

We found a spot towards the back, near Bonnie and her Grams, Sheila Bennett. Grams, a pillar of strength and ancient wisdom, offered a small, knowing smile as I approached. Bonnie, usually so bright, looked subdued, her cheerleading uniform replaced with a dark dress. She gave me a weak wave.

“Maya, dear,” Grams said, her voice a low, comforting hum. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, Grams,” I replied, my voice softer than usual. “My heart goes out to Coach Tanner’s family. And to Matt and Tyler.”

The service was a blur of platitudes and shared memories. It felt hollow to me. Not because Mr. Tanner didn’t deserve the respect, but because I knew the truth of how he died. The official story was a heart attack, but my senses, my very being, screamed lies. I'd felt the lingering residue of something cold, something ancient and predatory, at the football field. It was the same energy that hummed around Damon Salvatore.

My gaze drifted to the Salvatores, seated a few rows ahead. Stefan looked genuinely distraught, his brow furrowed with what I could only assume was a mix of guilt and discomfort. Damon, on the other hand, sat with an almost bored expression, a smirk playing on his lips when he thought no one was looking. Baby Vamp. A familiar wave of cold anger washed over me. He flaunted his cruelty, his disregard for human life, as if it were a badge of honour. He had no respect for anyone, not even the dead.

As the service ended, the mourners slowly filtered out into the gloomy afternoon. I lingered with Keelin, waiting for Bonnie and Grams.

“Are you alright, Freya?” Keelin murmured, using Tyler’s affectionate nickname for me. She was one of the few who knew it.

“As much as I can be,” I whispered back, my gaze still fixed on Damon’s retreating back. “It’s him, Keelin. I felt it. The same… coldness.”

Keelin’s eyes narrowed, her werewolf senses, like mine, attuned to such things. “The vampire. The older one.”

I nodded slowly. Bonnie and Grams finally reached us. Bonnie gave a small, tired sigh. “This is just… awful.”

“It is,” I agreed, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “But Bonnie… Grams… I don’t think Mr. Tanner’s death was natural.”

Bonnie’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of fear in them. “What do you mean?”

Grams, however, simply looked at me, her expression unreadable at first, then a slow nod. “You felt it too, child?”

My heart gave a jolt. Grams knew. Of course, she knew. She was a Bennett witch, a powerful one. Her intuition would be just as sharp, perhaps even sharper, than mine concerning local magic and anomalies.

“I did,” I confirmed softly, leaning a little closer so only they could hear. “The lingering… shadow. It felt like… bloodlust, pure and ancient. Not human.” I paused, taking a breath. “I think it was Damon Salvatore.” The name left a bitter taste on my tongue.

Bonnie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Damon? No, he… he couldn’t have.” She sounded horrified, but also, I noted, a hint of doubt. She’d seen what Damon was like. She’d heard rumours.

Grams placed a reassuring hand on Bonnie’s arm, her gaze never leaving mine. “She is right, Bonnie. The energies… they don’t lie. The veil between our world and the spirit world is thin here. Especially now. There’s a disturbance, a malevolent presence that reeks of old blood and power. More than one in this town, in fact.” Her eyes flickered towards Stefan, then back to Damon as he disappeared around the corner. “But the one responsible for this… I felt its echo in the field that night. A vampire, yes. And a very, very old one, masquerading as something less.”

It was the confirmation I’d needed, the shared understanding that solidified my suspicions. It was unnerving, this dance with danger, this quiet confirmation of the monster lurking in plain sight. I was only 16, carrying a child, and already neck-deep in the supernatural underbelly of this town my family had once founded. My mother had tried to shield me from this, but it was inescapable. It was in my blood.

“But why?” Bonnie asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why kill Mr. Tanner?”

“Perhaps to send a message,” Grams mused, her eyes distant, as if seeing beyond the physical realm. “To stir the pot. Or perhaps simply because he could. Some choose chaos for chaos’s sake.”

I added, “Or to test the waters. To see what he can get away with. I suspect he thrives on fear.” My mind went back to the cryptic warning I’d given the Salvatore brothers, to the casual way Damon had held my aunt’s necklace hostage. He was arrogant, and arrogant creatures were dangerous.

“We need to be careful, Bonnie,” Grams warned, her gaze earnest. “More careful than ever. This town… it remembers. And some things that sleep, should remain sleeping.” She looked pointedly at me, a silent acknowledgement of my own latent power, my untriggered vampirism, and the wolf within. She knew I was a key player in whatever was destined to unfold here.

A new wave of unease washed over me, deeper than before. Not just for myself, but for Bonnie, for Matt and Tyler, for everyone living in blissful ignorance. I had come to Mystic Falls seeking information about my family, a place to belong. Instead, I found myself on the front lines of a brewing supernatural conflict, with a baby bump growing steadily beneath my coat as a constant reminder of the life I carried, a life that linked me forever to this chaotic, dangerous world.

I inhaled deeply, the cool air doing little to settle the churning in my stomach. “We will, Grams,” I promised, my voice firm despite the tremor in my hands. “We all will.” I knew, with chilling certainty, that this was only the beginning. Damon had made his move. And now, the game had begun.

The chill that clung to my bones from the funeral earlier that day hadn’t quite dissipated, even wrapped in my soft babydoll nightdress. Outside, the September night was cold, a crisp 12°C, and the old Mikaelson mansion felt vast and quiet around me, each creak of settling timbers echoing the stillness in my chest. My Kautuka, the sacred red-and-yellow thread, was still tied around my wrist, a silent prayer for protection, nestled beside the familiar weight of my gold and black bead bracelet.

Mr. Tanner’s funeral had been a sombre affair, draped in the same heavy silence as the air around me now. Seeing Matt and Tyler, their faces drawn and pale, carrying the casket, had solidified the grim reality. He was truly gone, and my instincts screamed Damon. Bonnie’s Grams, a wise woman with eyes that held ancient secrets, had confirmed my suspicions with a single, knowing nod. We hadn’t spoken much, but the understanding between us, two witches who felt the unseen currents of the world, had been profound. It was a dark, unsettling feeling, knowing a vampire was loose in Mystic Falls, taking lives. And closer to me than I’d like.

My phone, resting on the bedside table, suddenly buzzed. I reached for it, my heart giving a familiar flutter when I saw ‘T’ on the screen. A small, genuine smile touched my lips, something that hadn’t quite reached them all day.

“Hey, T,” I murmured, my voice softer than usual.

“Hey, Freya,” Tyler’s voice, rough around the edges, filled my ear. He always called me Freya, a private nickname that made my stomach twist in a pleasant way, like a secret just for us. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m alright,” I said, stretching out on my bed, pulling the duvet higher. “Just… thinking about everything. You?”

A sigh escaped him, heavy and burdened. “Honestly? I’m still messed up about Tanner. It just feels… wrong. And my dad’s been a total ass about it, like it’s my fault we didn’t see anything. He keeps saying I should’ve been more vigilant. More of a man.” His voice hitched slightly on the last word, and I could feel the familiar weight of his father’s abuse settling over him even through the phone line.

“It’s not your fault, T. None of this is,” I said, my voice firm, trying to inject some of my quiet rationality into his turmoil. “And your dad’s just… processing it in his own way. He’s probably scared.” A lie, but a necessary one. Richard Lockwood scared others; he wasn’t scared himself. Still, it might soothe Tyler. “You did what you could. You found him, you brought help.”

“Yeah, but…” He trailed off, the unspoken anxiety heavy between us. He was a werewolf, untriggered, but the darkness of death and violence always seemed to orbit him. I knew he was trying to distract himself, trying to make sense of a world that suddenly felt far more dangerous than the football field.

“You know,” I began, shifting the topic gently, my hand instinctively going to my barely-there bump, “I was just thinking about something you mentioned the other day. About the baby, I mean.”

He perked up immediately, the shift in his tone almost audible. “Oh, yeah! Did you know, at sixteen weeks, the baby’s eyelids are still fused shut, but their eyes are already formed and can move? And they can actually hear sounds now, like your heartbeat and your voice.”

I smiled, a real, full smile this time. “You’ve been doing your reading, haven’t you?”

“Guilty,” he chuckled, a much lighter sound. “I found a whole pile of books at the library today. Couldn’t focus on anything else after the funeral, so I just… dove in. It’s crazy, Freya. Like, they’re so tiny, but they’re already so… person-like inside you.”

“They are,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the outline of the small, firm mound of my abdomen. It was barely visible through the loose fabric of my nightdress, but I felt it, a profound, undeniable presence. “I can feel… flutters sometimes. Not quite kicks, but… something.”

“Flutters?” he echoed, his voice laced with awe. “That’s amazing. My mom said she felt me moving pretty early, too. You think… he can hear me right now?”

The thought made my heart swell. “I think so, T. Talk to him.”

Silence crackled for a moment, then I heard a deep breath from his end. “Hey there, little man. It’s your dad. Just wanted to say… I love you, okay? And I promise, I’m gonna be here. For you and for your mom. Always.”

My eyes pricked with tears. His words were simple, but the raw honesty in them, the quiet devotion, was overwhelming. This was the Tyler I had known, the one beneath the brash exterior. The one who spoke Old Norse with me, who loved as fiercely as he played. “He heard you, T,” I managed, my voice thick. “I know he did.”

“Good,” he said, a satisfied hum in his chest. A comfortable, quiet settled between us, filled only by the soft static on the line and the steady beat of my own heart. I could almost picture him, sitting in his room, perhaps running a hand through his dark hair, the weight of the world temporarily lifted by the thought of our son.

“Hey, Freya?” he asked, his voice lower now, softer, a subtle shift in tone that sent a shiver down my spine. The air in my room suddenly felt warmer, thrumming with a different kind of energy.

“Hmm?”

“I… I really hate that I can’t be there with you right now,” he confessed, his voice laced with a potent mix of frustration and longing. “After today… I just want to hold you. Or at least… be closer than this. You know?”

I did know. More than anything. The mansion, for all its history and the faint, distant echoes of my family, still felt empty sometimes, a little too cold. Tyler’s presence, his warmth, chased that away. “I know, T,” I breathed, closing my eyes, imagining his strong arms around me.

“What if…” he started, then hesitated, a nervous energy coming through the line. “What if we just… pretended we were? Just for a little bit. To get our minds off… everything.”

My eyes opened. I knew what he was suggesting. My cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the room temperature. It was bold, it was raw, and it was exactly what I needed. My quiet, reserved self always battled with the deep currents of desire, but with Tyler, that battle was often easily won. He saw past my shyness, straight to the spirited core.

“Are you sure?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. The words were a formality, a last moment of reservation before diving in.

“More than sure, Freya,” he said, his voice dropping another octave, a husky rumble that vibrated through me. “I need you. All of you. Right now.”

A shiver of anticipation shot through me. The babydoll nightdress suddenly felt too soft, too clingy against my skin. “Okay, T,” I said, my voice gaining a newfound confidence. “Okay.”

There was a soft rustle from his end, and I imagined him settling into his own bed. “Good,” he murmured, a smile evident in his voice. “Now, I want you to tell me what you’re wearing, Freya.”

I took a shaky breath, my fingers plucking at the delicate lace trim of the nightdress. “Just… a babydoll. It’s silk, kind of short, with lace.”

“Hmm. Sounds good. Is it… soft?”

“Very.”

“And what’s underneath it, Freya?” His voice was a low growl now, a direct question that made my breath catch.

“Nothing,” I whispered back, my own voice surprisingly alluring in its vulnerability.

“Good girl,” he purred, and the simple praise was a potent spark. “Now, I want you to reach down and touch yourself. For me.”

My fingers trembled slightly as I obeyed, tracing the curve of my hip, then letting my hand drift lower, brushing against the soft, warm skin of my inner thigh. The silk of the nightdress slid against my skin, creating a delicious friction.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” he instructed, his voice a balm and an instigator all at once.

“I’m… I’m touching myself,” I breathed, closing my eyes, focusing on the sensations blossoming within me. My pulse quickened, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.

“Are you wet for me, Freya?” Each word was a caress, a demand.

My breath hitched. I could feel the tell-tale dampness between my legs, a warm flush spreading over my entire body. “Yes, T,” I admitted, the word a soft exhalation.

“Good. I want you to slip your fingers inside, Freya. Slow. Tell me how it feels.”

I slid two fingers, hesitant at first, then with more purpose, into my slick warmth. A soft groan escaped me, the sensation immediate and intense. My hips instinctively arched, pressing harder into my own touch. “Oh, God, T,” I gasped, the sound ragged. “It feels… so good. So full.”

“Imagine it’s me, Freya,” he commanded, his voice growing rougher with his own escalating desire. “Imagine my tongue tasting you, my fingers teasing you apart, my cock pressing against your entrance, wanting inside.”

My mind conjured the image instantly. Tyler’s tanned skin, his muscular body, and his dark eyes filled with hunger. I could almost feel his breath on my neck, the taste of him on my tongue. My core throbbed, a deep, insistent ache.

“Harder, Freya,” he urged, his voice tight. “Push your fingers deeper. I want to hear from you. I want to know how much you want me.”

I whimpered, my hips grinding against the mattress. My fingers plunged deeper, finding the sensitive spot that made my entire body shudder. A wave of intense pleasure washed over me, rippling outwards. “T… oh, T,” I moaned, unable to form coherent words. Each thrust of my fingers brought me closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in my belly.

“That’s it, Freya. Come for me. Let go.”

His words were a trigger. The pleasure intensified, sharp and sweet, exploding through me in a series of powerful contractions. My back arched, my fingers clenching, and a loud, strangled cry tore from my throat, muffled only by the phone pressed against my ear. My body trembled violently, aftershocks rippling through me as the climax subsided, leaving me breathless and spent.

A moment of heavy silence, broken only by my ragged breathing, filled the line. Then Tyler’s voice, raspy with his own release, broke through. “God, Freya. You sound incredible.”

I could only manage a soft gasp, my body still quivering. “You too, T,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. I could hear his own heavy breathing, the faint sound of his body shifting. He had been with me every step of the way.

“I miss you,” he said, his voice suddenly soft, vulnerable. A tender longing replaced the earlier desires.

“I miss you too, ást,” I replied, using the Old Norse word for love, a word just for him. “More than you know.”

We lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the lingering warmth of our shared intimacy a comforting blanket. It was a strange, powerful connection we had, forged in secrets and a looming future, deepened by these stolen moments of raw vulnerability.

“Get some sleep, Freya,” he finally said, his voice still thick with emotion. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You too, T. Dream of me.”

“Always, Freya. Always.”

The click of the phone disconnecting left my room in silence once more, but it wasn’t cold anymore. A gentle heat radiated through me, a profound sense of connection and belonging. My hand still rested on my stomach, a silent promise to the tiny life growing within. This was my life now. My secret, my love, my family. And as I drifted off to sleep, the quiet hum of the mansion around me felt less like an empty space and more like a sanctuary. It was home, and soon it would be filled with the sounds of a new beginning.

Chapter 15: Family Ties

Bonnie POV

“I look fat,” Maya declared, turning away from the ornate, gilt-edged mirror in Carol Lockwood’s lavish dressing room. Her voice, usually soft, held a rare tremble of insecurity. Keelin, Bonnie, Bonnie’s Grams, and Carol herself were a flurry of excited energy around her, preparing for the 150th Mystic Falls Founder’s Ball, but Maya’s sudden pronouncement brought the room to a hush.

I glanced at her, my friend, the one who carried the weight of the world and a literal growing life within her, yet could be so vulnerable about something as trivial as a dress. She wasn’t fat, far from it. At five feet exactly, her petite frame was delicately curved, now with the barest swell of a baby bump hidden expertly beneath the fabric she was trying on. Her dark brown, wavy hair, usually a wild halo, had been tamed into elegant spirals that framed her tanned face, highlighting her deep, expressive brown eyes.

“Nonsense, darling,” Carol purred, ever the social arbiter, but with genuine kindness in her tone as she stepped forward, inspecting Maya with a critical, yet admiring, eye. “It’s the fabric. It’s too… harsh for your exquisite figure.” She clapped her hands, a glint in her eyes. “Goodness, I almost forgot! Tyler had a special delivery for you last week, Maya. I told him I’d hold onto it. Said it was for tonight.”

Maya’s eyebrows arched in surprise, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “He did?”

Carol nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Indeed. Follow me.”

We trailed Carol into another, even more opulent, walk-in closet. It was a treasure trove of designer gowns, shimmering silks, and dazzling jewels. Carol pulled open a heavy velvet curtain, revealing a dress that stole my breath. It was a vision: a Bow Detailed Silk Trimmed Velvet Gown by Alessandra Rich, in a shade of emerald green so deep it almost looked black in the dim light, yet shimmered with forest tones when caught by the sparkle of a nearby chandelier. It was classic, yet undeniably modern, with exquisite silk trim and delicate bow details.

“Oh, my,” Keelin breathed, her own jaw dropping slightly. As a wolf, Keelin wasn’t usually one for frills, but even she was captivated.

Maya reached out, her fingers tracing the velvet. “It’s… beautiful. But Carol, this must have cost a fortune.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Carol waved a dismissive hand. “Tyler wanted you to have it. He’s quite insistent when it comes to you, our Maya. And I have just the shoes.” She produced a pair of sleek Black Pumps by Jimmy Choo, then a set of exquisite Birks Snowflake Large Round Jacket Earrings that glittered like frozen stars. “Perfect, don’t you think?”

Maya’s eyes sparkled. The insecurity vanished, replaced by a quiet awe. She truly looked like a queen when she put them on, the deep green velvet complementing her tanned skin and dark hair perfectly. The dress, designed with a more forgiving silhouette, flowed over her small bump without drawing attention, giving her an effortless elegance.

“He’s got good taste, that boy,” Grams muttered, giving Carol a conspiratorial wink. “Just like his mother.”

Carol beamed, then turned to me. “And you, Bonnie, dear! Tyler also insisted that I help you. He mentioned Caroline and Elena abandoning you for the Salvatore brothers tonight.” Her tone was laced with just enough disapproval to let us know her opinion on their choices. “He said he knew just the person to accompany you. Matt Donovan is waiting in the foyer.”

My cheeks flushed. Tyler had gotten me a dress, too? And set me up with Matt? That was… sweet, and a little overwhelming. Caroline and Elena had indeed ditched our pre-ball plans, gushing about how Damon and Stefan wanted to arrive with them. I’d tried to act nonchalant, but it had stung a little. Matt, bless his heart, was always reliable. And he looked utterly dashing in his suit. The dress Tyler chose for me was a simple but elegant navy blue, flattering and comfortable. It was a subtle nod to my own style, not too flashy, but still beautiful. It was clear Tyler, for all his jock bravado, paid attention.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lockwood,” I mumbled, feeling slightly flustered but genuinely appreciative.

“Don’t be silly, dear. Now, let’s go. The guests will be arriving any moment.”

The Lockwood Mansion was transformed for the Founders’ Ball. Every chandelier blazed, casting a golden glow over the polished floors and antique furniture. Walls adorned with portraits of proud Lockwoods past seemed to watch over the gathering, their painted eyes following the ebb and flow of Mystic Falls’ elite.

Maya and Tyler, standing at the grand entrance, were a striking pair. Tyler, towering over Maya’s tiny frame, looked handsome and mature in his suit. He had shed his usual arrogant swagger, replaced by a quiet pride as he introduced Maya to the stream of arriving guests. Maya, usually so reserved, blossomed under his protective gaze. Her shyness was still evident in her deferential gestures and lowered eyes, but she greeted everyone with a gentle, warm smile, her impeccable manners shining through. She was the picture of grace, a stark contrast to the Maya, who, just an hour ago, was convinced she looked fat. It was clear that Tyler’s presence and his thoughtful gifts gave her a profound sense of security. I watched them, a small pang in my chest. They made sense together, the volatile jock and the quiet, wise girl. It was an unexpected, powerful pairing.

As Matt and I mingled, I caught snippets of conversation. Most revolved around the recent tragedy, Mr. Tanner’s death, but quickly veered into superficial chatter about town gossip, the new football coach, and upcoming events.

Near the punch bowl, a loud, slightly slurred voice cut through the polite murmurs. “I just don’t get it, Matt! How does she get to be the perfect little debutante when I’m just… Vicki? The Lockwoods love her like she’s their own daughter. No questions asked. But me? I’m still the screw-up from the wrong side of the tracks.”

It was Vicki Donovan, Matt’s older sister, already looking a little worse for wear, clutching a glass of crimson punch as if it were a life raft. Matt, ever the patient one, tried to steer her away, his face a mask of weary embarrassment. “Vicki, please. Not here.”

I felt a familiar wave of sympathy for Vicki, mixed with exasperation. Her life was a mess, and she blamed everyone but herself. But she had a point, in a way. The Lockwoods, especially Carol, were notoriously particular about who they truly accepted into their inner circle. They might tolerate Caroline and Elena at social functions, but they certainly didn’t embrace them like they had Maya.

“What’s her deal?” Damon Salvatore’s smooth voice cut in from beside us. He and Stefan had just joined Elena, their presence immediately drawing attention. Damon’s eyes, dark and assessing, were fixed on Vicki, then flickered to Maya across the room.

Elena sighed, a familiar weariness in her voice. “That’s Vicki Donovan, Matt’s sister. And she’s just… bitter. The Lockwoods, well, Mrs. Lockwood, she’s very particular about who she lets Tyler get close to. Especially after… well, after she found out about Vicki and Tyler. She never really liked Caroline or me, either. We’re Founders’ families, but we’re not… Lockwood enough, I guess. Maya… Maya’s different. Carol adores her.”

My gaze drifted to Damon. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “So, the new girl is the chosen one, huh? Interesting.” His eyes lingered on Maya for a moment too long, a speculative glint in them that sent a shiver down my spine.

I knew why Carol adored Maya. It wasn’t just her quiet charm or her good manners. It was something deeper, something ancient that vibrated beneath Maya’s calm exterior. Carol, for all her superficiality, had an instinct for power, for legacy. She saw it in Maya, even if she couldn’t name it. And maybe, just maybe, Maya’s presence promised something more stable, more powerful, for the Lockwood line than any alliance with the Gilberts or Forbes could.

As for Damon and Stefan, I watched them, feeling the familiar prickle of unease that always accompanied the older Salvatore. Elena might be charmed, but my Grams had taught me better. There was a darkness to them, especially Damon, that no amount of charming smiles or sleek suits could hide. After Tanner’s death, after Grams’ confirmation of my suspicions, I knew that whatever Maya was, whatever she brought to Mystic Falls, it was far more than just a typical teenage romance. It was a shift, a ripple in the fabric of our quiet, deceptively normal town. And tonight, under the dazzling lights of the Lockwood Ball, it felt like the formal unveiling of it all. 

The velvet curtain of the night had fallen over Mystic Falls after the Founder’s Ball, and the quiet hum of the Lockwood Mansion felt like a blessed reprieve from the forced smiles and stiff corsets. Tyler’s bedroom, a chaotic but comfortable haven of discarded hoodies, sports equipment, and the faint scent of boy, was now transformed into an impromptu sleepover fort. We were sprawled on the oversized bed – Tyler in his usual spot, leaning back against the headboard, myself tucked against his side, and Maya, surprisingly, curled up against me, her head resting on my shoulder. The soft glow of a bedside lamp cast long shadows, making the room feel even more intimate, like a whispered secret.

“I swear,” I started, my voice barely above a murmur, “Elena and Caroline have lost their damn minds.” The image of Caroline gushing over Damon, and Elena, usually so composed, getting flustered around Stefan, still spun in my head. It was like they’d been body-snatched.

Tyler snorted, a low rumble from his chest. “Tell me about it. Care used to talk about Matt like he was the second coming of… I don’t know, Channing Tatum or something. Now it’s all ‘Damon this, Damon that.’ And Elena? She’s practically got tunnel vision for Stefan. Remember how she called Damon a monster after Vicki’s disappearance? Now he’s Mr. Charming.”

Maya stirred against me, and I felt a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Humans are fickle, Bon.” Her voice was soft, laced with a world-weariness that seemed out of place for a sixteen-year-old, yet it always felt right coming from her. “Especially when presented with an illusion of novelty or power. Their instincts betray them.”

I sighed, tracing patterns on the back of Maya’s hand. “It’s just… weird. Like, Elena has all these problems with Damon, but she completely overlooks Stefan’s similar vibe. It’s funny, actually. Or messed up. I can’t decide.”

Tyler chuckled, a genuine, unburdened sound. “It’s messed up, for sure. But speaking of Damon and Stefan…” He paused, nudging Maya’s foot with his own. “Which one of them would win in a fight against you, Freya? Assuming you were all… You know. Full power.”

Maya shifted, settling more comfortably against me, and I felt a shiver ripple through her small frame – not of cold, but an almost imperceptible hum of energy. “Me.” The single word was delivered with such quiet certainty, such absolute conviction, that it didn’t even sound arrogant. It was just a fact.

“Damn right,” Tyler muttered, a hint of possessive pride in his tone. I caught myself smiling. He was so fiercely protective of her that it was endearing.

