"¡Ustedes, muchachos! Wash those hands before dinner," she calls without turning around, somehow sensing our presence despite the music. "Y tú, Lucian, stay away from my cookies or te daré con la cuchara de madera—vampire or not!"
My brother raises his hands in surrender, but I catch the gleam in his eye. Some battles even Lucian knows better than to fight.
Don't know how the hell it happened, but somewhere along the way, Rosa became the mother none of us deserved but all of us needed. Not that I'd ever say that shit out loud—my reputation's taken enough hits lately.
"¿Les gusta la decoración?" Rosa asks, finally gesturing with a flour-dusted hand at the kitchen's transformation. "Your Dani, she will love this, ¿verdad?"
"Yes, she's gonna lose her mind," I nod to Rosa, picturing it all. "That's the plan."
"The plan is for Rhyland to finally earn his 'World's Most Whipped Vampire' coffee mug," Lucian quips, snatching a cookie despite Rosa's warning. "It's back-ordered but should arrive by New Year's."
Rosa whips around, wooden spoon raised. "¡Dios mío! What did I just say about those cookies, chico malo?"
Lucian stuffs the entire cookie in his mouth, speaking around crumbs. "Worth it. I've survived plagues, Rosa. Your spoon doesn't scare me."
"But my chancla might," she threatens, reaching for her flip-flop.
"Protect me, brother!" Lucian ducks behind me, using my body as a shield. "She's gone nuclear!"
I shrug him off with a growl. "You're on your own. I'm not getting between Rosa and her kitchen rules."
"Traitor!" Lucian gasps dramatically. "After I spent a small fortune making this place look like Santa's wet dream? This is how you repay me?"
Rosa waves her spoon at both of us. "No fighting in my kitchen! ¡Fuera! Out! Go hang more lights or whatever you vampiros do."
"We could drain the neighbors," Lucian suggests helpfully. "Very festive. Red is a Christmas color."
"Dios me ayude," Rosa mutters, crossing herself. "Go! Both of you! Before I call your ladies, tell them what you did in Budapest."
My head snaps up. "You told her about Budapest?"
Lucian shrugs innocently. "It might have come up during sangria night."
I grab him by his ridiculous sweater and drag him from the kitchen. "You're dead."
"Already am, technically!" he calls back to Rosa. "Save me some more cookies!"
Rosa yells from the kitchen, "You think you're funny, but dinner is in one hour, and if you're late, there will be no galleta for either of you, ¿entendido?"
"Yes, Cookie Overlord," Lucian salutes. "Your baked goods are worth punctuality!"
As we exit the kitchen, Lucian elbows me. "Remember when we used to make people shit themselves with fear? Now we're racing to dinner like a couple of kids afraid of missing dessert. My badass reputation is officially fucked."
I shove him back, rolling my eyes. "Your reputation was fucked the minute you started your Marvel figurine collection."
"Hey! Limited edition collectibles are badass in certain circles!" he protests. "Besides, I saw you arranging the Avengers ornaments on the tree by movie release order, you closet nerd."
For all his irritating qualities—and there are many—the idiot's not wrong. This ridiculous, light-filled life beats anything we've had recently.
Not that I'd ever tell him that. His ego's already the size of a fucking continent.
Erik materializes in the hallway, silver eyes taking in our bickering with practiced indifference. "Are you two done? The girls just turned onto the road. Five minutes out."
"Battle stations!" Lucian claps his hands together. "Operation 'Make Our Ladies Cry Happy Tears' is a go! Rhyland put on your broody-but-secretly-pleased face. Erik, try to look less like you're attending a funeral and more like you're participating in holiday cheer."
"This is my holiday cheer face," Erik deadpans.
"Jesus Christ on a candy cane, that's depressing," Lucian mutters. "Fine, just stand near something sparkly so you don't suck all the joy out of the room."
