My voice, though intended to be calm, was tinged with patience as I surveyed Mariella and Number One. They were perched on a sofa in one of our smaller lounges. The room contained three sofas arranged against the walls, two large armchairs, and my own, throne-like chair – one of my less aesthetically pleasing but incredibly comfortable finds.
Golden and white rugs adorned the floor, while transparent curtains, dotted with tiny red and blue flowers, swayed gently in the summer breeze from the slightly open windows.
I took a breath and began. "Since you two require another lesson, fine. I am prepared to deliver it, but with you both, it feels like I'm pulling a sleigh laden with stone uphill, while someone else is pulling in the opposite direction."
Frustration was evident in my tone; my temper wasn't merely a character trait, it was ingrained in my very being. This fact was one of my secrets, a truth I had never confided in anyone, not even Colin. I doubted even Samuel knew, and I wasn't certain I would reveal it now, but the thought had surfaced, a demonstration of my capacity to share, to offer new secrets and face the consequences.
This was, after all, a lesson in trust. I felt a deep-seated need to prove my faith in the Salvatores, a need, I suspected, born of a fear of losing them. I was, in essence, putting myself on the line.
I continued, "Your martyrdom, your self-pitying behavior, benefits no one and nothing within this pack. It only serves to make you appear unserious, as though you don't want this pack to thrive, and it demonstrates to the rest of us that you are not trustworthy."
Damon, Number One, narrowed his eyes, a muscle in his jaw ticking as his irritation mounted. Mariella, beside him, wrung her hands, primly seated like a southern belle.
"Now, I know we were a little overwhelmed, but surely we can be trusted," Mariella offered.
I scoffed, the sound deep, laced with disdain and disbelief as I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. Let me demonstrate just how trustworthy Damon is."
iI opened my laptop and projected the display onto the wall. It showed the log from the times Damon and Mariella were together, indicating a disruption to our schedule.
"Does this look trustworthy?" I asked, my voice laced with frustration.
"One time, just one damn time, I hoped, I was a fool to think you had matured enough to be there for me, and you've shown me yet again what a colossal idiot I am. This is the result." With a few keystrokes, the current week's schedule materialized, still riddled with red flags.
"As you can see, we're struggling to stay on schedule. Sure, not everything needs to be done immediately, but we, and I mean *we* as a pack, calculated this when we planned it. This isn't my idea, it's the pack's. By being a sore weakling, you didn't just let me down, but the entire pack. Yet, you're still the pack leader, partially, and you're not getting off the hook. You have a job to do."
Mariella remained silent, studying the list; she understood the gravity of the situation. However, I wasn't finished. I was just getting started.
Damon raised his hands in the air, saying, "So I blew it. What did you expect, Mimi? After showing me that, did you really think I could handle seeing my own damn kid dying? You dying? Knowing it was all my fault, that I brought that damn germ here? Sure, I might be grown, but I'm not that strong."
I countered, "Boohoo, you know what, Damon? I *am* that strong. I didn't have the luxury of walking away. I didn't have the luxury of saying, 'Sorry, I'm not strong enough.' That's what being a parent is. You have to be strong enough for your kids, and you, once again, were immature, selfish, and lustful, taking the easy way out because you weren't in the mood to be an actual adult. You can be an adult when it suits you, right? But when you need a warm hole, tits, and sex, you stop being a dad and turn into a fucking machine instead."
Damon's eyes flashed as he turned to Mimi. "Guess what, Mimi? I bet you're feeling so damn smug again, showing us how your precious timetable and leading system is messed up because of me. It's all about you, isn't it? You need to be the leader, making all the decisions. This stinks so much, and yet you have the nerve to try to sell this as a team effort. I bet no one here came up with this fucking timetable other than you."
Before I could respond, number three beat me to it. "Oh, really? You think this is Mimi's? Guess what? It's not. This is a pack decision."
Damon rolled his eyes, muttering, "Yeah, sure it is. You're head over heels for her; you'd do anything for her. She's got you hook, line, and sinker, and you don't even see it."