“Wait,” I interjected, a frown creasing my brow. “You keep calling them ‘Baby Vamps.’ What is that, exactly? Just a mean nickname?”

Maya chuckled, a soft, melodic sound that always made me feel calm. “Not exactly mean, Bon. Just… accurate. Baby Vampires are vampires who haven’t reached five hundred-plus years old. They’re still learning, still adapting. They still have so much humanity clinging to them, so many easily exploitable weaknesses. They’re babies.”

I blinked, processing this. Five hundred years? My mind reeled. “So… Damon and Stefan, they’re like… toddlers?”

“Roughly,” Maya confirmed, her voice amused. “Give or take a century or two.”

Tyler scoffed, leaning forward slightly. “So, wait a minute, Freya. You, Marcel, Davina… you guys would be Baby Vamps too, wouldn’t you? I mean, Marcel was born in the 1800s, Davina in the 90s, and you in the 90s. Neither you nor Davina are even triggered vampires yet, though, right?”

Maya rolled her eyes, but a fond smile played on her lips. She leaned back, pulling away from me slightly so she could turn and playfully tap Tyler’s arm. She then cuddled back into my side, her warmth a comfort. “We’re Tribrids, T. And Originals. Like my father, my uncles, and my aunt. We’re not ‘Baby Vamps.’ We’re something else entirely. We’re… primeval. Our blood is different. Our strength is different. Our weaknesses are… well, let’s just say they’re not the same as a common vampire, or even one of their sired lines.”

My eyes widened. The implications of that were staggering. She wasn’t just a witch, she was part of something ancient and powerful, a lineage that made even the vampires I knew seem… less. Less significant. Less dangerous.

“Then who are the ‘real’ vampires?” I asked, my voice hushed. This was Maya’s world, a dark, dangerous underbelly of history I was only just beginning to glimpse.

Maya paused, her gaze distant, like she was sifting through centuries of memories. “There are very few true, ancient vampires left. The ones who remember the fall of empires, the ones who shaped history from the shadows. The ones who are truly untouched by sunlight, who can walk among humans without fear of vervain, whose bite is venomous enough to kill another vampire, whose strength makes them literal forces of nature.”

“Like who?” Tyler prodded, his curiosity piqued. He sounded a bit breathless, too.

“The Strix, for one. An ancient society, a collection of some of the oldest and most powerful vampires in existence. They are… formidable. Cultured, ruthless, deadly. Many of them were sired by Originals, but even among them, there’s a hierarchy of age and power. They are collectors of knowledge, power, and secrets. They’ve seen it all.”

She shifted again, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them, her dark eyes reflecting the lamplight. “Then there’s Uncle Tristan.”

“Uncle Tristan?” I repeated, confused. “Your actual uncle?”

Maya gave a faint, almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Not by blood, no. But through my father. He’s Tristan de Martel. He and his family were sired by my father’s siblings almost a thousand years ago. He was the first sired by Elijah. He’s ancient, an original vampire in a sense because of his age and power, and profoundly powerful. His family, the de Martels, were once royalty.”

A thousand years. My mind struggled to grasp the concept. Damon and Stefan were barely a hundred and something. These people Maya spoke of were practically mythical.

“And Lucien Castle,” she continued, her voice gaining a slight edge of something I couldn’t quite place – perhaps respect, perhaps a touch of wariness. “He was the first sired by my father. He’s even older than Tristan, if you can believe it. A true pioneer of the vampiric world, a visionary. He’s… complex. Also immensely powerful.”

Tyler whistled softly. “So they’re like… grandfathers of vampires?”

Maya chuckled again, and this time there was a hint of genuine amusement. “Something like that. And then there’s Auntie Aurora.”

“Another aunt?” I asked, my brows furrowing.

“Yes. Aurora de Martel. Tristan’s sister was also sired by Rebekah, my father’s sister. And Finn’s fiancée.”

My jaw nearly dropped. “Finn? You have an uncle Finn?” I knew a lot about Maya, but her family tree was a labyrinth.

“Yes, Bon. Finn Mikaelson. My father’s older brother. He’s… particular. But yes, Aurora is his fiancée. Or was. They’ve been apart for a very long time. She’s beautiful, impulsive, and utterly mad. And very, very old. She’s also a terrifying force to be reckoned with.”

A fiancée from a thousand years ago? This was beyond anything I’d ever imagined. My own family history seemed incredibly mundane by comparison, barely stretching back a few generations.

“So, these are the ones you call ‘real’ vampires,” I summarized, trying to organize the deluge of information. “The ones who are ancient, powerful, and… not ‘baby vamps’.”

“Precisely,” Maya confirmed, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. “Damon and Stefan are children playing with matches compared to them. They have no idea what true power is, Bon. No idea what true immortality means beyond never dying from a stab wound. They still have so many human weaknesses, so many vulnerabilities they don’t even know exist yet. They are easily manipulated. Easily… controlled.”

A shiver went down my spine, but it wasn’t from fear. It was from the sheer weight of Maya’s casual declaration. She wasn’t just a human witch; she was part of something ancient, something that made Stefan and Damon, the most dangerous creatures I’d ever encountered, seem like mere infants. And she was our friend. My friend.

“Don’t look so freaked out, Bonnie,” Tyler chuckled, nudging her gently. “She’s on our side.”

“Always, T,” Maya murmured, her eyes softening as she looked at him, then at me. “Always.”

The air in the room, previously heavy with the weight of ancient secrets, lightened. The revelations about the Strix, Tristan, Lucien, and Aurora had been profound, but Maya’s final assurances brought a sense of peace. It wasn't just about how powerful she was, but how fiercely loyal. My friends and I were navigating a world of vampires and werewolves, a world alien and terrifying, but with Maya by our side, it felt manageable. She was our anchor in the storm, our quiet, unassuming, ridiculously powerful Tribrid.

“So,” I said, a mischievous glint in my eye, “does that mean when a ‘Baby Vamp’ tries to compel you, it’s like a toddler trying to tell a grown-up what to do?”

Maya laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound this time. “Exactly, Bon. It’s adorable, really.”

Tyler grinned, pulling Maya and me closer, forming a tight, comfortable huddle. “Good to know. So, if any ‘Baby Vamp’ tries to mess with you, Freya, you just give ’em that ancient vampire glare and scare them back to their diapers.”

Maya just smiled, a secret, knowing smile that promised far more than just a glare. And for the first time since this whole supernatural mess started, I felt a flicker of hope. With Maya, anything seemed possible. Even surviving Mystic Falls. 

The cool September air, a familiar chill even indoors, seemed to hum with the lingering magic of the night before. I stirred, disoriented for a moment by the unfamiliar pillow beneath my head, before the scent of Tyler’s aftershave and Maya’s faint, earthy fragrance grounded me. I was in Tyler’s bed, nestled between him and Maya, just as we’d fallen asleep after an evening of Founder’s Ball drama and whispered confessions.

Sunlight, a pale, anemic wash, barely pierced the heavy curtains, yet my internal clock, or perhaps a sudden shift in the mattress, told me it was no longer midnight. I blinked, my eyes adjusting, and found Tyler already awake, propped up on one elbow, gazing at Maya’s peaceful face. She lay curled on her side, one hand resting protectively over the barely discernible swell of her stomach, the Kautuka bracelet a dark circle against her tanned skin, her other hand’s gold and black beaded bracelet glinting faintly. Her dark brown hair, a glorious tangle of curls, fanned out across the pillow.

“Morning,” I mumbled, my voice rough with sleep.

Tyler’s head snapped towards me, a sheepish grin replacing his contemplative expression. “Morning, B.” His eyes flickered back to Maya. “She still out?”

“Looks like it.” I pushed myself up, leaning against the headboard next to him. The room was still at a comfortable 17°C, with a slight crispness in the air. “Must be nice to sleep like the dead.”

Tyler chuckled softly. “Yeah, well, easy for her. Unlike us, she doesn’t have to deal with, you know, everything.” He gestured vaguely at the world outside, implying vampires and Mystic Falls’ general chaos. His gaze softened as he looked at Maya again. “Speaking of which… what was all that about last night? ‘Original Tribrids’?”

I nudged Maya gently. “Hey, sleepyhead. T wants answers.”

Maya groaned, stretching languidly like a cat, before slowly opening her dark brown eyes. They held a depth that always surprised me, ancient and knowing. She blinked, orienting herself, then a faint blush crept up her neck when she realized we were both watching her. “Morning,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep, unusually soft.

“Morning, Freya,” Tyler said, leaning over to press a kiss to her temple. The easy intimacy between them, the casual way he’d given her a nickname and she’d let him, still felt surreal. This was Tyler, the arrogant jock, and this was Maya, the shy, reserved girl who’d appeared out of nowhere. Yet, they fit.

Maya’s eyes met mine, a flicker of something guarded there, then she sighed. “What do you want to know?” Her tone was resigned, like she’d known this conversation was coming.

“Everything,” I stated, pushing a strand of hair from my face. “You called Stefan and Damon ‘Baby Vamps.’ You said your family were ‘Originals.’ What even is an Original Tribrid?”

She sat up, adjusting the oversized t-shirt she’d borrowed from Tyler, her Kautuka and beaded bracelets sliding down her wrist. She still looked so petite, but the slight curve of her stomach beneath the fabric was a quiet testament to the life growing within her. “Okay,” she began, taking a deep breath, her gaze distant for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts from centuries past. “It’s… a lot. My family is complicated. And old. Really, really old.”

“How old?” Tyler pressed, his curiosity finally winning over his usual guardedness.

“Over a thousand years,” Maya stated plainly, as if discussing yesterday’s weather. My jaw dropped. Tyler just gaped.

“My father, Niklaus Mikaelson,” she started, her voice hushed, “was born in the tenth century. He’s an Original Hybrid. Born a werewolf and a witch, but my grandmother, Esther, a powerful witch, turned him and his siblings into vampires roughly a thousand years ago. Mikael, my step-grandfather, their father, pushed her to do it after Henrik, my uncle, was killed by a werewolf.”

A pause. My mind was reeling. A thousand-year-old hybrid father?

“So, you have uncles and aunts who are… Original Vampires?” Tyler asked, his brow furrowed.

Maya nodded slowly. “Finn, Elijah, Kol, Rebekah. They were all witches before they were turned. Kol and Finn were particularly powerful, like Aunt Rebekah, but they lost their access to magic when they became vampires, as magic is rooted in nature and vampirism is an abomination. My dad, Klaus, he maintained his magic, the witch side of his tribrid nature, even though Esther sealed away his wolf side for centuries. He’s the first of his kind, a true Original Hybrid.”

“And your mother?” I asked, remembering the funeral. “Indira Persaud?”

A flicker of pain crossed Maya’s face, quickly masked. “My mum was a Spirit Witch. One of the most powerful I’ve ever known. That’s where my witch lineage comes from on her side – the Persaud Witch Coven family. My Paternal Grandmother, Esther, was the progenitor of the Mikaelson witch line and the Hagen Witch Coven. So, I have two very powerful witch bloodlines.”

“So, you’re a witch like your mom?” I asked, feeling a strange kinship.

“Yes, and more,” she said, her voice dropping, almost a whisper. “I’m an Original Tribrid. Like my brother, Marcel, and my niece, Davina.”

“Yeah. Marcel, my older paternal half-brother, he was born in the 1800s. My dad raised him. He’s also an Original Tribrid, though his witch side is untapped. And Davina, my niece, well, she’s a Harvest Witch, born in 1995. She’s also an Original Tribrid, though her vampire and werewolf sides are untriggered, like mine.”

“Untriggered?” I asked. “So you’re not… a vampire yet?” The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

Maya shook her head. “No. I’ve never died. And my werewolf side only triggered a few months ago, when my mother was killed.” Her voice was tight with suppressed emotion. “I killed one of the witches who attacked her. That triggered it.”

The silence that followed was heavy. We knew she was grieving, but this was a whole new level of trauma.

“So, you’re telling us,” Tyler said, his voice quiet, “that your family is literally the first vampires, and some of them are also witches and werewolves?”

Maya nodded. “Essentially. The Strix, they’re ancient too, like Uncle Tristian and Uncle Lucian, and Auntie Aurora, she’s Finn’s fiancée. They’re some of the oldest vampires alive, aside from my immediate family.” She paused, then added, “That’s why Damon and Stefan are ‘Baby Vamps.’ They’re barely even toddlers in the grand scheme of things.” A small, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips.

“Okay, so that’s the family tree, I guess,” I said slowly, trying to process it all. “But what about you? You said you were an Original Tribrid. What does that even mean? What can you do?”

Maya shifted, pulling her knees to her chest, her dark eyes looking out towards the window. Her voice, usually so quiet, gained a subtle strength, a resonant quality that made me listen intently.

“As a witch,” she began, her tone almost academic now, as if reciting from a textbook, “I have a lot of abilities. I’m a Healer, I can communicate directly with Spirits, absorb other people’s magic, even manipulate spirits to do my bidding. Astral Projection, Divination, Prophecy—those are pretty standard witch abilities. I can summon spirits for combat if need be. Magical Fortitude, Spiritual Empathy, manipulating the Ethereal Plane… gaining temporary or permanent enhancements from the spirits, that’s another one. One of the more… unique ones, is the ability to Manipulate Reality itself, including probability, even distort or change it. It’s what my Paternal Great-Aunt Dahlia and my Paternal Grandmother Esther were known for. Then there’s Chaos Magic, harnessing the energies of the Earth and its elements for healing, nurturing, and harmony with nature. Self-Control, Herbalism, Psychic abilities, Runes… I can access any Ancestry Realm, like the one my mother is in now. I have a Revival aura, which can buff or debuff others. Elemental Control, Resurrection… I can cast spells, channel other people’s power, brew potions, have strong intuition, projection, possession, cause pain to others, and of course, Divination – that’s Clairvoyance, Premonitions, Psychometry.”

I listened, wide-eyed, my own witch blood thrumming. That was an insane amount of power just from her witch side. Tyler, for his part, looked utterly awestruck, his mouth slightly agape.

“Then, as a vampire, or rather, my untriggered vampire side, if it were to ever trigger, it comes with Immortality and a True Face, the monstrous appearance when fed or threatened.” She paused, then continued. “And as a werewolf, which is triggered, I have Immunity to Silver, the Full Moon, and werewolf bites. I have control over my Shapeshifting and Transformation, and Lycanthrope Enhancement, which just means I’m stronger and faster when my wolf side is active.”

She took a breath, the sheer volume of her revelations hanging in the air. “But then, there are abilities that come from the combination of my species. As a witch and vampire, I can create Illusions, manipulate dreams, and have Telekinesis. As a vampire and werewolf, I have Super Strength, Super Speed, Super Agility, Super Senses, Super Durability, and a Healing Factor. And as an Original Tribrid – witch, vampire, and werewolf – I can Exert Telepathic and Mental Manipulation. That means Influencing, Compulsion – though I can’t be compelled – and even controlling the minds of others.”

She shrugged, a small, self-conscious gesture. “And apparently, I can’t truly die. My weaknesses are unknown. That’s what I’ve been told.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but heavy with the weight of her words. Tyler was the first to break it, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Holy shit, Freya. You’re like… an army in one person.” He sounded impressed, almost reverent.

I just stared at her, my mind reeling. My witch powers felt like a flickering candle compared to her blazing sun. “Maya,” I breathed, “that’s… incredible. And terrifying.”

A tiny, almost shy smile touched her lips. “It is what it is. I just… I don’t tell many people.” Her hand went to her Kautuka again, fiddling with the dark beads. “It’s why I have to be so careful. All this power, all this bloodline… It’s a target.”

“Is that why your mom was killed?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Her eyes hardened, a flicker of cold, ancient anger in their depths. “They wanted my power, and to eradicate Klaus’s known heir. They found out about me. They tried to take me. My mother died protecting me.” She paused, her voice thick with emotion, but she quickly reined it in. “That’s why I came here. Mystic Falls. I knew this was where my father’s family had roots, their original land. I needed to find them, but I also needed to be hidden. It’s… a lot to carry.”

Tyler reached out, taking her hand gently, his thumb stroking the back of her palm. “No wonder you’re so quiet, ást. That’s a hell of a secret to keep.”

She leaned into his touch, a small sigh escaping her. “It’s always been just me and what my mother taught me. And now… You guys.” She looked between us, her expression vulnerable, but also immensely grateful. “You know now. Please… don’t tell anyone.”

“Never,” I promised instantly, my voice firm. This wasn’t just a secret; it was her life, her legacy. And my friend.

“Our lips are sealed, Freya,” Tyler added, his grip on her hand tightening reassuringly. “Always.”

The morning light, though still weak, seemed to brighten slightly in the room. The air still held the chill of September, but a new warmth had settled between the three of us, forged in the depths of ancient secrets and terrifying power. My best friend was a witch, and my other friend was a baby vampire. But this… this was beyond anything I’d ever imagined. Maya wasn’t just a girl from out of town. She was a living legend walking among us, a force of nature, carrying the weight of centuries and a future that was, in every sense of the word, supernatural. And somehow, she was my friend.

Chapter 16: You’re Undead to Me

Tuesday, September 29, 2009 

The afternoon sun, thick and golden, streamed through the tall arched windows of the Lockwood Mansion’s future nursery. Dust motes danced in the light, illuminating the space where childhood dreams would soon reside. I traced the intricate carving on the antique bassinet, a family heirloom Tyler’s mother, Carol, had insisted on. It was a beautiful piece, dark wood polished to a soft sheen, but my mind was a whirlwind of anxieties rather than nursery rhymes.

“I was thinking a pale sage green for the walls, Freya, what do you think?” Carol’s voice, warm and gentle, pulled me back. She gestured with a swatch of fabric, her smile wide and genuine.

I managed a small, unconvincing smile in return. “It’s… beautiful, Mrs. Lockwood.” The truth was, I felt a knot of dread in my stomach that had nothing to do with paint colours. Every discussion about the baby’s room, every tiny outfit Carol excitedly showed me, only amplified the terrifying reality. A baby. My baby. Tyler’s son. In a world full of unseen threats, and with a target painted squarely on my back simply for existing.

My hand instinctively went to my stomach, a subtle, almost imperceptible curve beneath the khaki maternity dress. Eighteen weeks. It wasn't just a bump; it was a beacon. A signpost for every dark entity out there that Klaus Mikaelson’s daughter was vulnerable. The dress, I’d initially thought, made me look fat, not pregnant. But seeing myself in the mirror this morning, the soft fabric clinging to my changed shape, I knew it wasn't just fat anymore. It was life.

“And we’ll put the changing table right here,” Carol continued, mapping out the room with her hands. “Plenty of light for daytime changes, and close enough to the crib for those middle-of-the-night ones.” She chuckled, a sound full of hopeful anticipation.

I chewed on my lip. This wasn't just about crib placement. This was about survival. “Mrs. Lockwood,” I began, my voice softer than usual, “about… if anyone ever found out. Stefan. Or Damon.” The names tasted like ash in my mouth. Stefan represented the past, the Mikaelson family's troubled history, but Damon… Damon was the wild card, unpredictable and dangerous.

Carol’s expression shifted, the joy dimming slightly, replaced by a flicker of the protective fierceness I’d come to appreciate. She knew what I meant. She knew our secret. “What about them, dear?”

“If they ever, ever suspected,” I reiterated, locking eyes with her. “I can’t stay here. With the baby. I have a place. My family’s land, the Mikaelson land. It’s still there. My dad kept it. No one can get in without my say-so. I can put up wards, a barrier. We’d be safe there. Completely safe. No one could touch us.” My voice lowered, a primal undertone in it that probably only another parent would instinctively recognize. “I mean it, Carol. This isn’t a suggestion. This is a fucking non-negotiable.”

A slow, deep breath escaped Carol’s lips. She looked around the sunlit nursery, then back at me, her gaze softening with understanding. “Maya… Freya,” she corrected herself, using Tyler’s endearing nickname for me. She reached out, taking my hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I… I hadn’t even thought of that. Of course. That takes a huge weight off Richard and my mind. Knowing you, knowing Tyler, knowing our grandson would be truly safe.” She squeezed my hand. “Thank you, Freya. For already thinking so far ahead. You’re going to be an incredible mother.”

Her words, simple and heartfelt, unexpectedly brought a sting to my eyes. My own mother would never have said that. Her mother would have been plotting how to exploit my powers or barter me away. Carol’s genuine care was a stark contrast, a warmth I hadn't realized how desperately I craved. I nodded, unable to speak past the sudden lump in my throat. The Kautuka bracelet on my wrist felt heavier, a grounding weight.

Just then, my phone vibrated in the pocket of my dress. I pulled it out. A text from Matt.

Matt: Maya – get Bonnie. Her witch has been tapped. Now. This is bad. Don't fuck around.

My blood ran cold. Tapped . That was the term my mother had used for when a witch’s power was being siphoned, or when they’d stumbled into magic far beyond their control. This wasn't good. Not good at all. Especially not with Bonnie. Her Grams had been trying to teach her, but Bonnie was still so new to all of it. And her Bennett lineage… that was powerful, ancient magic.

“Is everything alright, dear?” Carol asked, noticing the sudden tension in my shoulders.

“I… I have to go, Mrs. Lockwood,” I said, already moving towards the door. “It’s Bonnie. I think she might need me.”

Carol frowned slightly. “Oh, it’s the Sexy Suds Car Wash Fundraiser today. She’s probably there with Caroline. You want me to drive you?”

“No, I got my Navigator,” I replied, already halfway down the grand staircase. “I’ll be quick. Tell Tyler I’ll see him later.”

I practically ran to my Lincoln Navigator, the powerful SUV Klaus had gifted me for my birthday. The engine hummed to life as I pulled out of the Lockwood driveway, my mind racing. Bonnie. Magic. Tapped.

The Sexy Suds Car Wash Fundraiser was in full swing when I pulled up, the parking lot transformed into a chaotic symphony of splashing water, blaring pop music, and enthusiastic yells. Girls in shorts and tight t-shirts wielded sponges and hoses, while football players, some shirtless, buffed cars to sparkling perfection. The smell of soap and wet asphalt hung heavy in the air.

My eyes scanned the crowd, bypassing the usual suspects – Elena, giggling with Stefan as he dramatically posed for a photo with a suds-covered car. Caroline, the captain, was barking orders, her cheerleader bravado in full force even as she scrubbed a tire. Then I saw her. Bonnie. She was hunched over the hood of a vintage Mustang, scrubbing with a little too much fervor, her face pale, her brow furrowed in concentration. Stefan was beside her, laughing at something, oblivious.

My stomach clenched. I knew that look. My mother had worn it countless times when she was trying to hide how much a spell was draining her. Bonnie wasn't just tired; she was actively fighting something. Or losing to it.

I parked my Navigator a little ways off and quickly made my way through the throng, dodging spraying water and enthusiastic high-fives. My Ugg slippers sank slightly into the wet asphalt, but I ignored it. My focus was entirely on Bonnie.

“Bonnie!” I called, keeping my voice low but firm as I reached her side. Stefan looked up, his smile fading when he saw the serious expression on my face.

“Hey, Maya, what’s up?” Stefan asked, wiping some suds from his arm.

I ignored him, my gaze fixed on Bonnie. Her eyes, when they met mine, were wide with a fear she was trying to mask. Her hands were shaking, not from cold, but from something else entirely. “We need to go. Now.”

“Go? But the car wash…” Bonnie started, her voice a little thin.

“Forget the car wash,” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “We’re leaving.” I took her arm firmly, guiding her away from Stefan and the crowd. I felt a faint chill radiating from her, a sign that something was off with her magic. She leaned into me, almost collapsing, as we walked, confirming my fears.

“What’s going on?” Stefan’s voice, now laced with concern, followed us.

“Nothing!” I called back, not even bothering to look over my shoulder. “Bonnie’s just not feeling well. She needs to lie down.” It was a weak excuse, but I relied on the general human cluelessness when it came to anything supernatural.

Bonnie stumbled once, and I tightened my grip, supporting her weight. My mind, usually organized and rational, felt like a chaotic storm. This was precisely the kind of situation I’d been trained for, the kind I dreaded. My mother had taught me what to do when a witch's powers went awry. But I didn't want this. I didn't want any of it. I just wanted to be a normal pregnant teenager, trying to figure out how to raise a baby with her complicated boyfriend.

We reached my Navigator. I opened the passenger door, helping Bonnie in. She slumped against the seat, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow. I got into the driver’s seat, the leather cool against my skin. With a quick glance to make sure no one was paying us too much attention, I put the car in reverse and sped away from the cacophony of the car wash.

“You okay, B?” I asked, keeping my voice calm, even though my heart was pounding like a war drum.

Bonnie shook her head, her eyes still closed. “I… I don’t know. It’s like… too much. It feels too big. Like a dam breaking.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

A dam breaking . That confirmed it. Her powers, perhaps triggered by the Founder’s Ball or some recent event, were surging, uncontrolled. This was far more dangerous than just being "tapped." This was an uncontrolled surge, a wild current of untapped magic that could overwhelm her, or worse, lash out unintentionally.

