A VERY SPECIAL DINNER
Felix Volturi & Demetri Volturi × human mate
The kitchen was a space of warmth and chaotic, human domesticity—a stark contrast to the sterile, cold elegance of Volterra. Felix and Demetri stood just outside the threshold, shrouded in the shifting shadows of the hallway. They had been instructed to wait, a rare concession from Aro that felt more like a test than a blessing. Their senses, however, were not restricted by such politeness.
The scent of processed, frozen vegetables and over-hydrated, starch-heavy rice wafted out to them—a culinary offense that made even the immortal Felix twitch.
Then came her voice, bright and laced with a playful, sharp wit they hadn't yet witnessed in the week they had spent orbiting her life.
"Have you two been fighting?" she asked, her tone light but pointed.
There was a pause, followed by her mother’s bewildered reply, "No."
"Because there’s no need to suffer in silence," the girl continued, her voice dancing with suppressed laughter. "If you want, I’ll call the lawyer for you… are you two divorcing?"
"No," her mother insisted, clearly baffled by the sudden inquiry.
"Ah," she sighed, a sound of genuine, amused disbelief. "That’s a shame. Because honestly, this frozen rice… the Romans wouldn't have even fed this to the prisoners."
Outside, the silence between the two Volturi guards was heavy, punctuated only by the subtle shift of leather against the wall.
Demetri, the Tracker, was the first to react. His head tilted, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his handsome features. His dark eyes - they both are wearing lens contact - gleamed with a mix of genuine amusement and something sharper. He had spent centuries watching humans act with varying degrees of tragedy and triumph, but her audacity—the casual, stinging bite of her humor directed at her own flesh and blood—was intoxicating. He leaned closer to the frame, his shoulders shaking with a silent, rhythmic laugh that reach his eyes, which remained fixed on the invisible image of her in the kitchen. She wasn't just soft, as he had initially feared; she was dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with fangs or strength. She was sharp-edged, and he found he adored the weapon she wielded with such careless ease.
Felix, by contrast, remained as still as a statue carved from mountain stone. His massive frame seemed to occupy the entire hallway, his expression unreadable, darkened by the natural gravity of his heavy brows. But there was a flicker in the depths of his gaze. While Demetri admired the wit, Felix was experiencing a more visceral reaction to her boldness. He had lived his life enforcing the cold, unyielding laws of the Volturi, where a single wrong word could lead to execution. To hear her speak to her creator—her mother—with such irreverent, biting mockery made his pulse, however dormant, seem to skip. A low, rumble of a chuckle escaped his chest, a sound like gravel grinding together. It wasn't the sound of mockery; it was the sound of a man who realized his mate was far more vibrant, and far more unpredictable, than he had ever anticipated.
"The Romans," Felix rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that only Demetri could perceive. "She is... quite singular, isn't she?"
Demetri straightened, adjusting the line of his jacket, his expression smoothing into a mask of predatory grace. "She is a firecracker, Felix. And I think we are both quite overdue for a little bit of heat."
They exchanged a look—a silent communication between two of the deadliest creatures in existence. They had been prepared for many things: for her fear, for her hesitation, or for the mundane reality of her human life. They had not been prepared for the sheer, delightful sharpness of her tongue.
Stepping forward, they broke the silence of the hallway, their presence suddenly filling the small kitchen. The air pressure seemed to drop as the two giants appeared in the doorway, their unnaturally pale skin and predatory grace casting long, intimidating shadows across the linoleum.
The girl turned, her laughter still caught in her throat, her eyes widening as they landed on the two men who, until this moment, had been nothing but shadows in her life. She looked from her mother’s mortified expression to the two faces that were currently studying her with a terrifying, absolute intensity.
"I was joking, mum" she says kissing her mother check, before picking up the bowl. "It only needs some....salt." she adds.
"They are... friends. Felix and Demetri" she says, blushing.
The transformation in her demeanor was instantaneous. The sharp, cynical judge of the kitchen had vanished, replaced by the soft, domestic daughter they had spent the last week observing. She pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to her mother’s cheek—a gesture of affection so foreign, yet so achingly human, that it made the two vampires in the doorway pause in their tracks.
Demetri, however, felt his appreciation deepen into something more possessive. His golden eyes tracked the movement of her hand as she lifted the bowl of dismal, congealed rice. He watched the way her shoulders relaxed, the way her smile reached her eyes, and he felt a phantom ache in his chest—a yearning to be the recipient of that specific, uncomplicated warmth.
