It had been a few weeks since Damon's apology, and predictably, nothing had changed. There was still no paternity claim, and he hadn't even spoken to Charles. According to Mariella, my name and the names of my babies were still practically curse words to him.
"Yippee" for that - to be hated by your own husband, a millennia-old vampire wizard going through an identity crisis while living with a pack of 25 adults and 8 babies or toddlers, all while trying to manage everything.
Charles was often at the shop or out, taking on some driving gigs during the day to earn extra money. He wanted a financial buffer in case Damon started spending more money on Mariella and stopped working. I'd discussed my shop idea with Charles, and he was fully on board; Wulfe was equally enthusiastic. He wanted to make charms with mild magic and all sorts of fun things.
That project kept Charles busy, which meant I was the de facto pack leader when he was away. Naturally, this angered Damon, and his crisis only intensified. It wasn't surprising, really. He'd taken their trio out - much more than our group of five - into the city center.
Now they were dealing with sniffles and coughs, with three miserable toddlers to care for. Too bad; he couldn't blame me for that. It was his choice, his decision to take them out in the middle of the city, where tourists and germs were abundant in the spring. Now, they had sick kids to tend to.
Because I didn't want our five to get sick, we had strict hygiene rules, and Number Four excelled at implementing them. He devised plan after plan to keep the toddlers safe and prevent them from getting infected or sick, including handwashing, stricter rules about who was allowed in and when, wiping down surfaces, and using spells to ensure cleanliness.
One might think it was a little overboard, but my kids and I were susceptible to a much more severe form of those germs than Mariella and her brood.
It was early, around 6:30 AM, and I was on kitchen duty. I needed to prepare breakfast, pack lunches for those leaving, and check the meal plan for the day. This meant deciding if I needed to put meat in the oven for braising, place something in the smokehouse, or take something out. Kitchen duty kept me busy, as there was a lot involved, but I could handle it myself.
Downstairs, Wulfe, Adam, and Lepard were helping the triplets, along with Mariella, who had caught a cold. Damon, number one, was working, and I, feeling a bit catty, had made him a lunchbox as well, which I gave to Wulfe to deliver. I had done this before, and he had always accepted and eaten them with gusto, unlike Mariella, who didn't make him lunchboxes, so he had to eat out.
He was taking shifts in the ER, too. I was just being an attentive wife, and I knew this made it a little harder for him to hate me. Maybe, just maybe, working would help him overcome this crisis, but I rolled my eyes as I thought that day he might be the packleader.
Well, I wasn't going to roll over and let him run me over; I had too much momentum and had gotten pretty damn good at this. He might have his hands full if he ever hoped to control me at all.
"Mom, what's for breakfast?" May asked as she walked into the kitchen, her eyes still slightly sleepy, and her long, red curly hair hanging down her back.
My hair was in a ponytail, and Salvatore might change it at some point, but my older girls were also groomed by them every day, their hair always perfectly fixed.
"Well, I'm making fresh buns, and we have a lot of leftovers from dinner. I was thinking, if I'm in the mood, I could make sort of omelet rolls; they're a cross between an omelet and a pancake, and we could roll them like a Swiss roll."
"Oh, honey, what are you planning here, naughty girl?" Number three crooned to me as he walked in, too.
He, too, was very into cooking and wanted to cook with me, usually. I might use help from time to time, and I had gotten pretty good at handling my husbands, meaning this snowball was going to keep its momentum just fine, no problem at all.
"Well," number three said, "for those omelet things, fine, you do them. I'll make the fillings, and I can also make bun dough for the babies. I think we have leftovers for them, too."
I nodded and replied, "I was thinking morning porridge could be frogspawn porridge – I have some here – and then we could give them some pheasant eggs and meat terrine."
He hummed, still unsure, and tried to find a flaw in my plan, but there weren't any, or if there were, they were too small to cause any real problems. The thing with babies was this: we were carnivores.
As much as I'd love to cook them really healthy food with lots of veggies and try all kinds of things, we weren't humans. Our diet was meat-based, and that limited us. Sure, there were lots of different meats in the world, but I had to take it easy and see what was best for the babies and what was less ideal.
Wulfe, being the babies' protector, had gotten pretty good at his job, and number four was another expert on the subject, though none of the Salvatores were poor. I went to the fridge and got some milk and eggs. I beat my eggs with salt, measured the flour, and put the milk on the stove to heat up. Then, I mixed the flour in, cooking it in the milk to make a thick liquid. After that, I would add the eggs and bake it in the oven.
