After I finished eating alone, my anger hadn't subsided. I tried to think of a way to calm down, but the urge to explode, to make them acknowledge my existence after they'd ignored me, was overwhelming. Part of me knew it would be pointless to throw a tantrum because the pack hadn't fawned over me, but I was still furious.
I walked out of the kitchen and into the corridor, where I heard voices. "Oh, really?"
They were chatting as if nothing was wrong. My pulse quickened, my hands clenched into fists, and I ground my teeth so hard I almost cracked them. I was going to give them a piece of my mind, and it wouldn't be pretty. I was on the verge of a tantrum, and now I felt I fucking deserved one; this was so irritating.
I heard Mariella. "I mean, the job is probably fun, but by God, I'm confused. It's not easy for me to remember who to talk to and who not to. Well, I got my lesson today. See, it's my job to call the next patient in when the nurse or doctor is ready. I sit behind a desk in the lobby where patients come to register or log in to let the system know they're here for their appointment. But since they're, well, more or less crazy, not everyone is very stable. This nurse, my supervisor, she's lovely, older, and kind of chunky, but she told me today who to talk to and who not to contact, but I mean, there were thirty-four patients; how in hell am I supposed to remember everything?"
Her tirade continued. Salvatore muttered something. I just stood there, listening.
"Damon, just think, I was sitting there, and this guy, Trevor, comes in. He looks normal, talks normally, knows how to swipe his card to log his appointment, and then I was just writing files as I needed to log them in, meaning their next appointments and whatnot, not any medical stuff, but clerical kind of stuff. And he introduces himself, I too, and he starts to talk about his life, and I somehow forget that he's one not to be spoken to, so I talk back. And then his time comes; I lead him to the doctor and go back. His appointment was thirty-five minutes, and he came back to the lobby, but didn't leave, and kept on talking. I'm trying to book his next time, and at the same time, this young girl, the one I was supposed to be talking to, is sitting there looking like a lost lamb, and Trevor keeps yapping about his fifth girlfriend and her weird toes. Not easy."
I rolled my eyes, then Salvatore, I think it was number nine, began to talk about his security job, specifically how he had to learn to use pepper spray, which he found insulting. Soon, someone else was complaining. They were like spoiled children, each having found something to whine about. Number one then remarked that the most exciting case he'd had was removing an ingrown toenail from an 89-year-old man with a chronic fungal infection and thick nails.
I'd had enough. I walked to the door, took a deep breath, and let it all out.
My voice started as an angry hiss, but the volume increased as my tirade continued, "Boo-hoo, congratulations to all of you! You must have had such a hard day as you sit here, complaining about damn toenails, and not one of you thought of me. Instead, I was bombarded with messages about what was missing and what I should get from the shop! Me! I was the last one coming home! Did it ever occur to any of you idiots that you could have gone to that damn shop and gotten those things yourselves? Tell me, how many of you had to dig your car out of the snow or shovel the damn driveway to get to work? Or even better, none of you did anything to our yard! I had to make my way to the garage through several inches of snow when I finally arrived, and you idiots just sat there, thumbs up your asses, complaining as you talked too much!"
My eyes blazing, I wasn't finished yet. "And best of all, when I get home, tired as shit, pregnant, and frozen, someone dares to complain to me about snow in my boots! There's no food left for me, and I had to take a frozen meal from the freezer, wait for it to warm up, and make my coffee. I hadn't eaten anything solid in the last five hours. I had done quite a bit of physical work, and I was tired, cold, and no one here bothered to remember me. I guess I'm just some damn servant who gets your stuff from the shop when you don't think, but use, and spent all the cream in some turkey marinade!"
I took a breath, not bothering to listen to their apologies or explanations. I stormed away, cursing under my breath, unsure what to do to calm my racing pulse and get this damn pissed-off feeling out of me.
Damon sat in his chair, holding Mariella in his lap. He was quiet, Mimi's tantrum having affected him, and he was trying to formulate a response. The living room was cozy, with a fire crackling in the enormous fireplace.
The sofas and chairs were muted pastel colors, soft and inviting. The rugs on the floor brought a homey feeling to a new level. It was a nice place to relax after work.
As they had eaten a lot and were now digesting their meals and talking, Adam spoke first, "I'll go after her; you continue your conversation. She's pissed, and with good reason. Goddamn it, if I hadn't been this tired, I would have picked her up. I blew it."
Number Five added, "We blew it; she just slipped our minds."
They talked for some time about Mimi and their work. No one was in a hurry to go after her, as it was clear she needed some time to cool off, if she were to cool off at all.
Mariella, still sitting in Damon's lap, giggled, "I know I'm naughty, but god damn, that was the first tantrum she's thrown in a long time, and I must admit, she looked funny as she screamed, her face all red."