“It’s alright, Bonnie. We’re almost there.” I gripped the steering wheel harder. “We’re going to your Grams’ place. She’ll know what to do.”

The drive, usually a short ten minutes, felt like an eternity. The sun was still high, but a shadow had fallen over my afternoon. The carefree laughter of the car wash felt a million miles away. All I could think about was the delicate balance of magic, and how easily it could go wrong. I needed Bonnie safe. And I needed to make sure that in trying to save her, I didn’t expose myself. Because if anyone found out about my full capabilities, my life, Tyler’s, and especially our baby’s, would truly be over. The thought sent a jolt of metallic fear through me. No. Not on my watch. Not my son. I’d protect him, no matter what dark power I had to unleash, no matter what secrets I had to bury deep down. I was a Mikaelson. A Persaud. A royal Aumont. And a mother. And that, more than anything, meant I would not break.

The muffled thrum of the flat-screen TV, tuned to some mundane NCIS: Los Angeles rerun, was the only sound breaking the serene quiet of Maya’s bedroom. I was sprawled on her ridiculously soft mattress, half-buried in a pile of pillows that smelled faintly of lavender and her own sweet, complex scent. My head rested on one of her plush decorative cushions, a hand draped over my chest. Outside, the September chill of Mystic Falls was settling in, a crisp 12°C, but in here, with the heating on low and the plush rugs muffling the world, it was warm, intimate, hers .

Maya was still in her walk-in closet, the soft rustle of fabric a counterpoint to the television’s distant dialogue. We’d had a hell of a day. Between Elena’s histrionics at the Founder’s Ball, Bonnie’s magic acting up – something Matt had picked up on and freaked out about, sending me a frantic text – and the sheer exhaustion of trying to act like a normal high school senior while my girlfriend was carrying my kid, I was running on fumes. But watching Maya move, even through thin walls, always did something to me. She was a quiet storm, my Freya. Shy, yeah, but with a current of something ancient and powerful running beneath it all.

“You still in there, ást?” I called out, my voice a low rumble.

A soft chuckle drifted out. “Almost. Just… finding the right comfort level for a night of intellectual TV consumption.”

I rolled my eyes, a grin tugging at my lips. “Right. Because NCIS is peak intellectualism.”

The closet door creaked open, and then she was there. My breath hitched.

She wasn’t wearing the oversized hoodie she usually wore to lounge in. Or the worn band t-shirt. Maya was standing in the doorway, bathed in the soft glow of her bedside lamp, wearing something that made my insides clench. It was an open-front floral lace babydoll, a deep, rich indigo that was undeniably my favorite color. The sheer lace panels were strategically placed, revealing glimpses of her tanned skin, the delicate lace flowers tracing constellations across her curves. Below it, matching panties sat low on her hips. Her Kautuka, the black and gold beaded bracelet, sat stark against her wrist, a tiny, powerful anchor in all that delicate lace.

Her dark brown curly hair, usually a wild, untamed mane, was falling in soft waves around her shoulders, almost brushed out. Her dark eyes, usually so guarded and reserved, held a knowing, playful glint. She was petite, yeah, maybe 5’0”, but in that outfit, with that look, she filled the whole damn room. And then I noticed it – the subtle swell of her belly, barely there, but enough for me to see it, the gentle curve of our son. My son.

“Well?” she asked, a mischievous tilt to her head, that quiet confidence she only let me see. “Is it intellectual enough for you, T?”

My throat felt dry. My heart hammered in my chest, a primal drumbeat. “Freya…”

She took a slow, deliberate step into the room, then another. The lace swayed with her movement, a whisper against her skin. She wasn't just walking; she was gliding, a goddess in a forgotten temple. She moved to the side of the bed, her eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the heat radiating off her, the subtle hum of something ancient and alluring. She was a witch, powerful beyond anything I could comprehend. A werewolf, like me, but already triggered. An untriggered vampire, the blood of an Original. But right now, she was just Maya. My Maya. And she was seduction incarnate.

She reached out a hand, her slender fingers tracing the line of my jaw, then sliding down my neck to my collarbone. Her touch was light, but it sparked fire under my skin. “You look tired,” she murmured, her voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down my spine. “Long day with the… Baby Vamps ?”

I snorted, the term she used for Elena and Caroline – and even Stefan and Damon, until they proved themselves – cutting through some of the tension, replacing it with a grin. “They’re getting worse. You should have heard Elena today. Whining about Caroline and Damon. Like she’s got any right to judge.” God, Elena was so self-righteous.

Maya’s thumb brushed over my bottom lip, her eyes darkening. “Mm-hmm. And you dealt with it so bravely.”

“Yeah, well, someone had to. And get Bonnie out of there before her gramms had a stroke or something.” I swallowed hard. The scent of her – a mix of sweet earth, something floral, and a faint, clean musk – was intoxicating, filling my senses.

She leaned closer, her long, curly hair brushing my cheek, smelling faintly of citrus. Her breath fanned my face, warm and sweet. “Such a good boy, T. Always looking out for your friends.”

My hand found her waist, pulling her closer until she was straddling my hips, the babydoll riding up her thighs. She gasped softly, but didn’t pull away. Her petite frame fit perfectly against mine, even with the faint swell of her belly pressing against me. I could feel the heat of her skin through the lace.

“Is that what I am, Freya? A good boy?” I asked, my voice rough, my fingers tangling in the lace at her hips.

Her eyes, dark as midnight, held mine. “Sometimes,” she whispered, her lips almost brushing mine. “But sometimes… you’re something else entirely.”

And then her lips were on mine. Soft at first, exploratory, tasting of the mint tea she’d had earlier. My hands tightened on her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. She deepened the kiss, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips, coaxing me open. I groaned, parting my mouth for her, and she slipped inside, tangling with my own.

This wasn’t just a kiss. This was an invitation. A challenge. She leaned into it, pushing me back into the pillows, her fingers threading into my hair, pulling gently. The faint sound of the TV faded into the background, replaced by the rush of blood in my ears, the thumping of our combined heartbeats.

I moved my hands from her hips, sliding them up her back, exploring the curve of her spine, the delicate dip of her waist. Her skin was so soft, so warm. My thumbs found the edge of the babydoll, tracing the delicate lace, teasing the skin beneath. She shivered against me, a low moan escaping her throat.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Freya,” I muttered against her lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe.

Her eyes fluttered open, dark and heavy-lidded. “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea, T. The way your eyes trail me, the way your jaw clenches when another guy looks your way… I know.” Her voice was a purr, laced with a confidence I rarely saw her display, a manifestation of that untamed spirit beneath her reserved exterior.

She shifted, settling more firmly on my lap. The friction was immediate, powerful. A jolt went through me. My hips instinctively bucked, meeting her. She cried out softly, a sound that pushed me further over the edge.

“You started this, Freya,” I growled, rolling us over in one smooth motion, pinning her beneath me. She gasped, her hands flying up to grip my shoulders. The pillows scattered, the TV still muttering uncaringly in the background.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide, a slight flush on her tanned skin. “Did I?” she challenged, a playful smirk twisting her lips. “Or were you just waiting for an excuse?”

“Both,” I admitted, leaning down to kiss her again, more fiercely this time, devouring her. Her lips were soft, yielding, her tongue dancing with mine. I tasted desire, a hint of something wild and untamed, and my own need intensified, mirroring hers.

My hands found the hem of the babydoll, pushing it up, gathering the delicate fabric until I could slip my hands beneath, finding the warm, smooth skin of her inner thighs. Her small gasp vibrated against my lips. My fingers traced the curve of her hip, then slipped under the lace of her panties. She arched into my touch, a low moan escaping her.

“T…” she breathed, her voice a plea, a command.

I pulled away from her mouth, kissing a trail down her jaw, along her neck, tasting her skin, smelling her unique scent. She tilted her head back, giving me full access, her fingers digging into my shoulders. Her heart hammered against my chest, a frantic rhythm matching my own.

“You’re so beautiful, Freya,” I whispered, my voice rough with emotion, with desire. “So fucking beautiful.”

My lips found the sensitive skin behind her ear, then moved lower, to her collarbone. I felt her shiver, her muscles tensing. I pushed the lace of the babydoll up higher, until her slender legs were free, then moved my hand, pushing the delicate fabric aside. Her thighs parted for me without hesitation.

“Tyler,” she whimpered, and the sound shattered any control I had left.

I slipped my fingers inside her, finding her already wet, so ready. She arched against me, a full-body tremor shaking her. Her nails dug into my back, not painful, but urgent. The soft lace of the babydoll was now bunched around her waist, and her tiny baby bump was now more visible, a gentle curve between us. I kissed it, a soft, reverent press of my lips, a silent promise to protect them both. She gasped, her eyes flying open, moist with a mix of pleasure and something else—vulnerability, trust.

“Always,” I murmured, my voice hoarse, meeting her gaze. “Always, Freya.”

I shifted, pressing against her, my erection aching, demanding entry. She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me closer, her hips lifting to meet mine. The primal instinct surged through me, overpowering everything else. My wolf recognized its mate, its alpha.

With a low growl, I pushed inside her.

She cried out, a sharp, broken sound that was pure pleasure. She was tight, so incredibly tight, every inch of her gripping me, squeezing. I buried my face in her neck, inhaling her scent, reveling in the feeling of being completely, utterly sheathed within her.

I started to move, slow at first, letting us adjust, letting the exquisite friction build. Her hands moved from my shoulders to my back, her nails scraping, pulling. She met my rhythm, hips rising to meet mine, her movements growing more urgent, more demanding. Every thrust brought another moan from her, a low, guttural sound that drove me wild.

“God, Freya,” I gasped, clutching her hips, driving into her with more force, faster. The air was thick with the scent of sex, of our mingled sweat, of her unique, intoxicating aroma. The bedsprings creaked under us, the pillows were scattered across the floor. The TV hummed on, forgotten, a distant, ironic reminder of the world outside this room, this moment.

She started panting, short, sharp breaths, her head rolling back and forth on the pillow. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her features tight with ecstasy. “Tyler… T… oh, God…”

I sped up, driving deeper, faster, each thrust taking me closer to the edge. Her contractions around me were exquisite, pulling me further into her. I felt the tremors start in her lower body, felt her arching higher, clinging to me as if I was her only anchor.

“Look at me, Freya,” I commanded, my voice strained.

Her eyes snapped open, blazing with an intensity that took my breath away. Her dark brown eyes, usually so calm, were now molten, reflecting the raw passion that consumed us both. There was no shyness now, only pure, unadulterated desire.

“Mine,” I rasped, burying myself deep within her one last time.

She screamed my name, a primal sound torn from her throat, her body convulsing around me. The wave hit her hard, and I felt it, the pure, unadulterated release. Her legs tightened around my waist, her fingers digging into my skin. I followed her, a roar tearing from my own chest as I emptied myself inside her, the sensation powerful enough to make my vision grey out for a moment.

We lay there, panting, tangled together, bodies slick with sweat. My head rested against her shoulder, my heart still hammering against my ribs. Her fingers were still tangled in my hair, her breathing slowly evening out. The faint scent of our lovemaking hung in the air, a potent perfume.

After a few minutes, she stirred, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “Still think NCIS is intellectual, T?” she whispered, a soft laugh in her voice.

I chuckled, my voice still hoarse. “Maybe it’s more stimulating than I gave it credit for.” I shifted, pulling the covers up around us, cocooning us in the warmth. My arm tightened around her, pulling her close, resting my hand gently on her stomach. Our son. Our little family, safe inside these walls.

She snuggled into me, her head resting on my chest, listening to the steady beat of my heart. I could feel the soft weight of her body against mine, the subtle curve of her baby bump pressing into my hip.

“I love you, ást,” I murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. It was still complicated, this thing between us. Still love and hate, still fire and ice. But in moments like these, there was no hate. Only pure, undeniable love. And I knew, with every fiber of my being, that she was mine. My Freya. And I was hers.

 

Chapter 17: Lost Girls

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The air in Bonnie’s room was thick with the scent of nag champa incense and the sweet, artificial tang of microwaved popcorn. Outside, the early autumn chill of September 30, 2009, had settled over Mystic Falls, but inside Grams’ small, cozy house, it was warm and inviting. At sixteen, I was technically a senior, but tonight, draped across Bonnie’s floral duvet, tracing patterns on my barely-there baby bump beneath my baggy sweater, I felt a strange blend of teenage normalcy and ancient wisdom.

“Seriously, Freya,” Caroline chirped, perched on the edge of the bed, flinging a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Her blonde hair, usually meticulously styled, was a glorious, messy halo around her head. “Is Tyler… rough ? Like, does he leave marks? Because Damon, oh my God.” She sighed dramatically, a flush creeping up her neck.

Bonnie, who was meticulously arranging a deck of tarot cards on her nightstand, actually squawked, her cheeks turning a fiery scarlet. “Caroline! That’s… private!” Her eyes darted to mine, wide and embarrassed. Bonnie, bless her heart, was still navigating the waters of teenage crushes, let alone anything beyond a hand-hold. She hadn’t had sex, and the topic clearly flustered her.

I chuckled, a soft, low sound that felt oddly natural despite my usual reserve. My dark brown hair, a thick curtain of curls, brushed against my shoulders as I shifted, leaning back against the cool headboard. “Bonnie, it’s normal to talk about these things. We’re girls, aren’t we?” I winked at her, a rare, playful gesture. Then, turning back to Caroline, I considered my answer. “Rough? Sometimes, yeah. Tyler can be… intense. And I often like to match that intensity.” My mind drifted back to last night, to the feverish press of his body against mine, the way his fingers had dug into my hips, how I’d clawed at his back. The marks were there, yes, faint bruises on my collarbone, a slight tenderness in my lower lip where he’d nipped it. But they were marks of passion, of a primal connection that ran deeper than skin. “We both can get pretty… uninhibited.” I let a small, private smile play on my lips. Ást . My love. Our bond, strengthened with every shared moment of intimacy, every whispered secret. My wolf, even untriggered, recognized something profound in his.

“Oh my God, Maya!” Caroline squealed, clutching her hands to her chest. “See! I told you, Bonnie! It’s not just Damon being Damon!” She turned, eyes alight with a mix of scandal and fascination. “Does Damon… do that with you, Caroline?” I asked, genuinely curious. My analytical mind had already begun formulating theories about Damon Mikaelson’s patterns.

Caroline nodded vigorously, her eyes sparkling. “Totally! Sometimes I wake up and I’m like, ‘Where did that come from?’ But then I remember, and it’s like… bam . Just pure… energy. You know?” She paused, then wrinkled her nose. “Elena, though, thinks it’s all so weird. She was like, ‘How can you let him do that, Caroline? It’s not… romantic.’ Like, hello? Isn’t that the point? You ever seen Stefan actually break a sweat?” She rolled her eyes heavenward.

Bonnie, still red-faced, piped up, “How does Elena even know what Damon and Caroline do in bed?”

The question hung in the air, innocent but loaded. Caroline’s face, which had been bright with passion, suddenly clouded over, a defensive flicker in her eyes. She picked at a loose thread on Bonnie’s comforter. “Well… last night. We were… in Damon’s Camaro. You know, by the old woods road? And… they just kinda appeared. Stefan looking all disapproving, Elena looking all horrified. Like we were doing something illegal.”

A beat of silence. Then, my brow furrowed. “Wait. They caught you?” My voice, usually soft, took on a sharper edge. “As in, they were out there, in the woods, just… waiting? Or watching?” The notion was unsettling. My father, Niklaus, was known for his paranoia, but even he generally had a reason. Stefan and Elena? My instincts, honed by years of living with a mother who valued privacy only when it suited her, screamed intrusion .

Bonnie gasped, her tarot cards scattering across the duvet. “They were stalking you? Caroline, that’s not right!”

“Right?” Caroline burst out, her frustration bubbling over. “Tell me about it! They just stood there, looking at us like we were diseased! And then this morning, Elena calls me, giving me this whole lecture about how Damon is ‘manipulating’ me and how I need to ‘see through his lies’ and how he probably ‘raped’ me. Can you even imagine?” Her voice rose in indignation, a slight tremor in it.

I blinked, processing this. “They actually said he raped you?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous. Violence, particularly sexual violence, was a line I would not tolerate. My own history, though not involving rape, had enough shadows.

Caroline threw her hands up. “Well, not in so many words, but that was the gist! She was like, ‘Are you sure you wanted that, Caroline? Or was it Damon’s compulsion?’ And I’m like, duh , he compels me sometimes, but not about that . I’m willing! I like it! He doesn’t have to compel me to have sex with him! I want to!” She huffed, then her expression softened slightly, a more vulnerable look replacing the anger. “He has compelled me about… drinking my blood, though.”

Bonnie’s eyes widened further. “He drinks your blood?”

Caroline nodded, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Yeah. At first, it was weird, you know? But then… It’s actually kind of nice. Like, when he does it, I feel… really close to him. Like a part of me is a part of him. It’s… intimate. More intimate than sex sometimes, if that makes sense.” She shivered, not from cold, but from something else. “And he’s careful. Never takes too much. It’s… nice.”

A small, knowing smile spread across my face, and I let out a soft, almost triumphant laugh. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but one of recognition, of understanding. My laugh was met with confused stares from Bonnie and Caroline.

“What’s so funny, Maya?” Bonnie asked, picking up her scattered cards.

I shook my head, still smiling. “Oh, Caroline. You have no idea how much sense that makes. No wonder you like it. No wonder you feel closer to him.” A realization, ancient and profound, settled over me. “Caroline, darling, I think you might be Damon’s human bond.”

Caroline’s brows furrowed. “His… what now?”

“A bond,” I clarified, shifting slightly, my hand instinctively going to my stomach. “It’s like… It’s like a mate bond, but for vampires. You know how all wolves have a mate? It’s an undeniable connection. It can be anyone – another wolf, a human, even a witch. But not a vampire. Our wolves are designed to procreate, to continue our line. A vampire, being undead, technically can’t have a wolf mate in the traditional sense.” I paused, gathering my thoughts, drawing on the vast reservoir of ancestral knowledge that flowed within me, honed by my mother’s teachings and my own inherited intuition.

“But,” I continued, leaning forward slightly, capturing their attention, “a vampire can form a bond. With a human, another supernatural creature, even another vampire, though that’s far rarer and incredibly volatile. It’s not quite a mate bond because it’s not tied to procreation or the same kind of primal instinct, but it’s similar in its intensity, its purpose, and its ability to tie two souls together. It creates a deep, emotional, and often physical connection that goes beyond mere attraction or love. It’s what keeps them anchored, tethered to their humanity.”

Bonnie looked fascinated, her earlier embarrassment forgotten. Caroline, too, was listening intently, her mouth slightly agape.

“My father, Klaus,” I began, remembering stories I’d heard, facts I’d pieced together from fleeting mentions by my mother. “He’s had two. Marcel’s mother is a human woman named Rebekah. She was his first bond, though she died in 1820, when Marcel was just ten. It broke him, almost destroyed him, because she was his anchor. Then, much later, he formed another, a witch-witch bond, with my mother. It was different, more spiritual, more rooted in magic, but no less profound. Until she died, it was a constant balancing act for him, a way for him to retain some semblance of sanity amidst his… darker inclinations.” I chose my words carefully, keeping the deeper, more painful truths of my parents’ relationship to myself.

“Vampires, especially young ones – what Stefan and Damon are, ‘Baby Vamps’ as we call them in the older circles, being only 145 years old – they struggle with retaining their humanity. They lose it so easily. A bond… It’s like a lifeline. It grounds them, reminds them of what it means to feel, to care, to protect. It means Damon… it means he actually wants to settle down. To connect on a truly profound level, to have something real. Which, for a Baby Vamp like him,” I finished, a faint smirk touching my lips, “is incredibly strange. Most of them are too busy revelling in their newfound power, their immortality, to think about such complicated attachments. But Damon… he’s different.”

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of my words settling upon them. Bonnie finally broke it, a quiet "Wow." Caroline, however, still looked a little overwhelmed, but also… relieved. Validated.

“So… I’m his… anchor?” Caroline whispered, her voice tinged with awe, a dawning understanding in her blue eyes.

I nodded. “Essentially. And you feel that pull, that connection, that’s why you like it when he drinks your blood. It’s a reaffirmation of that bond, a deepening of it.”

Just then, the front door creaked downstairs, followed by hushed whispers and then a louder thud. A moment later, two figures appeared at Bonnie’s bedroom door. Tyler, with his dark hair slightly mussed, and Matt, looking a little awkward behind him. Tyler’s eyes immediately found mine, a possessive, loving warmth blooming in their depths.

“Hey, ladies,” Tyler said, leaning against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips. “Heard there was a party. And we were bored.” In his hand, he held a bag of what looked like chips.

Matt, ever the gentleman, offered a shy smile. “Yeah, we figured you guys could use some company. And snacks.”

Caroline, still processing the bomb I’d just dropped, barely registered them. Her mind was clearly miles away, wrapping itself around the idea of being Damon’s “anchor.” Bonnie, however, looked up, relieved by the interruption, though still thoughtful.

Tyler walked over to me, easily stepping over the scattered pillows and blankets, and dropped onto the bed beside me, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer. His presence was a familiar comfort, a deep rumble against my back. I leaned into him, feeling the solid strength of his body, the steady beat of his heart—my own anchor.

“What were you guys talking about so intensely?” Tyler murmured into my hair, his lips brushing my ear. The question was casual, but his protective arm tightened just a fraction.

I smiled, nestling closer to his warmth. “Just… the complexities of love, ást.” I glanced at Caroline, who was still staring into space, a faint, almost giddy smile on her face. “And how sometimes, the most profound connections come in the most unexpected, and even untraditional, forms.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “It’s always complex with you, Freya,” he whispered, his voice laced with affection. It was still complicated, this thing between us. Still love and hate, still fire and ice. But in moments like these, there was no hate—only pure, undeniable love. And I knew, with every fibre of my being, that he was mine—my Freya. And I was hers. Our story, messy and intertwined, was just beginning, and for all the ancient fears and dangers that lurked in the shadows of Mystic Falls, with him beside me, with our child growing within me, I felt a strength I never knew I possessed.

Thursday, October 1, 2009 

The crisp October air bit at my cheeks, a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from the Chestnut UGGs on my feet. I pulled the denim and faux fur moto jacket tighter around me, my hands instinctively going to the small, almost imperceptible curve of my belly beneath the Black Maternity Skinny Jeans. Eighteen weeks. Eighteen weeks of a life growing inside me, a tiny flicker of Tyler and me, a secret only a handful knew. The Céline Medium Cabas Tote Bag swayed against my hip as I walked, my long, curly waves pulled back into a practical ponytail, a futile attempt to tame the frizz that always seemed to defy gravity.

Mystic Falls town square was usually a hub of activity after school, but today, at a cool 15°C, it felt a little quieter, the autumn leaves a riot of red and gold under a pale sky. I was heading to the Grill, meeting Tyler for a late lunch, but a familiar, brooding presence stopped me dead in my tracks.

Leaning against a lamppost near the town’s quaint central fountain, Damon Salvatore cut a solitary figure. Even from a distance, I could feel the low thrum of his vulnerability, a rare frequency for the self-proclaimed ‘bad boy’ vampire. His eyes, usually glittering with mischief or malice, were fixed on something across the square. Following his gaze, I saw her. Caroline Forbes, radiant and smiling, animatedly chatting with her mother, Sheriff Forbes, outside the Mystic Grill. A genuine smile, one that reached her eyes, something I hadn’t seen on Caroline much before Damon had sunk his fangs into her life.

My conversation with Caroline last night replayed in my mind. The shock in her voice, then the dawning realization, when I explained the bond . A human bond, like a mate bond for a wolf, but for a vampire. It was rare, especially for a "Baby Vamp" like Damon, barely over a century old. My father, Klaus, the Original Hybrid, had forged two such bonds in his thousand years – one with Marcel’s mother, another with my own. It wasn’t just about feeding; it was profound, a tether to humanity. And Damon, for all his bravado and sharp edges, was clearly tethered.

I decided to approach him. My steps were quiet, almost silent, a blend of werewolf agility and inherent witch grace. He didn't flinch, didn't even acknowledge my presence until I was just a few feet away, his gaze still locked on Caroline.

"She looks happy," I observed, my voice soft, letting him know I was there, but not invading.

He finally turned, his dark eyes meeting mine, momentarily losing their distant focus—a flicker of surprise, then something akin to resignation. "Favourite Mikaelson," he drawled, his lips curling into a half-smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. His usual theatricality was muted, replaced by a raw edge. "Come to rub it in?"

"Rub what in?" I asked, my brow furrowing slightly. My personality, reserved and empathetic, often clashed with the Salvatore brothers' dramatics.

He pushed off the lamppost, standing tall, though his shoulders seemed a little slumped. "The... bond. The 'human bond' you so eloquently explained to my pet human last night. Managed to freak her out, you know."

