I sat on Charles's lap, engrossed in the books I'd gotten from the doctor. I recounted our discussions to him, showing him the ultrasound and even the dolls. Since I'd closed my shop in the early evening, I was home before Damon and Mariella. It was funny because Mariella wanted to go to the Salvatores. Damon carpooled with her and several other Salvatores who worked along the way.
Some Salvatores worked near Damon's workplace, but Mariella worked in our town and could have gotten home sooner. However, she waited for Damon to pick her up, which added an extra ninety minutes to her commute. It was her choice, not mine.
Charles kept me on his lap, and we cuddled on the sofa in our cozy living room. It wasn't the largest room, but we'd chosen it. He'd lit the fireplace, and the apple tree scent filled the air, creating a perfect atmosphere.
Adam spoke in my mind, "Salvatore and Mariella just returned. They weren't thrilled because the yard was snowy, and Mr. had to clear the snow to get his car into the garage. Driving was difficult. I told him you were already home."
I replied, "That's just right; it's good for him to do some work, too. Well, we're here looking for recipes; there's a lot of inspiration here."
Adam's voice was gentle as he said, "I'll be there soon; I just need to put the food in the oven to warm up."
He was such a caretaker. Despite our table having warming circles, created with magic, Adam always warmed the food beforehand, making it more enjoyable. We wouldn't have to wait ten minutes for the magic to warm it slowly to prevent burning.
Charles examined a recipe featuring moose and cranberries, contemplating substitutions because they didn't appeal to him. Simultaneously, I was engrossed in a foamy dessert recipe on the next page when I caught the scent of passionfruit.
Damon entered the room silently, like a predator. He leaned against the wall, his ice-blue eyes cold, his mouth a tight line, a black silk shirt partially unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and wearing slacks instead of jeans. His voice was quiet, yet laced with jealousy, disdain, and perhaps, I hoped or assumed, regret.
"Pray tell me, wife," he said, "why are you discussing your diet with him? I am the one who should see that book; after all, I am your protector, your biological half, and I know better. Charles, moose is too light for Mimi, and cranberries give her too much gas, and you can't really substitute their taste."
Charles replied, "We have time to cuddle and read a bit. Besides, Mimi needs her husbands as I was too busy to be with her at her appointment, but I have seen Ultra, and if it's at all possible I will be there next time. She needs her husbands."
Damon stared at the floor, then approached us, snatched the book from Charles's hands, and sat down to read it, crossing one leg over the other, leaning back in the chair, enjoying the warmth of the roaring fire.
He read for a few minutes and then said, "Good book, works for Mariella too, as far as I know, but Charles, since you are her protector, I would like your input on this and a good hint about that tea; I am not sure if we have that tea, but we can look for it," as it was also mentioned in that book.
Charles and I were now reading the so called bible together. He held me close as we read, and he kissed me as I turned to him. His strong body was the perfect mattress, as it always had been.
Damon remained silent, reading the cookbook absentmindedly, and an ever-increasing wave of jealousy flooded our bond. I ignored it; it was his choice to be Mariella's "pussyslave" and focus solely on her, to obey her. I had other options.
This was perfect, and I was so incredibly happy that Mariella wasn't receiving this kind of treatment from Charles. Oops, my phone beeped, and I rolled my eyes as I dug it out. Yep, my blood sugar was low; no wonder my thoughts were nasty.
Charles smirked and shifted, retrieving something from his pocket and offering it to me: candies made of meat, coffee, sugar, and citrus—precisely what I needed. Damon initially remained silent, but it was evident he'd noticed the alarm on my phone and how it prompted Charles's action. Now, he was biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to question me. I wasn't sure how he'd react to Colin's letter or his invention.
Charles then said curtly, "Move, my love. I need to be pack leader, as well as protector, and check on Mariella. I get to nag at her."
I rolled my eyes and whined, "Must I? You're such a perfect mattress, you know that?"
He smiled, rolled me off of him, and stood up, walking away.
I continued reading our so-called bible. It contained a lot of interesting information, and I hadn't even reached the section on hormones yet. I was immersed in the baby care routine, comparing it to my past experiences. It was helpful to learn, compare, and gain another perspective to see what I could improve and what I was already doing well.
After all, five babies were coming, and this time it would take longer, they would be smaller and needier for twice as long, and then there would be tantrums and terrible twos, and whatnot. Oh, I was waiting for them, and dreading them at the same time.
Damon was still reading, and he wasn't even looking at Mimi, who was lying on her back, reading the bigger book. Oh, Damon planned to read that too; information, especially this kind, was very important.
Right now, he was irritated as he realized what a fool he had been, letting Mimi's hormonal tantrums get to him. He'd taken Mariella's side, and self-disgust flooded his mind as he knew why. He knew how far he had once again drifted from Mimi and how close he was to Mariella. He wasn't happy. He had been weak again, hadn't kept his guard up, and now this had happened.
Sure, he could turn it around, but it would take time and cooperation from Mimi, and she seemed to be all over Charles, Adam, Wulfe, and the boys. Damon couldn't really blame her; all he could do was blame himself and try to devise a plan to fix this damn clusterfuck.
He knew he hadn't yet earned the right to be pack leader; he was too weak. He had been a fucking machine, Mariella's pussy slave, and those are not pack leaders.
As he read, Damon paid little attention to his surroundings, allowing his mind to wander into its usual cycle of self-blame. Then, either the air conditioning or some other current subtly masked the air's scent, and a sharp pain exploded behind his eyes. He looked up from the book, his fangs instinctively reacting – a strong reaction usually reserved for Mimi.
