He’d been saved by his Chosen in the winter, and they’d welcomed their daughter into the world in the middle of a snowstorm that kept them inside for days. All the best things in his life came on the heels of winter, and that didn’t appear to be changing anytime soon.
His feet touched the platform for barely a moment before he hurried inside the atrium. “My sweets!” he called out, shaking the snow from his wings. “Where are my sweets?”
“Isa!”
Emilia’s little red body came flying at him at lightspeed. She was just a streak of darkening crimson, knitwear, and little bluejeans as she careened around the corner to slam into his legs.
Sweeping her up into his arms, he pressed a dozen kisses to her cheeks — one for every time he thought of her during the day. “My sweet, I missed you! How did?—”
Wiggling to be put down, she cried,“Isa,you need to try my cake!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, “but I need to kiss your mama first!”
“She’s in the kitchen,” Emilia insisted. Tugging on his hand, she began to drag him with all the force her little body could manage.
Artem’s brows furrowed. “Why is she in the kitchen?”
Paloma wasn’t a bad cook, but in general she left those duties to him. The kitchen was his domain in the same way that the lab was hers. It was his pleasure to cook for his family, especially when she was busy growing a child in her body and making scientific breakthroughs at the same time.
“She was helping me clean,” Emilia explained. It turned out not to be necessary, since he had two eyes that were perfectly capable of seeing what had been done in his kitchen.
He stopped in the entrance, mouth agape, to stare at his grinning Chosen. She stood by the sink, a sponge in hand. All around her was… chaos.
Flour, every measuring cup they owned, half the spice cabinet, and approximately twelve mixing bowls were scattered around the room. Nearly every surface was either sticky or powdered, and it looked like the inside of the microwave had been used as the container for a catastrophic experiment.
Snickering at his expression, Paloma set her sponge aside. “We wanted to clean up before you got home!”
“I… left early,” he wheezed. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to step inside the destroyed room to sweep his Chosen into his wings. Lowering his head so he could whisper in her ear, he asked, “How are you feeling?”
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she answered, “A ginger ale and some saltines fixed me right up. I’m fine.”
“Good,” he sighed. “But what happened here? This isn’t all from a cake, is it?”
“She said you told her how to make it,” Paloma whispered back, obviously delighted.
“I didn’t tell her to set a bomb off in the kitchen!”
Paloma tenderly tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Oh, you’ve done worse. Remember when you tried making candy?”
Before he could argue that he’dneverdone anything on the level of pure devastation that had visited his favorite room in the house — besides their nest, of course — Emilia tugged on his pant leg.
“We saved you a slice!” she chirped, as proud as he’d ever seen her.
Artem reached for the plate a half a second before his brain caught up with his eyes. “Ah,” he choked, tentatively accepting her offering. “My sweet, why is itgreen?”
“She added food coloring,” Paloma solemnly explained. “It was a masterful artistic choice to fit the holiday.”
He held the plate up to his face for closer inspection. A tiny, nearly flat slice of what looked more like a sickly green pancake sat in the center. A heap of powdered sugar had been piled on top in lieu of icing, and when he gave it a sniff, the scent of cinnamon was so strong he had to fight back a sneeze.
Glancing at his Chosen, he found her watching him with her lips rolled between her teeth and her eyes sparkling. He knew that look well. It meant he was in for trouble.
Summoning a wide, impressed smile, he turned to his daughter. “It looks incredible!”
“Try it!” she demanded, hopping from little red foot to little red foot. “You need to try it!”
Bracing himself, he lifted the wet, spongy triangle from the plate.
The texture hit him first. Then it was the spice.