"She wasn't 'freaked out', Damon," I corrected gently. "She was… surprised. And then, I think, a little relieved. To have an explanation for what she's feeling. What you're making her feel."

He scoffed, running a hand through his dark hair. "What am I making her feel? Like a walking blood bag who can't say no?"

"No," I stated firmly, my gaze unwavering. "Like she matters. Like she's not just a casual fling. Like she’s chosen." I watched him, reading the micro-expressions on his face. He was shocked by the idea, but also, undeniably, curious. "Caroline explicitly told Bonnie and me that she likes feeding you. She feels 'closer' to you. That's not coercion, Damon. That's… mutual. That’s what a bond is."

His jaw tightened. "So, I'm stuck with her forever, then? This… human bond? Like some bloody soulmate crap?" He let out a harsh laugh. "Me, Damon Salvatore, settling down? That's rich. You truly are your father's daughter, Maya. Always seeing the complexity, never the simple, bloody darkness."

"It’s not 'stuck'," I countered, stepping closer, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "It’s a connection—a profound one. And yes, it’s about humanity. About not becoming a monster. My father, for all his... complexities," I paused, a private ache for Klaus, for the fractured memories of a distant parent, "he sought that. He yearned for it. And he found it, in his way, with Marcel’s mother, and then my own."

I could see the gears turning in his ancient, yet "Baby Vamp," mind. He'd lived for centuries without this, without truly seeking it. “You’re telling me Klaus Mikaelson, the ‘Original Hybrid dickhead’,” he practically spat the epithet, “needed a human bond to remain human?”

I sighed. "Not to remain human, not in the mortal sense. But to retain what little humanity he clung to. To ground him. To keep him from descending into utter madness or indifference. My mother wasn't just a witch to him, Damon. She was his anchor." My voice caught, a phantom pain for the mother who barely parented me, yet had loved him. The complexities of my own life, the web of love and neglect, made me see the world through a nuanced lens.

He looked away again, back at Caroline. A flicker of something soft, almost tender, crossed his features before he aggressively scrubbed it away, replacing it with a cynical sneer. "So, what, Miss Mikaelson, you're saying I'm going soft? That I'm destined for white picket fences and a golden retriever?"

"I'm saying," I began, choosing my words carefully, knowing how fragile his ego was, and how deeply he fought against vulnerability, "that you have a choice. You can fight it, deny it, and probably end up more miserable than you already are. Or you can acknowledge it. Explore it. See what it means for you ." I paused, then pushed. "Damon, you're not known for your romantic gestures. You’re known for your compulsion, your snark, your… well, being a bloody arsehole, frankly."

He narrowed his eyes, a glint of the old Damon returning. "Careful, Maya. Or I might just have to compel you to stop being so damn insightful."

I gave him a small, knowing smile. "You can try. But as a Mikaelson, I'm kinda immune to all that parlour trickery, aren't I? Besides, you wouldn't dare. You like me too much. I'm your 'Favourite Mikaelson', remember?" The truth of my tribrid nature, my untriggered vampirism, meant his compulsion wouldn't touch me, but he still thought I was just a vampire like him. Let him think that.

His lips twitched. "Fine. You win this round, Maya. But your point?"

"My point," I reiterated, my eyes flicking over to Caroline, who now looked up and waved, catching my eye briefly before turning back to her mother. "My point is, look at her. She's vibrant, she's sweet, she deserves more than being caught doing God-knows-what in your '69 Camaro in the woods." I saw his ears perk up at the mention of his car. "By the way, Bonnie and I were pretty shocked when Caroline told us Elena and Stefan caught you two last night. It implies they were… stalking you. A little concerning, wouldn't you say?"

Damon’s face hardened. "The hell? Elena and Stefan were... stalking us? Those self-righteous little shits." He ran a hand over his face. "Unbelievable. This is exactly why I don't do 'relationships'. Too much drama, too many busybodies."

"It's not relationships that cause drama, Damon. It's people ," I corrected, a hint of weariness in my voice. "And how you choose to handle them. You compel Caroline, you treat her like a conquest, you tell her that everything she feels is because of your influence. And then you wonder why she's confused about her own feelings, or why others might misinterpret your dynamic."

He actually looked at me then, truly at me, not through me. "So, what's your sage advice, little wolf-witch-vampire?" he asked, using his own unique descriptor for me, a testament to his knowledge of my true nature, even if he didn't fully grasp the "Original" part. "What should I do? Buy her flowers? Take her to homecoming?" The sarcasm was thick, but there was an underlying desperation, a genuine seeking.

"Why not?" I challenged, my voice firm. "You want to know what it means to be truly bonded, truly connected, truly… loved ? You have to offer more than just the thrill of the forbidden, the danger. You have to offer respect. Affection. You have to treat her like she's worth more than just a convenient snack or a late-night hookup. Can't you be more romantic with Caroline than being a jerk and take Caroline on dates you would want to take someone on?"

He stared at me, his dark eyes wide, a myriad of emotions swirling within them: shock, anger, confusion, and then, a faint spark of something new. "Dates I would want to take someone to?" he repeated slowly, as if testing the words on his tongue. "Like... what? A trip to Paris? A candlelit dinner in a crypt?"

I rolled my eyes. "Damon, please. You're a vampire. You've lived for over a century. You've seen the world. You have impeccable taste when you choose to use it. Think about what a woman might actually appreciate. Not just what you find amusing or convenient, take her somewhere beautiful. Somewhere meaningful. Somewhere that makes her feel special, not just like your latest plaything." My own internal thoughts drifted to Tyler, to the simple, profound joy of his protective arm around me, the shared quiet moments of watching movies, the rough but tender passion that had created this life within me. That was real. That was a connection.

He mulled over my words, his gaze drifting back to Caroline, who was now hugging her mother goodbye, her smile still bright. "So, you're saying I should actually… try?"

"I'm saying you should treat Caroline the way she deserves to be treated," I said, a slight edge entering my voice, a rare moment of directness that cut through my usual reserved nature. "And the way you yourself, deep down, want to be treated. With honesty, with genuine affection, with respect. Because if you don't, Damon, this bond won't sustain your humanity. It will break you."

He let out a long breath, a human sound that seemed out of place for him. "You know, Maya, for a sixteen-year-old, you're insufferably wise. It's annoying. Your father must be so proud."

I felt a pang. "He wouldn't know pride if it bit him," I muttered, more to myself than to him. "But he does know bonds. And he knows what happens when they're broken." The memory of my mother, gone, the sudden emptiness, the fury that had triggered my wolf, still felt fresh.

Damon pushed off the lamppost fully, finally moving towards me. He paused, his gaze dropping briefly to my stomach, a subtle acknowledgment of something he knew but didn't speak of. His eyes met mine again, a flicker of genuine appreciation, not just the usual snark.

"You're right," he said, the words surprisingly sincere from him. "About Elena and Stefan. And about… Caroline." He looked back at her, a different kind of focus in his eyes now. "Maybe you're right about the rest of it, too."

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, a surprisingly domestic and tender gesture that caught me off guard. “It’s always complex with you, Maya,” he whispered, his voice laced with affection. It was still complicated, this thing between us. Still love and hate, still fire and ice. But in moments like these, there was no hate—only pure, undeniable love. Love for the strange, powerful girl who saw through his bullshit, who challenged him, who knew the depths of his family's history and his own hidden vulnerabilities.

He turned, not towards the Grill, but in the opposite direction, his stride purposeful. I watched him go, a small smile playing on my lips. Perhaps, just perhaps, my "Favourite Mikaelson" was finally starting to listen. I hoped for Caroline's sake, and for his own, that he would. I really did.

My phone buzzed. A text from Tyler: Hey, where are you? Starving here. Meet me at the Grill?

"Coming," I texted back, a little warmth spreading through me, a different kind of bond, one I embraced wholeheartedly. I looked towards the Grill, my baby bump a gentle secret, and knew I would walk into that place with my head held high, ready for whatever the complex, supernatural, strangely mundane life in Mystic Falls threw my way. 

Walking into The Grill was like stepping into a different kind of chaos. The after-school rush was in full swing. Laughter, clatter of cutlery, a low hum of chatter. The scent of fried food and stale beer hung in the air. My enhanced senses, a constant companion of my wolf nature, picked up every nuance: the faint, metallic tang of human blood from a cut finger at the bar, the distinct thump-thump of various heartbeats, the low growl of a car engine outside. It was a symphony, albeit a noisy one.

I spotted Tyler almost immediately. He was at a booth near the back, facing the door, as if he’d been watching for me. His dark hair, usually messy, had a tousled look, and his dark eyes lit up when he saw me. He was wearing his football team jacket, red and black, making him look even more imposing with his muscular build. He was still the cocky jock to most, but with me, he was… different. Soft around the edges. Protective. And despite the unconventional start to our relationship – a one-night stand after my wolf triggered and his untriggered wolf inexplicably recognized me as a mate – we were in this. All in.

"Hey, you," he said, pushing himself up to offer me a half-hug, his hand instinctively going to my lower back, a habit he’d picked up since my bump had started to show. It was a simple gesture, but it sent a shiver of warmth through me. His untriggered wolf, my triggered one. It was a primal, undeniable pull.

"Hey yourself, starving beast," I teased, sliding into the booth opposite him. I shucked off my denim and faux fur jacket, revealing the black hand-knit shoulder sweater. Even sitting down, he kept his knee pressed against mine under the table.

"Glad you finally made it. I was about to gnaw my own arm off." He gestured to the empty table, though a half-eaten burger and fries sat on a plate in front of him. "Didn't want to start without you, though. What do you want?"

"Just a salad, actually," I said, a slight maternal wave of nausea hitting me from the grease smell. "And some water. Keelin said to keep it light."

He nodded, already signalling for a waitress. "Everything good with Keelin?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly, genuine concern in his dark eyes. It was a subtle shift from his public persona, a vulnerability he reserved only for me.

I smiled, a genuine, relieved one. "She said everything’s perfect. Baby’s healthy, strong heartbeat, growing right on schedule. Just shy of a pound now, apparently." I felt a familiar flutter, a tiny, internal butterfly wing-beat, and my hand went unconsciously to my belly. He mirrored the gesture, his large hand resting gently over mine.

"Good. That's… that's fucking good, Maya," he breathed, a raw edge to his voice. The relief on his face was palpable. He’d been terrified, I knew, not just of having a baby, but of the responsibility, of the unknown. And the supernatural implications of a tribrid baby. This wasn't just a human pregnancy. It was… everything. And this wolf, this boy who was still just figuring himself out, he was rising to the occasion in ways I never would have predicted.

The waitress came, and I quickly ordered, while Tyler piled more fries onto his plate. Once she left, he leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. "So, I was doing some reading today. About babies."

"Oh, Lord," I chuckled. "What wisdom have you gleaned from the great oracle of Google?"

"No, seriously!" he grinned. "Did you know that babies are born with more bones than adults? Like, they have around 300, and we only have 206. Some of 'em fuse together as they grow."

"Huh," I mused, genuinely interested. My academic brain was always receptive to new facts. "I didn't know that. That's actually pretty cool."

"And get this," he continued, warming to his topic. "Babies don't have kneecaps when they're born. They're like cartilage, and they harden up later."

I snorted. "So, our little guy's gonna be a squishy-kneed wonder, huh?"

"Pretty much!" he laughed, then grew serious again, his gaze drifting to my stomach. "Speaking of little guy… got any stronger thoughts on names?"

"I’m still leaning towards Henrik, if it’s a boy," I said, my voice soft. "For your grandfather, but also… It’s a Mikaelson family name." A quiet homage to the turbulent, complex family I was only just getting to know, the family whose blood also ran through my son.

"Henrik Lockwood-Persaud-Mikaelson?" he teased, drawing out the surnames. "That’s a mouthful."

"Hey, he's got a lot of heritage to live up to," I countered playfully. "What about you? Any other suggestions?"

He chewed thoughtfully. "I don't know. I always liked strong, classic names. Maybe… Liam? Ethan? Or something more unique, like… Kaelen? Or Finn, like your uncle?"

"Finn's nice," I considered. "But… maybe too much for a baby. Might be a bit of a curse, knowing my family." We both shared a quiet laugh. The Mikaelsons were many things, but "easy" wasn't one of them.

"So, Henrik, it is for now, then," he said, squeezing my hand again. "I like it. Strong."

We ate in comfortable silence for a moment, the Grill's noise fading into the background. My salad arrived, and I picked at it, feeling the familiar hunger but also the unusual pickiness of pregnancy.

"So, Spirit Week is coming up before Homecoming," Tyler said, changing the subject to something more mundane, yet still relevant to our lives here. "Pyjama Day, Twins Day, Sports Day… and then School Colours Day on Friday before the big game."

"And Decades Day," I added, remembering the flyer. "I’m honestly just dreading having to find five different outfits. And with… this," I patted my bump lightly, "it's even harder."

"Don't worry about it," he said, instantly protective. "We'll figure it out. Or you can just wear my jerseys for Sports Day. And I'll find something for you for Decades Day. We can go with something from the nineties. You were born then, right?"

"May '93," I confirmed. "So, definitely the nineties. But really, Tyler, you don't have to stress about it. I'm fine."

"I know you're fine," he said, his voice firm. "But I want to. This is… this is our thing, Maya. And I want you to be comfortable. People are already looking at you differently." He motioned subtly with his head towards a group of girls whispering at a nearby table. Probably about my new relationship with Mystic Falls’ resident jock king, or perhaps my sudden appearance in twelfth grade. No one knew about the baby, but a pregnant glow, no matter how subtly hidden, could be misinterpreted.

"Let 'em," I said, meeting his gaze evenly. "Their opinions are irrelevant. I’ve known worse. Believe me." Worse, like witches wanting to kill you for your powers and then having to put your own mother in the ground after you killed one of them and triggered your wolf, the thought, unbidden, flashed through my mind, a phantom scent of blood and magic. I pushed it down. Mystic Falls was supposed to be a fresh start, a quieter life. It was proving to be anything but.

"Still," he said, his brow furrowing slightly. "We need to figure out Homecoming. You still want to go?"

"Of course, I want to go," I said. "It’s my senior year. And I've never gone to a proper dance before. Always too busy with… well, too busy. My mother didn't believe in such frivolous things." A bitter edge crept into my voice. Indira Persaud had been many things: a strict teacher of magic, a broken woman, but 'good mother' wasn't one of them.

"Then we're going," Tyler declared. "And we're going to have a good time. Nobody's gonna mess with you. You're with me." He puffed out his chest playfully, but I knew the underlying truth. He would rip someone apart if they threatened me. His untriggered wolf, his latent protective instincts, were fierce.

We talked for a bit longer, planning our Spirit Week outfits, laughing about the awkwardness of Pyjama Day, and how ridiculously competitive the football team would get for Sports Day. He was a good distraction from the heavier things, the ever-present hum of supernatural politics, the Mikaelson family name I carried but couldn't speak, the dark past that still felt so close.

Just as Tyler was finishing his last fry and I was pushing my half-eaten salad away, a bright, bubbly voice cut through the air.

"Maya! Tyler! Oh my god, you guys are still here!"

Caroline Forbes. She burst into our booth space, a whirlwind of blonde hair and boundless energy, wearing a bright pink top that somehow perfectly matched her effervescent personality. Tyler groaned softly beside me, but I offered her a genuine smile. Caroline, for all her superficiality, had a good heart. And last night, with the truth of the human bond, a part of me felt a fierce protectiveness over her. She was tied to Damon, whether she fully knew the implications or not, and that meant she was in my orbit. And a mate, even a human one, was family in my eyes.

"Hey, Caroline," I greeted, making space for her to perch on the edge of the booth.

"What's up, Forbes?" Tyler said, a little more gruff than he was with me, but not unkind.

Caroline practically vibrated with excitement. "Oh my god, you guys, you will not believe what just happened!" Her eyes glittered, and her cheeks were flushed. "Damon asked me to Homecoming!"

Tyler blinked. "Seriously? Damon? What, is he planning to spike the punch?"

Caroline swatted his arm. "No! Don't be a jerk, Tyler! He was actually… sweet. Like, he said he wanted to take me on a proper date, and that he'd be honoured if I'd go to Homecoming with him. He even said he’d try to act 'appropriately' for a high school dance, which, you know, for Damon, means he won't, like, compel the band to play only goth music or something." She giggled, a pure, joyous sound.

I felt a small, knowing smile play on my lips. My conversation with him had clearly sunk in. Be more romantic, Damon. Take her on dates you would take someone you're into. It seemed he had listened. He might be an arrogant asshole with a history longer than most, but he wasn't entirely lost. The bond was working on him. It was a beautiful, terrifying thing, this connection that tethered supernatural beings to their humanity, or lack thereof.

Caroline turned to me, her eyes wide with gratitude. "Maya, I don't know what you said to him today, but thank you ! Seriously. Something you said must have really resonated. He was totally different. More… chivalrous, almost." She paused, her brow furrowing slightly. "He mentioned something about… 'understanding the importance of certain connections' or something. Did you guys talk about me?"

"We had a brief, shall we say, philosophical discussion today," I said smoothly, exchanging a quick, amused glance with Tyler, who was looking at me with newfound curiosity. I hadn't told him the full extent of my conversation with Damon. "I just told him what I thought. That you deserve to be treated with respect, Caroline."

"Oh, Maya!" Caroline practically squealed, leaning in to hug me, which was a little awkward given my position in the booth. "You're the best! I knew you were wise. Everyone always thinks he's just using me, but I always felt like… There was something more. You get it!"

"I get it," I affirmed, a quiet understanding passing between us, even if she didn’t fully grasp the supernatural implications of how I got it. She just knew I was on her side, saw something in her connection with Damon that others dismissed as unhealthy. My empathy, my spiritual attunement, allowed me to see the invisible threads that bound people.

"Well, now I definitely need to find the perfect dress!" she declared, full of renewed purpose. "I'm thinking something red, maybe. Or black. Mystic Falls High colours, you know!"

"You'll look great, Caroline," I assured her.

"Thanks, Maya! I gotta tell Bonnie! She's gonna freak out!" And with another rush of energy, she was gone, leaving us in the sudden quiet of her absence.

Tyler looked at me, his gaze intensely curious. "So, 'philosophical discussion,' huh? You told him about… the bond thing?"

I sighed, a small, knowing smile on my lips. "I told him enough to make him think. Damon's not stupid, just… emotionally stunted. But he's getting there. The bond will make sure of it. It’s like a mate bond for vampires, T. It anchors them."

He absorbed this, his expression thoughtful. "So, he's like… mated to Caroline?"

"In a way," I confirmed. "It’s a powerful connection. It means she helps him hold onto his humanity." I paused, then glanced down at our clasped hands, his large, warm, mine smaller but holding a world of power. "Like you help me hold onto mine. Or rather, you help me embrace it."

He tightened his grip on my hand, his thumb gently caressing my knuckles. "Always, Maya. Forever."

I looked into his dark eyes, no longer seeing the arrogant jock, but the protective, slightly overwhelmed boy who was becoming a man, a father. My secret, our secret, was growing, undeniable, nestled safely within me. And for the first time in a long time, in this strange, supernatural town, I truly felt like I had a place. A home. With him.

We pushed out of the booth, Tyler’s arm immediately going around my waist. The evening air was cooler now, the sky turning a deep, bruised purple. I leaned into his side, feeling the comforting solidness of him. 

Chapter 18: Homecoming Surprise

Thursday, October 8, 2009

The scent of cheap disinfectant and stale gym socks clung to the air of Mystic Falls High, a familiar, oddly comforting aroma these past three months. I leaned against Tyler’s locker, the cool metal a pleasant contrast to the warmth of my fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of Starbucks Cool Lime Refresher. My chicken noodle soup was half-eaten, the chopped oven chicken salad a vibrant, untouched green next to it. Tyler, meanwhile, was devouring his Italian BMT footlong with the dedicated ferocity of a wolf whose stomach was an endless pit.

“Dude, slow down,” I chuckled, nudging him with my elbow. “That sandwich isn’t going anywhere.”

He just grunted, dark eyes sparkling over the bread. The October 8th chill, a mild 17°C, meant my 90s-inspired flannel shirt felt just right over my ribbed tank top. My dark brown, wavy hair was pulled into a high ponytail, a few frizz-defying tendrils escaping around my face. Rebekah’s necklace, the intricate silver amulet, lay against my collarbone, a cool weight of protection and family. My Kautuka and gold and black beads bracelet jingled faintly each time I moved my wrist. At 5’0”, I was petite next to Tyler’s 5’8” frame, but my curvy build, now accentuated by the subtle curve of an eighteen-week baby bump, held a quiet power. A power that only Tyler, his family, mine, Bonnie, Bonnie’s Grams, Keelin, and Matt knew about. Even with the loose flannel, I was acutely aware of the life growing inside me – Tyler’s son. Our son. The culmination of a one-night stand that had blossomed into something profoundly protective and deeply felt.

“Gotta fuel up,” Tyler mumbled around a bite, his muscular frame radiating warmth. “Big game tomorrow. Plus, the debate club after school, remember? You’re going to crush them with your crazy smart brain.” He grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His usual aggressive arrogance melted away when it was just us; for me, he was fiercely protective, almost… soft. It was a side of him few people ever saw, a side that mirrored the untriggered wolf in him, intertwined with my own, now triggered, werewolf blood. It was a mate-bond, raw and undeniable, even if neither of us said the exact words out loud yet.

I felt a familiar flutter in my abdomen, a ghostly whisper from the spirits around us, a confirmation of the life within. It was a constant hum, a gentle thrumming that was both a comfort and a reminder of the secret I carried. Being a tribrid, a Spirit Witch, werewolf, and untriggered vampire, meant my body was a delicate ecosystem of raw power, and forming a bond with an untriggered wolf had only amplified it. My mother, Indira Persaud, for all her failings as a parent, had instilled in me the knowledge of our family's power, of the Persaud Witch Coven, the Aumont Clan, the royal werewolf bloodline, the North East Atlantic Pack, and the Hagen Witch Coven. And then there was my father, Klaus Mikaelson, a name spoken only in whispers, a figure from fleeting memories and daunting stories. The heir. Me.

Just as I took a bite of my chocolate chip and M&M cookie, a shadow fell over us. Elena Gilbert. Her face was pinched, her dark eyes narrowed. Gone was the usual cheer, replaced by something sullen and self-righteous.

“Tyler, can I talk to you for a second?” she demanded, not even bothering to acknowledge me.

Tyler raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “You are talking to me, Elena. And I’m kinda busy eating my lunch.”

“This is important,” she insisted, hands on her hips. Her gaze flickered to me, then away, as if my very presence was an inconvenience. “It’s about Matt. And Homecoming.”

I felt a subtle shift in the air, a faint tremor on the ethereal plane, warning me of incoming emotional turbulence. My spiritual empathy was kicking in.

“What about them?” Tyler asked, his tone flat. He’d told me how Matt and Bonnie were going as friends, how he’d helped orchestrate it after Elena broke up with Matt back in August. Tyler, for all his jock exterior, was loyal to his friends, even if Elena couldn't see past her own drama.

“You convinced Matt to go with Bonnie, didn’t you?” Elena accused, her voice rising, drawing curious glances from other students in the bustling hallway. “He was supposed to be available! Stefan and I… we broke up. Again.”

I almost choked on my cookie. Eight days. Eight days ago, Damon asked Caroline to the homecoming, and now Elena was already back on the Matt train? The girl was a walking, talking soap opera.

Before Tyler could respond, a cacophony of voices and footsteps heralded the arrival of the rest of the gang. Matt, looking thoroughly uncomfortable, trailed behind a fuming Caroline, followed by a blushing Bonnie, a stoic Stefan, and a perpetually bewildered Jeremy.

Caroline, usually so bubbly and bright, had a thundercloud etched on her face. Her eyes, usually full of sunshine, were now spitting fire, and they were fixed on Elena.

“Oh, now you care about Matt, Elena?” Caroline practically shrieked, her voice echoing down the hall. “After everything? You dumped him for Stefan, then you dumped Stefan, and now you expect Matt to just… sit around like a lovesick puppy for you? Are you kidding me right now?”

Elena’s jaw dropped. “Caroline! What is your problem? I’m just saying, Matt and I have history!”

“History? You mean you have a history of treating him like he’s your personal backup plan!” Caroline retorted, stepping closer, her face flushed with indignation. “And for the record, Matt is a free agent! He can go with whoever the hell he wants! And Bonnie is amazing, so suck it up!”

Bonnie, standing next to Matt, looked like she wanted the Earth to swallow her whole. Matt, true to form, just looked down at his feet, his broad shoulders hunched. Stefan, ever the mediator, stepped forward.

“Caroline, calm down,” he said gently, but Caroline was beyond calming.

“Don’t ‘Caroline, calm down’ me, Stefan! All of you!” Her gaze swept over Elena, then Stefan, then Jeremy, before landing on me and Tyler. “You stood there with your mouths open when Elena was practically accusing Damon of rape ! Saying that my sex life, my consensual choices, were ‘weird’ just because they didn’t fit into your perfect, vanilla little fantasy life!”