Damon sighed and pushed Mariella off his lap. "Enough cuddling. Time to try to make this right. Fine, Adam, go to her, see if you can calm her down."
Wulfe said sarcastically, "She was 100% right. I was an idiot. I was still reeling from my day, and I was selfish. She's god damn it pregnant, and I wasn't in the mood to go shopping, as it was snowing and I didn't want to shovel snow."
He was feeling stupid and lazy, and the work was getting to him. It was hard, and it took more of a toll on him than he dared to admit, but at the same time, working felt fun. He was earning money, and he was part of society in a way he never had been before. The others muttered in agreement.
Curled up in front of the fireplace in his black jaguar form, Demon was napping, completely undisturbed. Driving a truck was exhausting; they had had very little rest, and the drives were long. It was the most physically demanding work he had ever done, so this was his recovery time.
The Salvatores had also noticed how much effort it took to learn everything new, to remember it all, and to actually do the job. It wasn't just about doing what they wanted; there were necessary tasks. Of course, they wanted to share and talk about it, but Mimi had just slipped their minds, as in old times.
She had reacted, and now they were trying to learn and think about how to prevent it from happening again. Damon was checking about home delivery for shops, while Britney was considering shopping during the lunch break. Mariella was still so confused about many things and knew that these three days – or well, two days – might get easier, but it might also take time. She wasn't too hormonal yet, maybe not in the way she had assumed she would be.
I walked into one of the many rooms in the library and took a book. This was one I had gotten recently, and I smiled a little sadly. It was about myths and lore. Cullen had given it to me; it was from his grandfather, who had died – or, as Cullen put it, was running in a field of eternal gold with his wife.
His wife had died at the same time, too; that's how shifters do it, true soulmates whose alpha power is entwined. When one goes, so does the other, so they are never alone. He had been a damn funny guy, and it was a true tragedy to lose him, but age got him, too. He was over 859 years old, so it wasn't so surprising. I wished I could have been at his funeral, but it was only for his pride, his family.
Now, Cullen had brought this book and about 50 more that he wanted me to have. So, here I was, ready to read these old stories and myths again, gaining more knowledge about shifters and their lifestyles, beliefs, and such. Reading should help calm me down, at least somewhat, as I would be delving into these stories and letting my mind wander if there is even a sliver of truth in them.
I was reading, and the stories were calming me down. Reading allowed my mind to wander, which eased my irritation because I wasn't fixated on a single thought. The door opened, and Adam walked in. He still looked tired, with stubble and appeared thinner than before.
"What are you reading, honey?" he asked.
Bryan Adams' "Heaven" was playing softly; I had put on some music.
I replied, "Did you know Curran's grandparents died? He was over 800 years old, and she wasn't much younger. They were mated, you see, their alpha power united. When he died, she died too; neither could bear to be alone."
Adam responded, "Oh, I had no idea you even knew them."
I raised an eyebrow; I hadn't told him. "During those seven years, I met them. Curran's grandfather said I was the strongest he'd ever seen or felt, and he wanted to measure his power against mine. I won, which triggered his plan to get me hitched with Curran."
Adam was silent, shaking his head. "I know you're strong, honey, but tell me about the book."
I said, "It's old tales and stories about herbs and plants and their usage; a few stories are actually interesting, though I'm not sure if they are true."
Adam sat near me, his expression worried and loving.
He said, "I'm sure they are, but honey, should you eat something more?"
I said, "Not yet, I'm full; I stuffed myself. One story is romantic but tragic, and I think you might recognize this plant; I actually have its seeds in my seedbank."
I opened the book and showed him. "This is salvia, a rare subspecies. Listen, it's said this is called fleur d'amour, the flower of love, because, according to this tale, this herb showed you your truest mate, but it came with a cost."
Adam frowned, leaned back, and listened as I told him the story.
"A female without a mate typically faces a hard life. If she fails to find a mate, her existence as an outcast is cruel. So, every blood moon, females would venture into the forest to hunt for a specific herb. Its pink-tinged leaves indicated the presence of love, while its sharp scent hinted at the strength of that love. The females would collect this herb, dry it, and then perform the calling ritual. This meant she would stand in the midst of the males who had been called to witness the ritual, as they, too, were searching for a mate. She would then undress and eat the dried herb. It induced euphoria, acting like catnip for her feline side, and it opened her pheromones, releasing very rare pheromones that would call for her true mate. Only that mate would come to her. However, it wasn't guaranteed; the mate could choose. If he chose her, they would mate there and then, in public, as he would claim her in the most primitive way. But if not, she was left there, lying naked and rejected."
Adam grunted and said, "So she exposed herself to public shame if the mate rejected her. Nasty, but not tragic."
