“Oh, these are good.” Cassidy’s moan sounded from the kitchen, followed by Breyona’s laughter.

I squinted against the early morning sun that peered through the curtains and padded down the hall, catching snippets of their conversation the closer I neared.

“Aren’t they? You don’t know him, but the recipe belongs to a grumpy vamp named Tristan. It took me days to figure out how to make them since he’d always grumble when I asked.” The sizzle of something cooking in a pan followed Breyona’s soprano and filled the air with something both sweet and savory.

“Tristan knows how to cook?” I asked skeptically, leaning against the door jamb as both she-wolves spotted me lurking.

Cassidy was perched on one of the island stools eating a bowl of oatmeal and nibbling on a rolled-up pancake, her strawberry blonde hair a halo around her shoulders.

“Oh, he does. Gio was complainin