After waking from my nap, I showered and then made my way to the kitchen for a bite to eat. Colin's latest invention had been downloaded on everyone's phones, and they had decided i needed a significantly higher glucose level in my blood. They were also aware of my "little molecules," which prompted an update to their protective radar, now monitoring their production and warning me if any of my building blocks were running low.
While this care was appreciated, and I was glad they knew, I also craved independence and the ability to make my own decisions. However, not everything Colin had theorized or discovered was reflected in my medical notes. One thing made me roll my eyes, as sensible as it was; it made me feel even more predatory, if that were possible.
It was now ten PM, and I was reviewing my shop's finances and planning ahead, considering various potential complications. I debated whether to share certain information with Damon, and when to do so. A slight headache throbbed as I hunched over my laptop. Reaching for my coffee, I found my cup and thermos empty.
"Fine," I thought, "I'll go to the kitchen, make some more, take a breather, and try not to worry too much about the future," though I knew this was easier said than done. I was trying to distract myself, to avoid becoming a neurotic mess.
I placed my laptop on the table; it was already quite hot. It could cool down while I fetched my coffee. My mind was racing with ideas, and I wasn't sure where to begin. I entered the dimly lit kitchen; no one was cooking, as everyone had retreated to their chosen evening activities.
I headed to the cupboard holding the coffee beans. We had upgraded the selection, meaning we had samples here, but the real ones were in the fridge to stay fresh. This cupboard simply held the aromas of the various choices. Hmm, number 18.11 was my choice. I prepared the coffee maker, adding water and filters, then went to the fridge to retrieve the beans.
They were stored in the back shelves. Each shelf held three numbers, and we had 30 shelves, each with 20 different coffees, giving us a vast selection. I selected the 11th bag from shelf 18. I loaded three large scoops of beans and returned the bag to its shelf. The bag held about 5 kilos of beans, and I usually took 50-200 grams, depending on the specific beans and their freshness. We had extra bags stored in another room.
After starting the coffee, I washed my thermos to prepare it, as I needed sugar and cream for my coffee, adding to the preparations.
I was rinsing my thermos when Wulfe appeared, leaning against the counter like a ghost. "Coffee run, how quaint. Burning the midnight oil, are we?"
I smiled and said, "I have financial matters and other considerations to ensure I handle correctly, plus my benefits."
I went to a higher cupboard, opened it, and took a packet of sugar.
Wulfe watched me and asked, "Why did you take that? There was an opened one in front, same stuff."
I smiled and replied, "Not for me. Colin taught me a few new things, making me feel... well, less human and a little more predatory, if that's possible."
Wulfe raised an eyebrow, silently prompting me for more. I ran a hand through my messy curls, still open from the shower.
Unbothered by the disarray, I asked, "So, what do you know about sugar? Specifically, the plants we get it from?"
Wulfe paused, clearly confused by the sudden change of topic, and replied, "Well, sugar cane and sugar beet. Essentially the same stuff from both. Then there's honey, and a few other sources like fruits, but those have their own sugars."
I measured a heavy dose of cane sugar into my thermos and continued, "Sugar cane takes eighteen months to harvest, while beet takes eight. As a predator, I need lifeforce. According to Colin, the sugar I consume would be better if it contained more of it. Cane, because it grows for longer, accumulates more lifeforce, and it regenerates. Beet, however, is uprooted, and that's the end of it. So, I should be eating cane sugar, not beet sugar, even if they are chemically identical. The magical, or lifeforce, content is not the same. My... batteries require every ounce of energy they can get. Colin was studying how to optimize them, but then, well, this happened."
Wulfe smiled gently and said, "It doesn't make you more predatory, just selective."
I retorted, "But it does! I need to eat those things with the most life force. I'm a freaking vampire, even for plants!"
My outburst caused Wulfe to laugh and shake his head. Fine, he just didn't understand. Fine then. I thought, upset, and simultaneously realized I was, again, being hormonal on some level.
"My unicorn," Wulfe said, "I understand why you might feel that way, but you are unique."
