It had been a week since Salvatore and Mariella returned. Although they spent their nights in their own house, the days were hectic, at least for me. I had so much to do and teach, and with Mariella, or sometimes Salvatore, now in the mix, I felt like I had no spare time.
Charles, however, was relentless. He wanted to ensure that if another kidnapping, or anything remotely similar, occurred, we would all be armed to the maximum. This meant physical fitness, as well as me sharing as much as I could about the Hive, pheromones, and Alpha powers. Now was not the time to keep secrets, and I was learning to be a teacher.
It was perplexing how someone like me could teach others to use something I use innately. Initially, I had no rules or way to express myself, but Wulfe, and to my surprise, Elena and Katherine as well, were excellent, asking the right questions and demanding answers or clarifications. I was sitting in one of our classrooms, and today's subject was another Hive exercise, soon to begin.
In this house, there was a cellar floor. The original house had one, too, but I had never really delved into it, except for the spa section. Here, however, it housed a large, dark space that Charles, Adam, Magnum, Alaric, and others had turned into a very special exercise place. It had no lights, so we would have to use our senses and the Hive to get an idea of who was where.
Our goal was to find a prize while avoiding the three to eight men who would be trying to stop us. Most importantly, they would be trying to get as deep into the Hive as possible, into our own private channel. This was a females-versus-males game, and this time, lust was not an option, not right away.
I had learned to weaponize Mariella, or so I thought. She was a very good distraction when I got her in the correct position. Of course, all of this was being taped, and Charles, Adam, and possibly others would review the tapes later to see how we did, learning from us. This meant that we had to be unpredictable and avoid repeating anything they had already seen, so it was a challenging task.
A few hours later, as it was all done for the day, the exercises had taken a lot out of us, and I wasn't even sure if Mariella was feeling perky. The boys hadn't spared any strength during the attacks, and Mariella's shoulder was sore from a particularly nasty hit by Lepard, who offered no apologies.
According to Charles, pain was a good teacher, and it certainly brought out my rage. It wasn't unusual for me to end up in the gym after our hive exercises, needing to relieve some of that anger. I was exhausted and looking forward to the weekend, Charles having promised us those days off so he and the others could plan the upcoming week.
Mariella trudged into the kitchen late that afternoon after another grueling exercise. She was learning, but it was hard when they hit so hard. She still felt like a princess and wasn't prepared to be beaten, but she was getting the message.
Charles's methods were much more efficient than Damon's, as he had no problem hurting her or causing her pain. Mimi was a strict but brilliant strategist, and her unique approach had led them to several wins, even if they were banged up in the process.
Mimi was also teaching them about pheromones, something Mariella struggled with. However, with Colin involved, she had no choice but to learn, try, and try again. The difficulty stemmed from the fact that pheromones are the scent of feelings. To release a certain pheromone, one must genuinely feel the corresponding emotion, and Mariella struggled to compartmentalize her feelings well enough.
Damon was already in the kitchen, fixing meals and preparing her coffee.
Even without smelling her, he assumed Mariella was cranky, sore, and in need of coffee, so she snapped, "Don't. Smell me first and do not assume. I need the real deal, not the same as you. I am not Mimi, you know."
Damon raised his brow at her snappy tone. "Oh, darlin', cool down, would you? Let's eat and go back to our house, and let me help you relax."
His tone implied something more than a massage; however, he intended to seduce her, but she was far too tired for that.
"Not now, Damon. I have a headache, and I'm not in the mood to be a sex toy. Ask the wolves or the girls—hell, ask Mimi; she seems to have energy."
Mariella was already toned thanks to rigorous exercise, but it was tiresome. She wanted to rest and recover, not to be used in bed. She wasn't even thinking about how she had completely reversed her lustful desires.
It was simply a matter of keeping her busy, directing her energies toward other things than mere lust. And voilà, she was no longer a sex addict but a cranky, sore individual who felt her poor fitness in her muscles and bones.
I walked into the kitchen and overheard this brief discussion, my mouth turning into a smirk.
Charles noticed, of course, and came to me, kissed me, and murmured, "Why so perky? What's the joke of the day?"
I said out loud, "Mariella has a headache, and Damon is not gonna get any."
Charles chuckled. "Oh really? That is funny. Well, babe, come on, time to eat. You're still a little bony."
I rolled my eyes. I noticed Damon heard Charles's nickname for me, and he clenched his jaws, but he remained still, not getting involved. It wasn't my problem if he was too timid to confront me, or maybe Wulfe kept him busy with magic lessons and whatnot.