My eyes widened. She was really going for it. This was less a blow-up and more an explosive eruption of every insecurity and frustration Caroline had ever felt since Elena came into her life. I felt a faint surge of magic within me, not to project, but to absorb the raw emotional energy swirling around us. It was a habit, a subconscious act of a spirit witch drawing on ambient power.

Elena’s face contorted in disbelief. “I never said he raped you! I said I was concerned! And it is weird, Caroline! The marks, the… the rough stuff! And you're letting him feed on you? That’s not normal!”

“Normal? What the hell is normal, Elena?” Caroline scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her. “Is your normal being caught by your boyfriend making out with his brother in a Camaro in the woods? Is your normal thinking that just because something isn’t your cup of tea, it’s automatically wrong or abusive? Grow up, Elena! Damon has never, ever hurt me, not in a way I didn’t want. He compelled me, yeah, he did that, but never sexually. And you know what? Drinking his blood… it feels like… it feels like we’re closer. Like it’s meant to be. Like he’s finally seen me! Not some prop in your drama, not some cheerleader Barbie! He sees me !”

Her voice cracked with emotion, and I could feel the raw truth of her words, the powerful resonance of a budding human bond, a mate-like connection, strengthening her. Damon, that arrogant ass, had actually found something resembling humanity, something to root him to this world. I had seen vampire bonds before, heard stories from the spirits, but to witness it unfold in front of me was something else entirely. It was a fierce, possessive, deeply rooted connection that had nothing to do with compulsion, only with choice and a primal need.

“You’re deluding yourself, Caroline,” Stefan interjected, his voice low and serious. “Damon is dangerous. He plays with people.”

“Oh, and you don’t, Stefan? You just got dumped by the girl you thought was the love of your life. Again. And you think you’re some moral beacon?” Caroline lashed out, her gaze hardening. “You and Elena spend your time judging everyone else, making up stories, acting like you’re the victims when you’re the ones creating all the drama! You thought he raped me, you judged my choices, and you stalked us! You two are seriously fucked up!”

Matt finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “She’s got a point, guys.”

Bonnie nodded, her cheeks still red, but with a newfound resolve in her eyes. “Caroline’s right. It’s not fair to judge her choices or Damon’s. And Matt and I are going to Homecoming. As friends. Elena, you broke up with him.”

Elena looked from Caroline to Matt to Bonnie, her face a mask of hurt and self-pity. “I… I can’t believe you’re all ganging up on me.”

“Ganging up?” Caroline barked. “No, Elena, we’re just done. Done with your self-centred bullshit. Done with your drama. Done with you acting like the world revolves around Elena Gilbert and her endless supply of boyfriends.” She took a deep, shaky breath, her chest heaving. “Damon asked me to Homecoming. And I said yes. And I’m going to have a fantastic time. Because, unlike some people, I know how to be happy for myself, without needing someone else’s approval.”

Tyler, who had been watching the entire exchange with a mixture of amusement and growing protectiveness, finally stepped forward, placing a hand on my lower back, subtly shielding my small bump from view. His presence was a solid, grounding force.

“Look, Elena,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm, “Matt’s a good guy. He deserves to go to Homecoming with someone who actually wants to be there with him, not someone who’s just using him as a rebound. Bonnie's a great choice. You made your bed, now lie in it.”

His words, simple and direct, cut through the tension like a knife. Elena recoiled as if slapped. Stefan stepped closer to Elena, putting a hand on her shoulder. Jeremy just looked from one person to another, clearly out of his depth.

I watched them, my silence a conscious choice. There was so much unspoken, so much beneath the surface. Elena’s inherent need to be the center, Stefan’s protective but sometimes misguided nature, Caroline’s blossoming independence, Matt’s quiet loyalty, and Bonnie’s growing strength. And Damon, lurking in the background, is a catalyst for so much change.

My own life was a tapestry of ancient history and urgent present. Teenage drama felt almost trivial compared to the looming threat of vengeful witches or the constant hum of my powers. Yet, in this moment, witnessing Caroline’s raw, honest outburst, I felt a connection to their human struggles, a deep empathy that transcended my own unique burdens. They were, in their own way, fighting for their authenticity, just as I had to fight for mine every single day.

“You know,” I said softly, my voice barely above the din of the hallway, but it carried, pulling everyone’s attention. My Hindi-accented English was clear and concise. “Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is to look inward.”

My gaze met Elena’s for a moment. Her brown eyes, so similar to mine, held a flicker of something unreadable before she quickly looked away.

“It’s Thursday, October 8th,” I continued, a slight smile playing on my lips. “It’s 90s Day. Let’s try to embrace some of that old-school chill, yeah? We’ve got a big game tomorrow, and a dance on Saturday. Let’s not let petty squabbles ruin it.”

My Kautuka, the gold and black beads bracelet, felt warm on my wrist. It was a reminder of my heritage, my faith, my grounding. I could easily manipulate their emotions, cloud their minds with illusions, or even inflict pain, but that wasn't my way. Not unless absolutely necessary. My wisdom was a shield, my calm a balm.

Caroline let out a shaky breath, then managed a small, grateful smile at me. “She’s right. Let’s just… let’s just go to class, you guys.”

She steered Matt and Bonnie away, leaving Elena, Stefan, and Jeremy standing awkwardly with us. Elena still looked stung, a silent accusation in her eyes as she stared at Tyler.

Tyler simply wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “Come on, Maya. Financial AP next. Wouldn’t want to be late for Mr. Henderson’s riveting lecture on compound interest.” He winked at me, and I felt a warmth spread through me, far more potent than any Cool Lime Refresher.

As we walked away, leaving the tension simmering in the hallway, I felt the familiar, gentle kick from within. My son is already making his presence known. He’d be a Lockwood, yes, but he’d also be a Mikaelson, a Persaud, an Aumont, a child of ancient power and new beginnings. And he’d be loved, fiercely. That, I promised him. And Tyler. And myself.

Saturday, October 10, 2009 

The crisp October air, usually a bite on the skin, felt almost gentle tonight. Maybe it was the quiet hum of Mystic Falls, or maybe it was the bubble of warmth that had settled in my chest, expanding every day. It was Saturday, October 10th, 2009, and the temperature outside was a cool 12°C. Inside the Lockwoods’ sprawling dining room, however, it was considerably warmer, filled with the aroma of Mrs. Lockwood’s roast chicken and the even warmer glow of a familiar sense of normalcy.

“Honestly, I still can’t believe Elena and Stefan aren’t coming,” Caroline huffed, spearing a piece of broccoli with unnecessary force. Her voice, usually bright and effervescent, carried a faint edge of lingering annoyance. “It’s Homecoming , for crying out loud. And after all the drama, you’d think they’d at least try to be civil.”

Beside her, Damon merely smirked, swirling wine in his glass. “Ah, ‘drama.’ The cornerstone of Elena Gilbert’s existence. Couldn’t expect them to miss an opportunity to brood tragically, could we, blonde bombshell?”

Caroline shot him a playful glare that belied the warmth in her eyes. It was still surreal, seeing them like this. Just ten days ago, I’d been explaining the concept of a human bond to Damon in the town square, watching him grapple with the idea that he might actually want to settle down. Now, he was here, at a high school pre-dance dinner, acting as… well, as decent as Damon Salvatore could manage. He still had his sharp edges, of course, but for Caroline, they seemed to soften. Just like I’d predicted, that strange, deep connection was already taking root. It felt like watching a blooming flower, albeit one with fangs.

“It’s their loss,” Matt said, ever the diplomat, offering Bonnie a quiet smile. He and Bonnie were going as friends tonight, which was a relief for everyone, especially for Elena, who apparently still hadn't quite processed how Matt could be happy without her. The lingering tension from Elena’s break-up with Matt, and then her subsequent break-up with Stefan after her and Caroline’s massive row, had cast a strange pall over the week. But tonight, we were determined to rise above it.

Bonnie, blushing slightly at Matt’s attention, nodded in agreement. “Yeah. This is supposed to be fun. No brooding allowed. Besides,” she added, glancing at me, “Maya needs a good night. We all do.”

I offered her a small, grateful smile. Bonnie was one of the few who knew the full truth, the secret that was growing, literally, within me. At 19 weeks, my baby bump was still small, barely discernible beneath the loose fabric of my dress tonight, but I was acutely aware of every shift, every tiny kick. It felt like a constant, gentle pulse in my core, a silent promise.

Tyler, seated beside me, reached under the table and squeezed my hand. His fingers, strong and calloused from football practice, felt completely natural intertwined with mine. He hadn’t said much, but his presence was a steady anchor. Knowing his parents not only approved but wholeheartedly embraced our relationship – and the impending arrival of our son – was a profound comfort. Mrs. Lockwood had even started talking about nursery colours, much to my shy amusement and Tyler’s bewildered acceptance.

“You’re quiet, Maya,” Mrs. Lockwood chirped from the head of the table, a warm smile on her face. “Everything alright, dear? You’ve barely touched your food.”

My stomach churned slightly, a common occurrence these days, but I forced another polite smile. “I’m good, Mrs. Lockwood, thank you. Just… excited for the dance, I suppose.” It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. It was a strange kind of excitement. My brain, usually occupied with Ancient Norse texts or complex spellwork, was humming with the simple anticipation of a high school dance. A normal, human experience that I never thought I’d have.

A normal human experience , I thought, a wry flicker through my mind. As if anything about my life was normal. I was a tribrid, a Mikaelson by blood (even if Klaus was mostly an absent phantom), a Persaud witch from a powerful lineage, and a part of royal werewolf clans by birth. I spoke four languages before I was ten, and had recently fled my home after burying my mother and triggering my wolf by killing a witch. And now, I was pregnant at sixteen with a boy who carried both triggered and untriggered wolf genes, a product of a mate bond that had formed before either of us fully understood what it meant. Normal was a distant, unreachable concept.

Yet, tonight, I wanted to pretend. I wanted to be just Maya, a girl going to Homecoming with her boyfriend.

After dinner, as Mrs. Lockwood fussed over our outfits and Mr. Lockwood joked about chaperoning, we finally headed out. The gym, when we arrived, was transformed. Red, black, and white streamers cascaded from the ceiling, reflecting the disco ball’s glimmer. Music pulsed through the floor, a chaotic mix of pop and rock that made my ears ache slightly, but also made my feet tap.

My off-the-shoulder beaded chiffon midi dress felt surprisingly comfortable, considering my burgeoning belly. Tyler had picked it out, insisting on something that made me feel beautiful and at ease. The Uptown Crocodile-Embossed Leather Pouch by Saint Laurent hung from my wrist, a luxurious and slightly out-of-place accessory for a high school dance, but it was a gift from Tyler, something he’d ‘borrowed’ from his mother’s closet, he’d winked. My dark brown, wavy hair was styled into an elegant updo, revealing the Black Nello Chandelier Earrings that dangled, catching the light. And around my neck, cool against my skin, was Rebekah's Necklace – Esther's Talisman. It was a piece of my heritage, a quiet comfort. My Kautuka and gold and black beads bracelet were on my other wrist, another subtle nod to my Indo-Guyanese Hindu roots, even in this very American setting.

“You look amazing,” Tyler murmured, his breath warm against my ear as he led me onto the dance floor. His hand found the small of my back, just above where my bump was. His touch was always gentle, always considerate. He had been beyond supportive, stepping up in ways I never imagined, becoming the protective, constant presence I desperately needed. He was a good man, despite his earlier reputation, and he was going to be an incredible father.

I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Captain.” He was in a simple black suit, but he wore it with the confident swagger of the football team’s captain.

We danced for what felt like hours, losing ourselves in the pulsating rhythm. Bonnie and Matt were laughing nearby, attempting some clumsy dance moves that ended in Bonnie nearly tripping over her own feet. Damon, surprisingly, was actually dancing with Caroline, not just watching her, not just compelling her. He twirled her, dipped her, and even managed a genuine smile that reached his dark eyes.

“See?” I whispered to Tyler, nodding towards them. “Human bonds. They’re potent.”

Tyler chuckled, pulling me closer. “You and your supernatural theories, Maya. Next, you’ll be telling me you can talk to dead people.”

I simply smiled, a private thought blooming in my mind. If only you knew, Tyler. If only you knew. My ability to communicate with spirits, to manipulate the ethereal plane, was just one facet of the power that hummed beneath my skin, a constant energy that made me feel eternally connected to something vast and ancient. I could feel the magic in the gym, a faint echo of the human desires and youthful energy, but I kept my own power contained tonight. Not a ripple, not a hint of the tribrid I was. Tonight was for normalcy.

“So,” Caroline giggled, breathless as Damon spun her into a dip, “did Maya tell you boys about how rough Tyler can get? Like, he leaves marks, you know?” She winked at me, and Damon, surprisingly, just narrowed his eyes at her, a possessive look flashing through them.

My cheeks flushed, even as Tyler’s grip on my waist tightened, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Care, too much info,” he mumbled, but his eyes, when they met mine, were alight with a familiar heat.

“Hey, it’s normal!” I retorted, playing along. “I told her, Damon’s probably the same once he gets going. Right, Damon?”

Damon’s smirk returned, but it was softer, directed at Caroline. “Let’s just say, Miss Forbes, some things are best left to the imagination.” Caroline giggled again, leaning into him, her face radiant.

It felt… good. To be part of this, even with the bizarre undercurrents of the supernatural, the hidden pregnancies, and the complicated relationships. I was still Maya Persaud, the quiet, reserved girl, but I was also Maya Lockwood, the girl building a life with the boy she loved, carrying their child. The girl who finally felt like she belonged.

As the night wore on, a lull descended, and the principal’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers, signalling the moment everyone had been waiting for. “Alright, everyone! It’s time to announce our Homecoming King and Queen!”

A collective buzz went through the crowd. Tyler squeezed my hand, his usual swagger replaced by a rare nervousness. “Hope it’s you, Freya,” he murmured.

“Same to you, T,” I replied, my heart doing a strange flutter-kick that might have been nerves, or might have been baby.

“This year, our Homecoming Queen, a new face to Mystic Falls High, but one who has truly captured our hearts with her kindness and spirit… Maya Freya Persaud!”

My breath hitched. My name was called out over the cheering crowd. It was impossible. I was the new kid, the quiet one, the one with the hidden life. But then Tyler was pulling me forward, pushing me gently as the applause swelled. Bonnie and Caroline were screaming and jumping up and down. Damon even managed a clap and a nod.

I walked towards the makeshift stage, my mind reeling. The principal placed a sparkling tiara on my head. It felt strangely heavy. Then he announced the King.

“And for our Homecoming King, a familiar and much-loved face, a natural leader, and this year’s football captain… Tyler Lockwood!”

The cheers intensified, a roar from the students. Tyler was already bounding up the steps, a wide, boyish grin splitting his face. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close, and his eyes, when they met mine, were full of a joy so pure it made my own eyes prickle.

We stood there, under the disco ball, under the gaze of our schoolmates, the plastic crowns on our heads feeling like real royalty. The principal handed us our sceptres, and Tyler leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You look like a queen.”

The lights dimmed, and a slow song began to play. It was our dance, the Homecoming King and Queen. Tyler led me onto the dance floor, his hand firm on my back, his eyes locked on mine. We swayed, lost in the moment, the cheering fading into a comfortable hum.

In that instant, as I looked at him, at his dark eyes filled with adoration, I felt a kick—a stronger one this time, a definite flutter low in my belly. My hand instinctively went to the spot. Tyler felt it too, his gaze dropping to my stomach, a soft wonder filling his features. He lowered his head, pressing his lips to the small swell.

“Hey, little man,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Mom and Dad just won Homecoming.”

A quiet warmth spread through me, radiating outwards. This was my new normal. It was chaotic, dangerous, sometimes terrifying, but it was also filled with an unexpected, profound love. I had found a home in Mystic Falls, a family in these strange, complicated people, and a future with Tyler and the life we were building together. For one night, the supernatural world faded into the background. For one night, I was just Maya, the Homecoming Queen, dancing with her King, carrying their son, utterly and completely happy.

 

Chapter 19: Haunted

Saturday, October 31, 2009 - Halloween 

The thrum of bass vibrated through the floorboards of Mystic Falls High’s gym, shaking the very air. Halloween night, 2009. The irony wasn’t lost on me; a night for ghouls and goblins, and here we were, dealing with actual monsters. But for now, the illusion of normalcy held, thin as it was.

“Ready, May?” Bonnie’s voice, a melodic hum amidst the chaos, pulled me from my thoughts.

I nodded, adjusting the devilishly red corset-top that hugged my growing bump more than it cinched, and smoothed the layers of my red tutu. Horns perched on my head, wings sprouted from my back, and a wire-laced tail trailed behind me. Rebekah’s talisman necklace, a silver amulet I almost never took off, rested against my skin, accompanied by my Kautuka and a gold and black beaded bracelet. I hoped the ensemble was more cute-devil than obvious-devil-whose-father-is-Satan.

Caroline, a vision in her own 'sexy witch' attire, practically bounced beside us. “This is going to be epic! No drama, just dancing and… snacks!”

My lips curved into a soft smile. “Here’s hoping, Care.”

We pushed through the double doors into the gym, a sea of costumed teenagers swirling under the strobe lights. The air was thick with the scent of cheap punch, sweat, and something vaguely metallic – probably just the excitement.

My eyes scanned the crowd, immediately locking onto a tall, broad-shouldered figure near the refreshment table. Tyler. My T. He was leaning against a wall, a Sparta warrior, complete with a leather skirt and a sculpted chest that made more than a few girls glance his way. He wasn’t overtly aggressive tonight, not with me anyway. His dark eyes found mine, and a slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his features.

I walked towards him, feeling a slight wobble in my red suede thigh-high boots, but my werewolf balance held. Bonnie and Caroline split off, heading straight for Matt, who was somehow managing to look both sexy and utterly bewildered in his doctor’s coat, open to reveal a bare, toned chest.

“There’s my Freya,” Tyler murmured, his voice a low rumble as I reached him. He pulled me close, careful of my stomach, and kissed me. It was a soft, tender kiss, a promise in its lingering warmth. “You look… dangerous.”

“Only to those who deserve it,” I whispered against his lips, my fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. He was my anchor, my calm in this storm of a life. Min ást . My love.

Matt, seeing me, peeled away from the others and pulled me into a gentle hug. “May! Looking good, not too hot in all that red?”

“Just right, Matty,” I chuckled, pulling back. He was such a good friend, always looking out for me, knowing (along with Bonnie) the secret I carried.

Then Damon sauntered over, a smirk on his face, no costume, just his usual black shirt and jeans, like he thought his existence was costume enough. Stefan and Jeremy were with him, also foregoing the spooky attire.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Satan’s spawn herself,” Damon drawled, eyeing my outfit. “Playing into your heritage, Favourite Mikaelson? Thought you were more of an ‘angelic child of light’ type, not a ‘fire and brimstone’ kinda gal.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please, Damon. You’re just jealous you didn’t think to go as a vampire. Though I suppose you wouldn’t want to be too obvious, would you, Baby Vamp?”

He gave an exaggerated gasp. “Ouch, Freya. Hits where it hurts.” He grinned, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, a grudging fondness that had settled between us since he’d learned I was Klaus’s daughter. He’d certainly been shocked to learn I wasn't just another vampire, but an Original Tribrid. "Still, red suits you. And that necklace... still got Rebekah's old trinket?"

"Always," I confirmed, touching the silver amulet.

Suddenly, a disturbance rippled through the crowd. A girl, dancing wildly, spun into a group of freshmen, knocking into one, her movements jerky, almost feral. My senses, heightened by my wolf and witch nature, immediately picked up on something… off. Her aura was fragmented, unstable, like a broken mirror. And the scent… bloodlust, barely reined in.

Then I caught a glimpse of her face. Vicki. Vicki Donovan. Matt’s older sister. She’d been missing for a month, supposedly just ran off. But I knew better. I’d heard whispers of a new vampire in town, a fledgling. This was her. And she looked a hot mess.

Tyler, sensing my unease, tightened his grip on my hand. “What in the hell…?”

“Vicki?” Matt choked out, his eyes wide with disbelief and horror.

Vicki was definitely not acting like herself. Her eyes, usually a dull brown, flashed with something hungry and wild. She stumbled again, her gaze fixing on a group of younger kids, a predator’s focus.

“She’s a vampire,” Bonnie whispered, her voice tight with recognition. “A new one. Untrained.”

“Oh, shit ,” Caroline muttered, her 'sexy witch' persona dissolving into genuine fear. Damon’s expression, usually bored or smug, had gone utterly blank. Stefan, however, looked grim, his jaw tight.

Elena saw her too, her nurse uniform suddenly looking out of place amidst the brewing chaos. “Vicki? What’s wrong with her?”

Just then, Vicki launched herself. Not at the freshmen, but directly at Jeremy Gilbert. He was trying to back away, his eyes wide with fear, but she was too fast. She slammed him against the wall, her hands wrapping around his throat.

“Jeremy!” Elena screamed, pushing through the crowd.

Stefan was already moving, a blur of motion. “Elena, no! Stay back!”

But Elena, ever the hero, ignored him. My heart pounded, a frantic drum against my ribs. This was going to turn ugly, fast. My own powers surged, an instinct to protect, to prevent. But I was pregnant, and the last thing I wanted was to expose myself and put my son at risk. I fought the urge to rush forward, relying on the others.

Stefan tackled Vicki just as she was about to sink her fangs into Jeremy. They crashed to the floor, a tangle of limbs. Other party-goers screamed, scattering like frightened birds. The music, surprisingly, kept blaring, adding a bizarre, almost comical soundtrack to the unfolding horror.

“Get Jeremy out of here!” Damon finally roared, snapping out of his stupor. He grabbed Caroline, pushing her towards the exit. “Go!”

Tyler pulled me, Matt, and Bonnie towards the back doors of the gym. We burst out into the cool night air, the crisp autumn chill a stark contrast to the heat of the gym. Just as we stepped out, Stefan and Vicki came crashing through another emergency exit, landing hard on the pavement. Vicki was a terrifying, feral creature, a newborn vampire completely lost to her instincts.

She lunged at Stefan, teeth bared, but he dodged, pushing her away. Her eyes, bloodshot and frantic, then locked onto Elena, who had followed them out, her face pale with terror.

“Elena, run!” Stefan yelled.

But Vicki was already on her. She flung Elena against the wall of the school, her fangs elongating, a guttural snarl ripping from her throat. Blood. That’s all she wanted. Pure, unadulterated blood.

“No!” Matt screamed, trying to break free from Tyler’s grip.

My mind raced. Too many humans. Too much exposure. This was it. Stefan had no choice.

Before Vicki could bite Elena, Stefan moved with a speed that only another vampire could match. He was on Vicki, pinning her, his hand wrapped around her neck. He was talking to her, trying to reach through the vampiric haze, but it was useless. Her fangs dripped with venom, her eyes were black with hunger.

“Stefan, stop!” Elena pleaded, scrambling up.

“She’s too far gone, Elena!” Stefan yelled, his voice strained. “There’s no bringing her back!”

And then, with a sickening crack that echoed in the quiet night, Stefan twisted Vicki’s neck. Her body went limp, a sudden, horrifying stillness descending upon her. She was gone. Just like that. The monster and the girl, extinguished in one brutal snap.

Matt let out a visceral, guttural scream, a sound of pure agony that tore through me. “VICKI!” He struggled violently against Tyler and Damon, who were holding him back, preventing him from rushing to his sister’s lifeless body. His face was a mask of grief, tears streaming down his face as he clawed at the air, desperate to reach her. “No! You bastard! You killed her! My sister!”

Tyler, even with his untriggered werewolf strength, was struggling to hold Matt. Damon looked shell-shocked, his usual swagger completely gone, replaced by a grim horror. It was a rarity to see him genuinely shaken.

Jeremy, who had stumbled out behind Elena, crumpled to his knees, his face ashen, eyes wide and fixed on Vicki’s still form. He’d seen it all. The attack, the desperate fight, the swift, brutal end. The memory of it would haunt him, fester, destroy him.

Elena’s eyes were filled with tears, her voice hoarse. “Jeremy… he can’t… Stefan, you have to. Compel him. Make him forget. Please!”

Stefan’s gaze was distant, hollow. He looked at Jeremy, then at Vicki, then back at Elena. “I… I can’t, Elena. I’m not strong enough. Not yet. Not for something like this.” He was new to this, a baby vamp in his own right, and the emotional toll of what he’d just done was clearly overwhelming his ability to manipulate minds.

Damon, still holding a writhing Matt, shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “No. I… I can’t either. Not for this. Not to my own damn face.” The shock was palpable. He was too affected.

Matt, still sobbing, looked up at Damon, his eyes pleading. “Please, Damon! Please! Don’t let him remember this! Don’t let him hurt like this!”

Stefan, desperate, his eyes scanning the faces around him, finally landed on mine. My dark brown eyes met his desperate green ones. He knew. Knew what I was. Knew what I could do. He’d heard the whispers from Damon, seen glimpses of my power, even if he didn’t fully grasp the extent.

