Chapter One

Damien pulled out his double batch of cinnamon rolls and placed the tray on one of the cooling racks on the kitchen counter—right next to the first double batch. He’d learned pretty quickly that when cooking for the Stelalux family, you had to re-define the meaning of ‘extra’. He’d never seen any group of men put away so much food in one sitting—or twenty sittings, for that matter. They had an endless capacity to pack away the calories without ever gaining an ounce of fat. It was as if they’d mastered a way to convert sugar into seriously jacked muscles. Working for them was a gay boy’s wet dream, for sure.

But that wasn’t why he came to the family’s personal apartment building most mornings after working all night in the club’s kitchen. It had nothing to do with watching drool-worthy men devour his meals with hearty appreciation. He had plenty of that at the club, where the members showed no end of delight at his cooking—and at him, as well. There had never been a time when he hadn’t had to politely fend off all kinds of offers. Most of them were thinly veiled attempts at seduction, even though they came wrapped up in job offers to become a personal chef. Many of the members were gorgeous, and they were all rich. But he turned them down. He wasn’t going to leave Lux’s kitchen any time soon.

It was all about gratitude and his endless need to show his appreciation for what this family had done for him. Emil Stelalux had quite simply saved his life. Damien owed him, big time. The kindly chef had brought him in literally from the cold and had taught him how to make a real living, instead of surviving on his knees in an alley—or, worse somehow, letting a strange man use his body just to have a safe, warm place to sleep for the night and access to soap and water. Being a street rat had seemed his only choice at the time. Emil had shown him otherwise.

So, yeah, putting in the extra hours to prepare breakfast for the family was the least he could do. Knowing that the men and the boys that they’d let into their lives loved sweets, he always baked something to go along with the mountain of eggs and meat that they also craved. This morning he’d prepped veggies and grated cheese for omelets and had a few pounds-worth of apple-smoked bacon to go with it. In a few minutes, the inhabitants of the apartments would wander downstairs looking for food. He was ready for them.

Damien was in the process of pouring himself another cup of coffee when a voice startled him.

“Good morning, Mr. Damien.”

Jesus, how does she always manage to sneak up on me?

Sucking on the side of his finger where he’d sloshed coffee, he turned to greet the girl. “Hi, Annika.” He plastered a grin on his face, even as he busied himself with sipping his drink.

The girl’s gaze homed in on his hand. There was something really freaky about the way she looked at everything intensely—and knowingly, as if she were the master of the universe. Or the mistress more like, since there was nothing she didn’t notice. Her bright blue eyes, so different from the others of her family, flicked up at his. He felt an almost irresistible urge to squirm.

“Did you hurt yourself?” As she asked the question, she walked into the kitchen area. She was dressed in a long, white lace nightgown, looking like some Victorian miss. Her bare feet made no sound, even when they hit the tiled floor. The way she walked with such easy grace made it seem as if she were almost floating. The mop of white fluff masquerading as a dog pranced beside her, as always. Its nails click-clacked, breaking the eeriness of its mistress’ approach.

Damien cleared his throat to hide his unease. “Um, no. Not really,” he amended, because he couldn’t quite bring himself to lie to her. It was so freaking weird. She reminded him of his granny, like she would rap his knuckles or something if he dared try to answer with anything but the truth. And this was true, even though she was a tween.

She appeared satisfied with that answer. Her gaze slid from him to the rolls. Her eyes lit up, morphing her into just another kid. “Those smell delicious. May I have one, please?”

He was on surer footing now, serving up his food. “Of course. Why don’t you sit and I’ll plate one for you.” He turned back to the kitchen’s island and put his mug down to do just that. “And you want a glass of milk, right? Chocolate, I presume?”

“Yes, please.” Annika practically skipped out of the kitchen area and over to one of the high chairs ringing the counter. She hopped up on one with that same ease of movement. The dog, Babette, sat its fluffy butt down by her food dish and looked up at Damien with wet, hopeful eyes. He shook his head at it.

Not a chance, sweetheart. You’re the kid’s domain.

