As I gazed through the kitchen window, I could see the first signs of autumn once again. It was August, and in Minnesota, autumn arrives quite early, meaning winter would soon be upon us again. However, we had already weathered a few winters, and life had settled into its own rhythm.
Although not everything was perfect, I had learned to accept what I had, rather than longing for what I could have had. It was pointless for me to pine after someone who simply couldn't be with me, forging an unbreakable bond and loving me. If I dwelled on it further, I would fall into a funk, but thankfully, those who loved and cared for me would always ensure I emerged from it.
And then there were the kids... oh my goodness. Having five toddlers, all two years and four months old, constantly talking, thinking, and doing, and adding to that another five babies, six months old, who were also spry and eager to move and eat, well, let's just say my kitchen was currently less about fancy and much more about practicality. With ten little ones making messes, it was a busy place!
Our life was busy and wonderful. I had not had any contact with Damon—number one, the pissant, as I called him in my mind—ever since our argument. I referred to it as his explosion directed at me, although others said it wasn't really an argument but rather his stupid outburst that ruined everything. Still, it gave them a damn good time with me.
We had our lists, our duties, and we kept our fitness up as much as we could. Well, let's just say that my older girls—May, Lily, Emmylee, and Vivian—usually took care of the babies at night while I was kept busy in the bedroom by my protectors, husbands, dominators, lovers, and fucking machines.
Having rough, brutal sex with the Salvatores—and on weekends with Adam, Charles, the boys, and Wulfe—was one thing that kept me fit. They constantly smelled my pheromones, and all those around me picked up on what I was lacking or what was imbalanced, so they adjusted themselves perfectly for me.
Meaning they made perfect bump for me, and filled me up all night long and fed me during the day, my cortisol levels were strictly kept down, my stressors, my hive strands were investigated and they did not let indication of my neurosis even try to trigger, as this new connection, made by potion had made them very sensitive to me, as they were my protectors, and it made their soul sing as they took care of me.
The nights we shared were a passionate, brutal, and rough exchange, as they unleashed their primal need for me. In doing so, they ensured I was bathed in oxytocin and serotonin, effectively pushing my cortisol levels down. While sleep was elusive during those times, the experience was still perfect, almost beautiful in its raw intensity. They all declared a "fuckdebt" over me, claiming their time with me, and, oh boy, were they eager to collect.
Since it wasn't like making love on the beach, it was quite a physical effort that kept my body fit and my muscles firm. Again, my body needed to be challenged. Over the past three or four months, I had been a bit curious, especially after our little Amaranthus intoxication incident.
Following that week or so, there was an influx of Salvatores upstairs. I had no idea why, and I didn't even ask. Adam, Charles, the boys, and Wulfe also had to spend more time downstairs when the Salvatores, just passing through, took stuff from the upstairs roster—meaning cooking, cleaning, childcare—and firmly logged themselves upstairs.
At first, I thought maybe Mariella was eager to have some pussy slaves, but then again, as our passion at night took over, it wasn't that either. We were busy enough as it was, so I didn't ponder too much about why they were so eager to be upstairs.
It was Friday, our designated "trash food" day, and I had already planned our meals for this week and the next. We were making tortillas, or rather, pockets, which we'd found were easier for the kids to eat. So, it was time to create a variety of fillings once again.
Today, in the kitchen with me were numbers eight, two, and five. We were essentially running a test kitchen, almost competing to see who could make what. However, in the process, we also prepared a substantial amount of food for the coming weeks, ensuring an easier start to the week with ready-to-eat options.
We drew types of meat, and each of us was responsible for preparing most of it. Today, at Wulfe's insistence, we were to use older animals, as he knew they had a much richer flavor, and he wanted to maximize our stock material.
Salvatore had divided our stock into two portions, both continuously boiling and loaded with whatever we had. Because the rations varied and whatever ended up in them made each batch unique, we envisioned needing a few more pots of broth, as the kids loved drinking it. They also had boiling stock downstairs, which was practically our staple.
I was responsible for the horse, number two for the beef, and number eight for the pork. Wulfe, meanwhile, would handle the birds. I had a large pile of hens that had finished their egg-laying, as well as pet turkeys, and other older birds like geese, ducks, and even peacocks. Since these birds might have a strong flavor, it would be up to Wulfe to create something appealing from them.
As I was in charge of the horse, I knew I needed a sizable portion.
However, number two then announced, "Nine and ten are going into your reserve, and they will teleport each of us a whole carcass. Now, we have time to do this, so it's up to us to break it down, use some of it today, and prepare the rest."