"It only needs some... salt," she says, kissing her mum's check again as an apology, her voice light and musical, as if she hadn't just compared her mother’s cooking to the plight of ancient captives. "And some more cheese."
In the hallway, Demetri let out a breath he didn't need to take. A low, appreciative hum vibrated in his throat. "She is masterful, isn't she?" he murmured, his voice barely a breath, intended only for Felix. "She manipulates the mood of the room as easily as she critiques the seasoning."
Felix’s gaze remained locked on her. He found himself fascinated by her resilience, by the way she refused to let the tension of the moment linger. She wasn't afraid of her own sharp tongue, and she wasn't afraid to smooth over the ripples she created. It was a brand of confidence that he found unexpectedly refreshing.
"She is not a fragile thing, Demetri," Felix replied, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that carried an edge of newfound respect. "She is a storm disguised as a summer day."
They remained in the shadows for a heartbeat longer, two predators watching their prize. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on them; they were the most feared hunters in the world, yet here they stood, completely disarmed by a young woman, a bowl of frozen rice, and a few grains of salt.
He stepped forward, the floorboards creaking ever so slightly beneath his heavy, deliberate tread. He didn't care about the mother’s reaction or the potential for a scene. He only wanted to see how the girl would look when she realized she was being watched—and whether that sharp, witty spark would flare again when she saw them standing there, waiting for her.
The sudden heat rising to her cheeks was a shade of crimson that neither of them had seen on her before—a vivid, human reaction that felt like a secret gift. The sight of her flustered, the way her composure momentarily crumbled under their silent observation, did more than just amuse them; it triggered a protective, territorial instinct that surged through the cold veins of both vampires.
Demetri was the first to cross the threshold, his movements liquid and unnervingly graceful. He didn't look at the mother; he didn't look at the offending bowl of rice. His focus was entirely on the girl, his golden eyes burning with a mixture of amusement and a searing, possessive intensity that he made no effort to hide.
"Friends," Demetri repeated, tasting the word on his tongue. He let out a soft, melodic laugh that seemed to vibrate in the small, cramped kitchen, making the air feel suddenly thin. "I believe that is a rather modest title for us, cara."
He stopped just a few inches from her, close enough that she could feel the unnatural chill radiating from his skin. He didn't touch her—not yet—but the way he leaned in, his gaze dropping to her flushed face, made the space feel suddenly, breathlessly intimate.
Felix followed, his massive, imposing presence dwarfing the modest kitchen. He didn't speak, but his shadow seemed to stretch across the room, effectively cutting off the rest of the world. He stood behind her, a mountain of silent, lethal protection, his gaze sweeping over the mother—who seemed frozen in a state of sheer, bewildered terror—before landing back on the girl.
He didn't miss the way she clutched the bowl of rice, her knuckles white, her pulse hammering against the thin skin of her neck. He reached out, his hand—large, calloused, and cold—coming to rest briefly on her shoulder. The contact was heavy, grounding, and undeniably possessive.
"Forgive us," Felix rumbled, his deep, resonant voice vibrating through the floorboards. He offered the mother a slight, stiff inclination of his head that lacked any true warmth. "We did not mean to intrude on your culinary endeavors. But we found ourselves... captivated by the conversation."
Demetri stepped closer, his eyes dancing with wicked delight as he looked at the girl. "Yes, the critique of the salt levels was particularly enlightening. We have been traveling for quite some time, and I must confess, we have developed a sudden, desperate craving for something... exceptional."
He reached out, his fingers ghosting over her wrist as he gently took the bowl from her trembling hands and set it aside on the counter with a soft clack. He didn't look at the food; he looked only at her, his expression softening into something devastatingly handsome.
"You blush most beautifully when you are caught off guard," Demetri murmured, his voice a low, intimate caress that surely caused the mother to pale further. "But there is no need for such shyness. We have heard much worse than insults directed at frozen vegetables."
Felix leaned down, his face dangerously close to hers, his dark eyes searching her expression. "Are you going to introduce us properly, or shall we continue to stand here and let your mother wonder why we appear to have just stepped out of a period drama?"
The tension in the room is thick—the mother is clearly paralyzed by their unnatural presence, and the girl is caught between her embarrassment and the overwhelming reality of the two men now occupying her space.
