I was happily humming to myself as I reached for the freeze-dried berries from our larger freezer, piling several onto a basket beside me, ready for use. It was only six AM, but I wanted to bake my bottoms early so they could cool down as much as possible. This would give me ample time to prepare my buttercreams, fillings, and other components, as well as to take my sweet time decorating them.
I wasn't sure if the men would be doing culvert work today. I'd overheard them discussing contacting the city council to confirm whether the culverts and their upkeep were indeed the city's responsibility. Although the culverts were on our land, they had been built by the city.
Furthermore, people occasionally walked through our forest to reach the lake, and the men were uncertain if this was permissible or if they should fence off the forest. They also debated whether the city would clean the culverts if they were under their purview, or if we would receive tax deductions or some other compensation for doing the work ourselves.
The men had so many ideas. Of course, I had only been discussing an old case with Wulfe, as Jake had mentioned his uncle, who had city-run culverts on his land. His uncle had received compensation for their upkeep, and the city had even replaced them when they were damaged.
I was simply reminiscing, not so much manipulating, but more or less offering a few ideas to keep my husband engaged, ensuring my work would be uninterrupted and I would have the time to accomplish what I intended.
"Mimi, what are you doing? I can sense your smugness; what's going on?" Mariella asked through our mother hive.
She was busy learning and honing her skills concerning the hive, and checking on me seemed to be her favorite pastime.
I explained, "I'm making my cakes, filling them, and eventually decorating them. The men are occupied with permits and city laws, so I have my time."
Her reply was somewhat hesitant, "But surely the Salvatores and Damon will be onto you. Do you really want to challenge them? Wouldn't it be better to be open about what you're doing?"
Ah, she was once again on Team Pro-Damon, meaning she more or less worshipped Damon and wanted to do everything with him, confiding everything in him. It was her hormones, her pregnancy, and her jealousy of me having so many Salvatores.
I didn't bother to reply, recognizing her mood and knowing it would be futile to try and make her see my point of view. All it would likely achieve was her telling Damon what I was doing.
I continued with my preparations and planning, working in the cooler part of the kitchen, specifically the back section where the warmth from the oven didn't reach as much. This was to prevent the fillings from melting too soon.
I was aiming for one larger cake, or perhaps two per flavor, and I would use the rest of the batter for cupcakes, keeping the decorations thematic on them as well. This meant I would employ similar techniques, fillings, and decorating styles on both the cupcakes and cakes.
My boxes were already preserved, and I had chilled glasses or vessels where I would place my filled piping bags, ready for use. I had a multitude of nozzles for piping, along with a wide array of shades and ideas. I had studied my books and recipes at night, so my plan was set, and I absolutely did not want anyone interfering with my plans, not even Wulfe.
Despite knowing that when he noticed, he would butt in without asking permission, or Charles, or the Adam boys might do the same, not to mention the Salvatores, this was me. Once again, a pregnant alpha female wants to be selfish and not share my ideas or my tools.
As I placed my cake bases in the oven and moved on to working with my buttercreams and such, I failed to notice Adam walking into the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the children.
I had thought they might eat downstairs, since they had made a brief excursion downstairs in the evening and were spending the night there. So I had thought the kitchen would be mostly empty.
"Honey, what the hell are you doing back there?" Adam's voice asked.
He seemed a bit irritated.
I just said, "Cakes and cupcakes. Aren't the kids gonna eat downstairs?"
He grunted and said, "Nope, they are coming up here soon, since we have plans for them in the gym and such. What type of cakes are you making? I can sense you, my love, that you have a secret and are damn smug as well."
He had walked right behind me, his gaze landing on several books open at my workstation, my coloring agents, and piping bags with nozzles draped over mugs.
His grunt was irritated, and he leafed through one book. "I have never seen these. They seem professional, honey. Care to elaborate?"
I took a breath, and before I had a chance to say anything, a dark, dangerous voice said right next to my left ear, "I see I have one very naughty wife in my hands, hmm. Well, baby, it seems we will be plenty busy with you today."
This was number eight, and he was leaning over my shoulder, seeing my books as well. I could feel irritation coming from Wulfe in our hivemind, as well as number one and several other Salvatores, and Mariella, too.
I said, "I was feeling creative, and I wanted to focus on making proper cakes, not my fast-and-loose ones, but a bit more refined. I can do those as well."
It was number one who had also walked in, as girls and others were placing kids at the table, waiting for breakfast.
"Baby, baby, let's see what we do. It seems we could do a bit more bases and those boxes. Well, if you weren't aware, Charles has gotten serving rights at our occult shop as well, so we can take some of them there. But these recipes, your coloring agents, and those wonderful ideas rolling in your mind, well, baby, we can surely work together. Let's make damn fancy cakes." His tone was not playful but rather dominant.