I rolled my eyes; my horse carcasses were never small, so this would take some time. Still, since horse meat is tougher, most of it would need to be braised, low and slow, or cooked in a pressure cooker to become tender and flavorful.
We had the time, so, naturally, we'd start by breaking it down into primals, then subprimals, and finally individual cuts. After that, we'd see what fit in our fridge and what this horse actually tasted like.
Of course, there were small things that made this chopping process a bit easier. Certain bones, like hips, shoulder blades, and the spine, could be removed with a spell, so a hacksaw wasn't necessary. All that was needed was a good set of knives.
This was another thing the Salvatores loved to rob me of. I had acquired a few nice sets of knives, which I had reserved from various restaurants where I had done some PR gigs a long time ago. These knives were not cheap, and they were perfect. However, because I had a horde of eager husbands, jealous of my knives and always trying to limit which ones I used, my sets were pilfered from time to time.
A draft horse, with its strong, large muscles developed from a lifetime of work, would be lean, tough, and flavorful. Fortunately, I had a nifty machine that was going to help us. We had gotten it installed about two months prior, and boy, was it used! This machine took a piece of meat and a sheet of fat and embedded the fat into the meat, making it juicier.
Best of all, it allowed us to create new types of roasts, such as lamb roast with pig fat, or beef with pig fat, or rolled chunks of hare with beef suet – all tasty, tender, and juicy. This machine was going to be used once again, as we needed to incorporate fats into our meats.
However, according to the rules the Salvatores had devised, the main fat had to be from the same species, though not necessarily from the animal itself, but of the same species. Fortunately, thanks to our new machine, we had managed to sort and package the same fats, so it wasn't too difficult.
For instance, old, tough beef with plenty of good-quality tallow might make for a damn tasty meal. For me, though, we also had horse fat. But since horses are not typically food animals, their fat is always a bit off, meaning I had to get creative with my spices.
Why would we take such a risk and experiment with our food? Well, for many reasons. Toddlers, as usual, were fussy and always hungry, constantly asking for food, snacks, anything. We tried to keep mealtimes consistent, and Salvatore also made snacks, so we needed to offer them plenty of new tastes, including various meats.
Secondly, we didn't waste anything, and this presented a wonderful challenge for us. Everything would be used, and we would learn what works and what doesn't.
As we worked in the kitchen, we usually talked about anything and everything. My loving husbands, ever vigilant, would shield me telepathically from anything they or Wulfe deemed too distressing. This prevented me from having nightmares, making the experience quite therapeutic.
I also helped them as much as I could, chatting and comparing our experiences across the centuries. It was truly amazing. Nine versions of Damon could do this with me, love me, and live with me, but one could not. According to numbers eight and five, this was because number one, the "pissant," was too traumatized by the past, and Mariella hindered his healing.
"You know," I said to Number Two as we prepared to carve our large cuts of meat, "I see you, well, from my point of view, or how I perceived what happened to you through the botanist's eyes."
I had once possessed five knife sets, but now I only had one, and it wasn't the longest or sharpest.
"Oh, really? What do you mean, baby?" number two replied, engrossed in his own beef carcass.
Wulfe entered the kitchen, and I turned to him.
"Oh, my love," he exclaimed, "I can't wait to help with that! I can make sure there's enough fat embedded in there."
He clearly adored our machine and was now checking the stocks for our little competition, though he also had his own meats to sort.
I smiled at Wulfe. "You focus on your meats. Let me worry about mine. You have your hands full."
I then turned back to my work, separating the front end and breaking it down further, transforming one primal cut into subprimals as I continued.
"Well, I see you like a berry bush in the backyard, perhaps a blackcurrant or something similar," I began, explaining my vision.
As I focused my senses, I noticed many things around me, as one of Salvatores grunted, and I felt the weight of the knife in my hand. The unique scents of my husband – passionfruit and burning woods added their scents of weather and wildness–all mingled, meaning the stories that pheromones told me, swirling around us, creating a sense of warmth and relaxation.
The stainless steel countertop, gleaming brightly, enhanced with self-cleaning spells, was where my carcass rested. Those runes were carved there by Wulfe and number four. We didn't wear gloves, not only because they were unnecessary, but also because my skin was too sensitive for prolonged wear.
"You trim the bush, you know," I continued. "Imagine you have eleven branches, but you remove nine. What's left is the rootstock and a few shoots. However, those trimmed branches still hold potential and can be planted to grow." I paused, then added, "From that point, they become individuals, yet they remember their origin. They will grow according to certain rules, but their development can vary greatly depending on their environment, nourishment, and any pests they encounter."
Number Two grunted low in his throat and commented, "So, according to your theory, Bridgette clipped us off, and then, when the time was right, we began to grow in our own places?"