Damien picked a fat roll from the first batch, because he’d already iced those. Then he pulled out the bottle of chocolate milk and poured a tall glass for her. He handed it all over without a qualm, knowing that her father allowed her to eat anything she wanted at any time. To say that the child was indulged was the understatement of the year. The entire family treated her like a little princess, acting as if the world revolved around her. It wasn’t surprising, really. In a family dripping with the heaviest amount of testosterone outside of something like a Navy SEAL team, she was an obvious anomaly. The Stelalux men orbited her like massive dark planets around a blinding sun.

It wasn’t merely that the foreign family with their hard-to-place accents and their military bearing was heavy on the Y chromosome. They were all gay, as well. Whatever genetics were involved in sexual orientation, it had completely blown the statistical modeling when scrambling to form the Stelalux men. Forget about arguing over two percent versus ten percent. From what he’d seen, the family was one hundred percent gay and perfectly at ease with the situation. It was one more thing he admired about them. With the whole surrogacy thing still gaining traction, he couldn’t imagine what Harry and his husband had gone through to bring their son, Demi, into their lives. At least the boy looked like his parents. Annika was a whole other matter. It seemed impossible that she was related to her Stelalux father by blood. He suspected she was the product of a more typical hetero relationship of Will’s dead partner. Either that, or said partner had been the sperm donor.

Not that he’d dare to ask or anything. Regardless, she was astoundingly beautiful, angelic even.

Annika grinned widely at him with icing-sprinkled lips. “This is scrumptious, Mr. Damien. Thank you ever so much.”

Jesus, she talked like some character out of a Dickens novel. It left him tongue-tied, feeling the inadequacy of his truncated education. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, before retreating to the relative safety of his mug of coffee.

He pretended to be busy in the awkward silence that followed. Well, it was awkward for him. He wasn’t certain this obviously brilliant and undeniably unusual child ever felt uncomfortable in any situation. She exuded a confidence that few adults could pull off, as if wherever she was and whatever she was doing, it was right and proper because it was her.

Then his eye caught the time and he knew that others would be joining them soon. He needed to get the bacon started. No one had asked, let alone demanded, that he add making the family breakfast and some other occasional meals in their new personal quarters to his list of duties. He did it because he liked doing so. Keeping the Lux Club members well-fed was rewarding enough, he supposed. It certainly allowed him to test the range of his skills. There was something almost anonymous about it, though. He rarely got to see them enjoying their food. It had always been the family’s appreciation that he’d used to judge himself. Since renovating the adjacent building into a large residential space, they no longer came into his kitchen—well, Emil’s kitchen really—so he’d lost that contact. This was his way of maintaining it.

He’d just slid the first tray under the broiler when the sound of footsteps making their way down the staircase leading to the upper floors caught his attention. Damien froze for a second before straightening and grabbing a super-sized mug from the cabinet. He recognized who it was, although how, he couldn’t say. There was nothing in particular about the tread of Annika’s father that distinguished him from his family members, yet Damien always knew when it was him, nevertheless.

His heartbeat ticked up a notch, which kind of irritated him. He’d sworn off becoming attached to men once he’d come off the streets. He wanted to focus on his profession in order to ensure his future security—no more dependence on someone forged by sex. Sure, a random from a club for a quick fuck or blow job was fine, but nothing serious. Not yet. Maybe when he was thirty, he’d start thinking of finding the right man and settling down. But this almost-school-boy crush on the guy was too ridiculous.

Strike the ‘almost’.

As he turned to greet the man, coffee in hand, his heart actually skipped a beat. For a moment, he feared he would drop the mug. He saved himself from that ungodly embarrassment by grabbing it with his other hand so that when he held it out, it was as if he were presenting an offering to some cranky deity.

There was something god-like about Willem Stelalux. Although he wasn’t as tall or wide as his kinsmen, he was definitely bigger than the average man. He dwarfed Damien, that was for sure, and at five-nine, he’d never thought of himself as short. As usual, Will looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed, his black hair falling in tangles past his ears. His fitted T-shirt outlined his impressively broad shoulders and muscled arms, although he was on the leaner side. He didn’t have Emil’s MMA fighter look—or even the others’ I must break you vibe—but still, you wouldn’t want to get on the guy’s wrong side.

