15
The Morning After
Iwoke to the smell of pancakes.
This was notable for several reasons. First, because the manor's kitchen typically produced elegant, sophisticated breakfasts—poached eggs with hollandaise, delicate pastries, fresh fruit arranged like art. Pancakes were a departure. Second, because the smell was coming frominsidemy room, not drifting up from the kitchen below. And third, because when I opened my eyes, I found a tray resting on the bedside table laden with a stack of golden, fluffy pancakes, a small pitcher of maple syrup, a pat of butter melting slowly on top, and a vase holding a single pink rose.
Propped against the vase was a note in handwriting I recognized as Selene's elegant script:Eat. You'll need your strength. —S
I smiled and reached for the tray, pulling it onto my lap. The first bite was heaven—light and sweet and somehow infused with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon that tasted like comfortitself. I was halfway through the stack when the door creaked open and Lucien appeared, two mugs of coffee in his hands.
"You're awake," he said, his voice still rough with sleep. He was wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants, his hair a disaster of dark waves, his amber eyes soft and warm. "Selene said to bring you coffee. Black, two sugars."
"You remembered how I take it." I accepted the mug and took a sip, the bitter heat cutting through the sweetness of the pancakes. "Thank you."
He shrugged, but his ears turned faintly pink. "It's not hard. You're predictable."
"I prefer 'consistent.'" I patted the bed beside me. "Sit. Share my pancakes."
He hesitated for only a moment before settling onto the mattress, his back against the headboard, his thigh pressed against mine. I fed him a bite of pancake, and he accepted it with a grudging grunt of approval.
"Not bad," he admitted. "Selene's been experimenting with human recipes. Darius pretends he doesn't care, but I saw him eat three of these earlier."
I laughed, imagining the stoic vampire crime lord sneaking pancakes like a guilty child. "Where is everyone?"
"Selene's in the greenhouse. Azrael is in the library, organizing something for the shop. Darius is in his study, brooding over ledgers." Lucien's amber eyes met mine, warm and unguarded. "And I'm here. With you."
My heart fluttered. "I like that. Being here with you."
We finished the pancakes in comfortable silence, sharing the last bites and licking syrup from our fingers. When the tray was empty, Lucien took it and set it aside, then pulled me against his chest. I went willingly, curling into his warmth, my head resting over his heart.
"I'm not good at this," he said quietly, his hand stroking my hair. "The domestic stuff. The soft mornings. I don't know how to do it."
"You're doing fine." I pressed a kiss to his chest. "Better than fine. You brought me coffee and let me feed you pancakes. That's peak domestic bliss."
He huffed a laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm yours."
His arms tightened around me. "Yeah. You are."
We stayed like that for a while longer, until the sounds of the manor waking filtered through the door—footsteps in the corridor, the distant clatter of dishes, the low murmur of voices. Eventually, I extracted myself from Lucien's embrace and dressed in soft leggings and an oversized sweater that smelled faintly of Darius's cedar-and-spice cologne.
Downstairs, the kitchen was a hive of activity. Selene stood at the stove, flipping another batch of pancakes with practiced ease. Azrael sat at the island, a laptop open in front of him, his golden eyes fixed on the screen with intense concentration. Darius leaned against the counter, a cup of coffee in his hand, his silver eyes tracking me the moment I entered.
"Good morning," he said, his voice warm. "Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I have in weeks." I crossed to him and rose on my toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He stiffened for just a moment—still not used to casual affection—and then relaxed, his free hand coming up to rest on my hip.
"Good," he murmured. "You needed the rest."
Selene turned from the stove, her emerald eyes sparkling. "Pancakes? There's still batter."
"I already ate the ones you left me. They were perfect." I moved to the island and peered over Azrael's shoulder at the laptop screen. "What are you working on?"
"The Moonlit Trinkets shop page," he said, tilting the screen so I could see. "I'm drafting the product descriptions. I thought I'd start with the enchanted candles." He paused, his golden eyes flickering to me. "Is 'infused with calming energy' too vague? I want to be accurate without revealing too much."
I read over his shoulder. The description was beautiful—lyrical and evocative, promising a "sense of peace and well-being" without making any specific magical claims. "It's perfect. Mysterious but not alarming. Exactly what we want."