I nodded. "But as you know, part of you remained – those stumps. Well, as I see it, it's not perfect, but it's the most accurate analogy I can come up with. Now you are growing independently, but you still have a connection to the rootstock, the original source. And you all have certain rules guiding your growth."
I took a breath. "Now, as Number One has convinced himself that he poisoned Damien with our love and obsessions, leading him to come after me, I see it differently."
My voice trailed off as I pondered my botanical metaphor for my husbands.
Someone grunted and softly said, "Go on, this is actually helpful, far more helpful than Wulfe's weird little example with fingers and their usage."
Wulfe rolled his eyes but also said to me, "He is right, you know. You, my unicorn, have a unique way of seeing things from a point of view I hadn't even considered."
One of my older girls, Lily, walked in and rather dryly said to Wulfe, "It's called a feminine mind. We women, see things differently than you. For you, it's all mechanics, function, and utility, but we see how things are interconnected. That makes a hell of a big difference."
Her voice was a bit snobbish, but she walked up to me to see what I was doing. "Mom, please remember that we have babies who need tender meat too, so I don't think you're getting anything for them."
I calmly replied, "We have other meats as well. I do know we have babies; I am the one who grew them inside me."
She just scoffed, as she liked to rile me up, and pressed on, "I'm not sure if I'm in the mood for tortillas, so I might just take the meats and sauces and not those pockets. I don't want to be an example all the time."
I said, "You eat the same as others. We are all examples, and we will all be eating tortilla pockets, so zip it."
She pursed her lips and continued, wanting to challenge me. "But I want something fresh then, tender meat, not these damn shoe leathers that you think will taste so freaking good after chewing them for hours."
I took a breath and looked at my daughter. She now had red hair, thanks to Salvatore's unique compounds made inside their sinuses, which they injected via their fangs. As we were somewhat special, changing hair color was easy. Her few shades of lighter blue eyes looked at my blueberry blue ones, her pouty mouth pursed, and her high cheekbones from Damon made her very pretty.
She had more of Damon's temperament, meaning she wasn't so patient and liked to rile people up from time to time, and she was pretty good at it, too. Her vampiric pale skin was flawless, and she was taller than I, lithe, and quite lean, but not as shapeless as I was.
I calmly said to her, keeping my patience, "You'll be surprised, because we're serving you a meal soon enough. Please stop pouting; you're hardly a toddler. Or perhaps you're getting too many bad ideas. If you're bored, I imagine the babies will wake up soon enough. It's tummy time and playtime after their morning milk, so you, my girl, will be plenty busy, as the toddlers will surely assist you."
Indeed, they did. They had embraced their roles as big sisters and big brothers, having observed how the babies grew and learned new things, how we sang to them or talked to them. Consequently, the toddlers were always ready for baby care.
This could be rather tedious, as you had ten children to watch over, giving each of them individual attention. You had to try not to let them become too jealous, while also ensuring the babies were changed, fed, and played with.
My five babies were not quiet, well-behaved ones, but rather loud, impatient, and always ready to wail for any reason. Therefore, I had to, from time to time, hang them on me via a carrier and keep them with me while I cooked or did other tasks.
This, of course, made the toddlers jealous, and they would cling to me, regardless of what others did. Being a parent is not easy. There were many more challenges, and each day we simply had to go with the flow, be parents, raise the children, and do the work.
Part of me was happy that Damon was such a pissant, as it meant he wasn't here to get me pregnant again. I was so incredibly fertile, and the mere idea of a third batch of babies sometimes made me sigh, hoping it wouldn't happen anytime soon. Of course, my dear husbands found this amusing, and many of them were more than ready for me to be pregnant again once Damon got over his crisis.
Our life was proceeding as usual. Since it was early morning, no children were awake yet, leaving us with a little time to prepare for the day and the upcoming weekend. As for what the future would bring, I had no idea what challenges it would once again throw my way, making my life even more difficult than it already was.
I recall this period with fondness, and it's something that has happened a few more times since, I can reveal that much. During those times, well, let's just say the whole pack was there. If Damon thought managing my and Mariella's pregnancy, with all its hormones, cravings, and attitudes, was hard during that first bout, he was certainly in for a surprise of a lifetime. This was especially true when all the females of the pack – Mimosa, Shadow, Elena, and Katherine – were living with us, also pregnant and grumpy.
This experience taught me a great deal about myself, my ideas, and my suitability as a parent. As funny as it is to admit, I'm not perfect, not as a parent, and not as a wife. However, these imperfections made the entire experience so much more stimulating.
– Mimi Salvatore