The air in the kitchen seemed to vanish, replaced by the electric, predatory stillness that only two members of the Volturi guard could project.
The confession, whispered with a mixture of nervous humor and raw, human vulnerability, hit them like a physical blow. Felix, usually the stoic, immovable fortress, felt his breath hitch—a reflex of his humanity that had long ago been replaced by instinct. His hand, still resting on her shoulder, tightened almost imperceptibly, his thumb tracing a slow, grounding path against the fabric of her shirt.
He didn't pull away. He didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. The contrast was startling: the brutal strength of the man who had crushed countless souls and the unexpected, fragile tenderness he reserved only for her.
"Let her be shocked," Felix rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that resonated deep in her chest. "It is a reality she will have to grow accustomed to. We are not... traditional men, and you are not a woman who settles for tradition."
Beside them, Demetri was a study in controlled, simmering hunger. He had heard the whisper, and it had acted like an accelerant on the fire already burning in his veins. Having her so close—feeling the heat of her pulse, the frantic, irregular rhythm of her heart as she stood between them—was a form of exquisite torture.
The temptation to close the distance, to tilt her chin up and silence her anxieties with a searing, possessive kiss, was becoming nearly unbearable. His fingers twitched at his sides, his eyes darkening to an almost black gold as he watched her. He moved into her peripheral vision, closing the gap until he was looming over her from the other side, creating a human—and superhuman—cage that shut out the rest of the world, including her bewildered mother.
"Two boyfriends," Demetri repeated, the words rolling off his tongue with a dangerous, velvet smoothness. He didn't look at the mother; his gaze was laser-focused on the way the pulse jumped at the base of her throat. "The term feels so... insufficient. It makes us sound like mere acquaintances in your life."
He leaned in, his nose brushing against her temple, the scent of her—warm, living, and chaotic—filling his senses. He inhaled deeply, a sound that was less of a breath and more of a suppressed growl of longing.
"We are, however, very patient," Demetri murmured, his voice a lethal caress. "We can allow you the time to explain the logistics to your mother, if that is what you require. But do not think for a moment that we intend to remain in the shadows while you do it."
Felix shifted, his massive frame effectively blocking the mother’s view of the more intimate display. He looked at the girl, his dark eyes demanding her attention, his expression a strange, fierce blend of protectiveness and desire.
"Introduce us," Felix commanded, though the harshness was absent, replaced by a deep, resonant gravity. "And then, as you promised—or as Demetri promised for you—we shall go find something worth eating. I believe your mother has seen quite enough of the 'frozen' variety for one evening."
The mother stood in the corner, clutching a wooden spoon like a shield, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to process the surreal, terrifyingly beautiful sight of her daughter flanked by two men who looked as though they had walked out of a fashion magazine, and yet were currently looking at her daughter as if she were the only living thing that mattered in the entire world.
The silence that followed her introduction was heavy, charged with an intensity that made the very air in the kitchen feel viscous. Her mother, still clutching that pathetic wooden spoon, looked from the towering, statuesque presence of Felix to the feline, predatory grace of Demetri. She blinked, her brain clearly struggling to reconcile the sheer, unnatural beauty of the two men with the terrifying aura of dominance they radiated.
Felix didn't wait for the mother to find her voice. He moved with that terrifying, fluid economy of motion, stepping forward to bridge the distance. He didn't offer a handshake—that would have been a farce, given the crushing strength in his fingers. Instead, he offered a stiff, formal bow, a remnant of a more archaic time.
"It is a pleasure to finally be presented," Felix said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to rattle the very glass in the cupboards. He straightened, his dark, unyielding gaze shifting toward the mother. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable; it was the look of a guardian who had claimed his territory and was now signaling that the boundaries were set. "We have heard much about you. And we hope to make our acquaintance... unforgettable."
Demetri, however, couldn't help himself. He remained close to the girl, his presence a deliberate, humming contrast to Felix’s stoicism. He tilted his head, his golden eyes locked on the girl’s eloquent gaze, fully aware of the "very close" implication she had just dropped. His lips quirked into a smirk that was as elegant as it was lethal.
"We are, indeed, inseparable from her," Demetri added, his voice smooth as aged wine and just as intoxicating. He didn't offer a bow. Instead, he stepped into the girl’s space, his hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear—a gesture so possessive and intimate that it left no room for interpretation.
