As the sun descended towards the horizon and the day's heat began to dissipate, hues of pink and red painted the sky. A gentle breeze swept across the sandy beach of the Azores. Damon Salvatore sighed, the magical bubble protecting them shimmering softly in the air. What he had once perceived as ultimate safety now felt like a trap, or even a jail.
He, the "number one," the first one, or the cursed one as he sometimes called himself, had been Damien's victim for the longest time. Furthermore, he had made mistakes in the past while other versions of himself were being ushered to safety. Despite feeling the weight of millennia and his past failures, his ego and pride prevented him from fully acknowledging his emotions or admitting that this clusterfuck was, once again, his fault.
He took a deep breath, pushing all doubts and insecurities into the recesses of his mind, focusing on the present. He wondered if the others would even let him join in the fun. After all, one woman and ten men felt a little imbalanced, and he tended to hoard Mariella.
However, ever since Mariella had gathered all the Salvatores back to herself, and they had returned to the Salvatore hive, they had made him their leader, which meant sharing Mariella. According to the old rules, excessive greed would result in a time-out, and this had been his: time to let the others have Mariella, too.
They would share her bed, have sex with her, and use her perfect body. It was simple, clean, and even elegant, especially if you happened to be a lust wizard running on pure lust, an energy creature with pure lust flowing through your veins.
Overcome with irritation at being outvoted as pack leader and alpha male, he allowed his wounded ego and pride to dictate his actions, preventing him from rationally considering the situation or devising a plan. Instead, he remained rooted to the spot, fixated on his own grievances.
His eyes wandered along the coast, captivated by the sun as it dipped towards the horizon, a gentle breeze caressing his skin. Then, his gaze fell upon his arm, where a tattoo depicting his life's love story had significantly deteriorated.
What were once clear and detailed images had faded over time, now resembling stylized cartoons. Had he not known the meaning behind each picture, he would have struggled to identify the figures within. Despite the tattoo's deterioration, it had not grown at all.
He knew that the fading tattoo foreshadowed an inevitable reckoning, yet he stubbornly refused to confront it. Clinging to his pride and dwelling on the perceived betrayals of the pack, particularly Mimi, he struggled to focus. However, even thinking of Mimi was difficult, as he couldn't fully acknowledge the devastation Mariella's jealous outbursts had caused, outbursts he had passively allowed.
It was easier to play the victim, a martyr, than to accept responsibility for the situation. Perhaps someday, he might find the strength to face the truth, and perhaps things would improve. Deep down, he knew that the constant stream of feelings he received from Mariella through their bond was insufficient.
His bond with his alpha female, his first wife, had fallen silent. He was no longer the alpha male of the pack; Charles now held that position. He was no longer her protector, nor her doctor, and he was not Mariella's protector either; no Salvatore was.
Abruptly, he stood and headed inside, hoping a vigorous bout of mindless fucking would clear his mind. He needed to avoid dwelling on the past and what he had lost, instead focusing on Mariella. She had to be enough; after all, she was his chosen one, and now he was facing the consequences of that choice. He had to own them.
He was not weak. He hated his weakness, and his pride, ego, and age pushed honesty into the background as he walked to the nearest bedroom, where he found Mariella engaged in eager sex with other Salvatores.
He paused by the door, turning around. The moaning, wet, schlicking sound didn't arouse him; instead, it filled him with a sense of disgust, prompting him to seek solace in food. He realized his self-loathing ran far deeper than he cared to admit.
He had behaved like a shithead for most of his time with Mimi, and now, after yet another clusterfuck, he was trying to cast himself as a martyr. However, what truly terrified him was Mariella's ignorance of the full extent of his actions.
He remembered times in the past when Mimi had recounted Damien's betrayals, and Mariella had expressed genuine disgust. It seemed he craved that reaction, a disgusted or shocked response to his actions, someone to condemn him as a complete dick and validate that his behavior was unacceptable.
Over the years, he had selectively shared details of his past with Mariella, always controlling the narrative, perhaps to an excessive degree, avoiding brutal honesty. He wondered if he could bear Mariella's disdain and disgust if he were to reveal the truth. Yet, perhaps honesty was the best path to healing, a way to learn about himself and allow Mariella to see him in a new light.
He was beginning to understand that he had inadvertently created a god-like image of himself in Mariella's eyes, someone so powerful and perfect that she couldn't help but be possessive and jealous. While this had initially inflated his ego, he now recognized it was unhealthy, not just for him but for the rest of the pack, culminating in the current situation.
He was no longer the top dog, and reclaiming his position would take time. He was determined to earn it back, not through force or age, but by proving his worth. However, that would have to wait. First, he needed brutal honesty, revelations, and perhaps, ultimately, healing on the beaches of the Azores. He was willing to earn the right to a therapeutic sex holiday, not just out of lust, but as a means to heal from the damage he had caused.