"Baby, are you alright?" he asked, setting the book down and turning to her.
She was unnervingly still. She lay on her back, the book she had been reading lying on the floor, having slipped from her grasp. One hand was limp, and she was unconscious, unresponsive.
"Shit!" Damon exclaimed, jumping up and rushing to her side.
He searched for her pulse, desperately trying to find it in her pale, cold wrist. Nothing. His fingers moved to her neck, finally finding it, far too weak and thready, barely registering 60 beats per minute when it should have been around 160. He scooped her into his arms, sat down, and, without hesitation, bit into his own wrist, offering it to her lips.
"C'mon, drink, goddamn it, latch on!" he muttered.
Mimi's mouth remained still, unresponsive even to his potent blood, her ultimate craving. Damon used his energy to direct the blood into her stomach, forcing himself to bleed more freely. He muttered incessantly, trying to rouse her.
He then lifted her wrist, made a small cut, and tasted her blood; her glucose levels were dangerously low. After what felt like an eternity, she stirred, attempting to move her mouth away, rejecting his blood. Damon held her securely, continuing to feed her.
"C'mon, baby, this is the best, sink those fangs in, come on, drink," he urged, puzzled as to why she was refusing his blood.
Usually, she craved it, even hunted him for it. Now, this. He maintained his grip. Mimi began to move more, her eyelashes fluttering, her muscles twitching, as she struggled to vocalize something.
Damon cursed under his breath. "What's wrong, baby? Come on, try to drink," he coaxed as Mimi squirmed.
Using his telepathy, he delved into her mind and found it: a hot, pulsating need, a powerful bloodlust she was fighting to control. Damon rolled his eyes, disengaging his wrist from her mouth.
He then cradled her in his arms, her face buried in his neck. "Baby, listen to me. I felt your bloodlust. It's no use trying to suppress it. Here's what you do: drink from me. Come on, sink those fangs in. You know I can take it. Hell, I *like* pain. The worst you can do is make me explode in my pants. Come on. It's not a weakness; you need this. Our babies need this."
Damon stroked her back, noting how bony she felt. She needed to eat more, and they had time. He was trying to make this work for all of them.
As I came to, I heard Damon talking to me. My first instinct was to clamp down on my bloodlust, trying to get him to stop luring me. I had had my dose of blood today; I couldn't give in. I hadn't even fully awakened when he adjusted me, placing my face against his neck. Oh great, the ultimate test. He kept crooning to me, and soon I heard Wulfe walk in as well.
Wulfe touched me and said, "Go on, feed. It's okay; you need it. Feed."
I have no fucking idea what he and Damon did to my self-control other than dismantle it utterly. I could feel my fangs pop out, warm blood rushing down my esophagus, and animalistic grunts were heard as I ripped into his neck to get more blood. Now, nothing was enough; I just had to get more and more.
I wasn't stopping, and neither was Damon. He was almost purring, leaning into me, pressing me tighter against his neck. His voice crooned in my mind, urging me to rip his neck further, to make him feel. It was a bit out of the ordinary, but then again, he felt somehow free, as if he too was letting a part of himself go.
It was only Mariella's soft voice that eventually penetrated my mind: "God, Mimi, I wish I could do that to him. He's really letting himself feel. Go on, make it good, bite more, rip his damn neck open, bathe in his blood. You know, he loves pain, but he rarely lets himself feel it or enjoy it. And that... oh, I can feel his euphoria. So go on, continue. I'm so jealous. When I feed, despite how hungry I am, I can't be like that. I'm too soft, and his blood is too strong for me."
I had no idea this was Damon's thing. He had never spoken about it, but it made sense since he knew how to make me feel pain. Maybe he was trying to teach me to be like him, or perhaps he was testing if I liked it.
With so many pack members practically cheering me on, I let loose, letting my beast side take over – not my vampire side, but I guess it was my feline side's vampire side. I know it's a messy explanation, but it was another part of me I had denied or kept tightly hidden; well, it wasn't hidden now.
Time lost its meaning as blood poured down my throat. My stomach felt bottomless, endlessly accepting more and more blood, and my bloodlust didn't recede at first. Then warmth and sluggishness crept in, and I grew more and more tired.
Damon's voice soothed me, telling me it was okay to fall asleep, that a nap would do me good. I wasn't sure how much I had consumed at the end, as my eyes shut, and I fell asleep, my lips still on his neck, drowsiness completely taking over.
Damon sighed as Mimi fell asleep, feeling utterly defeated. His slacks were soaked, and he couldn't even guess how many times he'd flooded. Euphoria still lingered at the edge of his mind. He gently stroked Mimi, allowing her to sleep, knowing she would need him later.
It was time for him to get himself together. His first task was to put Mariella in her place, followed by getting Charles on board. He wasn't ready to be packleader just yet. He needed to observe Charles, to understand what it truly took to lead now that things weren't so simple.
However, he had a plan. When Charles was working, Damon would arrange for him to be appointed packleader, not Mimi. This would give him a more concrete understanding of the role. He would then identify areas for optimization or change. Eventually, after proving himself, he would reclaim the packleader position. It would be perfect.
He gently got up, still cradling Mimi, and carried her to her room. He placed her in bed but didn't undress her yet. She would likely sleep for several hours. He had flooded her blood with a sedative to allow her rest and recovery, which would also give him some time to get things done.
He needed to speak with Charles, Wulfe, and Adam and begin to restructure the pack. Then, he could truly begin to enjoy being a husband, a father, and everything else he needed to be, but not a pushover or a sex machine. He would make sure Mariella got the message loud and clear the first time; he wasn't in the mood to repeat himself.