He was also different from the rest of the family in the way that you couldn’t tell how well-off he was. He didn’t share the family’s obsession with designer labels. Will’s jeans were simply a worn pair of Levi’s, not unlike Damien’s own denims. Damien didn’t think it was a matter of Will being the poor relation, either. Annika was always dressed in obviously expensive clothing. Will was merely more chill in his own choices, Damien supposed.

Will accepted the coffee and smiled. It was the kind of look that would sell a gazillion of anything if plastered onto a billboard. The man was that gorgeous. His daughter’s good looks were no great mystery, once you’d met her father, assuming he really was the bio dad. All the Stelalux men were perfect examples of masculine beauty, but Will especially so—at least by Damien’s estimation.

“Thanks. Is that bacon I smell?” The man’s voice held the same undefined lilt to his perfect English as the others’, except it had the power to send a shiver down Damien’s spine.

For half a second, his practically adolescent brain basked in Will’s attention before he shot over to the oven to catch the bacon so it wouldn’t burn. “Thanks for the reminder,” he said as he turned the slices over.

“Good morning, Father Willem. You really must try one of these cinnamon rolls.”

The way the girl addressed her father was another oddity that Damien didn’t dare ask about. It was as if she were addressing a priest or something. It didn’t seem like a Stelalux custom, either, given how Demi addressed both his fathers far more informally. Maybe it was a Dutch thing. That’s where they’d been living until very recently…in Holland.

Damien shoved the tray back under the broiler and straightened. He nearly jumped back when he realized that Will had come into the kitchen. Only the need to keep a sharp eye on the bacon kept him rooted to the spot as the man sauntered in close to help himself to a roll. He consumed half of it in one bite. Then his eyelids drooped for a moment in obvious appreciation, the look doing funny things to Damien’s stomach.

Will washed down his mouthful with some coffee before saying, “Delicious…as always.” He gazed at Damien much as his daughter had. His eyes were the same beautiful violet as the other men in his family.

Damien could have stared at the man for hours. Only the presence of the child and the sudden yip of the dog brought him out of the trance he was falling into. He turned back to the stove, but not before seeing Will bite off all except a tiny piece of the rest of the roll. He tossed that bit over to the dog. The fur ball jumped and caught it handily. Damien grinned as he pulled the tray out again. He finished the bacon with a sprinkling of sugar. That wasn’t something he’d learned from Emil. He’d seen it on an episode of the sixties’ television show Gomer Pyle, of all places. It was a big hit with everyone, lending a hint of sweetness to the smoky meat.

He busied himself with the second batch, trying to focus on his job and not on how Will had stayed in the kitchen. The man was leaning against the counter, nursing his coffee as if he had all of the time in the world. It was unnerving, especially because it seemed as if the man’s attention was on him.

“Anyone ready for an omelet?” he asked, in an effort to distance himself from the distraction that was Will.

“Thank you, yes,” came Will’s reply. He shifted his gaze over to his daughter. “What would you like in yours, honey?”

“Everything, if you please.”

The answer didn’t surprise Damien. Annika’s appetite was huge, when you considered that she was a slender child. He supposed she was entering puberty. That stage increased appetites, based on his experience. He wondered idly how the Stelalux men—the owners of a sex club filled with barely legal go-go boys, who were also themselves in relationships with very young men—were going to handle this girl coming into her own sexual awakening. Not well was the safe bet. They were so protective of her that he could only assume they’d form an impenetrable wall for any boy or girl to get past.

None of it was his business anyway. He was there to make breakfast and he had two hungry customers already. The heat from the burner he turned on, added to the emotional warmth created by his distracting guest being in the kitchen, made him uncomfortable. As unprofessional as it was, he took off his whites, carefully folding the jacket and placing it on a shelf. He tossed the cap on top of that and returned to the stove. He thought he felt eyes on him but tried not to think about that. Omelets were easy, so long as you concentrated on your task.

“Is that a new tattoo, Mr. Damien?”

Glancing at his arm, he was reminded that while the image had passed the peeling stage, the skin around it was still shiny. “Yes, it is,” he replied as he whisked eggs. He was surprised that the girl knew him well-enough to realize that he’d added ink to his body. That led to the more disturbing thought that maybe the kid was developing a crush on him. And wouldn’t that ratchet the awkwardness level to somewhere around thirteen, because even an eleven wouldn’t do it justice?