I was just waiting for the weekend, and my gaze wandered to the mantle of the fireplace, or the white wall around it, and I couldn't wait to start my project. Of course, being part of a pack, and a pretty close-knit one, nowadays meant I might have some eager helpers, but the white wall was large, and I had a few ideas near the ceiling, some decorations there too.
I could direct those who wanted to help me to do those. It was time for a change, and no matter what color the walls were, this was home, so much more of a home to me than almost any other house. I just couldn't help it; maybe it wasn't such a bad deal after all.
While I ate, the Salvatores sat around the table, their unhappiness palpable. However, Charles, as pack leader, had made his decision and wouldn't back down. I had already tasted each Salvatore's blood and provided them with feeding instructions, and Adam as well. Charles, in turn, tasted my blood and Mariella's to ensure she was feeding properly.
One might say we were under control, and I was content. However, my feline side had its own plans for keeping Charles happy, and as I ate, I allowed it to scheme, utterly missing Damon's knowing smirk. His alpha side had realized what mine was planning, but he kept silent, not telling Charles a word about my feline side's unruly nature.
As I poured my third cup of coffee, Tim asked about my art project. "I'm free, so I can help if you tell me what it is."
Damon chimed in, "Yeah, baby, an art project! Now, that sounds like my kind of activity. Spill it; we're pack after all."
He was smug and calm, and Charles raised a brow slightly.
"It's nothing that special," I said mildly. "Well, I hope it looks good, but it takes time. I have a lot of ideas, and that white wall needs some sprucing up. I can show you tomorrow as I get to it. There are options; someone could decorate near the ceiling, borders, and then there's a lot of space left. I'll take care of the mantel."
"Oh, thank God, something other than fighting or planning," Mariella said. "I'm in, but tomorrow. I'm exhausted and need a bath. I think I'll stay in this house and find a room myself here."
Her pointed look made Damon smile condescendingly. However, my power schooling about alpha powers, and being an alpha female, had given Mariella some new ideas, and she was less of a doll for Damon. But that didn't mean we were fine; I still had no respect for her, seeing her as a weakling I was trying to make stronger.
I continued eating, while Charles was being himself, meaning he was more or less all over me, or if he wasn't, Wulfe was. I wasn't sure if this was some kind of territorial declaration about me, but I could see it made the Salvatores tense up. I wasn't in the mood for drama, but I couldn't help it either.
I was just planning my weekend, nothing special. Despite the fact that the Salvatores had been here for a week already, not one of them had made any contact with me. Why, I had no fucking clue, and frankly, I wasn't in the mood to ponder it.
It was their problem, not mine. If this were our new way of living, and I had men in my life, I could surely adjust and, at some point, stop living in the past. Of course, even ten of them were all my husbands as well.
I was already eating a decadent chocolate cake for dessert when Number Ten commented on how fancy the plates were. Mariella, sounding truly tired and rundown, seemed to mutter that it didn't matter as long as you could eat from them. I, on the other hand, was satisfied that I had done a good job, no longer needing to use my seductive charms on the men in the middle of the meal.
I knew I could reserve my tools of the trade, so to speak, for tomorrow. After this, I would retreat to my room to read. I wasn't sure if Charles or anyone else was coming, as Wulfe seemed busy with his teaching, and Magnum's job of managing Salvatore's rage was more than a full-time commitment.
The other men also had other women on their minds, not that I was particularly in need of male attention. My own room was pretty much my ultimate security, and I could read and perhaps sleep there.
After I had eaten all of my food and dessert, I put my dishes into the dishwasher. The men were moving into the living room to discuss this and that, and the Salvatores were joining them. At the start, they had stayed in the background, but as the days had passed, they had gotten more relaxed and were now chatting, talking, and even planning my meals.
Even though they were not officially my protectors, they had long-term experience and skill. Once again, it seemed I was the talk of the town, but I just rolled my eyes and walked up to the craft room to put my gear in order.
It would take maybe a day or more for me to get it fully done, so it wasn't a fast project, but that made it fun. I had patience, and this allowed me to also have skill.
As I was browsing the shelves, gathering my things in a basket for tomorrow, a voice from the doorway broke the silence.
"Baby, we need to talk," Damon said, his voice thick with emotion. "I mean, I want to try to explain, to ask, hell, to beg for forgiveness, and maybe find some damn way forward."