“Maya,” he said, his voice raw, hoarse with unspoken plea. “You’re an Original. You… you can do it. You have to. For him. For Matt.” His gaze flickered to Jeremy, then to the grieving brother. “Please, Maya. Please.”

The weight of his words settled on me, heavy and cold. An Original. A Mikaelson. My father’s blood, my mother’s magic. I could. I could reach into Jeremy’s mind, pull out the memory, weave a new one, tie it up with a bow and present him with a clean slate. I could wipe away the horror, the trauma, the image of his first love dying violently before his eyes. It was a mercy, a cruelty, a violation.

But what choice did I have? Matt’s desperate pleas echoed in my ears. Jeremy’s shattered expression was burned into my mind. This was a nightmare of their own making, one that had been lurking beneath the surface of this town long before I arrived. And now, I was dragged into it, the solution they couldn’t be.

My hand instinctively went to my stomach, a fleeting reassurance to the life growing within me. My son. He deserved a world less broken, less bloody. But this was the world he was coming into, and I was his mother, his protector. If I couldn't save them from the monsters, I could at least save them from the memories.

My gaze swept over the group: Stefan, broken and guilt-ridden; Elena, devastated and helpless; Damon, uncharacteristically stunned; Matt, utterly undone; Bonnie, her face a mask of weary acceptance; and Tyler, who’d never let go of my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles, a silent promise of support.

I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep, fortifying breath. The power, vast and ancient, stirred within me, a familiar hum that resonated with the very earth beneath my feet. This wasn’t just a simple compulsion. This was a deep, pervasive manipulation of a human mind, a rewriting of truth powered by the blood of an Original and the magic of a witch.

“Give him to me,” I said, my voice quiet but firm, cutting through the strangled sounds of Matt’s sobs. It was the voice of a Mikaelson, ancient and commanding.

Damon loosened his grip on Matt, and Tyler gently guided Matt towards Vicki’s body, allowing him to finally reach her, to cradle her lifeless head in his lap and weep. Jeremy still knelt, his eyes fixed on the scene.

I knelt before Jeremy, my eyes locking with his. They were glazed with shock and grief, but beneath that, a spark of the young man he was. “Jeremy,” I said, my voice soft, but laced with an undeniable power. Old Norse words, ancient and binding, whispered beneath my breath, weaving with the common tongue. Hafðu ekki áhyggjur, litli vinur. Don’t worry, little friend.

I didn’t just compel. I entered . I pushed past the surface thoughts, breaking through the flimsy walls of his consciousness, my power a warm, insistent tide. I saw the traumatic replay of Vicki’s death, the flash of fangs, the snap of her neck, the fear, the blood. I plucked it, not violently, but with a deliberate, surgical precision, like pulling a thorn from flesh.

Then, I began to reconstruct. “You saw… nothing,” I murmured, my voice a soothing balm, yet potent as a spell. “Vicki… she ran away. She left town. She hasn’t returned. She just… left. You were here, at the party, and you got tired. That’s all. You went home. You didn’t see anything. You won’t remember anything but that.”

I felt the resistance, faint at first, then fading as my will asserted itself. His memories shifted, rearranged, the horror replaced by a mundane, forgettable evening. It was like sculpting pure thought, moulding it to my design. The raw power surged through me, the sheer magnitude of it almost intoxicating. This was what I was. This was what I could do.

When I pulled back, the air shimmered around me, charged with residual magic. Jeremy blinked, his eyes losing their haunted look, replaced by a slight confusion. He frowned, looking around the empty lot. “What… what happened?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “I just… I feel really tired. Did I fall asleep?”

Elena rushed to him, pulling him into a hug. “Yeah, honey. You just fell asleep. Come on, let’s get you home.” She glanced at me, a silent, profound gratitude in her eyes.

Matt, still sobbing over Vicki’s body, didn’t seem to notice. The compulsion hadn’t touched him, and it couldn’t. His grief was too deep, too real. And honestly, it wouldn't have been mercy to take that from him. He deserved to mourn.

Stefan let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping in relief. Damon just stared at me, his eyes wide with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher – awe? Fear? Respect? Probably a mix of all three. "Favourite Mikaelson, indeed," he muttered, almost to himself. "Satan's spawn, more like a goddamn miracle worker."

I pushed myself up, my knees aching slightly. The magic had drained me, a familiar exhaustion settling deep in my bones. Tyler immediately wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close, his steady presence a comfort. He didn’t say anything, but his squeeze communicated everything. He knew the cost.

“Take me home, Damon. And Stefan. Never ask me to do that again,” I said and turned to Matt to kiss his head, knowing Tyler needed to stay with him.

Tyler's eyes met mine, a silent conversation passing between us. Go. I’ll handle this. He squeezed my hand before letting go, turning his full attention back to Matt, his own grief plain on his face but overridden by his loyalty.

“Come on, tribrid. Or whatever the hell you are,” Damon said, his voice unusually subdued. He still thought I was a vampire, or at least mostly one. I didn’t correct him. What was the point? The less they knew, the safer I was. Stefan, still pale, nodded numbly. Bonnie and Caroline, who had been standing a few feet back, looking horrified and shell-shocked, watched us leave without a word. They were friends, but even they didn't know the full extent of my existence.

The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp Earth and decaying leaves, a sharp contrast to the metallic tang of blood that still clung to the gym floor. Damon walked quickly, Stefan trailing a few paces behind, both unusually quiet. The silence in the car was heavy, broken only by the hum of the engine and the distant wail of an ambulance. I leaned my head against the cool glass, eyes closed, letting the vibrations soothe my frayed nerves. The pregnancy fatigue was a constant companion these days, but tonight, it was amplified by the magical exertion. My baby, my son, was a tiny warm ember in my core, oblivious to the chaos his mother had just navigated. My hand instinctively went to my stomach, a small, almost imperceptible bump hidden by the loose fit of my devil costume. Red corset, red tutu, horns, wings, tail, and thigh-high boots – a costume that felt like a cruel joke now.

“You know, for Satan’s spawn, you’re surprisingly… compassionate,” Damon said, breaking the silence as we drove through the dark, tree-lined streets of Mystic Falls. His voice had a hint of its usual sarcastic bite, but it was softer, less aggressive than usual.

I opened my eyes, looking at his profile. “Some things are too sacred to tamper with, Damon. Grief is one of them.”

“Like your own?” he retorted, glancing at me. I knew he was referring to my mother. He knew some details, enough to deduce I was an orphan, but not the full, messy truth.

I didn’t answer. My mother’s death was still a fresh wound, but it was also the catalyst that had brought me here, triggered my wolf, and forced me to embrace my heritage. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet only a few months had passed.

We pulled up to the modest, rented house I called home. It wasn’t a mansion like the Mikaelson compound in New Orleans, or even a sprawling Lockwood estate, but it was mine. A place I had conjured into legitimacy with a lawyer’s help and a few well-placed spells and a fake-out to my real home.

As I stepped out, the porch light flickered on, and the front door opened. Klaus Mikaelson stood there, a predatory calm in his eyes, but his posture was rigid with barely suppressed fury. My father. Even in 2009, centuries hadn’t dulled his intensity. He was dressed in a casual sweatshirt and jeans, a stark contrast to his usual tailored attire, but his aura of ancient power was undeniable.

“Daddy,” I said, my voice tired but steady.

Damon and Stefan froze. Damon’s jaw dropped, his eyes going wide as saucers. “Daddy?” he choked out, looking between me and Klaus. “You're… you’re Klaus’s daughter? Not just some ancient vampire he turned? What the hell ? Oh… Hell !”

Klaus simply smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Charming as ever, Damon. And you two, what did you do to my daughter?” His gaze swept over my costume, then landed on my face, noting the lingering exhaustion.

“Stefan killed Matt’s sister in front of Elena’s brother, who was… were dating Jeremy. We all saw it. Elena asked Stefan to compel Jeremy to forget, but wasn’t strong enough, and then Damon couldn’t because it would harm Caroline, his human’s bond. Stefan asked me and I did it.” 

Dad stared at me. “Maya Freya Nikolasdóttir Mikaelson Persaud. Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“Damn, full name her,” Damon smirked. 

“Daddy, I’m tired. Can I get the lecture tomorrow? I just want to change and go to bed.” 

Klaus nodded slowly, a flicker of something akin to pride in his eyes. “Good. Certain pains must be felt. Comes with being human.” He paused, then looked at Damon and Stefan. “Now, get out. Before I decide to remind you why you shouldn’t involve my family in your adolescent dramas.”

amon, still reeling from the revelation, mumbled, “Right. Fine. Satan’s spawn, indeed.” He shot me one last bewildered look before getting back in the car. Stefan quickly followed. As they sped away, Klaus turned his full attention to me.

“Are you alright, little wolf?” he asked, his voice softening, but his eyes still sharp with concern. He knew about my wolf, knew about my witch heritage. He knew most of me. But not all.

“Tired,” I admitted, stepping inside. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and old books enveloped me. My Kautuka, the gold and black beaded bracelet, felt heavy on my wrist, a grounding presence. My Rebekah’s Necklace, the Esther’s Talisman, was warm against my skin, pulsing faintly with residual magic.

“Come on, let’s get you into something comfortable. Marcel will be home soon. He was out hunting rabbits,” Klaus said, leading me to the kitchen. My older paternal half-brother, Marcel, had taken to hunting small game in the woods around Mystic Falls, a strange, quiet pastime for a powerful vampire. He and Klaus had a tumultuous history, but for my sake, they maintained a fragile truce. They came a few days ago when I asked them to come, as I felt something was going to happen. We've been staying at this safe house until I could get them to our family land and the manor there.

Klaus poured me a glass of water, his large hand surprisingly deft. I gulped it down, the cool liquid a balm to my throat. “I don’t like you using your gifts for others’ mistakes, Maya,” he said, his voice low. “It puts a target on your back.”

“I know, Daddy,” I sighed. “But what else was I to do? Let the boy degenerate?”

“You are valuable. You are… irreplaceable,” he said, looking at me with an intensity that always made me a little uncomfortable. It was a possessive, protective gaze, the kind that might one day suffocate if I wasn’t careful. “And your condition… it makes you more vulnerable than usual.”

He knew about the baby. Tyler's family knew. My family knew. It was a secret, a heavy one, but it was also a shield. My pregnancy, a miracle born of an untriggered werewolf and a triggered tribrid, was a testament to the inexplicable nature of our world. It also made me, a heavily pregnant teenager with untold power, a walking beacon for every dark force looking to exploit it.

I excused myself to change, shedding the ridiculous costume for soft pyjamas. My reflection in the mirror showed a tired, slightly flushed face. My dark, curly hair was a mess, and my dark brown eyes held ancient weariness. I placed a hand gently on my stomach, feeling a tiny flutter. Hello, little one. You almost know more secrets than I do.

 Marcel entered my room as I got into my bed, looking grim. He’d heard about Vicki from someone on the town council. He simply hugged me, a long, comforting embrace that spoke volumes. “Are you okay, baby sister?” he murmured against my hair.

“As I can be,” I replied, the weariness still clinging to me as I clung to him.

Dad joined us and burst into tears as it was all too much. 

The pregnancy, losing Mom and now Vicki, Dad and Marcel rushing into town because they were worried about my emails, and now realizing I might trigger my vampire because of Stefan and Damon. 

 

Chapter 20: 162 Candles

Sunday, November 1, 2009 - Stefan’s Birthday 

The cool November air, crisp and biting even indoors, stirred the sheer curtains at my window. Sunlight, pale and hesitant, filtered through the oak trees outside, painting stripes across the vintage rug. I stirred, the familiar, gentle swell of my belly a comforting weight against the duvet. Nineteen weeks. Tyler’s son. A thought that still felt impossibly huge, yet profoundly right.

I blinked, the remnants of a restless sleep clinging to me. Vicki. Her wide, desperate eyes, the guttural sound of her neck snapping. Matt’s scream, a raw, animalistic howl that tore right through me. Jeremy’s face, pale and empty, as I pushed the calming, memory-altering magic into him, praying it wouldn't break him completely. The horror of it still tasted like ash in my mouth. Stefan's desperate plea, Damon's shocked refusal, and then, the world turning to me, a sixteen-year-old girl who had just buried her mother and was carrying a child, asking me to perform a psychic lobotomy. God, what a fucking mess.

Pushing myself up slowly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My long, dark brown hair was a wild, frizzy mess, tangled from sleep. I ran a hand through it, then smoothed down the soft jersey of my pyjamas, a faint outline of my growing bump visible beneath the fabric. This new body was still a foreign land, changing by the day, a constant reminder of the life forming within.

Downstairs, the Mikaelson Manor, usually echoing with ancient silence, hummed with an unfamiliar warmth. Scents of maple syrup, brewing coffee, and something savoury, like bacon, drifted up the grand staircase. My stomach rumbled in protest.

I padded down, my bare feet silent on the polished wood floors. The soft light of the grand living room spilled into the hall, revealing outlines of figures gathered. Marcel, Ava, Davina, and Dad. A small smile touched my lips. Family. Real family.

Then, a fifth figure emerged from behind the sprawling armchair, tall and impeccably dressed even on a Sunday morning. My heart gave a little leap.

“Uncle Elijah!”

I didn’t even think; I simply launched myself at him. He caught me, his arms strong and unwavering, wrapping me in a familiar, comforting embrace that smelled faintly of old books and something uniquely his – a blend of ancient power and refined elegance. He was a thousand years old, a vampire of immense power, and yet, in his arms, I felt like a small child again, safe and cherished.

“My dear Maya,” he murmured, his voice a rich, velvety rumble against my ear. “It is good to see you.”

“You too,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to look up at him, my dark brown eyes meeting his. He looked tired, lines of worry etched around his usually unyielding gaze, no doubt about me and the chaos that seemed to follow us Mikaelsons. His presence, however, was a balm after the intensity of the past few days.

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Marcel said, a wry grin on his face, but his eyes, when they met mine, were full of a deep, protective affection. He was still worried, I could tell. He’d barely left my side since he and Dad arrived.

Ava, Davina’s mother and Marcel’s ex-wife, stepped forward, her gentle face radiating warmth. “Come, Maya. Breakfast is ready. We’ve been waiting.”

Davina, my fourteen-year-old niece, practically bounced, her Harvest Witch energy sparking around her like static. “Auntie Maya! You slept ages!”

I gave her a small, sleepy smile. “I needed it, sweetheart.”

Dad, still recovering from his tearful breakdown last night, gave me a wobbly grin from the head of the long dining table. He looked less like the feared Original Hybrid and more like a doting, overwhelmed father. It was a side of him I was only just getting to know, and frankly, it was still a bit jarring.

I slid into the seat beside Elijah, across from Davina and Ava, with Marcel taking the seat opposite me. The table was laden with food – pancakes, bacon, eggs, fresh fruit, and even a plate of poori and aloo, a nod to my Indo-Guyanese heritage that Ava must have prepared. My heart swelled. She always remembered the little things.

“Alright, everyone,” Ava declared, pouring me a glass of orange juice. “Today, we are not speaking about anything grim or supernatural. This is a family day. A proper, old-fashioned, no-drama family day. It’s been far too long since we’ve had one.”

A collective sigh of relief, audible or not, seemed to settle over the table. I certainly felt it. The weight of Vicki’s death, the sheer horror of it, had pressed down on me like a physical burden. For a moment, just a moment, I could breathe.

“Exactly!” Davina piped up, already halfway through a stack of pancakes. “And Auntie Maya, we have so much to plan! Mom says we can have your baby shower in New Orleans!”

My eyes widened. “New Orleans?”

“Of course, darling,” Elijah said, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “It’s our home. And it would be a splendid place for such an occasion. Thanksgiving week, we thought. You’ll have time off school.”

I felt a blush creep up my neck. I was usually so reserved, so private, and the thought of a baby shower, a celebration, made my introverted self want to curl up and hide. But then I looked at Davina’s eager face, Ava’s kind eyes, Marcel’s supportive nod, and even Dad’s hopeful gaze. How could I say no? This was their way of showing me I belonged, showing me this baby was family.

“That sounds… wonderful,” I managed, a genuine smile breaking through my shyness.

“And!” Davina pressed on, uncontainable. “And we need to have a Mikaelson Christmas too! A proper one! With all the siblings!”

The table went silent. My fork clattered against my plate. My gaze flickered to Dad, then to Elijah. “All the siblings?” I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. The implication hung heavy in the air. Finn. Kol. Rebekah. The ones trapped in their coffins, undaggered only when Klaus saw fit.

Klaus sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. He looked at Davina, whose face was still alight with innocent expectation. Then he looked at me, at my small but definite bump, at the hopeful light in my eyes, a light that had been so dim just days ago.

“Indeed, Davina,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft, lacking the usual edge of cunning or malice. “A proper Mikaelson Christmas it shall be. I believe it’s high time Finn, Kol, and Rebekah rejoined the family.” He met my gaze then, a flash of determination in his blue eyes. “Our family is growing, Maya. It’s time for it to be whole.”

A shiver ran down my spine, not of cold, but of awe and a faint tremor of fear. Rebekah, the only sister. Kol, the wild one. Finn, the stoic and often mournful. I knew their names, their legends, the stories of a thousand years. But I had never met them. The thought of them, these powerful, ancient beings, walking free and entering my nascent world, was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was another layer to the already surreal life I found myself living.

“They’ll love you, Auntie Maya,” Davina chirped, oblivious to the gravity of the decision. “And the baby! Think of all the cool presents they’ll get!”

Marcel chuckled. “Davina, you’d think it was your baby shower.”

“It’s family!” she declared, her logic unassailable.

Elijah, ever the diplomat, gave a subtle nod of approval to Klaus. “A wise decision, Niklaus. Family is paramount.” He then turned to me, his expression gentle. “They will be eager to meet you, Maya. And your son.”

I took a sip of orange juice, my mind reeling. A baby shower in New Orleans. A Mikaelson Christmas. And three more Originals are about to be unleashed. My life, which had already been a whirlwind of tragedy and supernatural revelation, was about to become infinitely more complicated. But looking at the faces around the table, the genuine affection in their eyes, I also felt a deep sense of belonging I’d never known. This was my messy, chaotic, terrifying, and utterly devoted family.

Just then, the front door opened, and a familiar voice called out, “Maya? You in here?”

My head snapped up. Tyler.

He walked into the dining room, his short black hair slightly rumpled, his dark brown eyes immediately finding mine. He was wearing jeans and a Mystic Falls High hoodie, looking like any other 12th grader, completely out of place and yet, utterly at home amongst the Originals. His height, 5’8”, was dwarfed by the Mikaelson men, but his muscular, toned build held its own.

“T,” I breathed, a genuine, unburdened smile lighting my face.

He took in the scene, a quick glance at Klaus, Elijah, Marcel, Ava, and Davina, giving each a respectful nod. His gaze lingered on Klaus for an extra beat, a silent acknowledgment of their shared purpose: my safety. The Lockwood family had been intertwined with the Mikaelsons for generations, a fact that had only recently become clear to Tyler. He knew the weight of this family, and yet, he stayed.

“Hey, Freya,” he said, using his unique nickname for me, the one that always made my heart do a little flip. He walked straight to me, pulling out the chair next to mine and sitting, slipping his hand under the table to find mine. His thumb gently grazed my knuckles.

“Tyler, dear,” Ava said warmly. “Join us for breakfast.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Claire-Mikaelson,” he replied, already reaching for a piece of bacon. He was always hungry.

Klaus eyed him for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Lockwood. Good to see you’re taking care of my daughter.” It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact, a barely veiled threat, and a reluctant acceptance all rolled into one. Tyler just met his gaze, unafraid.

Elijah simply gave Tyler a serene, approving smile. Marcel clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad you’re here, man.” He’d always been a bit of a mentor to Tyler, even before all this.

Tyler leaned closer to me, his voice a low rumble. “How are you feeling? Still spinning from last night?”

I squeezed his hand. “Better. Much better. They’re planning a baby shower in New Orleans, and… Dad’s going to undagger Finn, Kol, and Rebekah for Christmas.”

Tyler’s eyebrows shot up. “Shit. Seriously? That’s… big.” He glanced at Klaus, then back at me, a worried furrow in his brow. “You okay with that, Freya?”

“As okay as I can be,” I admitted, borrowing Marcel’s earlier words. “It’s a lot. But… It’s family. And I guess I’m used to a lot now.”

He squeezed my hand again, his eyes full of understanding. He knew. He was a part of it, too, his untriggered werewolf side inexplicably tied to my triggered one, leading to this impossible, beautiful pregnancy. This was our life now. A chaotic blend of ancient vampire politics, nascent werewolf powers, and the bewildering reality of being teen parents in a world that wanted us dead.

My mind drifted back to the memory of Vicki, the stark, brutal reality of death in Mystic Falls, so unlike the quiet, almost gentle death of my mother. My mother’s death had been violent, yes, but her passing was a sacrifice, a desperate attempt to protect me. Vicki’s death had been raw, senseless, a tragic byproduct of supernatural collateral damage. I could still hear Matt’s choked sobs, Jeremy’s haunted whispers. The power I had used, the compulsion, it was a dark, necessary magic, but it felt like a violation. I remember Stefan’s frantic plea, “Maya, please! You’re an Original! You can do it!” And Damon, white-faced, frozen in shock, unable to bring himself to do it to Matt. It had been agonizing, absorbing Matt’s overwhelming grief, the sheer volume of his brotherly love and sorrow, too much for even my immense empathy to handle completely. That's why I couldn't do it to Matt; the magic, while powerful, buckled under the sheer, unadulterated human pain.

“Hey,” Tyler murmured, his voice pulling me back. He noticed my distant gaze. “You’re zoning out. Thinking about…?” He didn’t need to finish the question.

I shook my head slightly, leaning into his warmth. “Just… everything. It’s a lot, T. One minute I’m burying my mother and fleeing Canada, the next I’m pregnant, living in a house full of ancient vampires, and compelling teenagers to forget their trauma.” I let out a dry, humourless laugh. “My life is a fucking sitcom, except with more blood and existential dread.”

Tyler chuckled, a low, comforting sound. “Tell me about it. One minute I’m hooking up with my ex, the next I’m… well, here. And I’m not complaining, Freya. Not one bit.” He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to my temple, his lips lingering for a moment. “You’re worth all the bloody drama, ást.” Love. In Old Norse. Our private endearment.

I closed my eyes briefly, soaking in his presence, his loyalty, his unwavering support. He was the anchor in this storm.

“So, New Orleans for Thanksgiving, then,” Marcel said, breaking the quiet moment between us. “We’ll need to make arrangements. Davina, you’ll help your mother with the guest list.”

“Yes, Daddy!” Davina chirped, already buzzing with ideas.

Klaus, watching me and Tyler, gave a rare, genuine smile. “And for Christmas, my little wolf,” he addressed me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ll finally meet your aunt and uncles. I trust you’ll show them the proper respect.” There was a hint of his old mischievousness, but it was overlaid with a new, paternal tenderness.

I nodded, a sense of quiet determination settling over me. This was my life now. My family. My baby. It wouldn’t be easy. The Mystic Falls drama was far from over. Damon and Stefan were still lurking, Bonnie and Caroline and Matt and Elena were still navigating their human lives amidst our supernatural chaos. But for today, in the warmth of this Mikaelson breakfast, surrounded by the family I never knew I needed, I felt a flicker of hope. A chance for a normal-ish, happy-ish future, even if that normal involved ancient vampires, powerful witches, and the constant threat of supernatural violence.

As the morning wore on, a true family day unfolded. Ava and Davina helped me pick out baby names, while Marcel and Tyler debated football, their voices a low, comforting hum. Elijah and Klaus spoke of history, of their past, of hopes for the future, a future that inexplicably revolved around me and my unborn son. 

The hum of the Grill was a soothing backdrop to the low murmur of our table. November 1st, a crisp Sunday night in Mystic Falls, and here we were, gathered for Stefan’s birthday. My gaze drifted across the familiar faces – Bonnie, Caroline, Damon, and my T. Tyler had his arm around me, a silent anchor in a world that often felt anything but stable. My own anchor, really.

I wore Rebekah’s necklace, the cool silver of Esther's talisman a comforting weight against my skin, nestled just above the burgeoning curve of my chest. My Kautuka and gold and black beads bracelet clinked softly as I drummed my fingers on the table. At sixteen, navigating senior year with a secret baby bump growing daily, nineteen weeks, with Tyler’s son, was a delicate dance. Only a handful knew, and for that, I was eternally grateful.

“Happy birthday, Stef!” Caroline chirped, a little too loudly, as Stefan walked past our booth, heading for the bar. She was his human bond, a strangely beautiful connection that even Damon seemed to acknowledge now. It still fascinated me, the idea of such an intense, almost primal pull.

