by Sienna Aylen
Emma mentally smacked herself. She was two thousand years old, for Christ’s sake. Over the years, she had met more people than she could ever count. No one’s opinion had ever mattered to her, except for her sisters’. His parents had practically been toddlers compared to how old she was—she had over a millennia more experience and years than them. If anything, she should feel like a wise old grandmother at her age. But she didn’t. She still felt inexperienced.
She couldn’t shake the anxiety that crowded her mind. It’s just dinner. You’re just freaking out because he finally asked you out. On the same day he wants you to meet his parents. You can handle this.
It would be a new experience, meeting the parents of her date. Damien’s parents, the people who’d raised him to be the irritatingly obnoxious and adorable man he was. Emma shook her head, trying center herself. Screw it though. If they didn’t like her, then it was their loss. Damien’s opinion was the only one that mattered besides her own.
Emma secured her hair at the base of her neck with an ornamental clip and selected an outfit for the evening. A black sweater, jeans and tennis shoes. Good enough.
Simple and comfortable. Her armor.
Between the sweater and her gloves, there shouldn’t be any chance of her skin touching any objects. She would be damned if she had an episode the first time she met the potential in-laws. As a finishing touch, for some added confidence, she swiped a small amount of pink gloss over her lips before striding out of her room to meet Damien and the others at the bottom of the staircase.
* * * *
Damien motioned for the others to walk ahead, affording him and his date a bit of privacy. Giving her a once-over, he whistled under his breath. “Beautiful. ” His hand engulfed Emma’s as they followed a foot trail through the trees on the short jaunt through the woods to his parents’ home. The green canopy overhead was aglow, sunrays peeking through the leaves and making spotlights on the ground below. Squirrels chattered away and an array of birds crooned and cawed at their passing. The sun was just about to make its descent over the horizon when they strolled up the front steps into the large cottage. The smell of freshly chopped garlic and herbs floated through the air.
Damien couldn’t help but notice the way Emma was worrying her lower lip, making it plump and red. Her deep-set eyes were very expressive, a mysterious shade of green, and the moment he opened the door, they filled with anxiety and nerves. Her eyes gave away everything and were the only part of her that did. She could hide her emotions with every other part of her face but her eyes always told the truth. Dark circles outlined them, but even they couldn’t detract from her natural beauty.
Placing a comforting arm around her waist, he ushered her inside. As they came through the hallway into the living room, a tall, svelte blonde rushed forward and pulled Damien down into the fierce hug only mothers could give. The older his mother got, the more gorgeous she became in his eyes. Only a few wrinkles marked the skin around her eyes and the hint of laugh lines played at the corners of her mouth. Her long hair, just a shade lighter than his own, was pulled up into a twist at the nape of her neck and secured with two silver chopsticks.
Stella leaned up and whispered so low only Damien would hear, “I can’t believe I’m going to have a Council member for a daughter-in-law. You always were an overachiever.”
Damien noticed Emma step to the side with Gwen and Tessa, waiting to be introduced. They seemed to admire the house. His parents’ home was a smaller version of the main house, different colors and a more feminine touch with throw blankets and flowers, but the same layout and same oversized furniture. The one big exception was the wall of glass that opened up to their backyard, making the indoor space feel twice as large.
He followed Emma’s gaze through the glass doors to the backyard where Lysa, his father and Bleu were busy stacking wood in the firepit. When Damien pulled out of the hug, Emma went to extend her hand to Stella in a handshake. But his mother ignored the offering and hauled her into a hug instead.
Pulling back, his mother smiled and looked at where Damien’s hand had moved to rest possessively on Emma’s lower back. “It’s nice to meet you”—Stella swung her gaze to include all three of the sisters—“All of you. Come on in and mingle. I sent my mate outside with Lysa and Bleu to set things up for later. Emma, would you mind helping me out in the kitchen? The rest of you ladies can relax outside with the rest of the brood. We’ll holler when dinner’s done.”