I interrupted him mid-rant. "Do you have any idea about the whole damn thing? Adam knows, and Charles. Adam is making sure our farm produces Wagyu and Kobe beef for me, which has a lot of life force. This means they'll have perfect conditions, and it costs even more than usual. If we were to sell our surplus meat, we'd have to charge much more per pound than others because our cattle are so damn happy. Happy cow, good life, lots of lifeforce, and all because of me and my little batteries. Now, if they hadn't been discovered, our farm could have used about 30% less money per cow per month than we do now. It's useless for me to try and persuade Adam to let go of the idea of having a lot of lifeforce in the meat. He's already come up with a few spells to measure it, so he's going to make sure it's as high as possible, for me. I'm so sick and tired of being the damn one who makes everyone bend over backwards because of me."
Wulfe raised his hands in the air in a sign of surrender. My voice was somewhat irritated and loud; I was almost shouting. Hormones, or maybe my grip on my temper, were much weaker than normal. Fuck it, who cares? I shouldn't care. I should have the right to be hormonal, but goddamnit, I hated losing control. This just wasn't me. Not at all.
Wulfe said, "What's the real reason that fucks you up? Sure, that may be nasty, but come on, it's me. I know when there's something more than just sugar and lifeforce."
I got my coffee made, filled two thermoses, and walked to my room with Wulfe following me. He wasn't going to let this go. Fine. I was just hoping he would tell me not to worry and that everything would be alright, but I knew it wasn't that simple. I placed my coffee on my table.
Wulfe just plucked a mug out of thin air, helped himself to my coffee, crawled onto my bed, and sat there in a semi-sitting position after snatching a few pillows for himself. He sipped piping hot coffee from his mug from India; it was red with white and blue patterns and golden accents.
I had my mug, light yellow, worn and colored inside, cheap-looking, but it was one of those special mugs I had gotten from England. I just somehow knew this time wouldn't be the same, but then again, now I had Wulfe.
Leaning against the pillows, I sipped my coffee, gazing at the ceiling.
"It's just about the money," I said, "my maternity benefits, and so on. I mean, I'll have paid leave – 320 days from Finland, and maternity leave starting five weeks before my due date. According to the rules, I can give some of those days to Damon if he's a parent. But the crux of it is, those 320 days can be divided between us. Our nationalities don't matter; if one of us has Finnish nationality, we both benefit – and I do. In a perfect world, I'd happily give Damon those days. The pay is around 70% of salary, but for Damon, it's higher since he earns more – maybe 80 or 85%, I'm not sure. But my world, at least, is far from perfect. My problem is, I don't want to give him those days, knowing he'd use them to dote on Mariella and their children."
Wulfe was silent, considering the situation. "What about giving the days to Adam or Charles? They're your husbands; it counts too."
I replied, "But Damon might take that as an insult, and it could tear us apart. If there *is* an 'us,' I'm not even sure anymore, considering everything, and my hormones… I'm a complete mess." I sighed, taking another sip of coffee as if it would offer some clarity, some brilliant solution.
Wulfe remained silent, contemplating the complexity of the situation. My pregnancy was still in its first trimester, so there was time, but who knew what my relationship with Damon would look like by then? I also had work-related financial dilemmas concerning my maternity leave. I couldn't hire a substitute for myself, and although the girls assured me they'd manage the shop, I wasn't certain they would.
I'd been trying to calculate the cost of closing the shop during my maternity leave versus keeping it open with reduced hours. But the novelty hadn't worn off, so I had no real idea how well or how poorly I'd earn. I had bills, electricity, taxes, permits, and accounts to manage, along with filing tax returns.
Work teaches you, but now I wasn't sure I had the time to learn. Maybe it was my pride or my ego, but letting Charles handle everything, or – God forbid – involving Damon, was just something I wasn't willing to do, not yet anyway. I was stubborn enough, meaning I might have to learn the hard way before accepting help.
My car insurance, which Charles had paid in advance from our joint accounts, cost just over $200 per month. However, my current insurance was $538 monthly, and I was responsible for paying it. The benefits were at the lowest level, and they would increase as my due date approached. To receive full benefits, I needed to pay for insurance for several months.