“Why do you paint pictures on your body and stick things through your skin?”

Such a direct question caught him off-guard. He hesitated a moment before ladling egg into the omelet pan, wondering what kind of answer he could give that didn’t include ‘When your family calls you an unnatural freak for years, you develop a perverse desire to make them even crazier.’ Something more like ‘It’s a fun way of expressing myself’ would do as well and was mostly also true.

Will came to his rescue before he could respond. “Annika, remember please what I’ve said about personal boundaries and what constitutes rude questions.”

Damien was about to say it was fine, that he didn’t mind the question—because he really didn’t—before it dawned on him that he shouldn’t interfere with Will’s parenting. He might indulge his daughter more than most, but obviously he’d set some limits. He must be good at it, too, given how generally sweet Annika was. If she ever had meltdowns, Damien had never been privy to one.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Damien. I meant no offense.”

The apology was so almost tragically formal that Damien changed his mind about the interference. Maybe this was a cultural thing, but really, asking about his ink and piercings hardly ranked as deeply personal or offensive. It was nothing like ’Are you a top or a bottom?’, which is what his granny had once asked with a twist of accusation on her lips. He’d answered with ‘I love the idea of a big cock up my ass’ to perversely piss her off—or piss her off more—without really knowing what he wanted. He’d only been a few years older than Annika was, his sexuality had been a raw topic and a bit confusing and, God, all he’d wanted was some understanding. None had been given. Just the fleeting thought of those words coming out of a child’s mouth made him wince inside, even though he knew whatever Annika might ask would be out of honest curiosity and perhaps some questioning of her own sexuality.

He slid her omelet onto a plate and added a few strips of bacon. Then he turned to serve it to her, along with utensils and a napkin, a reassuring smile on his face. “No worries. I wasn’t bothered by the question.” He shrugged. “It’s just my style.”

As she picked up her fork, she flashed him a grin. “It’s very pretty.” She daintily worked a piece of omelet into her mouth.

Damien looked at the rather fierce red dragon he’d chosen for his arm and wondered how a child could describe the image as that. He glanced quite involuntarily at her father. The man looked back at him from over the rim of his mug and shrugged. The scene that the three of them presented—hanging in the kitchen on a Sunday morning as Damien cooked and they all chatted—suddenly felt too intimate, as if they were a family or something.

Okay, weird. Damien forced his focus back to the food, dealing with the bacon, starting Will’s omelet. This was what he was here to do, feed the family. While he knew that he’d become more of a friend than simply an employee to Emil and perhaps the others, he needed to remember his place.

“I assume you want the works, too?” he asked Will without looking at him.

“Yes, please.”

That smooth voice slid right under Damien’s skin and made him wonder how much of a good idea coming to help the family in their private space was.

 

Willem knew he was being just shy of rude leaning against the counter and watching the human cook for him. He simply couldn’t bring himself to move. This had been happening more and more since he and Annika had come to stay in Boston. At first, Emil’s helper, as Will had thought of the boy, had been merely one of the many humans hovering around the family. Bit by bit, however, Damien had entered Will’s field of vision and consciousness with greater force and attraction. Now Will found himself acutely aware any time the guy was in the room—even the freaking building, for that matter. His senses had become that attuned to him.

He’d caught the human’s scent while still upstairs. He’d become like a shark, able to detect the presence of minute amounts of the man’s unique and delectable smell, even within a highly diluted environment. With each step closer to the first floor, the heady aroma had clung to him, invaded his nostrils and lured him down to the kitchen with a disturbing urgency. This close, the sweet smell took almost his entire attention. It eased his nerves in a surprising way—as did the steady warmth of the boy bridging the few feet between them and giving Will a feeling of comfort that he’d never felt before on this damnable planet, not even when he’d been wrapped in Luuk’s arms. The notion bothered him if he dwelled on it, a betrayal of sorts of his dead lover and Annika’s father. So too was the way his dick hardened at the mere sight of Damien.

