It was early morning, and I walked to the kitchen, humming to myself. It was time for me to cook, as the men had been eager to tackle those culverts. Upon arriving home, they had taken my drone and watched the feed, spending a long time in one room planning and analyzing the number of pipes and what it would take to clear them.
Now, armed with rakes and suitable clothing, they headed back to the forest to clear the culverts. We also began seeking out others to clear culverts, ensuring they would be suitable for the time being. Charles and Damon had discussed businesses that might be able to replace those pipes or perform landscaping to prevent bogging, though much depended on the terrain and soil type.
I suspected that because it was a shallow dip, melting snow in springtime would flood it. Furthermore, being in the middle of the forest, leaf litter and debris had made it difficult for water to penetrate and seep down. Consequently, they would only see the full extent of the problem after the entire bog had drained and the forest floor was exposed.
Lepard and Demon accompanied them; their task was to ensure the riverbed was clear enough so that once the men got the water flowing properly, there would be no blockages until the lake. This meant they would have to walk along the creek and remove any larger obstacles, such as fallen trees or heavy clumps of dead vegetation.
Men tackled one pipe at a time, relying on their muscles rather than magic or energy. Simultaneously, some men picked berries and mushrooms, while others used a drone to meticulously map the area. They also transformed into their feline forms to scout for game animals and assess hunting conditions.
Last night, I had soaked my peas in broth, and since it was only 7 am, they would take some time to cook. However, I had plenty of time. My plan was to fetch some pieces of meat from the smokehouse and start boiling them.
As I was lifting my heavy pot onto the stove and adjusting it to warm up, a voice asked from behind me, "Whatcha doin', babe? Something new?"
Not all the Salvatores had left; numbers four, five, and eight were on childcare duty. Number four had entered the kitchen to see what I was planning. After all, he was ensuring that Mariella and I wouldn't experience any symptoms or troubles from our recent exercise with the culvert. His voice was somewhat steely and dangerous, hinting at his displeasure with my secrets.
I replied, "I'm making pea soup. It takes time, and as you spoke, I realized how these useful legumes are actually good for us. I got some dehydrated peas from my storage and soaked them in broth overnight. Now I have to cook it for a few hours, and I was planning to add some smoked meats to it."
Number four grunted and walked closer. "Thanks for the idea, babe," he said. "I'll get this done, or at least choose the meats for it and whatever else is needed. Since our broth is pretty saltless, let's make sure we have enough salt."
As I was still adjusting the stove, he moved closer and asked, "And please, do tell me who the hell Frank is, or was, as he popped into your mind. Someone needing to be eliminated after this?"
Oh, number four was getting jealous, which was a bit rare for him, though not unheard of, as he could be quite like number one from time to time, not always in the mood to be just Doctor Damon.
I explained calmly, "Frank was a flea, one who got away. He was good-looking and loyal as hell, but he was also happily married to his husband – as gay as gay can be. He had a big heart, though. He and his husband had children, five through several surrogates and, from what I heard, at least six through fostering, possibly more. They drank my blood, so they had a longer life."
I continued, my tone a bit wistful, "Frank absolutely loved my pea soup. I'd made it several times before, and I always brought large pots of it to our bases, which he consistently enjoyed. Frank wasn't a wonderful cook, and neither was his husband, so they usually bought pre-made meals from stores. Consequently, when someone brought home-cooked meals, he was always the first in line."
Number four grunted, his gaze still steely and his expression not much relaxed. I rolled my eyes, allowing my old memories to flood in, and then let him see them too. This was something I'd learned: letting the Salvatores glimpse my past, not all of it, but bits and pieces here and there, made them feel more connected to me. It had genuinely improved our relationships, serving as a testament to my trust in them.
I wasn't entirely sure if this strategy would work with Number One, as he was typically the one to blame himself for not being with me or for not being more involved. However, the other Salvatores had learned to let go and simply observe, to understand who I was.
Oh, and sometimes they'd challenge me, questioning my motives or the reasons behind certain mission choices. It was incredibly educational for both them and me. Still, as I said, I had no idea if it would be effective with Number One or even Mariella.
