I was walking through the snowy yard, intending to get my breakfast. We had a lot of meat, and I wanted something special – a luxury cut, perhaps. Right now, though, I was aiming for a nice, full wagyu prime rib that I knew was in one of the meat lockers outside. My plan was to cut it into steaks and have a hearty breakfast, as I wasn't in the mood to share.
This time, since it had been weeks since our argument, "dickweed" or "pissant," as I currently called him, Damon number one, had been downstairs with no contact. So, let him. I didn't care; God knows I had my hands full as it was.
Five toddlers, all around two years old, were constantly challenging us. They seemed to be everywhere at once and always doing something they shouldn't. Furthermore, their wills were emerging with ever-increasing intensity, leading to fights over food.
This meant they refused to eat some of the food that had been served in the last meal, with absolutely no rhyme or reason as to why. Consequently, every single mealtime was an occasion for great excitement: would they eat this, or what could we try next?
According to all the books, this was supposed to be happening. We were meant to let them use their wills and coax them gently without overpowering them, giving them choices even if it meant every task took thrice as long, like dressing them.
No longer could I choose their outfits and put them on. Instead, we would look through the options together. I would present two or three choices, and then they would pick. Try doing this with five toddlers, and you'll spend hours just getting them dressed. Luckily, I wasn't the only one dressing them; others were helping as well.
It was early morning, and those toddlers were sleeping. My cranky babies, who seemed to want to be awake all night and sleep more during the day, were also asleep, if they were in the mood.
Being a parent isn't always glamorous, and then there were my relationships with my husbands. With Wulfe, my other half, my soulmate, we needed to make time for ourselves, too, but sometimes it felt like I had no time for myself. I was always giving my time to someone else, but hey, this was everyday life, and it had taught me a few lessons.
The first lesson learned was to be incredibly careful what you wish for, because when your desires become reality, they are often far less fucking enjoyable than you imagined.
A long time ago, when I first established my resistance organization, I harbored semi-romantic notions of Damon and me undertaking activities together. However, the reality of his evil twin inhabiting him prevented those dreams from materializing. One specific fantasy involved him teaching me Italian.
Now that it had actually happened, I found myself less than thrilled. For one thing, I had already learned Italian long ago from other tutors. Secondly, the Salvatores were incredibly strict teachers, unafraid to correct me. Thirdly, it was a necessity: according to number two, every time I spoke Italian, it grated on their ears due to my mangled pronunciation, my misuse of words, and my speaking style, which was akin to a French housewife who'd had too much white wine and learned Italian from a mail-order language kit.
Consequently, they had a great deal of work to do, and it was immensely frustrating. Still, my ego usually kicked in, and I persevered as long as I could. When I had finally had enough, I would invariably end up cursing in Finnish, prompting my smug husbands to smirk and ask for clarification, after which they would comment even further on my inventive vocabulary.
I was also planning to procure a few more pieces of meat, as I desired a wide variety. Besides, I intended to prepare them as snacks for myself, for any that I didn't consume during breakfast. While I wasn't assigned food duty, it was early morning, and not uncommon for myself or anyone else to prepare their own breakfast.
Today, I was actually working and organizing my paperwork, and I had a large quantity of flowers to sort, arrange, and prepare according to client orders. I also needed to complete my paperwork for benefits, ensuring I had given every last scrap of documentation to Charles, who was handling my taxes.
Therefore, there was no need for him to inquire if anything was missing. I would be busy, so snacks, like sticks of meat, perhaps even breaded, would be most welcome, along with plenty of coffee.
I opened the door to the meat locker, a large white container similar to those loaded onto ships, and stepped inside. Although it was chilly outside, even with the sun shining, the cold didn't really affect me immediately because I was wearing my warm jacket. I walked over to the shelves where my vacuum-packed, cut pieces of meat were stacked.
I began collecting them into my large basket: ribeyes, several picanhans, neck fillets of lamb, pork neck steaks, and a few roasts. I also grabbed five kilos of bones for Wulfe, as he cared for most of our stock, and I always had something for him. Additionally, I took a ten-pound sack of trimmings, planning to grind some meat and make meatballs with a mix of species, including small game, beef, and pork – almost everything we had, ensuring it would be tasty.