Taking a breath, I decided, "Fine, let's show this idiot."
My tone remained calm. "So, you think this is my idea, and I'm the one pushing everyone to do this? Can you do better?" I raised an eyebrow.
Adam, sensing something in me, asked, "Honey, what's your idea? Care to share?"
My tone darkened, fueled by irritation. "Oh yeah, I'll share. This idiot thinks I'm running the show. Let's see if he can do better, shall we?"
Wulfe smiled. Damon tensed, sensing he might have pushed me too far, but his ego prevented him from regretting it.
He leaned back in his chair and said, "I bet I can get this pack to work without a fucking timetable!"
Wulfe smiled, getting up and walking, looking at everyone who was present. Most of the pack was there; the toddlers were sleeping, so we were all gathered.
Wulfe said, "Fine, my unicorn, tell us your idea."
I responded lazily, "Two weeks. No timetable, no chores, no roles, no display, no 'must-do' lists. We are all free to do whatever we want, and you get to be the leader, but there are limitations. As this is a family, not a tyranny, Charles?" I asked, looking at Charles.
He replied, "Okay, the rules are simple. We, as leaders, don't force anyone. This is family. We have our responsibilities as pack leaders, meaning paperwork, but nothing else. For two weeks, you need to do your part of the paperwork, but otherwise, you're just a husband and a father, nothing else, as am I."
Damon looked at Charles, clearly unhappy, but he wanted to save face.
He nodded and said, "Sure, we can make this work. No ordering, no task lists, just family life—easy. Mimi, you will see just how wrong you were. You are not the leader; I am."
I didn't say anything. Number Five sat next to me and pulled me close, causing Mariella to furrow her brows. I wanted to show her, so I turned to Number Five and kissed him passionately. Adam, who was sitting on my other side, reached out and kissed me as well. Fine. I kissed him back. Mariella snarled.
Feeling catty and not wanting to spare anything, I said in a lazy tone, "I bet it fucks you up to see just how many more I have, and you have just one. And if others are feeling charitable, sure, they can use your holes."
She snapped, "I am more than a set of holes for them; I am their wife."
Number Ten, who didn't like this—as it had mostly been his idea to have a task list—was in a nasty mood and snapped, "Sorry, doll, for me, you are just a set of holes. I can use them if I need to, but Mimi is my loved one."
Number Nine said to Seven, "Pathetic. Our set of holes thinks too much of itself."
Mariella's hormones hit her again. She took a breath, her lip quivering.
Number One wasn't feeling patient with her and snapped, "Stop. You are not a child. Grow up. No need to cry. Do better; show them you are a wife, not a pussy with legs."
Mariella glared at Damon, her pissed-offness now out as her emotional blackmail didn't work this time. Too bad. Oh, these two weeks might be pretty interesting, to say the least.
As I sat with the pack assembled, I decided to give them an example of trust. I wanted to share something I knew, something I'd never told anyone before, even though I wasn't sure of its significance.
I spoke, "Since we're all here, let me share some information that even Samuel, Colin, or any of you might not know. It may be useless, but I'll share it anyway."
Number Four leaned forward, his expression tense, while Two's focus sharpened.
I continued, "I'm not sure if you're familiar with The Purge. It began in 2029 and lasted until 2051. Its purpose was to eliminate supernaturals, as it was around the time they first appeared. Naturally, the pro-humanity movement also gained traction then, leading to the creation of the Human Act and all the terrible things that were done to supernaturals."
Number One interjected, "I was in Europe at the time. I hadn't met you all yet. I spent only a few years with Elena before meeting you. I heard whispers, but my reputation protected me."
Adam added, "That's actually why Bran pushed us to be heroes. When The Purge began, he wanted us to be the good guys. It made it harder for humans to see us as beasts when we were saving them."
I nodded and said, "During that time, while they were rounding up supernaturals, they studied them, and as human gene technology advanced, gene mapping became popular. This led to the discovery of the rage gene, though it wasn't just a single gene but a cluster within junk DNA, with several variations."