Number four grunted again and said, "Well, let's see what we're putting into this soup and how to make it perfect. Move over, let me taste."
"It's just starting," I replied. "It'll take time. I have my peas soaking, but they'll need a while longer. We can also put some tougher meat into a boil."
He pushed me aside, tasted the broth, and began opening cupboards, taking out jars of spices and herbs while humming to himself.
I still wasn't very hungry, and he was completely focused on seasoning the soup, so I said, "Well, I need to check on a few orders and my laundry. So, if you like, you can certainly handle my soup."
He just grunted, now fully immersed in cooking once again. I then ventured to my flower room to create a few arrangements and fulfill some orders. I also enjoyed preparing stems for myself, which was something I often did – many cleaned-out stems waiting to be tied into arrangements or bouquets, kept fresh and perfect in buckets of water.
I knew that whatever I created was usually sold pretty quickly. Our shop already had its own reputation, and being so close to the Canadian border, coupled with a few big hits, had truly given us a boost. So, things were good, even though it took effort. Since we weren't always open every day, demand remained consistently high.
I then reviewed my next order: red roses, blue accents, something white, and golden grasses. The request was for an airy yet lush, scented, and large table arrangement for a 75th-anniversary celebration, with a generous budget of $400. The client specified it should be patriotic, dignified, and classic, but not boring, and for a male recipient.
"Fine, let's get started," I thought.
As I began selecting my flowers, I mentally tallied the costs and visualized the final piece. The choices were abundant; I had at least six different types of grasses dyed gold to select from, not to mention the roses themselves, each with its own shade of red. However, the patriotic theme provided some direction, inspiring me to use as many American flowers as possible, minimizing imported ones.
My work once again fully captivated me.
I was deep in planning, slowly adding and prepping elements, when a telepathic request from Number Four cut through my concentration. "Baby, come to the kitchen and eat something," his voice demanded in my mind. "You've been there for hours; it's time for a meal."
He applied subtle psychic pressure, causing a headache to flare in my skull. I groaned; there was no need to try to fry my brain.
Yet, I was also a bit stubborn and might not have obeyed immediately if he hadn't ensured he had my attention. My hyperfocus, unique to me, usually kept me engrossed in whatever I was doing, and breaking it took a bit of effort. However, having telepaths made a difference, as the nasty pain lancing my mind certainly got my attention. I placed my stems back in their buckets and my arrangement in the cooler, awaiting a time to continue. It wasn't an urgent matter, as there were still three weeks left, and I had already established the foundation for the piece.
After leaving my flower room, I noticed it was already around ten in the morning. I decided I should probably eat something, even though I wasn't particularly hungry. However, remembering Number Four's earlier demands, I considered that perhaps avoiding another headache blooming in my skull was a priority. With that in mind, I walked to the kitchen, only to find it empty; I wasn't sure where he had gone.
My pea soup was bubbling gently on the stove, and I couldn't resist taking a peek. Approaching the stove, I lifted the lid, inhaling the rich, earthy aroma of the soup. As I reached for the ladle to check its readiness, a sudden bout of nausea overwhelmed me. I slammed the lid back down and practically ran to the nearest bathroom, where I violently threw up into the toilet, emptying the little I had in my stomach.
It took a few minutes for the spasms to subside, and I groaned internally. I wasn't feeling sick in the way one would with the stomach flu, but...
"God damn it," I thought.
It seemed like another blast from the past. After rinsing my mouth, I sat on the toilet for a few minutes before reaching for the medkit I kept in every bathroom. There it was: a pregnancy test. I took it, sat down, and watched as two lines formed almost instantly, confirming my status.
Suddenly, so many things began to add up, and I couldn't help but mentally curse my overeager breeder alpha male, whose new hobby seemed to be keeping me pregnant. I knew Mariella would likely be in the same situation, though with different partners. Oh, and my god, the revelation to her was going to be something else.
My hormonal mind conjured a few more unwelcome thoughts as I sat there, such as the fact that I now had more Salvatores than she did, and that they loved me more. I also mused about needing men in my life telling me what to do.