As he was in the kitchen fixing a meal for himself, the scent of peaches, sex, and sweat permeated the air.
A soft voice then broke the silence, asking, "Why don't you come along? Surely you can't be that hungry. I can give you so much more."
Damon's voice was gruff as he replied, "Not now, Mariella. I'm not in the mood. I have things on my mind, and it's clear you aren't in the right frame of mind either, so go on, go fuck some more."
Mariella furrowed her brow, then cast a quick cleansing spell, feeling a ghostly, tingly sensation along her body as the magic somewhat purified her.
"What is it?" she inquired. "You know, talk to me. I'm here, I listen, I understand you."
Damon turned around and snapped, "That's the whole thing, Mariella. I don't need anyone to understand me. I don't want you to pat me on the head and say it's alright when it's not! I want, I need someone to listen and to hear, and to judge, to tell me straight up just how badly I've blown things."
Mariella took a breath, thinking. It was so innate for her to be there for Damon, not to judge, but then again, he needed to hear it; he needed even more to tell it.
Damon continued, "I've told you stories, prettified stories from my past, made me look more or less like a victim, a martyr even, but it wasn't always like that. I've never confessed the whole truth to you, and it's ugly, nasty. I guess I did it because I was afraid of losing you, but now, I want you to know, I want to show you the true me, and maybe, just maybe, it might help you too."
Mariella nodded slowly and said, "Sure, it can't be that bad, but I'm not really seeing how it's helping me."
Damon said bitterly, "As you meet me, see the true me, it might shake off some of your jealousy. As of today, you've had a certain image of me, one that I planted in your brain in order to make sure you are mine. I did it partially to protect you. Maybe I was even trying to become that heroic creature I made myself out to be, but I'm not. Not nearly. And I'm ready to tell you stories, real stories, but with one condition: no understanding, no pat on the head, trying to find a reason why I did it. I want you to be honest with me; it's the only way for us to really move forward in our relationship and make this something other than mere sex. I want to have a connection with you, deep like I and Mimi used to have. Maybe it's wishful thinking that I could get it back someday, but I must admit, first thing, I am in pain."
"Are you injured?" Mariella asked.
Damon shook his head. "No, I'm in pain because I long for my biological half. My body craves Mimi's presence, yet I know I'm not ready. This pain, as nasty as it is, has been a real wake-up call. It's time to confess, to remove the mask, and to let you see the ugly truth beneath it."
Mariella nodded. "Let's go to the living room and talk. I'm willing to listen, and I can offer my judgment if you need it. Maybe you're right; it's time for me to face the reality of what Mimi has endured all this time, a reality I've ignored by pretending it was all in the past."
As they walked into the living room, Mariella was surprised to see the other Salvatores had joined them. It was too late for her to back down now, for she had accepted them as her own. They were once again tightly knit within the Salvatore hive, and she had to deal with it.
She sat down in a chair, sighing softly as she recalled how much Damon had teased Mimi and pulled her onto his lap. Was it all gone, again, because of her? It was almost too much to bear, but this wasn't about her; it was Damon's time, all ten of him.
"Did you know that Hawaii is home to national parks, and rare places where blooms exist that no one has truly witnessed in the wild?"
Damon's voice remained calm as he described these locations. "Those places are magical, filled with tall trees, unusual animals, and scents beyond imagination. And if you happen to be there at the right time, you might witness a miracle of life, so many new hatchlings from birds, or little rodents, flowers blooming, and everything overflowing with life. The local people even have a ritual meant to celebrate love."
He paused, then continued, "I have been through it many times, but never with Mimi, nor you. However, I have been with Jojo several times. I took her into lava tubes underground to see them, taught her how to surf, and picked flowers for her, making wreaths. We ate in the best places, slept under the stars. All this time, Mimi had been recovering."
He then revealed a darker truth. "She had been dead for a week, and then under the care of Bran, who had gone completely mad and started eating bugs. He hadn't taken care of her wound, made her eat bugs, so she was sick and miserable. Her neck was smashed. I took care of her, got her well, and out of danger. However, her infection spread to Adam, and I had to save him by giving him dental treatment, keeping teeth in his neck for a few weeks. Then, I walked into the room where Mimi was. I used my telepathy, so I knew she was awake as I called Jojo, told her not to bother dressing so I could kiss every inch of her perfect body... It was me, not Damien."
Mariella swallowed, suppressing her need to mitigate this information. It was time to face the truth, so her answer took the form of a question. "Why? Why Jojo, why not Mimi?"
Damon's voice remained calm, but it was Number Two who answered. "I was bored with her. I saw her as a patient: skinny, sick, needy, not pretty, not even female. I wanted big tits, thick thighs, someone to butter up my ego, someone who looked good with me. I have to admit, there was more than one occasion when I was ashamed to be seen with Mimi, as her appearance didn't match what I saw as a perfect partner."
