Novel & Cerita God Of Cooking

Elira “I was gonna cook these deer steaks the old-fashioned way,” Brad said, slapping a bowl of meat onto the counter with a thud. “But now that we’ve got a goddess in the kitchen, maybe she can just look at ’em real hard and poof—dinner’s served.” Crawl snorted. “You’re just mad she didn’t make you a glowing snowball.” “I’m just saying,” Brad grinned, ignoring his cousin. “Seems like a waste of divine power to let it sit idle when there’s hungry mouths to feed.”

"This doesn't mean I forgive you for being an invasive, arrogant bastard." "Of course not." He taps his fingers on the counter. "But now you know I can cook. That makes me, let's say... ten percent harder to kill." "Wrong," I say around a mouthful. "Fifteen percent." He chuckles. "I'll take it." The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable. And that's the most uncomfortable part of all. Because for the first time, I'm not looking at Rhydar, the mind-reading psycho. I'm looking at a man in an apron who deserves the title ‘the food god.’

THE heavens never spoke in whispers. They roared. Kael knelt at the edge of the celestial dais, his skin stripped of its golden glow, blackened now with the mark of divine betrayal. The air around him shimmered with judgment, each breath thick with the rancid stench of mortality. Above him, the gods loomed, their faces carved from the cold light of eternity. Their eyes held neither pity nor forgiveness—only a cruelty as infinite as the stars. “You, the god of storms, who once commanded the skies,” boomed the All-Father, his voice rattling the cosmos, “have desecrated the sacred laws. You dared to love what is beneath us. A mortal. A fleeting ember among our eternal flame.”

He steps back, grabs a T-shirt from a chair, pulls it on in one smooth motion— (Thank God.) (Low-key disappointed?) (HELP.) Then he says: “Sit.” Like a mafia boss but much more handsome. I obey instantly because my survival instincts are cowards. He serves breakfast. TO ME. Like… eggs. Perfectly cooked. Toast. Fruit. Coffee. It smells heavenly. “You cooked?” I whisper. “I do it sometimes,” he says. “Why?” He shrugs. “It’s relaxing.” “YOU. FIND. COOKING. RELAXING.”

Damn, Kerra is a goddess of food. Every meal Kerra made was a masterpiece, I was always overfed from her meals back then in my pack and as Alpha I wasn't supposed to touch anything or engage in pack chores, hence the major reason I couldn't prepare a decent meal but Kerra thought me some cooking tricks that could help me if need calls for it. My eyes lightened up when I took a spoonful of the soup and just when I was about to take another piece of meat, a growl cut me off. I turned my head to see Dane leaning against the door frame, his eyes focused on me.

Three days after I got back. Julian's parents threw a massive banquet at the Valerius estate. Everyone silently agreed this was the official debut of the future Valerius Donna. Julian sat right beside me. He had lost a lot of weight since coming back from Amalfi. At the table, he carefully took my plate. He cut my steak into perfect pieces and slid the plate back to me, his eyes pleading. "Aria," his voice was raspy, his eyes slightly red. "Medium-well, just how you like it. I specifically had the chef use your favorite black pepper sauce."

Adding on to Christian wanting to try her cooking, Christen couldn’t refuse at that point. It was quite tough at first, having to make the alone in a large kitchen, where plenty of other chefs were, glaring daggers at her, but she managed through. Especially with their two boss/Alphas ordering the other chefs to help her however they could. All in all, she was glad to be able to cook for her son for the first time.

I saw Trevor walking back and forth downstairs so I decided to go to his direction and ask for food I didn't see anyone here so I guess it's just the two of us. He said he would just cook for the both of us for a while . So I went with him at the kitchen and he's cooking skills was as good as fuck!... Why Is this Greek Goddess seems so perfect?..

Tristan Mercer is the commander—otherwise known as the Alpha—of Drovenia's premier special forces unit, codenamed the Fenrir unit. After retiring from the army, he goes undercover into civilian life to repay the debt he owes Claire Grayson for saving his life. He hides his past and marries into the Grayson family as a live-in son-in-law, becoming Claire's househusband. For five long years, even though Claire is sharp-tongued and cruel, Tristan swallows his pride and cooks and cleans without complaint. He tells himself he's doing this to repay Claire. Then their daughter, Ruby Grayson, suffers a sudden heart attack. While the doctors try and fail to save her, Claire is off taking care of h

“Bossy.” He smirked without looking up. “You’re the one shaking like a leaf. Humor me.” I watched him whisk the eggs, his forearms flexing with the motion. There was something calming about it—about him, really. The deliberate way he moved, like nothing could rush him. The smell of butter hitting the pan made my stomach grumble in betrayal. “You’re lucky you can cook,” I said, trying to sound lighter. “Lucky?” He shot me a glance over his shoulder. “I could run circles around most chefs. My omelets are legendary.”