He leaned down, his lips ghosting against her skin, his voice dropping to a low, velvet murmur that was ostensibly for her but clearly meant for the entire room. "And I think you’ll find, cara, that our version of 'close' is quite absolute."
The girl’s mother let out a small, strangled sound—a mix of awe and sheer, unadulterated shock. She looked at her daughter, whose face was still a bright, vulnerable shade of pink, and then back to the two men who looked as if they belonged in a museum of ancient art rather than her modest kitchen.
"You... you're staying for dinner?" the mother managed to squeak out, clutching the spoon as if it could protect her from the sheer gravity of their presence.
Felix’s expression softened, a rare, flickering shadow of a smile touching his stern features as he looked down at the girl, then back to the mother. "We wouldn't dream of letting her eat alone," he said.
The air in the room seemed to vibrate with the sheer absurdity of the lie. The girl sat between the two giants, her composure returning as she spun the fabrication with a practiced, casual grace. She looked at her mother, who was still hovering near the stove, and offered a soft, apologetic smile.
"Uhm... no, no, mum" she said, waving a hand dismissively toward the steaming—and frankly unappetizing—plates of rice. "They’re... they’re celiac. Extremely so. And allergic... to just about everything. They really can't eat this."
Felix, sitting perfectly still with his hands folded on the table, felt a flicker of genuine amusement trace its way across his stony features. He had been accused of many things in his long, blood-stained existence—treachery, cruelty, and cold-blooded murder—but never before had he been framed as a man with a restrictive diet. He tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed on her with a look of profound, almost reverent interest. She was protecting her mother from the reality of their nature, and in doing so, she was playing the part of their guardian with such brazen confidence that it took his breath away.
Demetri, however, was having a harder time suppressing his reaction. His shoulders shook with a silent, rhythmic laugh that he expertly masked as he turned his gaze toward the girl. He leaned slightly toward her, the proximity allowing him to catch the scent of her amusement, which was far sweeter than any mortal meal.
"It is a tragedy," Demetri added, his voice smooth, polished, and utterly devoid of anything resembling genuine distress. He looked at the girl, his dark eyes burning with a mixture of adoration and playfulness. "We have spent our entire lives searching for a dish that wouldn't cause us... significant physical discomfort. It appears that tonight, we must simply enjoy the company."
He reached out under the table, his cold fingers brushing against her knee—a secret, electric touch that sent a jolt through her. It was a firm, possessive reminder that he was there, and that he was fully aware of the game she was playing.
Felix shifted, his massive presence making the kitchen chair look like a toy. He let out a low, gravelly rumble that could have been taken for a sympathetic sigh. "It is a heavy burden, living with such limitations," he agreed, his tone perfectly flat, playing along with her charade with the precision of a seasoned actor. He didn't look at the mother; he kept his eyes on the girl, his expression softening into an look of such intense, singular focus that the rest of the room seemed to fade into insignificance.
"But," Felix continued, his voice dropping into that intimate, resonant register that only she was meant to hear, "there are other, far more satisfying ways for us to sustain ourselves. We have learned to be very patient when it comes to the things we truly crave."
The mother, seemingly satisfied by this explanation, finally retreated to the other side of the kitchen, muttering something about double-checking the ingredients.
Demetri turned his head to follow the girl’s profile, his lips curving into a smirk that was as sharp as a razor blade. He leaned in close enough that his breath—cold and devoid of any human heat—brushed against her neck, sending a shiver down her spine.
"Allergic to everything, tesoro?" he whispered, his voice a lethal velvet caress. "You are quite the talented liar. You should be careful; if you keep inventing such creative stories about us, we might be forced to show you exactly how 'un-allergic' we are to the things we desire."
The absurdity of the situation had reached a point of no return, and yet, the girl soldiered on, her face flaming with a mixture of mortification and sheer, desperate creativity.
"Uhm... no, no," she stammered, her voice thin but resolute as she gestured vaguely at the bowl of sad, overcooked vegetables. "Not even the carrots... they can’t have those either. They eat... uhm... only special, specific foods." She tells to her mum.
She didn’t dare look at the two men sitting beside her. If she had, she would have seen the atmosphere in the kitchen shatter into pure, predatory delight.