I replied, "But here's the kicker: this herb is lethal to shifters. As the female releases these pheromones, calling for her mate, it also tells him, 'Come save me, I am dying.' The male's sperm, his claim, neutralizes the poison, which is triggered by the pheromones he releases. But if the male rejects her, he releases a pheromone of his own, signaling the rejection to the female. Then, the euphoria ends, and she begins to die—slowly, painfully. There are muscle spasms, arrhythmias, her organs begin to infarct—small at first—and hypoxia sets in, her lungs failing. The town witnesses her death, seeing her as unworthy, rejected. According to the story, oh let me read this to you."
Adam's expression was neutral, but there was tension in his eyes, his hands gripping the chair perhaps a little too tightly.
I found the passage and read it aloud: "As the toll of death is dealt, the female loses her life, her body will suffer, and her mind will know she was unworthy. Let this be a warning to others, as those who live as outcasts and do not obey the rules will suffer before death. They are unworthy, and death will give them one last lesson—of being vain, of being arrogant. It is always better to be humble, better to submit, than to try to lure someone with false pretenses."
Adam's expression remained unchanged, though worry gnawed at him. Especially after Mimi mentioned the possibility of a very dangerous plant. Adam, guided by his heart, knew he had to protect Mimi. The best course of action was to inform Damon.
He connected to Damon telepathically via the hive and said, "Salvatore, I think you, Mariella, and the whole pack should come here. Curran's grandfather died and left her books. I might be overreacting, but she's reading about old tales, and there's a story about a possible salvia, and she might have its seeds. It's lethal to shifters. Pick the story out of my mind. Am I overreacting?"
He felt Damon's telepathic probe.
Damon's voice, laced with tension, soon replied, "Hell, no, you are not overreacting. We're coming. This is nasty. That herb, salvia, makes her sick, and if it's the poisonous kind, it will be devastating. Keep her there; we are coming."
Adam wasn't surprised, but Damon's tone was undeniably tense. They would arrive soon enough. He was just protecting his wife. Adam was an alpha, and Mimi was the most important thing in his life. The mere thought of his reckless wife testing the herb made his heart clench into a tight, fiery ball.
I was engrossed in the next story, which detailed a vine used in marriage rituals. This vine, according to the text, burned the shifters' skin, leaving painful scars that signified marriage. I was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and voices.
"Oh, really, audience?" I muttered to myself, irritated.
I took a deep breath, my annoyance rising, when Damon walked in. He zeroed in on me and snatched the book from my hands. His tone was firm yet patient as he handed the book to Mariella, who opened it and silently read something, her focus completely on the pages.
Damon then spoke to me. "Baby, you need to stop that and listen to me. That herb sounds nasty, and knowing you, you're reckless and arrogant, always too sure of yourself. You'll want to test it, but it's not going to happen. I will not witness you dying a horrible death if your weird body decides to skip the part where I'm supposed to save you. That's not happening. Now, your seed bank will be our seed bank. While it's good, you've had no contact with it for 13 years, I will remember, and so will Wulfe. He'll make sure you don't do anything stupid. These books are ours, but not everything is good for you. We will use a special spell here, meaning the books where you could find something to harm yourself won't open for you, and they will be hidden from you and the kids. After this is over, those books will be secured, and we'll contact the magic house to make sure they know about these herbs and legends, too."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, really? Now you're deciding to play the husband role, not when I could use you, but now, while I'm fucking reading?"
He took a breath and grabbed my hands, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Did you know you're quite funny when you're so damn hormonal? I'm sorry if I or anyone else here has made you feel... We'll change that now. We will learn and try to do better. First, we'll get you a shelter for your car at your workplace; I've already contacted the city council and applied for permission, so it's on its way. Second, we'll make sure the yard is cleared of snow regularly, especially when we're not all at home. And we will go to the shop, you don't have to be the one. Despite you being the pack leader, in this situation, baby, husband trumps over pack leader."
He leaned in and kissed me, passionately and for a long time.
As my hormones surged, these thoughts materialized in my mind.
When he stopped kissing me, I blurted to Mariella, "I win! I'll have more babies, better benefits, and longer maternity leave."
She glared back, defensively stating, "Damon will support me, allowing me to stay home and raise my three perfect girls. I'll show you what a good mother I can be!"
I snorted and rolled my eyes, but before I could retort, Damon kissed me again. Spotting number two leading Mariella away, I thought, *Perfect, Damon is mine.*
I let that thought linger as he broke the kiss, grinning widely. "Oh, baby, you're impossible, but this is hilarious."
I snapped, "Stop grinning and kiss me again."
He complied. After all, he was more mine than Mariella's now. I felt happy, possessive, and certain that he was mine, right here, right now.