My thoughts drifted to my conversation with Damon weeks ago, how I'd subtly pushed him towards being more romantic, less of a jerk, with Caroline. It had worked, leading to a surprisingly sweet Homecoming proposal. Homecoming, where Tyler and I, of all people, had been crowned King and Queen. It felt like a lifetime ago, though it had only been a few weeks. That night had ended in tragedy, though. Vicki. The memory still sent a cold shiver down my spine. Stefan is killing her. Matt’s raw grief. Jeremy’s shattered innocence. Elena is begging for the compulsion. And me, overloaded by the sheer pain, reaching deep inside to shield Jeremy’s mind. Matt’s agony had been too much, a maelstrom I couldn’t touch without being consumed myself. I hadn't seen him properly since.

“Penny for your thoughts, Freya?” Tyler’s voice, low and warm, broke through my reverie. He was the only one who called me that, a special whisper just for us. I leaned into his side, enjoying the familiar scent of his cologne, the solid feel of his arm.

“Just thinking,” I murmured, my hand subconsciously brushing my still-small baby bump. It was barely noticeable beneath my oversized sweater, but I felt him there, a tiny thrum of life. Tyler’s untriggered wolf had found my triggered one, a connection so profound it transcended anything I’d ever imagined. Our families knew, and thankfully, they were thrilled. His parents, especially, had embraced me, a stark contrast to my own mother’s distant affection.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over our table. Sheriff Forbes. Her expression was grave, her usual professional mask tighter than usual. I immediately tensed. Even in Mystic Falls, where the unusual had become commonplace, a sense of impending doom was often preceded by a visit from the law.

“Maya, dear,” she began, her voice surprisingly gentle, “Could I speak with you for a moment? Privately?” Her eyes, however, held a steel I hadn’t seen before.

Tyler started to rise, his protective instincts already flaring. “Whatever you have to say to Maya, Sheriff, you can say to all of us.”

I laid a reassuring hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright, T. I’ll just be a moment.” My mind was racing. This wasn't about a parking ticket.

I slid out of the booth, my gaze flickering, warningly, to Damon, Bonnie, and Caroline. Damon, ever perceptive, caught my eye, a glimmer of suspicion in his own.

Sheriff Forbes led me a few steps away from the bar, towards a less crowded corner near the entrance. Her hand dipped into her pocket, and before I could react, before any of my tribrid senses could fully process, a sharp prick blossomed on my arm—a needle.

My body stiffened, a surge of foreign chemicals flooding my veins. Wolfsbane. Vervain. The combination was meant to incapacitate, to paralyze a werewolf, to burn a vampire. For a normal witch, it would be crippling.

But I wasn't normal. I was a Mikaelson—an Original Tribrid.

A jolt, like ice water hitting molten metal, went through me—a faint, almost imperceptible thrum of discomfort, and then… nothing. My healing factor, my inherent magical fortitude, my very Original bloodline, devoured the foreign substances. It was like a tiny fly had landed on my skin, tried to bite, and found itself instantly dissolved.

Sheriff Forbes’ eyes widened barely a fraction, a flicker of surprise she quickly masked. She expected a reaction. She got none.

My voice was a low, almost imperceptible whisper, but it carried the chilling authority that came from centuries of ancient power simmering beneath my tender years. “Don’t say anything. Don’t move. Go get my dad and uncle. Now .” My eyes, dark brown like the Earth, met Tyler’s across the room, then Damon’s, then Bonnie’s. They saw something in them, a command they instinctively understood. Tyler’s jaw was clenched, his knuckles white, but he didn’t speak. Damon, for once, looked utterly stunned.

Sheriff Forbes, oblivious to the silent communication, grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Lexi confessed, Maya,” she hissed, her voice low and tight. “She said it was you. All of it. The killings. Vicki’s death. She said you were responsible.”

My mind processed her words even as she pulled me towards the back exit. Lexi? Stefan’s friend? This was a setup—a blatant, desperate witch hunt. Vicki’s death… they were trying to pin it on me. The grief, the panic in the town, it was being funnelled into a desperate search for a scapegoat. And they had found one in the mysterious new girl.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” I stated, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I wouldn’t waste my breath arguing. Sheriff Forbes just grunted, her eyes fixed on the door.

The drive was silent, punctuated only by my own internal monologue. Sheriff Forbes, misguided and terrified, was convinced she was doing the right thing. It almost made me pity her. Almost. But this misplaced justice, this vigilante act, it put me and my unborn child in grave danger.

The wolfsbane and vervain that should have crippled me were now just a faint, annoying thrum under my skin, like a mosquito bite. My body was systematically breaking down the compounds, absorbing them into my system, turning them into inert matter. It was a bizarre sensation, a quiet chemical war happening within me that I was effortlessly winning. Still, it made me feel vaguely “off,” a slight fuzziness at the edges of my senses, a dull ache that spoke of foreign contaminants, not genuine vulnerability. My powers were working overtime, not just fighting the poison but also shielding my son, a natural, unconscious instinct.

We pulled up to an old, dilapidated house on Old Fell Land. The air was thick with the scent of damp Earth and decay. It was isolated, far from any other civilization – the perfect place for a secret execution. My super senses picked up the faint, almost indiscernible scent of gasoline, of a prepared accelerant. This wasn't just an arrest. It was an extermination.

Other officers, grim-faced, were already there, fanning out, carrying cans. This was a coordinated effort—the town’s protectors, orchestrated by their fears.

“Get inside, Maya,” Sheriff Forbes commanded, shoving me roughly through the creaking door. The interior was dark, dust motes dancing in the faint light filtering through grimy windows. The smell of dust mingled with the acrid tang of gasoline.

The heavy door slammed shut behind me, the ominous click of the lock echoing in the silence. I heard the scuff of boots, the distant murmurs of the officers, then the unmistakable sloshing sound as they doused the outer walls.

My breath hitched, not in fear, but in sharp, cold anger. These humans, so driven by their primal anxieties, thought they could extinguish me. They thought they could burn a Mikaelson.

A flicker of orange light danced across the grimy windowpane. Then another. And another. The crackle and roar began, low at first, then growing into a ravenous symphony. The heat seeped into the old wood, the dry planks igniting with terrifying speed.

Outside, I could hear a commotion. The townspeople, drawn by the sirens and by the gathering of emergency vehicles, had arrived. They were watching, standing at a distance, their faces illuminated by the burgeoning inferno. Sheriff Forbes had made this a public spectacle, a display of justice against a perceived monster.

The house was quickly consumed. Flames licked at the walls, devoured the ancient curtains, and roared up the stairwell. Smoke filled the air, acrid and biting. The timbers groaned, the windows exploded, sending shards of superheated glass showering inwards.

But I wasn't on fire.

The heat, intense enough to melt metal, simply… stopped at my skin. It pulsed around me, a vibrant, destructive energy that I instinctively drew upon, bent to my will. My bloodline, entwined with the Earth’s most primal forces, awakened fully. My Spirit Witch ancestry flared, communing with the very essence of the elements. I was absorbing the magical energy of the conflagration, feeding it into myself, enhancing my own vital force. My hands, adorned with my bracelets, began to glow with a faint, ethereal light, the Kautuka pulsing with ancient power.

The fire raged, a swirling vortex of orange and red, but it bent around me, creating a pocket of calm in the infernal storm. I stood in the very heart of the inferno, utterly untouched. Unburned. Unbowed. My dark brown eyes, usually warm and gentle, now held an ancient, unyielding glint. My long, dark curly hair, usually frizzy and unruly, seemed to shimmer with an inner light, untouched by the flames.

The fire surrounded me. The house was a roaring pyre. But I was not on fire. I was the calm amidst the chaos, the eye of the storm. And I was waiting.

My family was coming. And when they arrived, Mystic Falls would learn what it truly meant to face a Mikaelson.

 

Chapter 21: Part III

Notes:

This will be updated once I've finished book 1.

"Better to fight and fall than to live without hope,"- Norse Mythology

Part II: Season 1 Episode 9-  of The Vampire Diaries 

“Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.” — Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Chapter 19: She’s a Mikaelson 

Chapter 20: Aftermath

Chapter 21: Thanksgiving Weekend

Chapter 22: History Repeating

Chapter 23: 

Chapter 24: 

Chapter 25: 

Chapter 26: 

Chapter 27: 

 

Chapter 22: She’s a Mikaelson

The fire surrounded me. The house was a roaring pyre. But I was not on fire. I was calm amidst the chaos, the eye of the storm. And I was waiting. My family was coming. And when they arrived, Mystic Falls would learn what it truly meant to face a Mikaelson.

The heat intensified, not scorching my skin, but wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket. My vision blurred at the edges, the world swaying. It wasn't the vervain and wolfsbane that made me feel "off" – their pathetic concoction had barely registered beyond a phantom tingle. No, this was something else. A deep, primal ache in my core, a tightening that had been subtly building since the drive here. A cold, stark realization cut through the haze: I wasn't just in danger; I was in labour. Twenty-two weeks, and my son was deciding to make an early, grand entrance. Of course, he would. He was a Mikaelson.

Panic, swift and icy, threatened to overwhelm my carefully constructed calm. Not here. Not now. I needed help. Not just escape, but sanctuary, strength. My hands, adorned with Rebekah’s talisman and my Kautuka, trembled slightly. I closed my eyes, focusing past the roaring flames, past the smoke choking my lungs. I reached out, deep into the ethereal plane, to the vast, shimmering network of spirits that were my birthright.

“I am Maya Freya Persaud,” I whispered, my voice raw but resonant, a command woven into the ancient languages of my ancestors – Old Norse, Hindi, Latin. “Daughter of Indira Persaud and Niklaus Mikaelson. Granddaughter of Esther and Ansel. I call upon the blood that flows through me. I call upon forces dormant, asleep, awaiting my command.”

A surge of power, cold and sharp, coursed through my veins, a stark contrast to the inferno around me. The air in the room crackled. My eyes snapped open, glowing with an otherworldly light. “Aunt Rebekah! Uncle Finn! Uncle Kol! Your niece calls you! The blood of the Mikaelsons is in peril. Awaken! Rise! Join us!”

Outside, the scene was a tableau of frantic energy and burgeoning horror. The townspeople, drawn by the sirens and the lurid orange glow against the night sky, stood transfixed, a morbid audience to the unfolding tragedy. Sheriff Forbes, her face grim, stood with her deputies, their expressions a mix of triumph and unease as they watched the old house burn.

Then, there was a shift in the air, a sudden drop in temperature that had nothing to do with the cool November night. A growl, low and guttural, ripped through the silence, vibrating through the very ground. Klaus Mikaelson, an aura of pure, unadulterated fury radiating from him, appeared at the edge of the crowd, Elijah a stoic shadow at his side. Their eyes, fixed on the burning house, were an inferno more terrifying than the flames themselves.

“What in the goddamn hell is going on here, Sheriff?” Klaus’s voice was a predator’s snarl, cold and deadly. “Where is my daughter?”

Before Liz Forbes could stammer a reply, the ground shook. From the dense woods across the road, a powerful, dark figure emerged. Marcel Gerard, his face a mask of grim determination, crashed through the trees, Ava by his side, her hair wild, Davina close behind. The members of Marcel's crew, The Strix, and even some of the North East Atlantic Pack, including Cary and Keelin, followed, a silent, formidable army.

“She’s in there, isn’t she?” Marcel’s voice was strained as he looked at the raging fire. “Ava, Davina! Now! The spell!”

Ava, a determined Harvest Witch, nodded, her eyes already glowing. Davina, her fourteen-year-old niece, stood beside her, hands clasped, chanting under her breath. “ Phasmatos Ignis Exstinguere! ” Their voices rose, ancient words fighting against the roar of the fire. The flames flickered, momentarily dimming, but the inferno was too powerful, too well-fed.

Just then, three figures materialized beside Klaus and Elijah, their forms solidifying from shimmering air. Rebekah, Finn, and Kol. Their eyes, wide and disoriented, darted around, but quickly settled on the burning house, then on Klaus and Elijah.

“Niklaus, brother, what sorcery is this?” Kol demanded, rubbing his head. “One moment, I was… well, where was I?”

Elijah, ever the pragmatist, pressed a vein on his wrist, offering his blood. “Drink, siblings. Our niece calls for us.” Klaus, already furious, tore at his own wrist, offering his blood to Rebekah and Finn. The three Original Vampires, newly returned to full consciousness, drank deeply, their eyes clearing, their strength returning in an instant. The disorientation faded, replaced by cold, hard fury as they understood the peril.

Damon Salvatore, who had arrived with Bonnie and Caroline, stepped forward, his eyes narrowed on Liz Forbes. “Liz, what the hell have you done? That’s Maya in there! Your officers set this place on fire!”

Sheriff Forbes, pale and shaken by the appearance of the Mikaelsons and their revived kin, stammered, “She… she’s a vampire, Damon! Lexi said it! She’s responsible for Vicki and the killings!”

“She’s not a fucking vampire, Liz!” Damon snapped, his voice laced with disbelief. “She’s a Tribrid! She’s a witch, a werewolf, and an untriggered vampire! She’s a natural force for balance in the supernatural world!”

Liz’s eyes widened in confusion. “How do you even know that, Damon?”

Suddenly, a calm, powerful voice cut through the rising chaos. “Because my family knows. The Bennett family has guarded the balance for centuries.” Sheila Bennett, Bonnie’s grandmother and a formidable witch, stepped forward, her gaze unwavering as she met Liz’s eyes. “Maya Persaud is a child of ancient bloodlines, a powerful witch unlike any we’ve seen. You have just declared war on a force you cannot comprehend.” Her words sent a shiver through the assembled townspeople.

Inside the burning house, the smoke thickened, the heat unbearable, but Maya was no longer alone. Shimmering, translucent figures began to coalesce around her, their presence a cool balm against the inferno. First, a woman with kind, dark eyes and long, flowing hair – my mother, Indira Persaud, looking as she did before her death, though her form pulsed with a gentle light. Beside her, a woman who radiated ancient power, her features sharp yet graceful, her eyes holding the wisdom of centuries. This was Esther, my grandmother, the Original Witch. And a young man, serene and gentle, with an ancient knowing in his eyes. My Uncle Henrik, who had died so long ago. Then, a formidable presence, rugged and wise, with a wolf’s cunning in his gaze – my grandfather, Ansel.

And then, a shock. A woman with ethereal beauty, her eyes glowing with a profound magic, her age clearly beyond the child she was said to have died as. Freya Mikaelson. My Aunt Freya. She reached out a hand, and a wave of cool energy washed over me.

“Maya, my brave girl,” Indira’s voice was a whisper in my mind, a loving caress. “You have called us. We are here.”

“The spell, child,” Esther’s voice was like chimes, clear and ancient. “Summon the spirits for combat. Push them back.”

“But… I can’t…” I gasped, a contraction rippling through me, sharper than any magic. My knees buckled.

Ansel knelt beside me, his spectral hand on my swollen belly. His eyes, full of ancient werewolf wisdom, met mine. “Child,” he rumbled, his voice low and comforting, “your son is coming. You are in labour. This is not just magic you are feeling. It is life, demanding to be born.”

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. The agony was not just the overwhelming magic draining me, but the contractions intensifying, my unborn son fighting his way into the world amidst fire and chaos.

Outside, Klaus’s rage was a palpable force. He could feel it, a resonance through the unique bond he shared with his daughter. He could feel Maya’s strength flagging, a beacon dimming amidst the inferno. “She’s weakening!” he roared, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and terror. “Marcel! Ava! Davina! What is happening?”

Marcel, his face contorted with effort, poured his magic into Ava, the ancient power of an Original Tribrid channelling through his mate. Ava’s eyes glowed, her chanting growing stronger, but it wasn't enough. Bonnie, her own power raw, instinctively reached for a source of dark energy. “Lucien!” she gasped, channelling the power of the ancient vampire. Sheila, seeing her granddaughter’s desperation, grabbed Tristan, her hand clamping onto his arm, siphoning his ancient strength.

Vincent Griffith, who had arrived with The Strix, stepped forward, his eyes fixing on the Mikaelson siblings. “You want to save her? Link to her! Give her your strength, your power! She’s carrying your bloodline, your future!” He looked at Aurora. “Aurora! Give me your power!” Aurora, fiercely loyal to Finn and now understanding the gravity of the situation, extended a hand, allowing Vincent to channel her ancient vampire magic.

Klaus didn't hesitate. He reached out to Elijah, their hands clamping together. Finn, Kol, and Rebekah, now fully aware, understood instantly. They formed a circle, their hands linking, a conduit of raw, ancient power, their focus fixed on the burning house, sending waves of vampiric, werewolf, and witch power surging towards Maya.

Inside, a torrent of strength, like a tidal wave of pure energy, washed over me. It was raw, potent Mikaelson power, combined with the ancient magic of the witches. My ancestors, surrounding me, nodded. Indira’s face was serene. Esther’s eyes were proud. Ansel’s hand on my belly, now feeling solid, pulsed with a guiding warmth.

“Feel it, Maya,” Ansel urged, his voice resonating through my very bones. “Their strength. Your strength. It is all connected. Breathe, child. Push with the wave. Let the magic flow through you, not against you. Your son is ready.”

The pain was immense, an unbearable pressure, but it was overlaid by the profound sense of connection, of belonging, of immense power coursing through me. I was a vessel for life and for magic. I pushed, gritting my teeth, drawing on every ounce of strength – my own, my family’s, my ancestors’. The spirits around me pulsed, their forms momentarily solidifying with the surge of raw power.

“One more, Maya! You are so close!” Indira’s voice, clear now, cut through the haze. “For your son!”

I bore down, a guttural cry tearing from my throat, a cry that was both agony and primal release. The magic stored within me, that vast, untamed wellspring of power that had been building with every hour of my unusual pregnancy, with every terrifying moment in the inferno, surged. It was too much to contain. With one final, all-consuming push, as my son’s head crowned, as the last ounce of my strength was given to bring him forth, I let it go.

A brilliant, blinding white light erupted from the house, a concussive force that knocked Sheriff Forbes and her officers off their feet, sent the townspeople scrambling backwards, and made even the Mikaelsons shield their eyes. It wasn't an explosion of fire, but of pure, restorative energy. The roaring flames, which had consumed the old house just moments before, vanished, extinguished in an instant, leaving behind only smouldering embers and a faint, cleansing mist. The oppressive heat dissipated, replaced by the cool night air. The suffocating smoke cleared, revealing the charred skeleton of the house.

And as the light faded, a sound, faint yet clear, cut through the stunned silence.

The cry of a newborn baby. 

After Midnight of Monday, November 2, 2009 (Full Moon Day)

The air crackled with residual magic, a faint hum that pressed against the skin. From the skeletal remains of the house, a figure emerged. It was Maya, impossibly, breathtakingly, holding a tiny bundle wrapped in what looked like a scrap of charred, yet somehow clean, fabric. Her tanned skin was streaked with soot, her long, dark brown hair a wild halo, but her dark eyes, usually reserved, now held an ancient, exhausted triumph. She moved with a strange, almost ethereal grace, her slight frame swaying, her Kautuka and gold and black beads bracelet glinting on her wrist, Rebekah’s talisman necklace a dark pendant against her chest.

“Maya!” Keelin’s voice, sharp with relief and urgency, cut through the collective gasp of the crowd. The wolf doctor, ever pragmatic, rushed forward, her eyes scanning Maya for injuries, her hands outstretched for the precious cargo.

Maya managed a weak, lopsided smile, a ghost of her usual sweet nature. Her steps were faltering, each one an immense effort. She reached Keelin, her arms already trembling. “Here,” she whispered, her voice rough, “He’s… perfect.”

With unsteady hands, Maya transferred the tiny, wailing infant into Keelin’s secure hold. The baby, impossibly small and red-faced, rooted instinctively against Keelin’s chest, a tiny fist already clenching the fabric of her coat. Keelin’s gaze, usually so stoic, softened with a profound tenderness. “Oh, Maya,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. “He’s beautiful.”

Her mission accomplished, the last of her adrenaline drained, Maya swayed violently. Her gaze, unfocused, desperately sought the familiar fierce blue eyes across the field – Klaus. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her body, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. She took one more gasping breath, her eyes locking onto Klaus’s, and then, with a choked sound, her legs gave out. She pitched forward, collapsing onto the damp, cold earth.

“MAYA!”

Klaus was a blur of motion, faster than the human eye could track. He was at her side in an instant, dropping to his knees, his hands already searching for a pulse. His hybrid senses screamed at him: no breath, no heartbeat, no life. His face, usually a mask of arrogant self-possession, contorted in a raw, guttural scream of anguish. “No! Not again! Not my daughter!”

He remembered his rage, his fear, the moment he’d felt her strength ebb, the sheer drain of power. He’d told Vincent that he felt her getting weaker, but he had not truly understood the depth of the sacrifice. Maya had given her life to bring her son into the world, to manifest that cleansing light that had purged the flames, to protect them all. He’d felt the surge of their familial power flow into her, a lifeline meant to sustain, but she had used it, amplified it, poured it all into this impossible miracle.

His hands, usually so precise in violence, trembled as he started compressions on her chest, his mind screaming, ‘Bloody hell, Maya, come back!’ He breathed into her mouth, his eyes burning with unshed tears, ignoring the stunned silence of the town, the worried murmurs of his siblings, the frantic whispers of Marcel arranging for Davina and Ava to keep the fire-quelling spell active just in case, even though it was gone. All that mattered was the still, pale face of his daughter.

Peace.

That was the first sensation. A profound, enveloping calm unlike anything Maya had ever known. No pain, no fear, no cold. Just warmth, and an infinite, gentle light. She found herself standing on a vast, shimmering plain, under a sky of swirling, iridescent colours.

“Maya, my child.”

The voice was like warm honey, intimately familiar. She turned, and there she was: Indira Persaud, her mother, radiant and ethereal, looking younger, healthier, than Maya had ever seen her in life. Her dark eyes, so like Maya’s own, brimmed with love.

Beside her stood Esther, her grandmother, a stern but benevolent presence, softened by the same serene light. And Ansel, her grandfather, a towering figure, his wolf eyes gentle. Henrik, her youngest paternal uncle, smiled shyly from behind them, a light of peaceful curiosity in his gaze. Ayana Bennett, the ancient witch, stood slightly apart, her expression wise and knowing.

“You’re here,” Maya whispered, a quiet tear tracing a path down her cheek. “I’m… I’m in peace.” A profound sense of relief washed over her. The constant worry, the fear, the weight of her powers – it was all gone.

Indira reached out, her hand passing through Maya’s own like a breath of air, yet Maya felt the warmth. “Yes, my sweet girl. You are at peace.”

“But you cannot stay,” Esther’s voice was firm, yet kind. “Your journey is not done.”

“But… I feel so light.”

“You sacrificed much, Maya,” Ansel said, his voice a low rumble. “You poured every ounce of life force into the birth of your son, and into the miracle that extinguished the flames. You are a bridge, child, between all worlds. But this is not your time to cross over permanently.”

Suddenly, the serene silence of the spirit realm was pierced by a faint, distant sound. A ragged, desperate cry.

“ Maya! Come back to me! Please, my daughter! ”

It was Klaus. His voice, raw with grief, echoed faintly, a discordant note in the symphony of peace.

Indira’s ethereal form shimmered, a profound pang of emotion crossing her face. A soft smile touched her lips, mingled with unshed tears. “Your father calls, my love,” she murmured, her gaze distant, listening. “He needs you. Your son needs you. My mate… he needs you.” Her eyes, though focused on Maya, held a deep, ancient love for the man still screaming her name in the living world. “Go back to him, Maya. Go back to your father and your son.”

Maya felt a pull, a faint tug towards the sound of Klaus’s voice, a flicker of the life she’d left behind.

Esther stepped forward, her gaze piercing. “Before you return, child, you must carry a message to my children. Tell them… tell them I loved them. Despite everything, my love for them was always true. And tell them… the balance must always be maintained. The prophecy is not yet averted.”

Henrik, usually so quiet, added, “And tell my siblings… tell them I’m proud of them. And that I miss them, every day.” His spectral eyes held a depth of longing Maya hadn't expected.

Ayana’s ancient eyes fixed on Maya, a stark warning in their depths. “And for Bonnie Bennett, child of my coven line I know well. Tell her… to be wary of the path she walks. The veil between worlds is thin, but fate should not be tempted. There are consequences for meddling with what is meant to be.”

The pull intensified, growing stronger, like an invisible hand drawing her back. Maya looked at her family, her ancestors, one last time. “I understand,” she whispered, her voice filled with a new resolve. Her peace was profound, but the call of life, of her family, of her son… it was stronger.

A gasp. A ragged, desperate inhalation of air that tore through her lungs. Her eyes snapped open, blazing with an unnatural light. She was lying on the cold, damp ground, and above her, Klaus Mikaelson, his face streaked with tears and soot, was staring down at her, his hands poised over her chest, still mid-compression.

“Maya?!” His voice was a choked whisper of disbelief and overwhelming relief. He pulled her into his arms, a possessive, almost crushing hug, burying his face in her hair. “You’re alive! My beautiful girl, you’re alive!”

