Martha looked at him for a moment. Then she sighed and leaned against the balcony railing beside him, looking out at the trees rather than at the cigarette.

"Kate is worried," she said.

"About what happened on the highway."

"And you?"

"I watched you kill five vampires in less than a minute. Pull their hearts out like you were picking fruit."

"I heard they operate only at nights, but today, I could see them moving and attacking people in the light. Something is not right with the way of things. This world and its inhabitants...are changing every day."

She was quiet for a moment.

"I should be terrified. Any rational person would be terrified."

"But you’re not."

"No."

Martha’s voice was soft. "Because you did it to protect us. Because you could have run, could have saved yourself, and left us to them.

But you didn’t."

She looked at him directly. "So no. I’m not scared of you."

Jaenor took a slow drag from the cigarette, letting the silence hold.

"Thank you," she said finally.

"For what you did tonight, for Dane and Sofia and me. Thank you."

He nodded once. Acknowledgment without additional words.

Martha pushed off from the railing and retrieved the plate.

She held it out to him. "Eat."

He took the plate. Set it down on the railing. Made no move to actually eat.

Martha sighed. "You’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you?"

Something moved through his expression. Almost amusement, almost.

She caught it and pointed at him again.

"Don’t find this funny."

"You keep saying that."

"Because you keep having that look."

They fell into comfortable silence. The kind that had been developing over the past several days, built from proximity and observation and the particular ease that came from neither person performing for the other.

Martha looked at the trees, at the house, at the life she’d built with Kate in this carefully maintained corner of the world.

"I feel like your mother sometimes," she said quietly.

The words came out without planning, surprising her with their honesty.

"Taking care of you. Making sure you eat. Confiscating your cigarettes."

She laughed softly. "It’s completely irrational. You’re obviously capable of taking care of yourself. But I can’t help it."

Jaenor went very still; his eyes couldn’t help but stare at her. His eyes were moist, thinking back to seeing her with a big smile, always making sure he was full. Back in the village, she cooked him meals, taking care of him; all of it rushed to his mind.

That quality of absolute motionlessness that came over him sometimes, when something significant was happening beneath the controlled surface.

Martha noticed and looked at him. His eyes had settled on a shade of deep amber, fixed on her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"Martha," he said. His voice was careful and measured. Like he was testing how the words sounded before committing to them fully.

He moved closer, not suddenly but deliberately. Giving her time to step back if she wanted to.

She didn’t step back.

He was very close now. Close enough that she could see the water still clinging to his hair from the shower, she could smell the clean scent of soap mixed with smoke from the cigarette.

His eyes held hers with complete focus.

She looked down at his well-developed, chiseled body, and instantly, she could feel herself breathing harder and her body’s temperature had turned up.

"Mom," he said. Softly. Testing the word, feeling its weight.

The world tilted.

Martha felt something inside her chest crack open. She felt very happy, but she didn’t know why. He wasn’t her son, but she felt really elated hearing him call her mom.

She was trembling.

Jaenor’s hand came up slowly. His fingers touched her cheek with impossible gentleness, like she was something precious that might shatter if handled wrong.

They stared at each other.

Three hundred years.

Two lives.

One bond that had refused to break despite everything the universe had thrown at it.

Then he moved.

Leaning closer towards her face, his lips brushing Martha’s with a feather-light touch that belied the storm brewing beneath.

Martha was startled and stood frozen in her place.

The kiss started slow, tentative, his mouth molding to hers as if savoring a forbidden fruit.

She remained still for a heartbeat, her mind screaming warnings—Kate downstairs, the ring on her finger, and the life they had built.

This was wrong.

Cheating on her wife, tangled in something taboo with this stranger who called her "Mom" like a ghost from another era.

Not to mention that he was way younger than her.

She should stop, push him away, and run.

But she couldn’t.

Her body betrayed her, lips parting to welcome his tongue, a soft whimper escaping as his firm hands gripped her waist, holding her steady against the balcony’s railing.

The word "Mom" echoed in her ears, weakening her knees, turning her resolve to liquid heat pooling between her thighs. It was intoxicating, that deep voice wrapping around the title like a caress from the past, stirring memories of village hearths and stolen glances.

His kisses trailed downward, slow and deliberate, lips caressing the curve of her jaw and then her neck. He nuzzled the sensitive hollow beneath her ear, his breath hot against her skin, sending shivers racing down her spine.

"Mom," he murmured again, the word vibrating against her pulse point. Memories kept flashing in her mind, about a young man calling her mom, running around her, and being intimate with her.

She gasped, legs trembling, hands clutching his bare shoulders for support. His teeth grazed her earlobe, biting slowly, tenderly—not to harm, but to claim. A gentle scrape that made her core clench with need, her panties growing damp.

"Jaenor... we can’t," she whispered, even as her fingers dug into his skin.

But her protest dissolved into a moan when his hands slid under her dress, palms rough from centuries of warfare gliding up her thighs.

AHHHH!! Mmmmhhhh!

He hooked his fingers into her panties, tugging them aside with agonizing slowness. One thick finger dipped into her folds, finding her slick entrance, circling her clit with expert pressure. She was soaked already, arousal coating his digit as he pushed inside, and then added a second, stretching her gently.

"You’re mine," he growled softly, thumb pressing her nub while his fingers curled, stroking that inner ridge that made stars burst in her vision. Her hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the pleasure despite the guilt gnawing at her chest.