Before Emma could open her mouth to form a reply, Stella was already heading toward the kitchen. Damien couldn’t contain his smile. Emma was his, whether his parents liked it or not, but things would go much smoother if they all got along. His mother hugging Emma was her sign of acceptance, as was the invitation to help her in the kitchen. Emma didn’t know it yet, but his mother was fiercely protective of her kitchen and guarded it jealously. An invitation to help her cook in it was harder to get than a formal summons to see the Pope.
When Emma didn’t move right away but stared with a semi-stunned expression in the direction his mother had gone, he patted her on the behind and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Go on, get in there. She won’t bite…much.”
Augustus was stacking the last piece of wood on top of the pile and wiping off his hands as Damien went outside. His father sniffed the air and immediately turned around to greet him and the Council sisters. Striding forward, he introduced himself to Gwen and Tessa and pulled Damien into a mannish hug, both of them smacking each other on the back before separating.
Lysa ran forward to greet the women. “Hey, Damien, I’m stealing these two away for some girl talk,” she announced.
Knowing Lysa, Damien sat down on the steps next to Bleu while she commandeered the sisters and took them across the yard. “Hunter said he would show up as soon as he finishes up with Tyler.”
Handing Damien a beer, Augustus then propped his arms on the step behind him. Damien followed his gaze to where Lysa was showing the other women their tire swing. Augustus tapped his bottle against the steps. “Where’s Emma?”
Damien shared a knowing look with Bleu. “Mom took her hostage in the kitchen. Probably to grill her with a thousand questions.”
Augustus chuckled. “I heard all about your escapades with her yesterday. We got visits from curious Clan members all day. Talk about the worksite and a make-out session in the garage. It drove your mom nuts, having to hear everything from the neighbors. Betsy, Jeff, Lisa, Rita, Louisa… The list goes on and on, they all showed up one after the other. We might as well have a Clan meeting with how fast word has spread. Everyone wants to know who your little minx is and how long she’s going to stay.”
Bleu nodded. “Seriously, Damien, I was just ambushed in the office today by Susan. She was determined to know if I knew about my new sister-in-law. A few days ago, you smelled like you, like dirt and outside, but now you smell like cupcakes.”
“What can I say? When I want something, I go for it.” Damien shrugged. Scents were everything to his kind and Emma’s scent was a unique mixture of vanilla and honey. The transfer of her scent onto him was a sign of their mating. It was proof she was his. His bear growled in arousal, wanting to roll around and bury himself in the divine scent. Wanting to stake his claim and make her his. But it would have to wait. Emma deserved to be courted and he had every intention of wooing her. “She’s mine, end of story.”
“Does she know that yet?” asked Bleu, his tone serious.
“Nope. He’s using the classic Ryder tactic of the sneak attack. The same one I used on your mother all those years ago. You catch them off-guard at first, then keep them off-balance until they’re so wrapped up in it all that they wouldn’t possibly think about leaving.” Augustus gestured at Hunter as he ambled out of the woods in bear form right behind the girls. Nine hundred pounds of bear crouched down and inched his way closer, behind Tessa’s back.
Hunter lifted to stand on two legs and sniffed Tessa’s neck. Shrieking, Tessa fell off the tire
swing and wiped at the wetness that coated the back of her neck. Glaring at Gwen’s and Lysa’s cackling, she huffed, “Thanks for warning me, guys!”
When she turned around, Hunter licked up the side of her face like a dog. “Yuck!” Tessa jumped on top of him and tried to wrestle the grizzly to the ground.
Augustus tipped his beer bottle at Bleu and Damien. “See, your brother knows how it’s done.”
Twenty minutes later, Damien was inside and pouring his father a glass of whiskey from the bar. He just topped off the rim when he heard the clinking of glasses and boisterous laughter coming from the kitchen. Peeking around the corner, he surveyed the scene in front of him. His mother was lounging at the counter on one of the barstools, drink in hand, giggling hysterically. Emma was up to her elbows in dough and was punching it down with her sticky bare fists, laughing and spouting in a ridiculous French accent, “And zen you beat eet. Just like Julia did.”