And Wulfe walked in too, discussing with some salvatores about making this a team work.
A few hours later, I took another deep breath, focusing and biting my lip to avoid snapping at my husband, Damon.
He had been working with me on these cakes, but this time, as I piped, he interjected, "Oh, whatcha planning here, darlin'? Oh, I see, wait up, let me do the feathering."
He then plucked a toothpick from my grasp and began to run it through the gels I had just piped.
Meanwhile, Adam was surprisingly working with Mariella, who was clearly in a bad mood. Adam had strong opinions about the colors to use, taste-testing cupcakes, and dictating the flavor profile of the cake in hand, while Mariella had her own ideas.
She had been drawing inspiration from my books, attempting to recreate them, but Adam kept "helping" her, which really meant controlling her. He would cover her hands with his, press close, murmur in her ear, and ensure she was implementing his vision.
In my situation, Damon's desire to see my plans quickly turned into him snatching the piping bag to do the "fun part" or to simply do it alongside me.
I calmly stated, "You do that; I'll move on to my blueberry citrus cake. I have it ready."
Damon hummed under his breath, still carefully and slowly working on the feathering.
I then picked up my piping bag, filled with white buttercream curd mixture and some added gelatin. Before adding the mixture, I had sprinkled drops of color all over the inside of the bag, intending to create a multicolored effect. As I continued to fill it, I added more drops, ensuring a hint of color was present throughout.
My mixture tasted citrusy, and my cake was perfect. I had already coated it with white buttercream, and now it was time to decorate. I began by piping small, uniformly sized rosettes along the bottom edges, their coloring unique. I wasn't in a hurry, as I focused on my piping. Our cakes were quite small, and we had already completed many of them.
Salvatores was busy decorating stacks of cupcakes, most of which would be frozen. Meanwhile, some pack members were with the children in the gym and outside. Charles and Damon, on the other hand, were waiting for the city council's visit.
The council had promised to inspect the culverts, which had originally been constructed by the city. Since the land was now ours, there was a possibility that the city would be responsible for its maintenance. Furthermore, as the neglected culverts had caused flooding, there might be compensation coming our way if the city was indeed responsible for their upkeep.
After piping my rosettes, I picked up a small flower tip, grabbed another piping bag filled with a different palette of pink buttercream, and began creating buttercream roses.
"Oh, baby, that's fucking fantastic," Damon exclaimed, noticing my work. "Give it to me; I need it for this cake."
My patience was wearing thin, and Mariella snapped at Adam, telling him to back down and let her work. This only made Adam more dominant, as he pressed closer to Mariella and exerted more control over her.
As I continued focusing on making more roses, my dear husband happily stole them for his own cake. Although he could have made roses himself, he seemed to be in a mood for pilfering. Consequently, I decided to pause on making more roses for the moment.
Instead, I reached for another piping bag and prepared to create rosettes along the edge of the cake's top. Holding the cake steady with both hands, I began piping rosettes of uniform size. After completing about ten, my husband noticed.
Damon approached me again, encircling my hands with his as he murmured, "Let's do this together, baby, nice and easy. Let me show you."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as his hands guided mine with determined pressure and pace, his warm breath caressing my cheek and neck, his body looming over mine. He used one hand to reposition the cake, making it easier for us to pipe the rosettes.
Glancing at my other prepared piping bags, he softly said, "Good job getting them ready. See, this is fun, doing this together. Let's see what kind of cake this will be."
"I have my vision for this," I explained. "I was thinking of decorative swirls, not normal drapes, but something reminiscent of vampire language, like a word of love. I'd use my mint green buttercream for that, and then top it with roses made from multicolored buttercream. Finally, I'd add small dots using my pink passionfruit-flavored gel."
He hummed, then commented, "No dots. Let's make... I have an idea. I'll show you once we're done with this border. And no mint green – let's use dark red, passionfruit, on the sides. It's a good idea with the vampire language, but I'll handle those swirls. You're a bit sloppy."
"Fine, let's be sloppy then," I conceded in my mind, rolling my eyes once again.
I could hear the children's gleeful shouts as they ran around the living room. Lepard, Demon, and a few Salvatores had created a special route for them, their own running track woven from several corridors and looping around a portion of the upstairs. This allowed them to run and giggle, burning off their energy.
As I tried to muster my patience, my mind began to wander. I thought about the past, my experiences in not-so-good places, and everything I'd gone through. It truly hit me what Number Eight had once said, and it finally made sense. Still, it would take some effort for my mind to move on and simply accept my past.