I was quite sure Number One's new hobby would once again involve limiting my life and preventing me from doing anything, simply because I was pregnant. This realization only added to my mounting stress.
I took another unused pregnancy test, as well as my version, and exited the bathroom.
I asked Mariella, "Where are you? I have a bit of news for you, and you might not like them."
Her response was, "I'm coming up. I was just organizing our clothing storages; I was allowed only what the Salvatores permitted, as they have their own opinions on what I can do."
As she spoke, I mused that her life would soon face even more limitations.
Number Four entered the kitchen while I sat at the table, awaiting Mariella. He looked at me for a moment before moving on to check the soup, carrying a box of smoked meats he intended to add. I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about my current state. My hormones seemed to have permitted themselves to flare up once again, and a flood of unwise ideas entered my mind.
Just then, Mariella finally walked into the kitchen and sat down.
She asked me, "So, what's going on? And what's this smell? It smells kind of nice."
Number Four replied, "Pea soup. Just a slightly new recipe, as the baby here was planning to make it herself. She's never given us this treat before, only to the fleas back in the day. And I'm on cooking duty, so I'm here making sure it's perfect."
Mariella then looked at me and said, "Oh, Mimi, you really should learn to share."
Oh, my god, I had such a witty comeback, but I controlled my response.
Through our mother hive, our secret part of the hive mind, I said to Mariella, "Now, you might be less happy about this, but go and show me that you're not..."
I discreetly gave her a pregnancy test, making sure Number Four didn't see it. Mariella looked at the test, then at me, and I nodded, my eyes rolling sarcastically.
"Really, I swear, if I am..." she hissed into our private channel.
I replied, "Remember the book? Damon smells me, makes me fertile, or I let him know I'm ready, and then he makes you... As we... and you know, we did... and you did..."
Mariella rolled her eyes, grabbed the test, and walked away without a word. Number Four looked at me curiously, clearly stumped by what had just happened. Ten minutes later, Mariella returned, showing me her positive test as well, her expression far less happy. Number Four had given me a meal, which I was eating slowly, no longer feeling too nauseous.
"I swear I am about to castrate Number One," Mariella declared aloud, causing Number Four to turn around and raise his brow.
"Come on, this is fucking ridiculous; we can do other stuff than this." She cussed almost.
I simply responded, "It is what it is. I just have no freaking idea if this is the new normal or if this is his new hobby."
Number Four walked closer and asked, "What has he done now, Number One? I mean, baby, I can sense you are quite fucking upset, and Mariella too."
Mariella handed him her test, prompting him to raise his brows and smile widely. "Oh, I see. Well, well, it seems we have a bit of a situation here once again. Now, what will it be this time? More medical troubles or just a nasty attitude? Have you two decided yet?"
I snorted, focusing on my meal and avoiding his trap. He was amused, happy, and also a bit worried as he remembered the culvert, those twigs, and such.
He said with no that brooked no argument, "You two will get medical attention once I clear this with Number One. Now, as you are under scrutiny and considering your situation, it will be paramount to ensure everything is fine. We will then see what size litters are coming."
He approached me and stated, "I won't taste your blood yet. As I said, there's no need for us to acquire the spores or whatever you two might have ingested. However, the day after tomorrow, you'll face a lengthy and detailed medical examination, so you'd best prepare. I've just shared this with the rest of the pack, so everyone is aware of the situation. You'll simply have to learn to deal with it, whatever Number One or Charles may decide."
I remained silent, continuing to eat my meal and attempting to put aside my worries about the future. I was preoccupied with calculating my current stage and potential due date. Given that my previous pregnancies had been quite demanding, I had no idea how long this one would last – 30 weeks or 36 weeks. Furthermore, I was uncertain about the number of little ones inside me; would it be five again, or even more? Goodness, I hoped for fewer, but I couldn't be sure.
Adding to my unease, my hormones seemed to have been given leave to flare up, and those unpleasant thoughts once again flashed through my mind: how much better I would be than Mariella. Oh my god, it appeared my future was once again going to be incredibly demanding for the entire pack.