Mariella remained quiet. Damon's brutal confession struck her as genuinely honest, perhaps the first truly honest thing she had ever heard from him. This realization made her understand that, despite her vows to herself, she would always empathize with him. However, she also recognized that his actions were not beneficial to him.
While he might have his reasons, Mariella knew that Damon's poor choices had cost him dearly over the years, despite his innate goodness. She desperately wanted to include Mimi in this conversation, as she represented the other side of these stories. Including Mimi would be crucial for Damon to truly acknowledge his mistakes and understand their consequences.
Before Mariella could speak, Number Five broke the silence. "You know, Damien manipulated us, but ultimately, we allowed it. Once, Mimi undertook a world-saving mission—a long and arduous task—and we restored her to some semblance of her former self. While we weren't directly involved in that mission, she subsequently pursued her enemies. Damien exploited us, and Mimi suffered. After a shedding session, Charles and Colin, Magnum healed her, although she seemed allergic to me, or something like that. Once recovered, she taught us a harsh lesson, vividly demonstrating just how many people depended on her—and even her fleas. By interfering with her, countless individuals perished. My friends, my trusted vampires, even our enemies gained knowledge that they still possess, and that's not good. Yet, after all of this, we abandoned her. We left her and partied after completing the task she had assigned us. And it wasn't just me; Samuel, Bran, and Adam were also involved."
Mariella quietly added, "She can be a vicious teacher when she wants to be. I want to hear her stories, too, the other side of things. Not to minimize the trauma, nor to cast her as a victim, but to understand and learn the consequences of these events. Perhaps I'm seeking a lesson for myself as well, hoping to find an example, something to... I don't know."
Her voice trailed off as she lost her train of thought. It was hard to put into words, and she furrowed her brow, pursed her lips, and crossed her legs as she tried to articulate what she was after.
Number Ten said softly, "You're hoping for something that will pull you back from the brink, stop you from going overboard. And maybe, just maybe, you're beginning to see Mimi as someone you want to understand, perhaps even help. You see her as a road to redemption, but let me burst that bubble. She is furious, to put it mildly, and when we go back to the pack, she won't be the only one who looks at us as less than dirt."
Mariella responded, "We deserved it, I deserve it. I know it might not teach me much, but I want to see it, feel it, and maybe after we have stewed in that soup of disdain long enough, another bout in here might feel right. This feels like cheating, like I'm once again hiding from my problems, my mistakes."
Number Four countered, "That's because you are. We all are. We fuck because it makes us feel something, not anything perfect, not anything we've deserved, but at least it's something. I'm not sure I can go back, look them in the eyes, and live with myself."
"We just have to," Number Seven stated. "It is what will happen, and there's no denying it."
Number One sat in his chair, surrounded by versions of himself throughout the room. He observed Mariella's influence, noticing she was molding them all to resemble him. Each version had their hair groomed and styled, no longer a long, messy mane, but neat and tidy, much like his own. Their clothes were also similar.
He felt guilty, knowing each version was an individual, yet he had allowed this to happen. Mariella had used magic, as well as a potion, to bind them tightly into the Salvatore hive, but at the same time, their grip on the Pack's hive was weakened significantly.
This was not good. He was trying to devise a way to grant everyone their individualism, keep Mariella under control, and perhaps partially merge the Salvatore hive with the Pack's hive. Maybe it was time for him to loosen his grip, learn to share and not divide this Pack as it was now: thirty people strong, yet eleven of them were in Azores, fucking and bitching, while other Pack members were living Pack life somewhere out there.
Damon understood that being a chimera was not easy. After being a vampire for so long, admitting he was also a feline shifter—a true chimera, two beings in one body—felt strange and new. However, he knew that Mimi had accepted this a long time ago, and perhaps it was this acceptance that would help them both. While he possessed magic, making him a wizard and an energy creature, these felt more like skills rather than separate beings, as his shifter and vampire sides did.
Soon, it would be time to return to the pack, face the music, and see where they stood. He felt like they were pariahs, which, on some level, felt right, considering he had been an utter shithead to them all. He had blown his whole grand plan out of the park and ruined it for everyone except Mariella.
Only time would tell what the future held, and he wasn't even sure if he could live among the pack again or if their disdain would be too much to bear. They ventured into the kitchen to eat, to plan, and then to ask Charles where the pack was located. It was time for them to try to be part of the pack again, or at least try.
Damon was struggling to formulate an explanation for Mimi as to why the plan had gone so terribly wrong, but he couldn't make it sound even remotely coherent. It always came across as him being weak, prioritizing Mariella over others, and forcing others to hurt everyone, especially Mariella, even though she wasn't the worst of them.
They say hindsight is always twenty-twenty, but it can be a real bitch, too. Owning one's mistakes and trying to move on is not an easy task for a human, let alone an old, proud creature who has learned to believe he is always right, the strongest, and that everyone else is wrong, at least in some part, regardless of the actual truth.