It was one of my favorites, and it had been quite a while since I last made it. Now it would be perfect with different fillings. Sometimes, after filling them, I'd put some cheese on top and briefly put them back in the oven to get a cheesy crust. I wasn't sure if I was going to do that this time, as I had no idea what kind of fillings number three was planning.
While I was whisking the eggs and my dough was proofing, he noticed and said, "Don't worry about buns; I'll make them. Your dough is almost ready for me to work with. No problem." He added, "We can see if we put cheese on top, as I've got some cream cheese in the filling and grated cheese as well. I need to raid the fridge, see what we have, and what we're planning for today. You know, my love, those plans aren't rules, so we can change them if needed."
His tone was slightly firmer, as he, too, had found his balls and wasn't afraid to express his opinion. Sure, I could have added a few things, but it was all good. I mean, I was a master manipulator, but I didn't always twist everything just because I could, but mostly because I saw my way as better.
As my milk and flour mixture simmered, I mentally listed what to do after breakfast. Since our theme for today was game meat, I had half a venison in the smokehouse that would be ready soon, so I'd take it out, butcher it, and see which parts I'd utilize.
But then, as strong arms suddenly enveloped me and sweeter, mellower passionfruit with a hint of cinnamon seduction enveloped me, I knew this was number eight.
He murmured in my ear, "Oh, venison, great, baby, but remember, no big knives in little girls' hands. We'll take it apart, and then we can decide what to use. It's fun to pluck your list out of your mind; no need for me to organize anything, as you've already done it for me."
I rolled my eyes, but this was life with telepaths. I just really hoped that someday number one could overcome his crisis, and this pack wouldn't be so divided, meaning I'd have a chance to direct these husbands of mine to be husbands for Mariella too, and care for her and pester her, not just me, but it was for the future.
My primary stressors stemmed from the situation with number one. I could just feel the weight of it. Then there was this sniffle thing, which I dreaded. Despite all our security measures, I knew it was only a matter of time before some bug hit them, and me too. It would be a damn circus, and I hoped to postpone it as long as possible, wishing for a less stressful life.
The constant stress, of course, came from those five who were everywhere, all the time. Despite our need to protect them, we had to let them explore the rooms and walk around the kitchen, but not when someone was cooking unless their handlers were with them. Managing them, keeping them happy and fed, was a full-time job. And the mess! Oh my god, the mess, and the washing afterward, not to mention bath time.
Number eight watched as I prepared my milk mixture, ready to pour it into the eggs. "Nope, let me. That's hot, don't burn yourself, and besides, don't add it too hot to the eggs, you'll curdle them. Be patient."
I rolled my eyes as he took the hot mixture, whisked it briskly to cool it down, and added it little by little to the egg mixture. It wasn't rocket science, for God's sake. Sometimes Salvatore's pedantry really grated on my nerves, as I was much more fast and loose in my way of working, and didn't always bother to do everything by the book. I had worked in restaurants in my time, so I knew it very well.
But as I said, this wasn't a Michelin-star place; it didn't need to be top-of-the-line. After all, the taste would matter. Well, my bun dough would be ready soon, so maybe I could make those instead of whatever Salvatore was doing. Still, I had a big load of empty profiteroles in the freezer. I could fill those up, sweet and savory as well.
As I began unloading yesterday's dinner from the fridge, a flood of ideas, a hallmark of my kitchen reign, resurfaced. Now, however, my focus was on the lunchboxes. The food, packed in various containers, was lifted onto the counter. I prepared to assemble the lunches, then utilize the remainder for my own breakfast and midday meal.
I was quite adept at repurposing leftovers for myself and anyone else who might be hungry. Was it always the most optimal cuisine? Perhaps not, but I was in good shape, and my bloodwork, regularly analyzed by the Salvatores, presented no major concerns. They were aware of my health and allowed me to continue my routine.
My weight hovered around 70 kilos, a perfect equilibrium, and I maintained a decent muscle tone thanks to my late-night gym sessions after the children were asleep. I didn't require sleep every night, and could delegate the Salvatores to Mariella or the girls, or maybe even prepare meals for the week.
