Page 29 of Fated for Dawn

“Boiling water?” Chad whined. “You’re giving him the easiest job. Are you playing favorites?”

“Of course not, puppy.” I ruffled his hair.

Rafe shrugged, his wings flicking slightly. “I’m fine with boiling water. It sounds…peaceful.”

“I’ll handle the meat. At least I know how to use fire,” Ryker said.

“Great,” I said, suppressing a laugh. “Just to be clear, you’ll use the stove, correct?”

Ryker’s lips quirked into a grin. “The grill, actually. I’ll make steaks.” His gaze lingered on me a moment too long before he finally turned toward the barbecue outside.

Chad whooped. “Now you’re talking. Steak and pasta.”

“And what about me?” Alister asked, crossing his arms.

“You’re on the sauce,” I said, handing him a wooden spoon. “You’ve lived for centuries. Surely, you’ve picked up a recipe or two.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Those skills didn’t extend to marinara.”

“Just let the creative juices flow, then,” I smirked.

“I must say, this is rather…plebeian,” he replied.

I rolled my eyes. “You’ll survive, Your Highness.”

When I returned from setting the table, the kitchen had quickly devolved into organized chaos. Rafe kept an eye on the pasta; his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Chad had appointed himself “supervisor”—which mostly involved standing around and making unhelpful commentary.

From outside, a thick cloud of smoke billowed past the window, accompanied by Ryker’s creative string of curses.

“Since you’re not doing anything,” Alister told Chad as he took the onions, garlic, and tomatoes Lucien had chopped andtransferred them to his pan. “Why don’t you grab a bottle of wine from the cellar for us? It’s quite far, and I’ve already made my ten thousand steps today.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Chad said as he disappeared.

Lucien, meanwhile, had become unreasonably competitive with the rest of the vegetables. His chopping was so fast that it sounded like a drum roll.

“Are you…angry at the carrots?” I asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“They’re crooked,” he replied flatly.

I bit back a laugh. “They’re carrots, Lucien. They don’t need to be symmetrical.”

“They do if I’m cutting them.”

“Perfectionist,” I muttered, shaking my head fondly.

“I still don’t understand why we’re adding carrots. And our timing is all off. The pasta is practically cooked, and I’m still chopping,” he grumbled.

“Who cares? We’re all having fun. Right guys?”

The response was a little underwhelming.

Luckily, Chad was back with the bottle of wine.

“Oh, Chad, that’s white. We need red. Far-right, top shelf,” Alister told Chad.

“Sure thing,” Chad replied as he disappeared once more.

At some point, Alister abandoned the spoon and pulled me over to the stove. “Taste this,” he said, holding up the sauce-covered spoon. His other hand lightly brushed my waist as he waited for my verdict.

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