Felix, who had spent centuries watching the rise and fall of civilizations, found himself genuinely captivated by her commitment to the bit. He sat like a monolith, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes fixed on her profile with a mixture of amusement and intense, simmering possessiveness. To him, her struggle to maintain this pretense was not merely entertaining; it was endearing. She was weaving a shield of words around them, trying to protect her world from the truth, unaware that she had already invited the wolves into the den. He shifted, his chair groaning slightly under his weight, his knee pressing firmly against hers under the table. It was a silent, grounding touch—a reminder that while she might be spinning fairy tales for her mother, they were very much a physical reality.
Demetri, however, was struggling to maintain even a veneer of decorum. A low, rhythmic vibration started in his chest—a laugh he was forcefully stifling. He leaned in, his face mere inches from hers, his golden eyes burning with a dark, wicked light. The irony was exquisite: they were, in a sense, on a "special diet," though not one that could be found in any health-food store or prepared by her mother.
"Special foods," Demetri repeated, his voice a smooth, dangerous velvet that only she and Felix could truly appreciate. He draped an arm across the back of her chair, his fingers idly brushing the hair at the nape of her neck. "She is right, of course. Our... nutritional requirements are quite rare. And very specific."
He turned his gaze toward the mother, his expression perfectly composed, masking the lethal hunger that always lurked just beneath the surface. "We apologize for the inconvenience. We have become quite accustomed to the... restrictive nature of our lives. It is a burden we must bear."
Felix leaned forward as well, his presence looming over the table like a storm cloud. "And we are incredibly particular," he added, his voice a deep, gravelly resonance that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards. He fixed his gaze on the girl, his expression softening into something devastatingly intense. "We rarely find anything that satisfies us. But we are learning to appreciate the effort you put into keeping us... comfortable."
The mother, looking increasingly distressed by the prospect of feeding these two strange, beautiful, and demanding men, began to flutter about the kitchen, searching for something—anything—that might fit their "extraordinary" needs.
As the mother turned her back, Demetri leaned down, his lips ghosting against the shell of her ear, his breath a cold, sharp contrast to her flushed, feverish skin. "You are doing a marvelous job, cara," he whispered, his tone dripping with dark, teasing praise. "But keep inventing such elaborate lies about our 'allergies,' and you might find that we decide to demonstrate exactly what we do crave. And I assure you, it has nothing to do with carrots."
Felix watched them, his expression unreadable, his gaze heavy with the weight of his own growing desire. He reached out, his hand covering her own on the table, his skin cold as marble, his grip firm and immovable. He wasn't just a guest anymore; he was a claim.
"Eat," Felix murmured, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "Let your mother worry about the menu. We are already quite satisfied with what we have here."
The tension in the kitchen had reached a breaking point, the air thick with the absurdity of their "special diets" and the growing, predatory hum of the two immortals. The girl’s face was an even deeper shade of crimson, her eyes watering—partly from the sheer audacity of her own lies, and partly from the suffocating proximity of the two men who held her world in their grasp.
"I have to go..." she stammered, her voice cracking under the pressure of a rising, hysterical giggle. "Just... a moment in the restroom."
Without waiting for a response, she spun around and bolted from the kitchen, her footsteps thudding rapidly against the stairs as she fled to the sanctuary of the floor above.
The moment she disappeared from sight, the kitchen fell into a silence so profound it was almost deafening. The mother, oblivious to the predatory shift in the room, began rattling pots and pans with renewed, frantic purpose. Felix and Demetri, however, were entirely attuned to the space above them. Their supernatural hearing acted like a radar, isolating the muffled, frantic sounds of her retreat.
Then, it happened.
It started as a soft, choked-off sound—the kind of noise that escapes when someone has been holding their breath for far too long. Then, it broke loose: a bubbling, unrestrained peal of laughter. It was a bright, melodic sound that seemed to dance through the floorboards, cutting through the sterile, cold atmosphere they carried with them.
It was the first time they had heard her laugh since they found her a week ago.
Demetri froze, his head tilting toward the ceiling, his dark eyes blown wide. The smirk that had been playing on his lips softened into something entirely genuine, a look of profound, dazed wonder. He had heard her speak, he had felt her pulse, and he had smelled the sweet, rhythmic scent of her life, but he had never heard the sound of her joy. It was like a chord of music in a world of static.
"She is laughing," Demetri whispered, the words slipping out as if he were afraid the sound might evaporate if he acknowledged it too loudly. He looked at Felix, his expression unguarded for the first time in centuries, that is holding back his laugh too.