Not that anyone knew this. He was careful to bank his desire, keep his expression open and friendly and not hungry. He’d taken to wearing long, loose shirts to cover his embarrassing reaction. Forget his shipmates… He didn’t want his daughter to see. She wasn’t a child anymore, and while she hadn’t asked him for the particulars as yet, he suspected she already understood the way of their species, as well as that of humans, in the making of young. She seemed to know an awful lot that he hadn’t told her. It was thanks to the Internet, in part, he suspected, and Doc MacPhee had spent quite a bit of time with her. That was all to the good. Annika needed females at this stage of her development. Him, not so much.

It was another constant struggle of his, raising a Queen. Back home, he would have already been relegated to a background role in his daughter’s life. She would be surrounded by female relatives who would become her court in time. He was never meant to be in the position of seeing her to adulthood. Yet, here he was, against all reason. No, that wasn’t entirely true. As Harry would remind him, their species had always found a way to keep going. Given how long they’d been on Earth, coupling with humans, exchanging blood, it had only been a matter of time before the need imbedded deep within their genes would find a way to create a true hive. Lucky him to be the one picked.

It should have been Alex.

Maybe it would be still his captain’s destiny to father a girl-child, but Will had been first. And the rapidity with which Annika was maturing guaranteed that she would be the uber-Queen of this world. All others would be lesser. The weight of his responsibility threatened to crush him on a daily basis. Except right now, standing against the counter in the kitchen, sipping coffee while Damien expertly whipped up an omelet, Will felt a little lighter—not so oppressed and rather optimistic about what the future would bring.

A puny whine caught his attention. The ridiculous tiny creature Annika had insisted on getting, her pet, stood on its hind paws, pleading for something to eat. He ignored it this time. Despite his occasional lapse, the deal was that Annika took care of the thing, not Will. The idea of having lesser-evolved creatures live with one for personal amusement wasn’t something his species did. Even humans hadn’t done it for very long—not in this pampered way, at least. He could see no benefit in doing so, except that it obviously made Annika happy. It was nearly impossible to deny her anything, let alone something that brought her such joy.

“Hey, Babette. Here, girl.” Damien slid Will’s omelet onto a plate while he held a scrap of bacon up with his other. The dog pranced and yipped in orgasmic enthusiasm until the cook dropped the food. Annika’s pet caught the pieces mid-air with an impressive jump of her short legs.

Annika giggled. “Such a naughty thing for you to do, Mr. Damien.”

The boy flashed her a grin while he finished filling Will’s breakfast order. “I can’t help it. Whenever she begs, I tell myself I’m not going to give in, but then I do. She’s so cute, and a chef always loves it when his food is appreciated.” Damien shrugged, then he held the plate out to Will. “Here you go, sir.”

Will could have taken what was offered without ever touching the human. He’d intended to. At the last second, however, he gave into the urge to allow their fingers to collide, briefly and almost impersonally. And yet, a spark shot through him, leaving his whole hand tingling. For a long, drawn-out second, he felt the simple contact providing a strong bodily connection. He could hear a quickening of Damien’s heartbeat that matched his own. The guy’s pulse thrummed at the base of his neck. Their gazes met in that blink of time and held for what seemed like much longer. Within those greenish eyes, Will could swear he saw a spark of interest.

“Thank you.” Will forced the simple pleasantry past his lips and took a step back.

It would be madness to start something with the human. His love for Luuk would wreck any new entanglement. Plus, what with Annika’s rapid maturation and the ongoing threat from Dracul’s former followers—if not the male himself—the last thing Will needed was to become involved with a human. And this one didn’t even know who and what Will really was. There wasn’t the time to carefully plan an evolving love affair that could lead to that big, messy reveal. It had taken three years of careful cultivation with Luuk before Will had believed he could bring the man fully into his confidence.

Needing to put physical distance between himself and temptation, Will moved around the dining counter to sit next to his daughter. It helped, as well, that others chose to come down for breakfast at that moment. Alex arrived at the front of the group, his arm wrapped around Quinn, holding him tight. The boy still had his usual well-fucked look that lasted through most of breakfast every day. They were both so obviously happy that it made Will smile to see it. Alex deserved this, after so much time alone on this planet.

Next came Val. His unhurried pace down the staircase was overshadowed by his husband’s antics. Mackie had a hard time controlling his enhanced abilities. Val’s blood made him stronger and faster than any human. Will could see that the boy loved the change and chafed under the need to rein himself in. Normally Val made sure of it, especially when Damien was around. Not this morning, though. The not-quite-human hopped up on the railing and slid all the way to the bottom. He stuck a landing that would have earned him a gold medal at the Olympics and bounced over to the kitchen.