He had never seen such a sight. There was flour everywhere. The counter, the sink and the floor were covered in the dusty white powder. Every time Emma punched the poor, unsuspecting lump of dough, another cloud of the pale dust flew up into the air.
Both women had glasses half-filled with what he suspected was his mother’s favorite red wine and matching lip stains colored the rims. Emma’s personal Mason jar gave the wine a very casual feel while Stella’s wine flute dressed it up. Damien knew that he would always remember the image of his mate and his mother laughing and joking with each other.
Not wanting to ruin the moment, he backed out of the room before he got caught out in the cardinal sin of trespassing in Stella’s domain.
Emma couldn’t believe how much fun she was having. Stella was a doll. The older woman gave the impression of being a doting mother, with her neat apron and well-ordered home but underneath it all Emma sensed an acute intelligence and an enormous amount of spunk. The twinkle in Stella’s eye gave it away. What Tessa would call a schemer—a woman who knew what she wanted and didn’t let anything stand in her way. Emma would have staked her money on the fact that Stella didn’t run scared when she met her mate. She probably ran because she knew he would be enticed to follow her. Of all the women in the Clan, she would be the woman to talk to about the ‘accidents’. Emma planned to get her theories later about who might be a potential suspect.
With a little wine and a lot of talk, Emma realized she had met Stella before. Back when Stella was young and in Europe, they had met by coincidence the night right before Stella had met Augustus.
Emma had been coming out of a bank when she’d almost run right into the she bear. They’d gotten to talking and Stella had invited Emma to join her and a few friends at the bar the next night but Emma had declined. Stella remembered that night too after Emma asked her about it. “It was you! I remember! I had no idea you were part of the Council. You were so elegant with your red hair in that bun and those black stilettos you were rocking. I was totally jealous! Now look at us—you haven’t changed a bit and I’m already getting gray hairs.”
Emma took one look at the gray that was barely noticeable on Stella’s head and replied, “Don’t think of them as gray hairs. Think of them as the distinguished highlights of enlightenment.”
Laughing outright, Stella whipped her towel playfully in Emma’s direction. “Easy for you to say when you look exactly the same. Perky everywhere and not a wrinkle in sight.”
Rolling her eyes, Emma grinned. “Believe me, Stella, after two millennia of staring at the exact same thing in the mirror, I think I’m ready for a change. I think it would add a bit of character. Do I necessarily want my boobs to sag? No, but a wrinkle or two and some highlights of enlightenment might be a nice addition.”
Starting the side dishes for dinner, Stella grilled Emma with her fifty questions while they prepped the vegetables, in the way that most mothers do. Before Emma knew it, she found herself opening up and telling Stella about her gift of reading inanimate objects. Stella waved her hand dismissively and simply declared that they could work around that while they cooked. They both worked on the roast and the vegetables then Stella suggested that Emma bake something.
“I really shouldn’t. Leather gloves aren’t the easiest to clean…” Emma protested.
Stella placed her hands on her hips “Then take them off.”
Once they were off, Emma felt exposed in a home full of objects that weren’t her own, but Stella pulled out a brand-new wooden cutting board and set to measuring out the ingredients for bread. Emma was tasked with mixing them together with her hands.
Emma loved food. It was one of the few things she could touch that didn’t bombard her with memories. They were fainter, almost whispers instead of full-on remembrances. She couldn’t touch the measuring cups, spoons or bowls without having a nosebleed but she could touch the food itself. Kneading the dough, Emma smacked it and a puffy cloud of flour burst in her face.
After the dough was rolled out, Emma stared at the smooth surface. “I remember this one time when it was just Gwen and I. We were on an assignment in the middle of Poland and the weather was so bad we were holed up in this tiny home. The job had gone south and we’d argued about it so much we didn’t speak to each other for two days. The third day, I was staring out at the rain daydreaming about pastries when Gwen starts yelling for me to come into the kitchen. I totally thought she’d started a fire or something but when I opened the door, one perfect paczki was waiting on the table for me. The rest of the kitchen was a disaster, flour and sugar coating everything except for the pastry. I’m pretty sure that was the first time Gwen had ever tried baking but it was the best dessert I’ve ever had.”