If complications arose, my insurance wouldn't cover an elective Cesarean, even though I'd had multiple pregnancies. Only emergency operations would be covered at 40%, leaving me with a significant bill. I would also need to check my Finnish health insurance to see what it would cover. I paid 2% of my salary in taxes to Finland, so I had insurance there.
When the babies were born, they would be added to my insurance, hiking up my premium by $45 per baby. With five babies, that was several hundred dollars more per month, so staying home for a year wasn't a simple option.
Wulfe said, "You know, Salvatore tried to get you out of being pack leader when Charles was absent, but he hasn't gone for it yet."
I nodded, knowing how I felt about Damon depended on the rest of the week, specifically Thursday, the day of Mariella's scan. I knew he'd promised to be there, and I was certain he would be, but the aftermath would reveal much about his actions and where we might end up, as well as the actions of other Salvatores.
Despite Damon's regrets and efforts to reconcile, a lot of bad blood remained between us, and then there was Mariella. He was completely devoted to her. He wouldn't take it easy if I continued to hate Mariella or call her weak, and it might drive him closer to her.
"Fine, then he will be," I thought.
I told Wulfe, "I still hate Mariella, and I'm not going to stop just because Damon wants me to."
Wulfe responded honestly, as was his habit: "Good for you. I still hate her. She's weak and selfish, and I can't understand her behavior or see much improvement. Sure, she tries now and then, but she slips and takes the Salvatores with her. And she's trying to influence the boys, even me, Adam, and Charles, painting herself as a pitiful victim of her hormones and impulses."
"Hating her makes sense," I replied, "and yet, I can't help but wonder: Am I the one holding myself back? Is hate always useful, or should I learn to let go? Should I give her a fair chance? Does hating her bog me down more than it helps?"
Wulfe responded, "Nope. Hate is useful. You can hate her for as long and as much as you need. Denying one's emotions and feelings creates problems in our minds. Honesty is the best policy, and the most important lesson here is to start with yourself. Be honest with yourself, and the rest will follow. Don't try to be something you think you should be; it never works."
I looked at Wulfe and sipped my coffee, marveling at my fortune in having him. It truly was amazing, and somehow I knew he would be important for my five as well. They might not always worship him, but I doubted there was little he wouldn't do for them. Biology held no meaning when one used one's heart and feelings.
I let my love for Wulfe flood throughout the hive, letting everyone feel what I was feeling and what we were doing. I could feel a brief flicker of anxiety and jealousy from Mariella, but then Charles's influence countered it. There was no more jealousy; he was keeping an eye on things.
In that moment, I realized that even the future and its problems would be a matter of "que sera sera." Our love would light the way. In a way, this was heaven, and much of it was just how we took things. Honesty is important. Being honest with yourself is perhaps the hardest lesson for me to learn.
I knew Wulfe had been teaching me for a long time that I shouldn't do something stupid like be a martyr or believe I should take the hit just because I could. Instead, I should learn to put myself first, to be selfish, to think of myself and then others, not the other way around. Easier said than done, at least for me.
Wulfe's hand, warm against my skin, had been the thing that drew me from my thoughts. It had slithered under my shirt, busily teasing my nipples, while his expression was a perfect mask of innocence, true love, and pure lust. I whimpered as he brought me to the edge of delicious sensations.
I hadn't even noticed the door opening and Charles and the others walking in, dimming the light. It was time to focus on something other than my future or my relationship. It seemed time to spread my legs, feel a hot cock thrusting into my wet, eager pussy, and let myself indulge in actual pleasure, love, and everything that came with it. We still had the night, before work called.
Oh my god, this was perfect. I needed this; I deserved this. Despite my dryness of lately, Wulfe had ignited my pussy, and it was now sopping wet. My whole body trembled as all of the lustful, horny men crawled into my bed, ready to dominate, to love, to fuck me into pieces and beyond. I was pretty sure I had just reinvented what heaven was for me, because this was perfect.