He leaned against the doorframe, his hands crossed, his gaze fixed on the floor before finally lifting to meet mine. I turned around, placing my basket on the table.
"I have no idea how many times I have to say this," I began, frustration lacing my voice. "I've said it in the past, over and over again, but you seem to forget it: I am not Mariella."
His brow furrowed. "No, you're not, and I wish I had been stronger, kept to my original plan. But I... I must admit, baby, I am weak. I don't have it in me to keep my mind clear if I sense Mariella is not well."
I rolled my eyes, finding no surprise in his words.
He continued, "It was supposed to end with you and me in a Romanian sex nest for months—rage release, physical therapy. Instead, I let Mariella dictate what to do, and for that, I am sorry."
My response dripped with sarcasm. "For you, 'sorry' isn't the hardest word, as you seem to be a little sorry about everything. But tell me, Damon, did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, your little plot was doomed right from the start? I had been in a cage; I have no memories left, as Wulfe took all of them away—everything but the knowledge that I was made to feel like nothing, being imprisoned, helpless, without my rage, drugged, tortured, forced to watch. So, you doing exactly the same thing was not really helpful."
He sighed, opened his arms in a gesture of helplessness, and raked his hand through his hair. "I get it now; I truly do. But I thought it would be one thing igniting your rage."
I shrugged. "It might have been if you had interacted with me, not hung me from the ceiling. You could push my buttons if you chose to, but once again, Mariella, her pussy took everything from me—everything. And before you try to find a way to move on, there is no moving on. There is no going back."
I lifted my sleeve, revealing the tattoos that stretched all the way up to my shoulder. "See? This tells me a hell of a lot."
Having a magical tattoo on my arm that records every moment of my life, even the unpleasant, shitty ones, is far from ideal. Originally, it was intended to chronicle Damon and my love story, a memento from our vampire wedding.
However, in a cosmic jest, or perhaps by some other force, the tattoo became a comprehensive record of my life, encompassing both the good and the bad. As time passed, the tattoo changed, hearts were broken, pictures faded, new ones were added, and it became clear that our scars were not meant to intertwine.
In fact, I wasn't even certain our hearts still beat in unison. I showed him the tattoo, a tapestry of my broken heart, filled with images of my imprisonment and Mariella, depicted as a dark shadow, stealing love from my life.
Bitterness laced my voice as I said, "Your tattoo looks centuries old, and it speaks volumes. I've told you countless times that I don't need words; I need action. Charles doesn't preach his love to me; he kisses me, touches me, hugs me, fucks me. He acts, while all you do is talk. Go talk to Mariella, the weakest link in this whole damn pack."
Damon remained silent for a moment before responding, "I know, hell, I have no idea what to do. But, baby, I need you. I was in literal pain in the Azores because I needed you near me, my biological half. Now the pain is gone. So hate me, hate Mariella, let me feel your pain. I'm trying to change, trying to learn, and I know for sure I'm not yet fit to be pack leader. You weren't the only one I betrayed; I broke so many promises just to keep one, and now, that promise feels like a literal chain on my leg."
He looked at me, then turned and walked away. I rolled my eyes and resumed collecting my tools for the next day, hoping it would be an improvement. If my life were perfect, he would have walked in and kissed me with genuine passion.
Perhaps that would have given us something, but this... I wasn't Mariella; I didn't want to listen to him ramble about his feelings and failures, stating the obvious. Action over words was always my way, but he either never learned it or had forgotten it. I doubted he ever would. And with Mariella back to hoarding all the Salvatores, she might try to take others as well. Charles wouldn't allow it, and things might get tricky at some point.
Sighing, I tried to plan my weekend, not anticipating the potential interpack drama that might or might not occur. After all, I lacked the ability to foresee the future, and as a being of chaos, such attempts never really worked.
Besides, the cloying scent of pheromones meant for Mariella, which oozed from Damon, gave me a headache. Those pheromones revealed his location, his thoughts, and his desires, and while he might have been in pain, Mariella was the one he truly wanted, not me. He likely felt he needed to apologize as normal people do, expecting me to absolve him so he would be free to be with Mariella.
However, life doesn't obey his rules, especially not with me. It was time for him to learn that. I just hoped my weekend would be perfect and my little project would proceed as envisioned. Yet, surprises are more than normal in my life, and I was about to learn a great deal in the near future. It would be one damn long lesson about being careful what you wish for, as the reality rarely matches expectations.