“Ooh, cinnamon buns,” the boy practically squealed. He snatched one and stuffed it nearly whole into his mouth. He made moaning sounds that put Will in mind of other appetites being sated.

He seemingly wasn’t the only one to have those thoughts pop into his mind.

Val sauntered over and smacked his husband on the ass. “Bring it down a notch, baby. Annika’s going to think eating is hurting you.” He did eat a bun in one bite before adding, “Don’t you dare take another one until you’ve had an omelet.”

Mackie shot him a mulish look before letting a second treat go. “Yes, Sir.”

Will didn’t get this relationship of theirs, where Mackie willingly played the role of a slave. From what he’d seen, humans had struggled for most of their history in which some tried to enslave and control others while their quarry fought to remain free. It had taken thousands of years for them to nearly eradicate the practice from their world. And yet, there were those such as Mackie who willingly put the control of their lives with another. At least Val could be trusted to not abuse his power.

The others trickled down, mostly in pairs, although Demi was without his man, Duncan, this morning. Only one other came alone—Alun, a former slave from Dracul’s castle. He slinked in, bringing up the rear of the group, making himself as unnoticeable as possible. Will assumed he’d learned do to that with terrible punishment as the teacher. He kept his gaze on the floor, with his long, loose hair hiding most of his face. His hybrid son, Merlin, wasn’t with him, which was also typical. The boy spent much of his time upstairs in their suite of rooms, mostly because he was anti-social, but also because he could be disruptive. Alun would hang back and fix plates for them both, after everyone else had been served, then take them upstairs. Harry and Lucien had taken the laboring oar in getting the hybrid to some normalcy—and good luck to them—although he couldn’t be trusted yet to play nice in front of someone like Damien. Will figured the boy had been hopelessly ruined by his upbringing in the castle of horrors. The only good sign was that Merlin did respond to Annika’s authority. Will had refused to allow her to be used as a curb on the kid’s behavior all the time, however, and so far, Alex had conceded to his wishes.

He couldn’t help returning his gaze to Damien, who got two pans going to make his omelets even faster. As he steadily ate his own meal, Will watched with admiration as the man served first Alex and Quinn, then Mackie and Val and all the others with admirable speed and dexterity. He only felt slightly guilty about focusing his attention on the human. The kitchen was an open area, after all. He wasn’t lurking in a dark corner somewhere, drooling at the thought of sucking the guy’s blood. Although, truth be told, it had been a while. His body was getting sluggish, a sure sign that feeding was needed. He would have to raid the family’s frozen stash. It wasn’t as satisfying as taking a vein directly, but since Luuk’s illness and death, it had been his only source of blood.

His gaze homed in on Damien’s neck again when he turned to hand a plate to Alun. There it was, the faint and steady pulse. The taste would be amazing, he had no doubt—warm and salty, with a hint of sweetness that was unique to humans. At least, he’d always thought so. His gums itched as his fangs clamored to descend. He had to swallow back a sudden mouthful of saliva. Shit, he was taking the fantasy too far this morning.

Knock it off, asshole. He’s not for you. Remember?

A sharp sound took his attention as Mackie dropped his plate on the counter and slammed his hand over his mouth.

Damien whirled around. “What’s wrong? Is there something bad in your eggs?”

Mackie shook his head in denial, then mewled behind his hand before turning and racing toward the bathroom. With a muttered curse, Val left his own meal and hurried after him.

Annika watched them go before tuning to Will. “Oh dear, I do hope Mackie isn’t sick.”

Will exchanged a look with Alex. There wasn’t much that he could say, not in front of Damien. He wasn’t even sure what he should explain to his daughter, given her in-between-stage development. A good part of him longed to keep her young and innocent as much as possible. It wasn’t any of his business, either. Not really.

“He’s fine, I’m sure. Finish your breakfast and we’ll take Babette for a walk.”

Her face lit up at the suggestion. “Oh, she’ll love that.” She plowed back into her breakfast, so heartbreakingly young and enthusiastic that he fervently wished he could keep her like that forever.