I was preparing a simple yet delicious breakfast, and I knew exactly what I needed to eat. I also knew that the more I ate, the better it would be for me. However, I made a mental note to quickly consume my coffee and Coke, as it was paramount for my system to utilize the meat most efficiently. Caffeine was essential for me; without it, nothing worked as it should. This reliance had only increased as I had gotten older. Age, though not outwardly apparent, does accumulate.
The vacuum-packed packages felt chilly in my hands as I placed them in my basket, and its weight grew with each addition. Fortunately, I was strong enough to carry a considerable amount. In my normal fitness, I could outperform five human males in peak physique combined, so a few dozen pounds of frozen meat was no challenge.
I picked a bit of this and a bit of that as I moved along the shelves. I knew this meat was needed; our freezer was well-stocked, but I also knew that Salvatore's boys hadn't taken inventory of my meat lockers. God forbid they did, as I might lose it, and properly so.
It was merely my habit to claim ownership of everything, though, in truth, who was I kidding? I had, for the most part, been the one to acquire most of our supplies, to dictate our needs, where to find them, and who would retrieve them. It was only now that I realized this. This tendency was simply another way I belittled myself, meaning I failed to give myself credit for my accomplishments.
Perhaps it was a good thing that I was beginning to understand these things, to recognize my own actions. However, at the same time, I was striving to maintain my composure, to prevent my ego from becoming inflated. I was an alpha female, the highest-ranking female in our pack, and I had my responsibilities.
I was also the mother of ten: five toddlers, nearly two years old, and five infants, making for a large family. To this, we must add fourteen husbands. One of them, Damon, number one, my so-called alpha male, was a complete dickweed, taking his emotional dysregulation out on me. He was the one who had shouted at me, called me a whore, and who knows what else, without ever bothering to apologize. In my estimation, he was a dickweed, a pissant, an arrogant bastard, and much more, as I could be quite creative when naming men like him.
Our family also included Wulfe, my soulmate and vampire guardian, my other half. Then there was Mariella, our beta female. I also had four older daughters, now grown and disturbingly like me, which meant we had our issues since one cannot argue well with oneself.
Mariella, in turn, had three toddlers, six babies, and four older daughters of her own. Consequently, our pack was large, and our food consumption was substantial, primarily meat. After all, we were feline shifter vampire chimeras, obligate carnivores with hypermetabolism.
As I finally filled my basket, a soft hum escaped my lips. I had gathered plenty of ingredients, and since it was barely six AM, I knew no one else would be awake. Toddlers typically stirred around eight, and the babies, having been fed at five, would still be sleeping soundly. This meant the kitchen would be all mine. I considered preheating the ovens for the cooks, but I wasn't quite sure yet.
I had also selected a few extra treats that had caught my eye, and I was eagerly anticipating them.
As I trudged back through the yard, I spoke to myself, planning my culinary creations. "I'll butterfly those flank steaks and give them a quick sear in the pan with butter – just perfect. For the ribeye, I'll make nice, thick steaks, flattened just a bit. And I have those fluffy buns ready to fill with my salted salmon. I still have cream cheese and chives left, too. Hmm, a perfect breakfast." I decided to make a few extra buns for myself, wrap them neatly in cling film, and take them with me. "I can snack while I work, no need to return to the kitchen," I thought.
I had grabbed a five-kilogram package of salted salmon, which I considered my personal treat. I also took several salmon fillets, intending them for the smokehouse or the oven. Whoever was on food duty could certainly find a use for them, but my salted perfection – it had been some time since I'd last enjoyed it.
Finally reaching the kitchen, I flicked on the lights and turned the ovens on to warm up. Our stock was already gently simmering, as it was always kept heated. My basket seemed quite full, and since adding more to it was Wulfe's favorite task, I decided to leave that to him.
Humming Abba's "Waterloo" under my breath, I began arranging my meats and salmon on the counters. I placed the frozen items on the warming spots to thaw, but my salmon was only cold, so I set it aside. Next, I prepared my pans and butter, got my plates ready, and organized my lunchboxes, as I planned to make my snacks concurrently and fill my box as I worked.