"News to me," Number Four said. "Tell me more, so I can determine if this is useful."
I nodded and began, "It was called the THX-456 cluster. It comprised five clusters of genes, or pieces of junk DNA, with specific mutations. This meant the DNA wasn't normal; it didn't adhere to the rules we understood about DNA. Until certain technological advancements, these were considered mutations, potentially predisposing individuals to diseases. However, that wasn't the case. Instead, they made the DNA... well, flexible. Prone to mutations and random combining, sometimes creating new genes scientists had never seen before."
I paused, taking a breath. Damon furrowed his brow, trying to understand what I was saying and whether it had any significance.
"It was one piece of junk DNA that produced genes. These genes had peculiar linking behavior. When humans studied supernaturals to understand their powers, these genes were discovered. They were the only ones that could link with human DNA. However, certain pro-human activists saw this as a threat. They mapped the genes, and most of the carriers were killed, as the pro-human movement didn't want hybrids or semi-humans around."
Number Two interjected, "And you are one of them, possessing those genes?"
I nodded. "I had eight. Most of those killed had one or two. I had eight, and the others Morrissey and Kendrick found had at most six, and none of them survived. I still have those genes; they're not quite human, but they're in my DNA."
Number Two replied, "So your DNA is volatile. Good to know. I'm not sure what that means in the long run."
"We need to take gene tests from you, as well as ourselves," Number One declared. "You also need to tell us everything you know about those genes so we can find and check them. We drink your blood, we are hive, we are soulmates. The reason? It's a weakness in the wrong hands. If Sark or someone like him ever found out, he might twist our genes, add something that doesn't belong, or mess with them. We can then take steps to protect our genes, through magic, energy, or whatever it takes."
Number Four nodded. I was relieved that I'd given them a little project. I could feel Salvatore's presence plunging into my mind, trying to see what I knew. I let them know it wasn't much, just a few files found in a medical facility, and that my mind had connected the dots.
I had shared this information, but I had no idea what would come of it. "I have no idea if toddlers have these genes, or my rage clusters, so they might need to be mapped too. And again, did we get the damn disease because our genes are too eager to change? Are we unstable?" I pondered aloud.
Number Two said, "Let us worry about that, will ya? We need to make a plan and see what we can do about this at this time, but this is a start. Good girl for sharing."
He smiled at me. Number Four looked like a hound dog chasing prey, while Number One stared at the wall behind me, lost in thought. I recognized that expression.
This little thing might keep them busy, and then they'd learn what would happen when anarchy took over, and there were no task lists or anything else, just everyone doing what the hell they wanted. I was sure I might take it a bit easier, too.
I was determined to play by the rules, which in this situation meant no rules, no plans, and each day would be up to me in whatever mood I was in. No responsibility, no need to perform for the good of the pack. I was sure that time would come, but we'd see about that in the future. I wasn't going to stress at all, just go with the flow.
I was sure that when these two weeks were done, I might say, "I told you so," but I wasn't sure yet. Who knew? Maybe this would work out just fine, well, for me at least. For others, not so sure. Let's see if Damon realizes he has to take care of everything, from laundry to snacks and paperwork, on top of that. It would be pretty nice.
It was strange, but my memory usually allowed me to effortlessly keep track of chores and continue as we had done until now. However, that wasn't the goal. Instead, I planned to be free and easy, meaning I wouldn't be the one pushing everything forward. The kids would be my priority, but everything else was up to me and my whims.
Since I had no mental list of chores, there was no need to worry about laundry, changing the bedding, making snacks, feeding the snakes, checking orders, creating a shopping list for the next week, or planning a menu. I wasn't even sure I would cook at all. We had plenty of food in the freezer, so I could take a relaxed approach and have fun with my kids.
While routine was good, I wanted to show Mr. Salvatore why our way worked and why his didn't. He was in for a surprise in the upcoming weeks. I smiled lazily, wondering how I would ever return to our structured life once this lesson in anarchy was over. But right now, there were no rules, no order, no leaders, no responsibilities except for the kids and me – a sort of mini-holiday.