WRONG LOVE 3: HEIR

Chapter Eight: The Mexican Food Incident

The cravings had started in week six.

By week ten, Jace had developed what could only be described as a hunted expression whenever Elara said the words "I want—" in any context whatsoever.

It wasn't just quantity, though the quantity alone had been alarming enough on its own — a vampire who had survived three centuries on modest, controlled feeding was suddenly eating like she was preparing for hibernation, and the first time she'd finished an entire roast chicken by herself she'd looked at the bones on her plate with genuine horror.

"That's not normal," she'd said.

"You're pregnant with a wolf-vampire hybrid," Jace had said. "Normal left the building months ago."

It was the specificity that had truly become the problem.

She didn't just want food. She wanted exact, precise, non-negotiable food, at exact, precise, non-negotiable times, and heaven help the household if the wrong thing arrived.

That particular Thursday, Max and Orion had shown up unannounced — their friendship, or whatever the specific chaotic alliance between them had become, had reached the stage where they simply appeared at each other's locations with no warning and no apology.

Aaron arrived shortly after, ostensibly to discuss security logistics for an upcoming supernatural summit that nobody had asked Elara's opinion on because everyone had unanimously decided she was not to be stressed about summits in her condition.

They were all in the sitting room — Max entertaining himself by narrating a documentary on mute with completely fabricated dialogue, Orion providing dry commentary, Aaron reviewing something on his laptop — when Elara sat up straight on the sofa with the specific electric focus of someone who has just had a revelation.

"Mexican food," she said.

The room went quiet.

"I want Mexican food," she said again, louder, like the volume might make it more urgent. "Right now. Tonight. Specifically from that place on Fifth with the tacos. Not the other place. THAT place."

Jace looked up from where he'd been reading.

"You had Thai food four hours ago," he said carefully.

"That was FOUR HOURS AGO, Jace," she said, like this was an eternity. "I need tacos now."

"Elara, it's spicy. The doctor said—"

"WHICH doctor," she said. "Because it certainly wasn't a doctor who's ever been pregnant and craving tacos at eight PM."

"Malachar said—"

"MALACHAR IS FOUR THOUSAND YEARS OLD AND HAS NEVER EATEN A TACO IN HIS LIFE," she said. "His opinion on Mexican food means NOTHING."

Max, from the sofa, made a small strangled sound trying not to laugh.

Orion did not attempt to hide his amusement at all.

"The spice can upset your system," Jace said, still trying reason, the specific doomed strategy of a man who had not yet learned that reason had left this conversation several sentences ago. "Especially combined with the fact that you've been feeling weak—"

"I feel FINE," Elara said. "I feel AMAZING. I feel like a woman who deserves tacos and is being DENIED tacos by her HUSBAND who apparently doesn't LOVE her—"

"That escalated," Aaron said quietly, not looking up from his laptop.

"—doesn't love me or our DAUGHTER—"

"We don't know it's a daughter yet," Jace said.

"OUR DAUGHTER WANTS TACOS, JACE."

The tears arrived approximately four seconds later.

Not real tears — Jace knew this immediately, had known it for the past three weeks of escalating craving-related negotiations, the specific quality of a crying performance that had absolutely no genuine grief behind it and everything to do with strategic manipulation.

But she committed to it completely.

"You don't understand what it's like," she said, voice wobbling with theatrical precision, "to want ONE thing. ONE simple thing. And have your own husband tell you no."

"Elara—"

"I am carrying your child," she continued, working up momentum, "and all I ask is ONE small taco—"

"You wanted five tacos," Jace said.

"FIVE SMALL TACOS," she amended without missing a beat, "and you're standing there like some kind of TACO TYRANT—"

Max lost it completely.

He fell sideways onto the sofa cushions, wheezing, one hand pressed to his chest, making a sound that hadn't been heard from him since he was genuinely delighted about something two hundred years ago.

"TACO TYRANT," he wheezed. "Cole needs to hear this. CALL COLE."

"Don't call Cole," Jace said.

"I'M CALLING COLE," Max said, already pulling out his phone.

Orion, meanwhile, had settled into the specific dry contentment of someone watching quality entertainment unfold in real time.

"This is better than the documentary," he said to nobody.

"I heard that," Elara said, briefly abandoning the crying to glare at him.

"Continue," Orion said. "Please. The taco tyrant part was excellent."

Elara resumed crying.

"I just wanted," she said, voice cracking with an Oscar-worthy tremor, "to feel LOVED. Through TACOS."

"You're not even crying real tears," Jace said. "I can smell that you're not upset."

"THAT'S A HORRIBLE THING TO SAY TO YOUR PREGNANT WIFE," she said, immediately abandoning the sad performance for outraged performance without missing a beat.

"You're doing the toddler thing again," Jace said.

"WHAT TODDLER THING," she demanded.

"The thing where you cry and then get instantly furious the second someone points out you're not actually crying," Jace said. "You've done this four times this week. Monday it was the pickles. Tuesday it was the specific brand of orange juice. Wednesday it was—"

"Don't bring up Wednesday," she said darkly.

"Wednesday you cried because I organized the pantry and you said I 'ruined the vibe of the cheese section,'" Jace continued, ruthlessly.

Aaron, still not looking up from his laptop, said, "There was a vibe to the cheese section?"

"THERE WAS A SYSTEM," Elara said. "He destroyed my system."

"You didn't have a system," Jace said. "You put the cheese wherever there was space."

"THAT WAS THE SYSTEM," she said.

Max had gotten Cole on the phone at this point and was narrating events with the enthusiasm of a sports commentator.

"—and now she's defending the cheese system, Cole, you would not BELIEVE the cheese system—"

"Hang up the phone, Max," Jace said.

"I'm bringing him UP TO SPEED," Max said. "This is important family history."

Twenty minutes of escalating negotiation, two more fake crying attempts, one genuine laugh Elara couldn't suppress halfway through her own performance when Orion offered dry play-by-play commentary, and one phone call to Cole later —

Jace put on his shoes.

"Fine," he said. "Five tacos. FIVE. And you're eating them slowly, and if you feel even slightly unwell we're calling Malachar immediately."

Elara's face transformed instantly from tragic to radiant.

"THANK YOU," she said, all traces of tears vanished without a shred of embarrassment. "You're the best husband in the entire—"

"You were crying fake tears about tacos four seconds ago," he said.

"And now I'm not," she said. "Growth."

He looked at her for a long moment.

Shook his head.

Kissed her forehead.

"I love you," he said. "Even when you're being a taco tyrant's victim."

"I PREFER victim of injustice," she said.

"Sure," he said. "Five tacos. I'll be back."

He left.

The moment the door closed, Max collapsed into fresh hysterics.

"TACO TYRANT," he repeated, wheezing. "I'm never letting either of you live this down."

"Please don't tell Nova," Elara said. "She'll never stop talking about it."

Orion looked at her with the specific dry gravity of someone delivering terrible news.

"Max already texted Nova," he said. "Four minutes ago."

Elara put her face in her hands.

From the sofa, Max's phone buzzed violently — Nova, apparently, had opinions about the taco tyrant situation and intended to share every single one of them.