Maya coughed, the smell of damp earth and smoke filling her nostrils. Her body felt… different. More vibrant, yet also intensely raw. A searing hunger ignited in her very core, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Her teeth felt sharper. Her senses, always acute, were now painfully amplified. She could hear every whispered conversation, every rustle of leaves, the frantic beating of every heart nearby.

Elijah, ever the composed one, appeared at Klaus’s side, holding out a blood bag. His eyes, usually so impassive, held a mixture of concern and a flicker of… pride . “Drink, little one. You were reborn. You must complete the transition.”

Her instincts screamed at her. The hunger was unbearable. Without hesitation, Maya snatched the blood bag, tearing it open with newly sharpened nails. The metallic tang, the warm gush of it filling her mouth – it was the most exquisite sensation she had ever known. She drained it in seconds, her body tingling as the dark, rich liquid coursed through her veins, settling the gnawing emptiness. The pain, the exhaustion, began to recede, replaced by a surge of overwhelming power.

She was a vampire. A true Tribrid.

Klaus helped her to her feet, his arm a strong support around her waist. The moment her feet touched the ground, another sensation hit her. A deep, primal ache. Her bones felt like they were trying to rip themselves apart, her muscles twitching with an unbearable need for release. The last time her wolf had been out was 25 weeks ago, the day her mother died. Now, the full moon was long past, but the trauma of her death, the rebirth, and the new influx of vampire power was a catalyst.

“It’s… it’s my wolf,” Maya gritted out, clutching Klaus’s arm. Her entire body began to tremble violently, eyes now glowing an unnatural gold. “It needs… out.” Pain ripped through her, a visceral, sickening agony that buckled her knees. She felt the urge to scream, to lash out. Her vision blurred, colours bleeding into each other.

Klaus, understanding the pain intimately, held her tighter. “Let it out, little wolf. We’re here.”

Before the bewildered eyes of the townspeople, Maya’s body convulsed. Her bones groaned and cracked, lengthening, reshaping. Her skin stretched, fur sprouted, her teeth elongated into fangs. A spine-chilling roar tore from her throat as she collapsed back to the ground, no longer human, but a majestic, dark brown wolf, larger and leaner than an ordinary one, imbued with vampire strength and witch power. The wolf howled once, a mournful, defiant sound, then launched itself into the surrounding woods, a shadow vanishing into the darkness.

Tyler, who had stood frozen, his untriggered wolf instinct screaming at him, now knelt, trembling, by Keelin, who still held their son. The baby, miraculously, was quiet, snuggled against Keelin. Tyler’s eyes were wide with a mixture of fear, awe, and a profound, protective love for the creature that was both his mate and the mother of his child.

Marcel, composed as always, stepped forward, addressing the stunned crowd, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable authority. “What you just witnessed,” he began, his gaze sweeping over the shocked faces of Tyler, his mother Carol, Liz Forbes, Caroline, Damon, Stefan, Elena, Jenna, Jeremy, and Matt, “is something truly extraordinary. Maya is not just a witch, nor just a werewolf, nor merely a vampire. She is a Tribrid. An Original Tribrid, in fact. The very first of her kind, created by nature itself to restore balance.”

He gestured to the smoking house, then to the woods where Maya’s wolf had vanished. “She used the full extent of her ancestral witch power – the Spirit Witch legacy of the Persaud coven, the Hagen line, and the raw power of the earth – to bring her son into this world, and to extinguish those flames. In doing so, she expended her very life force. She died, as you saw.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “And then she was reborn. As an Original Vampire, completing her transformation and fulfilling her true nature. And now, her wolf, held dormant for too long, finally unleashed by the combined power and trauma of her birth and rebirth, finds its release.”

He looked directly at Tyler, his expression softening slightly. “She is a queen, Tyler. A natural way to keep balance in the supernatural world. And she just brought your son – a powerful tribrid in his own right – into it. This is not some monster. This is a miracle.”

The waiting was agonizing. The Mikaelson siblings stood in a protective circle, their senses strained, listening for their niece. They heard the sounds of a swift, powerful hunt, a primal expression of her newfound strength.

Then, just as the first hint of pre-dawn grey lightened the eastern horizon, the rustling returned. A shape emerged from the trees, smaller now, but still strong. Maya. She was naked, covered in mud and a few stray leaves, her eyes still holding a hint of gold, but definitively human.

Elijah, with his characteristic foresight, was already there, holding out his suit jacket. She accepted it gratefully, shrugging it on. It dwarfed her petite frame, the dark fabric a stark contrast to her tanned skin.

She turned, her gaze directly seeking out Sheriff Liz Forbes, who stood rigid, her face pale with shock and guilt. “Auntie Liz,” Maya said, her voice soft but clear, carrying in the sudden silence. “I understand why you did what you did. You thought you were protecting your town. I forgive you.”

Liz’s eyes widened, tears welling up. “Maya… I’m so sorry.”

Maya offered a small, weary smile, then turned, her eyes finding Tyler, who stood clutching their son, his gaze fixed on her. The raw emotion on his face mirrored her own.

“Give me my son, Tyler,” she requested, her voice a low, intimate murmur meant only for him.

Tyler, still reeling, still trying to process everything, hesitantly extended the precious bundle. Maya took her baby, her son, into her arms, cradling him close. He was warm, impossibly tiny, and smelled faintly of newness and magic. She looked down at him, her heart swelling with an emotion so profound it bordered on pain. This was worth every sacrifice.

“My family,” Maya announced, turning to the Mikaelsons, her voice stronger, imbued with newfound authority. “It’s time to go home.”

Klaus immediately moved to her side, his arm encircling her protectively. Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, Finn, Marcel, Davina, Ava, Keelin, Vincent, and even the members of The Trinity and The Strix, formed a quiet, formidable procession around her. 

 

Chapter 23: Aftermath

The biting chill of the November air was a shock after the inferno that had nearly claimed my life and the lives of my son and myself. But the cold was a welcome jolt, a physical anchor to the reality of standing outside the Mikaelson Manor, rather than floating in some ethereal in-between. Every muscle in my body screamed, a testament to the brutal miracle I had just endured. My skin, still tacky with sweat and something indefinable, prickled under Elijah’s suit jacket, which was barely clinging to my shoulders, a flimsy shield against the world and my own raw vulnerability. I was naked underneath, a stark and unsettling fact, yet it felt strangely right. Like a rebirth, shedding everything.

The grand facade of the Mikaelson Manor loomed before us, ancient and imposing, a silent sentinel that had witnessed centuries of triumphs and tragedies. This was home, a place I barely knew but felt in my very bones, tied to my bloodline. The sheer number of people bundled onto the sprawling porch behind me was overwhelming: my father, Klaus, his eyes still wild with a fear I never wanted to see again; Uncle Lijah, ever the stoic pillar; Auntie Bex, her usual fiery spirit dimmed by concern; Uncle Kol, already looking for a fight; Uncle Finn, a quiet presence. Marcel, my brother, still had that profound relief etched onto his face. Davina, my niece, clung to Ava, her small hand clutching her mother’s skirt. Tristian and Lucien, familiar faces from my father’s ancient past, stood nearby, their gazes intense. Keelin and Cary were there too, silent guardians. And then Tyler, his eyes locked on mine, a silent echo of the chaos we’d just shared. His parents, Carol and Richard, alongside Matt, Bonnie, and Sheila, were a testament to the strange confluence of worlds our lives had become.

The moment Kol’s voice cut through the heavy silence, it was like a match striking tinder. “So, are we just going to let that bitch Lexi walk away after what she did?” His tone was laced with the familiar Mikaelson brand of lethal impatience.

My voice, when it came, was hoarse, a whisper against the vastness of the night. “Lexi… she should have known better than to go after a Mikaelson. Especially one with a freshly triggered wolf and a temper I’m only just learning to navigate.” The words felt like a promise, a chilling vow. My eyes, I knew, must have held a glint of the power I now wielded, the nascent vampiric strength thrumming beneath my skin, the raw magic bubbling in my veins, and the primal urge of the wolf I’d just unleashed. “But right now,” I continued, my gaze falling to the precious bundle in my arms, “the most important thing is him.”

Carefully, reverently, I shifted the baby, still slick with the remnants of birth, into Kol’s waiting arms. His initial surprised grunt melted into a soft, almost reverent hum as he cradled his great-nephew. Auntie Bex immediately appeared at his side, her eyes wide with wonder as she peered into the tiny, swaddled face. For a moment, even Kol, the most volatile of my uncles, seemed utterly disarmed, a tenderness I’d rarely seen him display washing over his features.

“There’s… there are messages,” I began, my voice stronger now, the weight of the words settling heavily on my tongue. I looked at my father, his gaze unwavering on me. “Mom… she’s at peace, Dad. She’s with her ancestors. And she loved you. She misses you, always.” The words were simple, yet devastating. Klaus’s usual smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of raw pain in his eyes. He merely nodded, a muscle ticking in his jaw, a silent acknowledgment of a love lost and found again through me.

Then I turned to the collection of Mikaelsons, their eyes fixed on me with an intensity that promised unwavering attention. “Grandmother Esther… she asked me to tell you all…” I paused, gathering my thoughts, the ethereal echoes of her voice still vivid in my mind. “She said… she loved you. Despite everything, her love for you was always true. And she said… the balance must always be maintained. The prophecy is not yet averted.” A ripple went through the group. Elijah’s face, usually so composed, showed a flicker of surprise and a hint of a frown, the weight of their mother’s enduring love and the ominous warning settling upon him. Kol scoffed, but even his eyes held a strange depth. Rebekah looked thoughtful, a rare sadness in her gaze.

“And Uncle Henrik,” I continued, my voice softening, “he said… he’s proud of you all. And that he misses you, every day.” A collective sigh, almost imperceptible, escaped my uncles and aunt. Henrik, the lost brother, the innocent whose death had set so much of their tragedy in motion. To hear his voice through me, to know he was proud – it seemed to offer a measure of peace they hadn't known they needed.

My gaze then found Bonnie, standing a little apart, her face worried. “Bonnie… Ayana sent a message for you, child of her coven line.” Bonnie’s eyes widened, a flicker of recognition passing through them. “She said… to be wary of the path you walk. The veil between worlds is thin, but fate should not be tempted. There are consequences for meddling with what is meant to be.” Bonnie visibly swallowed, her brow furrowed in deep thought. The warning, coming from such an ancient and respected source, clearly resonated deeply.

The immediate relief of having delivered the spectral burdens lifted a small weight from my shoulders, but the exhaustion was paramount. My body throbbed, a dull ache that resonated with the profound shifts within me. I was a vampire now, the healing factor already working on the lingering damage, but the sheer effort of pushing out a child, dying, and being resurrected had taken its toll. I could feel the faint burn in my throat, the nascent thirst that would soon rage. My witch powers, usually a wellspring of calm, fizzed with a new, chaotic energy, infused with the raw, untamed magic I’d absorbed during my near-death experience. And the wolf… I could feel it, a restless energy beneath my skin, the primal strength of the Pack now permanently intertwined with my very being. The full moon had been yesterday, but the shift I’d endured was one of instinct, not lunar pull.

Tyler, who had been listening intently, stepped closer. “The name, Freya… we talked about Henrik…” His voice was quiet, a plea in his eyes for me to remember our shared dream.

I smiled, a soft, weary curve of my lips. “We did. And Henrik would have been beautiful.” I looked at Matt, then at Bonnie, a new clarity washing over me, a sense of rightness that settled deep in my soul. “But we changed our minds. This little one, our son…” I took a deep breath, the name forming on my lips, strong and full of meaning. “He is Donovan Bennett Elijah Tylerson Mikaelson Lockerwood.”

A ripple of murmurs ran through the assembled group. Kol, who had been cooing softly at the baby, looked up, his face a mask of indignation. “Elijah?! What about me? I’m the fun uncle! I’m next to have a kid named after me!” He grumbled, but there was a twinkle in his eye, a hint that he was more put out by the missed opportunity for a dramatic declaration than by genuine offense.

I chuckled, a low, tired sound. “Donovan,” I explained, looking at Matt, whose jaw had dropped slightly. “For Matt. And for Vicki, Tyler’s first love. You’re Tyler’s chosen brother, Matt, and Carol, you agreed, right?” Carol Lockwood, usually so reserved, nodded, a rare, soft smile on her face. “And Bennett,” I continued, turning to Bonnie, whose eyes were wide with surprise and emotion, “for Bonnie, because you’re Tyler’s best friend, my friend, and for the deep bond between the Bennett and Mikaelson lines. And Elijah,” I said, looking at my oldest uncle, who merely inclined his head, a hint of genuine warmth in his gaze, “because Marcel’s middle name is after Henrik, and mine is after Freya, and Davina’s is after Rebekah. It’s tradition for the newest Mikaelson to carry the name of one of the Originals.” I paused, a mischievous glint in my eye. “And Tylerson, because that’s Viking tradition, son of Tyler, just like Marcel has Nikolasson and I have Nikolasdóttir. And of course, Mikaelson-Lockerwood, because he is both.”

I then announced, “And his godparents will be Matt, Caroline, Marcel, and Bonnie.”

Carol extended her arms tentatively. I gently transferred Donovan into her embrace, the tiny bundle of life a stark contrast to the darkness we’d just escaped. She held her grandson with a tenderness that spoke volumes, her worry easing into pure adoration.

Finally, I turned to my father, who had been observing the entire interaction with a blend of pride and intense protectiveness. “Dad,” I said, my voice firm, resolute. “When I go back to school… I’m using the Mikaelson surname. Full name. Maya Freya Nikolasdóttir Persaud Mikaelson.”

Klaus’s eyes softened, a deep, primal satisfaction replacing the earlier fear. He didn’t need to say anything. His gaze, full of an affection I’d only recently truly understood, was affirmation enough.

The soft, rhythmic sound of Donovan’s breathing filled the quiet expanse of the great living room within Mikaelson Manor. I sat beside the antique bassinet, my light pink ribbed long-sleeve shirt and pants feeling like a second skin, fuzzy socks keeping my feet warm against the chill of the early November morning. My hair, a dark brown mess of curls, was hastily pulled into a bun. Inside the bassinet, my son, barely hours old, slept peacefully. This bassinet, a venerable piece of family history, had cradled my big brother Marcel, then me, then my niece Davina, and now Van. It felt right, a tangible link to a lineage I was only just beginning to truly embrace.

Around me, the rest of my family were scattered, their ancient forms at ease but their minds undoubtedly racing. The Originals – my father Klaus, Uncles Elijah, Kol, Finn, and Auntie Rebekah – sipped their blood from elegant wine glasses, a macabre yet entirely normal sight. Ava, Davina’s mother and my ex-sister-in-law, nursed a glass of real wine, her eyes a little heavy from the night’s events. Davina, my fierce little niece, and I opted for the watered-down blood mixed with juice, a conscious choice to keep our bodies from becoming too bloodthirsty, too vampire, especially with Donovan’s tiny, vulnerable presence so near. The Lockwoods, most of the Bennetts, Matt, Cary, and Keelin were all thankfully asleep in various guest rooms, oblivious to the supernatural discussions that were about to unfold.

My gaze lingered on Van, my chest aching with a love so profound it was almost painful. He was safe, for now. And that was all that mattered.

“He’s beautiful, Maya,” Ava murmured, her voice soft, breaking the comfortable silence.

“He is,” I agreed, a shy smile touching my lips. “And strong. Even for an Original Tribrid.”

Kol, who had been lazily swirling the blood in his glass, piped up, “Like his mother, then.” He shot me a teasing grin, but there was an underlying respect in his eyes.

“Just like her,” Tyler’s voice rumbled from the doorway. He walked in, his hair still disheveled from sleep, and came to my side, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. “How’s my son?”

“Sleeping like a rock,” I whispered, leaning into his touch. “You should get some rest, ást.”

“Couldn’t. Too much on my mind,” he admitted, his gaze falling on Van. “This changes everything, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed it does, son,” Elijah said, ever the diplomat, his tone grave. “And it brings us to a far more pressing matter.” He gestured to the adjoining room, which served as my father’s study, but had, over the past few days, transformed into a makeshift war room. Maps of Mystic Falls, cryptic notes, and diagrams of various magical symbols were spread across the large mahogany table.

I nodded, my breath catching as I remembered the true urgency that had surfaced during Donovan’s birth. “When I called upon the Mikaelson Witches… Auntie Freya was there.”

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Finn, usually stoic, dropped his glass, the sound of crystal shattering against the floor echoing loudly. Rebekah’s eyes widened, her jaw slack. Klaus’s face, usually a mask of cunning and ancient weariness, looked utterly bewildered.

“What in the bloody hell are you talking about, Maya?” Kol demanded, his voice laced with disbelief. “Freya died. She was a child.”

“She was an adult,” I corrected, my voice quiet but firm. “Tall blonde woman, looked like Auntie Bex, but older, with an ancient kind of power about her. She was there, with Mom. They were… guiding me. Helping me push. Telling me to be strong. She said she was Freya. Our Auntie Freya. And she knew everything. She knew what to do. And Mom was at peace, just like I told you, Dad. She’s watching over us.”

Klaus looked away, his expression unreadable, but I saw the slight tremor in his hand as he drained his glass. He was processing. He was grieving.

It was Finn who spoke next, his voice a low, strangled whisper. “By the sainted mother… I know. I know what this means. I know what the prophecy is.” His eyes were wide with a terror I’d rarely seen on his ancient face. “Mother… Mother told me it was a dream. A reoccurring nightmare from when I was a child. But it wasn’t. She told me about the deal.”

The air in the room grew thick, heavy with unspoken dread. Every Mikaelson leaned forward, their attention now riveted on Finn.

“Our mother, Esther,” Finn began, his voice gaining strength, though still tinged with horror, “she struggled with infertility. She was desperate for children. She sought out her sister, Dahlia. A powerful witch. Dangerous. Narcissistic. Dahlia… she helped Mother. With a fertility spell. But her price…” he choked on the words, his eyes darting to my father, then to Marcel, then to me, and finally to the bassinet where Donovan slept. “Her price was ownership. A dark bargain. She demanded ownership of all firstborn children in Esther’s bloodline. Their magic. Their power. Starting with Freya. Our firstborn sister. And then, every subsequent firstborn throughout the generations.”

Kol was the first to put it together, his eyes narrowing, “Bloody hell! So Freya wasn’t killed… she was taken! By Dahlia! Our twisted, power-hungry Aunt!” His rage was palpable, a low growl erupting in his chest. “And if Freya was the first… then it would be Marcel. And then Maya. And then Davina. And now… Van.”

The realization hit Tyler like a punch to the gut. He instinctively pulled me closer, his hand protective on my back, his eyes dark with a primal fury. “So, our son is a target? A bloody sacrifice?”

“Precisely,” Finn confirmed grimly. “Dahlia would take them all. Marcel, our true firstborn, a Tribrid in his own right, though his magic untouched. Maya, our Spirit Witch and an active Tribrid, a nexus of all three powers… a damn beacon to ancient magic. Davina, a Harvest Witch, bonded to the very earth, with a raw, untamed power over fire. And now Donovan… a tribrid like Maya, but with the untriggered werewolf gene from two powerful clans – yours, Tyler, and mine, the Mikaelson line. He’s a well of untamed power waiting to erupt.”

“So, my vision…” I started, the pieces clicking into place. “It wasn’t just a glimpse of a spirit trying to cross over. Auntie Freya was somewhere near. She had to be. If I, in my weakened state, going into labor, could sense her, could see her, that means she’s not dead. She’s… somewhere. Trapped, maybe. Or in a magical sleep. Just like in the stories of ancient witches.”

Klaus slammed his fist on the table, the wine glasses jumping. “That ancient, conniving viper! She’s been toying with us for centuries! And Mother, that manipulative bitch, kept this from us!” His eyes, a blazing gold, met mine. “So, if Freya is alive, somewhere, then the prophecy is not just a threat. It’s a ticking time bomb. Dahlia will come for them. For Marcel, for you, for Davina, and for Donovan.” He stalked towards the table, his earlier vulnerability replaced by a terrifying resolve. “We need to be ready. We need to be stronger.”

“We need to break your hybrid curse, Dad,” I stated, my voice cutting through the rising tension, my personality as organized and clear-headed as ever, even in the face of such dire news. “That’s been the plan. It’s what I promised you. It’s the first step to making us truly untouchable.”

Klaus paused, his fiery gaze softening slightly as he looked at me. “You still intend to, little wolf? After… everything?”

“More than ever,” I affirmed. “Because now it’s not just about you. It’s about our family. About protecting Van and Davina. About having all of our strengths available. I know how to do it. All of it.”

Elijah stepped forward, ever the strategist. “Explain, Maya. Every detail.”

I walked over to the large table, pulling up a chair and gesturing for everyone to gather closer. Kol and Rebekah snapped to attention, their faces grim. Marcel, who had been listening intently from the corner, moved closer, his hand resting protectively on Davina’s shoulder. Tyler stood right behind me, his presence a comforting anchor.

“Okay,” I began, my quiet voice filling the suddenly focused room. “First, we need the blood. A tube of blood from each living tribrid in the Mikaelson line. That’s Marcel, me, Davina, and Donovan.” I glanced at each of them. Marcel gave a nod. Davina looked a little nervous but resolute. I knew Van’s blood would be simple to get.

“Second,” I continued, “we need five drops of blood from each living or undead doppelgänger. That’s a total of ten drops. From Amara’s bloodline: Tatia and Sofia are dead, but we have Katherine Pierce and Elena Gilbert. From Silas’s bloodline: Silas, Dario, and Leonardo are dead, but we have Stefan Salvatore and Tom Bailey, the distant cousin who just moved to town.”

Klaus let out a low chuckle, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Katherine… I’ve been waiting for an excuse to get my hands on her again. And the Salvatore boy? A welcome bonus.”

“We don’t kill them, Dad,” I said sharply, my empathetic nature asserting itself. “We just take the blood. We need them alive for their bloodlines to continue. We can’t break the chain. It’s about empowering you, not ending their lives needlessly.”

“Spoilsport,” Kol grumbled, but even he seemed to understand the logic.

“Third,” I went on, ignoring Kol, “the moonstone. That was the trickiest part, but I already have it. I made a deal with Mayor Lockwood—Tyler’s dad. He owed me a favor after… well, after some things. I told him I needed it. He gave it to me. It’s in my room, locked away.”

Tyler looked at me, impressed. “You got the moonstone from my dad? How the hell did you manage that?”

I offered a small, knowing smile. “I’m a Mikaelson, ást. And I’m good at making deals. Besides, I told him it was for a family legacy ritual, nothing more. He has no clue what it’s for.”

“Smart girl,” Klaus murmured, a proud smirk on his face.

“Fourth,” I continued, “the ritual needs to be performed on any night where the moon is up. Full moon, new moon, crescent… it doesn’t matter, as long as it’s present in the sky.”

“And fifth, and most crucial,” I concluded, looking at Ava, Davina, and then myself, “the spell itself. It requires three specific witches to perform Esther’s ritual. It needs Ava, who is the Harvest Witch who brought Davina’s power to its peak. It needs Davina herself, the Harvest Witch, with her element being fire, crucial for the purification. And it needs me, a Spirit Witch, connected to the ancestral plane, and a Tribrid, to channel all the disparate elements. Three powerful witches, connecting to the ancient magic of our bloodline.”

Ava looked overwhelmed, but her eyes held a flicker of determination. “I… I will do whatever is necessary, Maya. For Davina. For all of you.”

Davina nodded fiercely. “Me too.”

“So, the main hurdle,” Elijah stated, tapping a finger on the table, “is acquiring the doppelgänger blood. Katherine is a wily survivor. Elena Gilbert is under the watchful eye of a council of fools and her own vampire-obsessed friends. Stefan Salvatore is an Original Ripper, though currently on a bunny diet. And Tom Bailey is an unknown quantity.”

“We need to move quickly,” Klaus interjected, his eyes sweeping over the faces gathered around the table. “Dahlia will sense the awakening of the bloodline. She’ll know the prophecy is fulfilling itself. And she’ll come for them. For Marcel. For Maya. For Davina. For Donovan. We must break my curse, become truly whole, and prepare for war.”

“No more half-measures,” Kol agreed, his earlier casualness gone, replaced by a steely resolve. “This is our family. Our blood. And no one, not even Dahlia, messes with the Mikaelsons.”

Tyler, his arm still around me, squeezed my shoulder, his worry etched on his face. “So, how do we get their blood without starting a full-blown war with the entire Mystic Falls supernatural community?”

I looked at him, then at my family, a plan already forming in my mind. “We don’t start a war. We make them think they’re in control. We make them think they are the ones making the decisions. We use what we know about them. Their weaknesses. Their desires. And we get what we need. Before Dahlia even gets a whiff of what’s coming.” My voice was low, but every word resonated with an ancient wisdom that belied my sixteen years. “This isn’t just a plan to break a curse. This is a battle plan. A declaration of war against an enemy we didn’t even know was still alive. And we will win. For Donovan. For our family.”

Notes:

Book 1 is almost done!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Queen of her Making