Of course, my recollections seeped into Damon's mind, causing him to press me closer. Simultaneously, he banished my dark memories, as much hit from my mind as he could find and I could feel Wulfe in my mind as well, taking them away, marking them, preventing me from remembering even the slightest detail.
Damon murmured in my ear, "What did Number Eight say to you? Tell me again. I know he's one damn knotted-up soul, and it takes Mariella and me serious work to get him to loosen up and perhaps see what's bothering him."
I took a breath and answered him via our hivemind, "He said that a survivor is just a victim who didn't die. I get it. I really do."
Wulfe's voice echoed in my mind, "He is partially right, and then he is also partially wrong. A survivor is a victim, but not all victims are survivors. It's more like a survivor is someone who can move on, whereas a victim can't because the trauma is too much. It's a concept that might be hard to classify, per se, but then again, not everything concrete is easy to classify as it is personal. The objective experience of trauma is what everyone goes through; no two victims can be the same kind of survivors, as no one is identical."
I could feel Damon fiercely erasing the rot and nastiness from my mind, monitoring my thoughts, and stopping my neuroses from overwhelming me. I had my syndrome lurking just under the surface, and I could tell that not one of my husbands was very impressed with my state of mind, as my reflections over the weeks had poured so much nasty shit into my conscious mind, whirring my syndrome up.
"Damon, could you come with me to make cakes and decorate them too?" Mariella said, her voice a bit whiny because Adam had moved to make lunch for the kids.
There was a clear note of possessiveness and jealousy in her voice, and Damon was not in the mood to tolerate it at all.
So, he curtly said, "Nope, I am with Mimi, my baby mama. By the way, I want you to conduct the interrogation on Mariella tomorrow, maybe. Show me just how creepy you can be. Can you make her feel actual, brutal pain?"
My brows shot up, and Mariella whined even more, "But Damon, should I? I mean, I am pregnant, and what if it endangers our babies?"
Damon's voice was rather arctic. "Your fetuses will be fine, do not worry. I will make sure my babies, inside Mimi, are too cared for and not too stressed. Number four will take paternity tests next week, so we can then declare paternity claims and benefits."
Mariella snapped her mouth shut. Damon had denied being the father of her babies and declared himself to be mine. She was irate, but something in Damon's behavior or aura warned her not to misbehave, so she remained silent. Soon, however, she grew nervous as Number Eight walked beside her, oozing danger while helping with decorations.
Meanwhile, a random thought popped into my mind. Despite the fact that I would have to deal with it years from now, I was pondering what I had hidden from the prying minds of my husbands and from Wulfe. I could feel pressure around it, as if someone had found it and was trying to get in, but for now, it held.
Damon's voice echoed in my mind, "What are you hiding there? Wulfe knows, and so do others. We will break through, no matter what."
I replied telepathically, not wanting Mariella to comment, "I was just thinking about the rest of the pack. I mean, sure, we had our moments after your therapy and my time in the cage, and then we had some fun while planning this, but I have no idea how anyone has dealt with having my darkness. It's incredibly seductive, and even though Wulfe pulled it out, I guess some trauma might linger."
Damon fell silent.
Wulfe then spoke to me, "Good point. As far as I can tell, there haven't been any major issues; at least, no one has said anything, but..."
Damon was still silent, replaying the whole thing in his mind, twisting it, and trying to devise solutions. However, we wouldn't know for sure until this was all over, and Wulfe might then do some scanning, if he remembered.
I added it to my mental to-do list, waiting for the time when this domestic bliss would end, and the ugly world would once again be what we had to deal with. My mind was quite adept at generating ideas and identifying problems, so once again, I had given them something to consider.
I had been casually pondering my relationships with all the Salvatores: how close Number Five still was, how Number Eight had shown a pretty strong need to be with me, not to mention Number Two or Four.
And as I was just thinking, a sudden, strong sense of being hunted and chased, compounded by a flash of possessiveness, jealousy, and the need to have me, hit me. Damon just smirked darkly. Wulfe, who was still in my mind, did not seem to mind, and I could actually feel his jealousy as well. Made me roll my eyes.
Sure, this was all new, more or less, but come on, we had time, and all of the Salvatores were my husbands, and it was just good for me to have a deeper relationship with them. But the possessiveness that emanated from number one seemed to envelope me as well, my toddlers, my babies, and the litter I was carrying.
I hoped that at some point I might be able to make Mariella a bit more of a target for men, but I was not focused on it right now, as there was strong telepathic probing going on in my mind, and I was not going to tell them about my plans. It was time to move on, learn to live, go with the flow, and all that jazz.