"Morning, Mimi honey. You're up early! What are you planning here?" a warm voice asked from behind me, followed by strong arms encircling me.
I was pulled against the solid body of my husband, Adam Hauptman. As usual, he was the first, or nearly the first, to wake up. He smelled my hair, held me tightly against his chest, and hummed happily.
I explained, "Just fixing my breakfast. I have a workday ahead. Orders are pouring in, so I need to make five arrangements, take care of my benefits, and ensure I have this ridiculously long list of all the paperwork and financial documents for Charles. He's filing my business taxes and gave me an actual list of items he needs. Then, I need to see if our jewelry and crystal shop requires anything, plus the snakes need to be checked today, too."
Adam replied, "It seems you'll be busy. Well, I'm off after breakfast to visit our farm. I need to check quite a few things there, then I'm off shopping with long shopping lists. I'm going to the larger market for some good bargains, but I should be back by noon or a bit later. I can help you with the snakes or flowers, too."
I smiled and turned around as he loosened his grip slightly. "No need. Those arrangements were requested of me, so I have to be the one doing them. I'm also going to fix myself a basket full of food to snack on while working, so there's no need for me to come to the kitchen to eat every three hours."
His eyes lit up.
"Do you have enough for me, too? Come on, let me see what you have here, my love," he crooned, peeking at the various items on the counter.
I handed him the morning paper, as that was one thing he always did: read the morning paper first, and then perhaps eat breakfast. I had also put coffee on, so the aromatic smell of coffee was slowly wafting towards him.
"I could have a cup of coffee, my love," he smirked at me, settling down with his newspaper.
I gave him a full thermos and one cup so he could pour and sip while reading. This has been his morning routine for all the centuries I've known him. It's funny; it's been at least a few centuries since I was last human. Time certainly flies, and one doesn't always necessarily even notice it.
He was a strikingly handsome man, a veritable hunk. As I watched him read his paper, he reminded me of Goran Visnjic from the hit drama series *ER* a long time ago. However, he possessed a crueler, sharper expression, and a supernatural, predatory aura emanated from him. He wasn't merely a cuddlebug; he could be very dangerous when necessary.
In contrast, I didn't resemble any actress or celebrity. My face, however, was perfectly symmetrical with flawless features. Nothing was too small or too big, except for my large, dark blue eyes. My face was quite expressive, as I readily showed my emotions.
My long, blood-red hair cascaded down my back like a river of blood, forming big, bushy, messy curls. My slender frame, barely five feet three inches, made me appear frail and weak. Yet, I was a strong creature and had often used my nondescript appearance to my advantage, especially since I had many enemies in the real world. Blending in was a useful tactic when one had to remain unseen.
My skin was almost vampirically pale. Despite my red hair, it wasn't my natural color. I wasn't entirely sure, much like Sadie, one of my toddlers, who was a redhead. Then again, there were blondes and black-haired children, too. Damon, on the other hand, had almost blue-black, shiny hair with a white tuft, marking him as a wizard.
I was opening my packets of meat; not all of them were frozen. My set of knives lay beside me, along with a large bowl for the trimmings I'd prepare for my ground meat later. I opened a huge prime rib, its thick layer of fat tinged yellow from being hung, promising delicious flavor.
With my very sharp knife, I began to peel away the fat and most of the bones, aiming for boneless meat. I let the knife do the work, gliding effortlessly through the meat, fat, and gristle, my hand remaining steady. It was nostalgic how I had once possessed no such skills, but necessity truly is the mother of invention.
I hummed a selection of ABBA songs as I worked. When Adam finished his paper, he got up and came to me, wrapping himself around me. It was perfect, as I could sense through the hive that he simply wanted to be close, to hold me.
He wasn't here to interfere with my meats, yet his hands were restless, finding my nipples, perhaps indicating he was trying to provoke me instead. However, both of us had things to do today. Maybe later, in the evening, if he happened to wander into my bedroom, who knew what might transpire. But for now, the day was just beginning, and what a glorious day it would be.