There were always dishes to be made or ingredients to prep, and nighttime proved ideal for those tasks. As I organized my boxes, numbers three, seven, and ten arrived; they were all home today on childcare duty. Since the toddlers slept until 8 a.m., we had time. My eager husbands immediately inspected each container while someone began working on my dough.
Number ten declared, "My love, no creampuffs. We're building a tower out of them for dinner dessert! Let's see what we've got. Aha, dinner leftovers. Fine, I'll help. What are you planning?"
I replied, "Lunchboxes for Charles, Emmylee, Ashley, Britney, Demon, and number four, who are working or will be out for a while. I'll just gather what I have and start from there."
Ten nodded, but also took many boxes for himself, beginning to prepare breakfast, or parts of it.
I rolled my eyes in amusement, but thought, "Fine, let's see how this unfolds."
I figured it was a matter of patience, and perhaps they were intentionally trying to provoke me, to push me to display my dominance. Maybe they wanted to measure themselves against me, but not yet.
I hadn't planned anything like that in the gym, and only when the toddlers were asleep at night. However, I wasn't sure when or how I would do it. I enjoyed challenging myself, but if I showed off too much, would it get me in trouble? I had no idea, so I had to take things easy, not push too far or too fast, and definitely not be too powerful.
Our kitchen was large, with food preparation stations and counters that could easily accommodate seven people working simultaneously. The island in the middle served as a serving station, where we'd place all the dishes. Most of our meals were buffet style, and we let the babies choose or taste what they wanted.
Seeing the food was all part of the plan. I had a lot of plates and cutlery in a few storage rooms, which I hadn't accessed yet. Maybe someday. I just rolled my eyes internally as I recalled what was in there.
It was all the result of one of my drunk orders. Those were special orders, a fun game we girls played back when our pack was in its original form, when Mimosa and Shadow were still with us. But as this was a kind of divine intervention of sorts, they chose to opt out of our family bliss, and I didn't blame them. Sure, it was fun, but by God, it took some serious effort.
Those orders always started with bottles of booze, blood, and a laptop. The goal was to get drunk, drink a lot of blood, and then, once sufficiently inebriated, start ordering things. As usual, I kept my eyes peeled for end-of-sale items and foreclosures, meaning I acquired a lot of stuff, most of it pretty weird.
For example, a truckload of caps with different baseball logos, and no one in our pack wore caps or any kind of hats. Or 4,000 pallets of insulating boards. We had a lot of houses, but rarely built any, and now we had a lot of insulating material. Some of it was given to other realms, some was sold, but there was still a lot left. Or, if I found a foreclosure of an importer with storage containers full of stuff, oh yeah, I'd get those too – the more, the better.
Once I discovered the situation with my plates and cutlery, I realized that a certain company designed plates and glassware, but the company had gone bankrupt. However, they had used a manufacturer to produce the plates. The manufacturer had produced a large quantity for the company, including, for example, 25 designs, each in lots of 3000 pieces, with 3 to 5 lots per design. When the original company went bankrupt, the plates were essentially considered trash. To avoid immediate disposal, an auction was held.
I was the one who found them! I've found similar deals five times. Interestingly, not a single lot consisted of regular, everyday plates; they were all high-end. Now, I possessed a huge storage room filled with boxes of platters, plates, and various items.
I had no idea what kind of plates I'd acquired; my memory was vague at best. Still, we had a lot of plates in case we ever needed to replace them. I wasn't planning on telling anyone about them unless we needed new ones, as I was embarrassed by my less-than-stellar buying spree results.
It's not that Mariella fared any better. She once bought 15,000 live sheep, so our New Zealand farm now has a lot of sheep. She also bought 500 used ice cream makers, some of them broken, and then she'd emptied quite a few sex shop foreclosures, as she was a lust queen.
Shadow, our herbwolf who had a human form but wasn't present, usually bought plants and other items. We also had a lot of cow manure, as she bought 15 tonnes of it once, as well as chicken manure. Mimosa, our other wolf in human form (neither Mimosa nor Shadow were just wolves anymore; they were chimeras, like us), bought colorful and whimsical items, from paints to carpets to curtains and whatnot. She didn't always hit the mark, but we at least had fun while ordering; the hangover after it, not so much fun.
Currently, I was trying to compile my lunchboxes, keep Salvatore busy, avoid getting in his way, make my plans for today and the future, and take one day at a time, hoping for the best and fearing the worst. However, sometimes crises are exactly what brings people back together.