“My sister and I used to be like that. Fighting one moment and laughing the next. There’s nothing in the world that compares to having a sister. Have you ever thought about settling down?” Stella asked as Emma finished crimping the edges of the dough for the pie shell, careful to only touch the dough and not the pan.
Emma chose her words with care. “I used to think about it. But once I became a Council member, I was busy working all the time. After a few centuries, I realized I wanted a family but for Council members it isn’t as easy as going out and finding the first available man. It’s a lot more complicated than that. The bottom line is that yes, I do want to settle down, but I just don’t know if it’ll ever work out for me.”
Stella reached up into one of the cabinets and pulled down a second bottle of wine. They had already emptied the first. Emma was barely buzzed but Stella was a bit tipsy. The bottle tipped precariously to one side as Stella refilled their glasses. “I have a feeling things will work out for the better. You’ll see.”
Emma switched topics with a sly grin. “Between this pie, Lysa’s cake and the s’mores, there’ll be more dessert than actual food.”
Stella looked out of the window to the backyard. “Those boys of mine have serious sweet tooths. You should’ve seen them when they were kids. Damien’s favorite dessert was cinnamon rolls and he’d ask for them every single day. Eventually Lysa and Hunter got to the point where they’d scowl and moan if they even smelled cinnamon in the house. Damien must’ve been about ten years old when I took him to task. I told him if he wanted to eat them so often, then he would have to learn how to make them himself.”
“I guess he was pretty determined. He made us a plate of them this afternoon.” Emma smiled at the image of a ten-year-old Damien with ruffled blond hair.
Stella lifted her glass into the air. “He’s the most determined person I know, next to his father. About an hour after I scolded him, he was sitting on the back patio with a whole plate in his lap. The kitchen, however, was an utter disaster. I made him clean it up to work off all the sugar.”
Their combined laughter echoed through the kitchen. The comfortable conversation continued while they waited for the food to finish cooking. Talk ebbed and flowed as they set the table side by side. The memories Damien’s table contained of Stella didn’t hold a candle to the real thing
. By the time the food was done, Emma was thoroughly enjoying herself.
Chapter Nine
#xa0;
Laughter, snide remarks, ribbing and general conversation surged around her. Through dinner, Damien had kept one hand on her at all times. Whether resting his palm on her thigh under the table or massaging her nape once they were finished eating, the touches helped her relax. It was a connection she relished. It made her feel cherished. Protected.
Emma decided she was going to take Gwen’s advice and live a little. It was about time she put her own happiness first. She couldn’t remember ever being this happy around another person. Even if it didn’t work out in the long run and he didn’t want her the same way she wanted him, even if he broke her heart, she’d at least have the memory of him and his touch. She wasn’t going to let an undefined future hold her back anymore. Every minute in his company would be enjoyed to the fullest.
Satisfied with her decision, Emma brought her focus back to the people around her. She was pleasantly surprised that even Gwen had put away her requisite book and was engaging in a heated debate with Augustus and Lysa about the merits of classical music over rock. Augustus was clearly losing the dispute.
Emma stifled her giggles as Augustus wagged his finger at Gwen. “Absolutely not, rock music defined a generation. My generation, to be exact. Classical music is boring and stiff.”
Gwen glanced down at her silverware and straightened her fork before responding. “Rock may have ‘defined’ a generation, as you put it, but classical music has always been around and always will be. The classics like Mozart and Bach evoke genuine emotions. Where classical is like ballet, rock is more of a mosh pit of chaos.”
Damien’s chuckle sounded in Emma’s ear. Leaning close, he whispered, “Has Gwen always been like this? I don’t think anyone’s ever won a debate against my father but she might be the first.”