Page 86 of Never Submit

I walk into the kitchen only to find Flora with a ladle in one hand, addressing a line of personal chefs. A general in front of her troops as she preps them for battle.

“Food is about heart. It’s about soul. It’s about filling the bellies of your cherished ones so that they know, with every bite, you care,” she says. “It doesn’t involve foam and dry ice or whatever else you’re trying to do to make it fancy. What the hell is molecular gastronomy anyway?”

She sniffs, disgusted.

I hide my laughter at the vision of her barking out orders this way. Torin’s chefs have no idea what they’re up against. Even I can see that the pregnant woman is in full control of whatever space she occupies. She’s a warrior but on a completely different front than any of the others.

I clear my throat to announce myself, but Flora has already turned around, her grin lighting her eyes. “Did they send you to check on me?” she asks.

I make myself at home and jump up on the island, scooting backward until I’m comfortable. There isn’t a lot of space with so many people running around the different stations so it’s better to get out of their way.

Aspen and Carrigan and I used to chill in the kitchen this way. Of course, the space was about one quarter of this castle-huge room, but whenever the three of us were together, we always had fun.

The chefs eye me with thinly veiled distaste, but none of them tell me to get down. Not as Noble’s mate.

“Nah, I just wanted to chat,” I tell Flora.

“Then why don’t you help me.” Before I say anything, she thrusts a bowl into my lap and holds out a whisk. “Fresh whipped cream.”

“Don’t they have mixers for these types of things?”

“Yes, they do, but like I was explaining to Torin’s team of idiots over there, the only way to cook with love is to actually cook. Rather than spending all your time trying to make peas into foam and then freezing the foam and shaping it like peas.” She blinks, her attention probably on said pea foam, and makes a face.

Not given to standing around and taking insults any longer, they return to their stations, doing whatever they want, or prepping for breakfast. I’m not sure.

I adjust the bowl and start beating the cream and sugar mixture. “Do you doallthe cooking for the pack at home?” I ask her.

Flora nods decisively. “I do. Not alone, though, thankfully. Several other omegas help. Or they did, before they were taken. But it’s one of the most important jobs in the pack, and I won’t let anyone else tell me differently. I even have my kids with me to help out. They love joining me in the kitchen.”

“How many kids do you have? Who’s watching them?”

“They’re with my husband right now. I’ve got triplets, if you can believe it.” Flora runs her hands down her front. “I am very fertile. My husband just has to look at me sideways and poof, babies. Multiple births run in my line.”

The easy way she offers up the information, and the teasing circles on her belly, has me laughing again. “You definitely have a mothering kind of energy about you, Flora.”

So different from my own mom, who always did her best and I give her credit. She and my father were courageous enough to seek out a Moon Goddess with their stillborn baby. To beg for divine intervention to give me a chance at life.

But Mom’s worry for me made it difficult for her to lean into the open, free way Flora lives her life. She’s got the momma-bear vibe, but also the vibe assuring that her kids are always given the space to be themselves.

I like it. A lot.

Maybe that’s why I’m sitting on the counter beating whipped cream by hand.

“My family means everything to me,” Flora continues, bustling around the kitchen with a pair of thick oven mittsover her hands. “I’d do anything for them, and they know it. Just like I’d do anything for Mathis.”

I watch her bend to take the cheese souffle out of the oven. “You respect your alpha.”

“Of course I do. He’s a good man. A strong leader. It’s not his fault things have been going so wrong for our pack. We’ve been targeted.”

If she has any sort of reservations about being in the home of a rival pack, Flora shows none of it. She’s easy and confident.

I should take a page out of her book.

“He’s worried about you, though,” she adds.

I sit up a little straighter, my heart thrumming. “He doesn’t need to be.” Then I pause. “He’s worried more about the Moonstone I’ve got inside of me.”

Surely if Flora is one of the only people to stand up to Mathis, she knows about my predicament. I search her face for any kind of surprise or reaction out of the ordinary, but she only sighs.

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